Snippet of real dialogue from the fish tank:
Me: I can't believe I have 8 weeks left. It's so long!
Craig: Are you crazy? We only have 8 weeks left.
Needless to say, I'm ready. Maybe not externally (Craig is finishing the nursery painting tonight, and I still haven't packed my bag), but physically. Though little bird should be gaining half a pound a week from here on out, I look at my belly and cry when I think of it getting stretched any further. I can't reach my cabinets any more because there's no elasticity left for me to stretch. The center of my belly feels bruised. My lower back aches. I can't tie my shoes.
Also, any fear I once had regarding the labor process has gone and now the only fear is that I may be overly optimistic about the whole thing. Part of it could be that my hippie birth coach uses words like "orgasmic" to describe the birthing process. Part of it could be that as other women in the birth class run into complications (early labor, diminishing amniotic fluid, emergency C-sections) I'm realizing the odds of me having an "ideal" labor experience are going up; after all that same hippie birth coach told us that of the 9 women in our class, only 1-2 of us will have unplanned C-sections and those spots have already been claimed. Reading stories from women like this new mom who didn't even know she was in labor until she was fully dilated and ready to push doesn't help with the whole "earth to Stacy" reality check that I'm needing.
Then again, maybe I don't need it. Maybe optimism is the one good thing going for me right about now. Now if I could just get Craig's attention to come tie my shoes and get the popcorn bowl down...
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Updates
I've posted a lot this week, so I'll keep this short and just give you the updates.
Update 1: I'm now a contracted freelance blogger for Big Dot of Happiness (see "Mom Talk: Ready, Set, Go" ).
Update 2: I slept a total of 12 1/2 hours yesterday! After a 72-hour stretch of zero sleep followed by snatches of 2-3 hours here and there, I collapsed after lunch yesterday afternoon and woke up 2 1/2 hours later. I then proceeded to sleep straight through the night from 10pm to 8am this morning. I feel amazing! (And my doctor wrote me a prescription for Ambien this morning, which is apparently "Class 2," meaning "safe during 3rd trimester.")
Update 3: Well, it's Thursday and I still haven't packed that hospital bag. Maybe tomorrow...
Update 1: I'm now a contracted freelance blogger for Big Dot of Happiness (see "Mom Talk: Ready, Set, Go" ).
Update 2: I slept a total of 12 1/2 hours yesterday! After a 72-hour stretch of zero sleep followed by snatches of 2-3 hours here and there, I collapsed after lunch yesterday afternoon and woke up 2 1/2 hours later. I then proceeded to sleep straight through the night from 10pm to 8am this morning. I feel amazing! (And my doctor wrote me a prescription for Ambien this morning, which is apparently "Class 2," meaning "safe during 3rd trimester.")
Update 3: Well, it's Thursday and I still haven't packed that hospital bag. Maybe tomorrow...
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Paint Problems
So yesterday I told you all how crazy my sleep-deprived hormones have made me. Today I'm going to add troublesome paint choices to the list of crazy-makers in my life.
To begin with, Craig and I have disagreed over various safety aspects in our nursery. When he read that synthetic dyes found in rugs have been "shown" to cause epileptic fits in young children, he demanded that we buy an all-natural, organic wool rug for the nursery (he quickly changed his mind when he saw the price tag associated with said demand). When I read that used crib mattresses are bad because they lose their firmness and trap bacteria, I told him I wanted to junk the used mattress we'd been given (we're still debating this; new mattresses don't come with such hefty price tags--and, to argue my point, there's a reason it's illegal to sell even adult-sized used mattresses). Well, up until last night there was a third point of disagreement: paint.
Obviously, when painting a nursery, you want to go as chemical-free as possible. When a friend told us about some VOC-free paint (that'd be "volatile organic compound") they bought for their nursery, Craig was all on board. I was a little more hesitant because a) we'd picked out really beautiful low-VOC paint colors and b) VOC-free paint costs a good deal more. But I agreed that VOC-free paint would be ideal and I was willing to look into it.
Well, the next day our friends painted their entire nursery with the VOC-free paint they'd bought and hated it. The color was not what they had thought it'd be. Craig and I figured, "Eh, it happens to everyone," and decided to buy some sample tins of paint.
So that's what we did last night. We picked up samples of the low-VOC paint colors (one pink and one chocolate) that we liked and asked the sales girl to show us the VOC-free paint they had available. To begin with, the availability of colors is very limited. She told us that the company markets paint to expecting parents and nursing homes and, as a result, only have very muted colors available. There were only two shades of pink and one of them was more white than pink, and there were no rich chocolate browns at all.Craig thought the "pink reef" VOC-free paint was close enough in color to the "powdered blush" low-VOC paint sample we already had that we didn't need to purchase samples of both. I reminded him of our friends' experience and we went ahead and bought a sample.
Good thing, too! Here's how the paint samples look on our wall:
So the VOC-free "pink reef" would be the lilac-looking paint beneath. We're definitely going with the low-VOC "powdered blush" and the low-VOC "chocolate sprinkle on the wall next to it.
Lesson of the day? Always, always, always spend the $5 and get a paint sample!
To begin with, Craig and I have disagreed over various safety aspects in our nursery. When he read that synthetic dyes found in rugs have been "shown" to cause epileptic fits in young children, he demanded that we buy an all-natural, organic wool rug for the nursery (he quickly changed his mind when he saw the price tag associated with said demand). When I read that used crib mattresses are bad because they lose their firmness and trap bacteria, I told him I wanted to junk the used mattress we'd been given (we're still debating this; new mattresses don't come with such hefty price tags--and, to argue my point, there's a reason it's illegal to sell even adult-sized used mattresses). Well, up until last night there was a third point of disagreement: paint.
Obviously, when painting a nursery, you want to go as chemical-free as possible. When a friend told us about some VOC-free paint (that'd be "volatile organic compound") they bought for their nursery, Craig was all on board. I was a little more hesitant because a) we'd picked out really beautiful low-VOC paint colors and b) VOC-free paint costs a good deal more. But I agreed that VOC-free paint would be ideal and I was willing to look into it.
Well, the next day our friends painted their entire nursery with the VOC-free paint they'd bought and hated it. The color was not what they had thought it'd be. Craig and I figured, "Eh, it happens to everyone," and decided to buy some sample tins of paint.
So that's what we did last night. We picked up samples of the low-VOC paint colors (one pink and one chocolate) that we liked and asked the sales girl to show us the VOC-free paint they had available. To begin with, the availability of colors is very limited. She told us that the company markets paint to expecting parents and nursing homes and, as a result, only have very muted colors available. There were only two shades of pink and one of them was more white than pink, and there were no rich chocolate browns at all.Craig thought the "pink reef" VOC-free paint was close enough in color to the "powdered blush" low-VOC paint sample we already had that we didn't need to purchase samples of both. I reminded him of our friends' experience and we went ahead and bought a sample.
Good thing, too! Here's how the paint samples look on our wall:
So the VOC-free "pink reef" would be the lilac-looking paint beneath. We're definitely going with the low-VOC "powdered blush" and the low-VOC "chocolate sprinkle on the wall next to it.
Lesson of the day? Always, always, always spend the $5 and get a paint sample!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sleep-Deprived Hormones
So people in close proximity to me have hinted that my last post may not have given people a wholly honest picture of what life in fish tank has really been like lately. And I have to admit, they're correct. So here it goes.
Life in the salmon family this past week has been, shall we say, "difficult."
Apparently, after publicizing my dreams of evil Snow White, a number of you started praying that the nightmares would cease because that night and the two nights following, I didn't sleep a wink. I've had difficulty sleeping in the past but I have never before been able to say that I was literally awake all night long (of course, in the past I've been able to take beautiful drugs like Excedrin PM to help me sleep). Strangely, I didn't feel tired during the days (or nights, obviously). What I did notice by the 3rd day was my mind didn't fire quite as rapidly as I'm accustomed and my body seemed to have difficulty maintaining its sense of balance. Playing Banangrams (a Scrabble-type of game) with my husband, I found myself staring at the tiles trying to make sense of what they were; I thought the P's were R's and the R's, D's. Needless to say, the two rounds we played weren't even close. Walking from the theater to our car, I nearly fell over...twice. A close friend took one look at me and said, "You don't seem like yourself." Today she admitted, "I thought you were mad at me. Your eyes weren't glowing."
Worse, though, my hormones kicked into overdrive and were exaggerated from lack of sleep. Cleaning out the closet in the nursery-in-waiting was a task that led to hysteria and uncontrollable sobbing. Craig started rocking me in his arms and telling me to quiet down; I only managed to quiet down when he started using the relaxation techniques we're learning in our Lamaze class and I realized how ludicrous my life had become.
The good news? I seem to be coming out of this. At church Saturday night, I was telling my Bible study leader about my insomnia and a woman I'd never met before overheard me and told me to play quiet worship music at night and make use of my time laying awake to pray and ask God about the little bird growing inside of me. Well, I didn't get around to playing worship music that night after church because by then my body was literally numb and all I wanted was to lay down. I did, however, take her suggestion to pray while laying in bed. Guess what? I didn't get much past, "Here I am, God. What do you want to talk about?" before it was lights out. Maybe it was sheer exhaustion, maybe God was waiting for me to turn to Him. I don't know. What I do know is that every night since then I've lain awake until I said those words and then I'm instantly asleep. Now, I'm still waking up halfway through the night to go to the bathroom and my sleep during the 2nd part of each night has not been great. Of course, at that point in the night, I'm pretty groggy and not coherent enough to remember to pray. Maybe I'll remember tonight. I'll let you know how it goes.
Life in the salmon family this past week has been, shall we say, "difficult."
Apparently, after publicizing my dreams of evil Snow White, a number of you started praying that the nightmares would cease because that night and the two nights following, I didn't sleep a wink. I've had difficulty sleeping in the past but I have never before been able to say that I was literally awake all night long (of course, in the past I've been able to take beautiful drugs like Excedrin PM to help me sleep). Strangely, I didn't feel tired during the days (or nights, obviously). What I did notice by the 3rd day was my mind didn't fire quite as rapidly as I'm accustomed and my body seemed to have difficulty maintaining its sense of balance. Playing Banangrams (a Scrabble-type of game) with my husband, I found myself staring at the tiles trying to make sense of what they were; I thought the P's were R's and the R's, D's. Needless to say, the two rounds we played weren't even close. Walking from the theater to our car, I nearly fell over...twice. A close friend took one look at me and said, "You don't seem like yourself." Today she admitted, "I thought you were mad at me. Your eyes weren't glowing."
Worse, though, my hormones kicked into overdrive and were exaggerated from lack of sleep. Cleaning out the closet in the nursery-in-waiting was a task that led to hysteria and uncontrollable sobbing. Craig started rocking me in his arms and telling me to quiet down; I only managed to quiet down when he started using the relaxation techniques we're learning in our Lamaze class and I realized how ludicrous my life had become.
The good news? I seem to be coming out of this. At church Saturday night, I was telling my Bible study leader about my insomnia and a woman I'd never met before overheard me and told me to play quiet worship music at night and make use of my time laying awake to pray and ask God about the little bird growing inside of me. Well, I didn't get around to playing worship music that night after church because by then my body was literally numb and all I wanted was to lay down. I did, however, take her suggestion to pray while laying in bed. Guess what? I didn't get much past, "Here I am, God. What do you want to talk about?" before it was lights out. Maybe it was sheer exhaustion, maybe God was waiting for me to turn to Him. I don't know. What I do know is that every night since then I've lain awake until I said those words and then I'm instantly asleep. Now, I'm still waking up halfway through the night to go to the bathroom and my sleep during the 2nd part of each night has not been great. Of course, at that point in the night, I'm pretty groggy and not coherent enough to remember to pray. Maybe I'll remember tonight. I'll let you know how it goes.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Entering the Rapids
In my 32nd week and with only 8 more weeks to go, I definitely feel a little pressed for time. Meeting our neighbor's newborn (born a full 4 weeks early and weighing just barely 5 lbs) hasn't helped that feeling. I've finally figured out what my Braxton-Hicks contractions feel like (like if I try to twist my body I'll snap in half) and as I felt two come within half an hour of each other in the middle of the night (more than four in an hour and I'm supposed to go to the hospital), the first thing I thought was, "Great, I don't even have a bag packed." So, on my to-do list this week? Pack a bag.
Also on that to-do list, paint the nursery and nag Craig to finish the toy box he wants to build. That's right, folks: after starting to create a nursery from a study in early March and getting knocked off track with mold and the accompanying kitchen catastrophe, we finally transformed our study/nursery into a nursery-in-waiting yesterday. Right now, it's a big empty room with a changing table, rocking chair, and lamp (boxes of clothes and toys are in the closet waiting for their completed toy box and a dresser and crib that are scheduled to arrive sometime in early July). We have two weeks to complete these projects before the baby shower in May brings in more things looking for a home.
Meanwhile, we've started a Lamaze class at our hospital. We were torn on the idea and reluctant to spend money on it. A few people told us their class was a waste of time and other couples we know have had very smooth labors without having taken a class. But after two weeks, we've decided the time and money are well worth it to us. I'm sure this is largely due to our teacher, but frankly, I think the class is well worth any amount of time and money just because it's teaching my husband some fundamentals like what not to eat in order to help my nausea and how to appropriately come at me with a cool washcloth during hot flashes. (Let's just say I know my husband and know he would otherwise have been breathing peanut butter breath in my face and slopping water all over me without warning--all would have been done completely out of love and all would have made me unbearably irritable.) It's been helpful because our teacher has 20+ years of labor coach experience in addition to years of Labor and Delivery nursing experience and is a freelance medical research writer in the area of Labor and Delivery: she knows exactly what the studies say and what actually happens in real life; she knows what we're worried about, what we need to be worried about, and how to get us to realize we need to be concerned without causing panic attacks. She's a self-proclaimed "cave and candle" proponent of natural childbirth who tells people outright that epidurals are "the most wonderful medical invention of our time." And, being a hippie from way back, she's comfortable talking to a room full of both men and women about the uglier side of pregnancy--things I thought I knew but didn't; these things are not in any books or mommy blogs that I've read and, trust me, I've read them all.
If nothing else, the class has been good because it's made me start thinking seriously about the labor experience and what needs to be done beforehand. After 8 months of pregnancy, we've been lulled by the slow-moving rhythm of waiting, but the rapids are ahead and it's time to get ready.
Also on that to-do list, paint the nursery and nag Craig to finish the toy box he wants to build. That's right, folks: after starting to create a nursery from a study in early March and getting knocked off track with mold and the accompanying kitchen catastrophe, we finally transformed our study/nursery into a nursery-in-waiting yesterday. Right now, it's a big empty room with a changing table, rocking chair, and lamp (boxes of clothes and toys are in the closet waiting for their completed toy box and a dresser and crib that are scheduled to arrive sometime in early July). We have two weeks to complete these projects before the baby shower in May brings in more things looking for a home.
Meanwhile, we've started a Lamaze class at our hospital. We were torn on the idea and reluctant to spend money on it. A few people told us their class was a waste of time and other couples we know have had very smooth labors without having taken a class. But after two weeks, we've decided the time and money are well worth it to us. I'm sure this is largely due to our teacher, but frankly, I think the class is well worth any amount of time and money just because it's teaching my husband some fundamentals like what not to eat in order to help my nausea and how to appropriately come at me with a cool washcloth during hot flashes. (Let's just say I know my husband and know he would otherwise have been breathing peanut butter breath in my face and slopping water all over me without warning--all would have been done completely out of love and all would have made me unbearably irritable.) It's been helpful because our teacher has 20+ years of labor coach experience in addition to years of Labor and Delivery nursing experience and is a freelance medical research writer in the area of Labor and Delivery: she knows exactly what the studies say and what actually happens in real life; she knows what we're worried about, what we need to be worried about, and how to get us to realize we need to be concerned without causing panic attacks. She's a self-proclaimed "cave and candle" proponent of natural childbirth who tells people outright that epidurals are "the most wonderful medical invention of our time." And, being a hippie from way back, she's comfortable talking to a room full of both men and women about the uglier side of pregnancy--things I thought I knew but didn't; these things are not in any books or mommy blogs that I've read and, trust me, I've read them all.
If nothing else, the class has been good because it's made me start thinking seriously about the labor experience and what needs to be done beforehand. After 8 months of pregnancy, we've been lulled by the slow-moving rhythm of waiting, but the rapids are ahead and it's time to get ready.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Dreaming...Not Quite Of Baby
My daily email from parenting.com today informed me that at 32 weeks gestation, brain scans have shown that "babies actually have rapid eye movements, which means they're dreaming."
What can she possibly be dreaming of? Beats me, but I can tell you what I've been dreaming of lately: evil Disney characters. Ever seen a possessed Snow White coming at you with fangs? No? Well, I did--just a few hours ago, in fact. I read in one of my pregnancy books yesterday that the dreams women have during pregnancy can be therapeutic for them--they allow women to sort through their mixed feelings about giving birth. So all I can say is that my subconscious must very much be dreading the inundation of children's DVDs soon to hit my home.
I've actually been very tired lately and I think it has something to do with me not being able to slip beyond REM sleep and into that deeper, dream-less sleep that sleep experts say you need to feel rested. REM occurs just at the edge of consciousness, which is why pregnant women (waking up every few hours for any number of reason) have so many dreams.
This is just one reason why I'm beginning to better understand just how women feel when they gripe, "Get this baby out of me!" Despite some to-be-expected setbacks, I've really enjoyed being pregnant--and I've loved feeling our little bird kicking around in there. But this is starting to change.
Though I'm still grateful that she's moving (my doctor said she loves it when women gripe about the baby's movements because it means the baby's healthy), it is beginning to take its toll on me. Not only has it been waking me up but it's been preventing me from falling asleep in the first place. And now, on top of the lack of sleep, her movements are beginning to hurt. A friend of mine told me that by the time women give birth, their insides are literally black and blue from being repeatedly kicked. I'm not sure how people would know this (C-sectioned women, perhaps?) but I definitely believe it right now. Her kicks feel very much like someone hitting away at a bruise, and while I love being able to cup the imprint of her leg in my hand, I'm beginning to love pushing that little leg back where it belongs even more.
What can she possibly be dreaming of? Beats me, but I can tell you what I've been dreaming of lately: evil Disney characters. Ever seen a possessed Snow White coming at you with fangs? No? Well, I did--just a few hours ago, in fact. I read in one of my pregnancy books yesterday that the dreams women have during pregnancy can be therapeutic for them--they allow women to sort through their mixed feelings about giving birth. So all I can say is that my subconscious must very much be dreading the inundation of children's DVDs soon to hit my home.
I've actually been very tired lately and I think it has something to do with me not being able to slip beyond REM sleep and into that deeper, dream-less sleep that sleep experts say you need to feel rested. REM occurs just at the edge of consciousness, which is why pregnant women (waking up every few hours for any number of reason) have so many dreams.
This is just one reason why I'm beginning to better understand just how women feel when they gripe, "Get this baby out of me!" Despite some to-be-expected setbacks, I've really enjoyed being pregnant--and I've loved feeling our little bird kicking around in there. But this is starting to change.
Though I'm still grateful that she's moving (my doctor said she loves it when women gripe about the baby's movements because it means the baby's healthy), it is beginning to take its toll on me. Not only has it been waking me up but it's been preventing me from falling asleep in the first place. And now, on top of the lack of sleep, her movements are beginning to hurt. A friend of mine told me that by the time women give birth, their insides are literally black and blue from being repeatedly kicked. I'm not sure how people would know this (C-sectioned women, perhaps?) but I definitely believe it right now. Her kicks feel very much like someone hitting away at a bruise, and while I love being able to cup the imprint of her leg in my hand, I'm beginning to love pushing that little leg back where it belongs even more.
Monday, April 12, 2010
The End of the Name Game
We had LOTS of guesses pouring in over the weekend. Everything from Canara and Sephora to Abigail and Emma. Quite a few of you guessed the correct name also, but the Big Win goes to Trina for guessing the right name first: Evelyn Grace.
Here's the Wikipedia definition of Evelyn:
"Evelyn" may come from the French name Aveline meaning "little bird". It can be traced back to the Germanic Ava (possibly meaning "desired") and the Latin avis ("bird"). Other possible sources are the Hebrew word meaning "light," or the Celtic meaning "life" or "life-giving".
As I said before, Craig prefers the definition "beautiful bird," which comes from www.babynames.com.
Anne was a popularly guessed middle name, and apparently means Gracious. And we had a few guesses of Aveline. Anyway, I didn't look up the meanings of all the names guessed, but I'm assuming most of them had some sort of birdy theme. Way to go, everyone! Hope you had as much fun with this as we did.
Here's the Wikipedia definition of Evelyn:
"Evelyn" may come from the French name Aveline meaning "little bird". It can be traced back to the Germanic Ava (possibly meaning "desired") and the Latin avis ("bird"). Other possible sources are the Hebrew word meaning "light," or the Celtic meaning "life" or "life-giving".
As I said before, Craig prefers the definition "beautiful bird," which comes from www.babynames.com.
Anne was a popularly guessed middle name, and apparently means Gracious. And we had a few guesses of Aveline. Anyway, I didn't look up the meanings of all the names guessed, but I'm assuming most of them had some sort of birdy theme. Way to go, everyone! Hope you had as much fun with this as we did.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Name Game
Well, Craig and I have made a valiant effort to keep our little girl's name a surprise. We've done fairly well, considering Craig is the world's worst secret keeper (he's only let the name slip 3 times in casual conversation but fortunately only one person caught it).
But we find ourselves in this strange place where we no longer care to keep the name under lock and chain. Originally, we were afraid we'd announce the name only to change our name or to learn that absolutely no other person on this earth finds the name appealing. Frankly, at this point neither reason is reason enough. We settled on this name months before we even knew we were having a girl and since then the name has grown on us to the point that even if our closest friends and family members tell us they hate the name, we won't back down. So it seems to be the appropriate time to share the name with all of you (plus, I saw some adorable monogrammed diaper covers and caps on thebump.com).
In order to avoid the (inevitable?) dribble of information and to keep things interesting, we decided to reveal the name via blog-contest. We'll tell you the meaning of the name and leave it up to you to research/guess at it by leaving comments on the blog. If we absolutely have to, we'll drop more hints as time goes by. Whoever guesses her name right first, wins. (There may even be a prize!) And no, if you're someone Craig or I have already slipped the name to, you aren't eligible to win.
So here it goes:
Her name (first and middle) taken together means "little bird of grace."
Okay, so it also can mean "beautiful bird of grace." I like "little;" Craig likes "beautiful." Whatever. Maybe now the birdie mania that has become our baby registry makes sense.
But we find ourselves in this strange place where we no longer care to keep the name under lock and chain. Originally, we were afraid we'd announce the name only to change our name or to learn that absolutely no other person on this earth finds the name appealing. Frankly, at this point neither reason is reason enough. We settled on this name months before we even knew we were having a girl and since then the name has grown on us to the point that even if our closest friends and family members tell us they hate the name, we won't back down. So it seems to be the appropriate time to share the name with all of you (plus, I saw some adorable monogrammed diaper covers and caps on thebump.com).
In order to avoid the (inevitable?) dribble of information and to keep things interesting, we decided to reveal the name via blog-contest. We'll tell you the meaning of the name and leave it up to you to research/guess at it by leaving comments on the blog. If we absolutely have to, we'll drop more hints as time goes by. Whoever guesses her name right first, wins. (There may even be a prize!) And no, if you're someone Craig or I have already slipped the name to, you aren't eligible to win.
So here it goes:
Her name (first and middle) taken together means "little bird of grace."
Okay, so it also can mean "beautiful bird of grace." I like "little;" Craig likes "beautiful." Whatever. Maybe now the birdie mania that has become our baby registry makes sense.
Friday, April 9, 2010
The Progression of Things
So yesterday I had my 30 week checkup with my doctor. Yikes! Something about the 30 week mark has me freaked out and realizing how close I am to having a new person living with me. With just 10 weeks left to go, I keep looking at our study/nursery and the heap of stuff that has accumulated and I want to cry. But Craig has promised me that this weekend he will get a guy to help him move all of the study stuff out of the study/nursery so that the room can become an official nursery-in-waiting. Which means I have my hands full today getting the study stuff organized and ready for the "big move!"
Anyway, at the appointment, I learned I've gained a grand total of 24 lbs so far. I was a little bummed about that. Everything I've read says I should gain between 25 and 35 lbs total and I'd hoped to keep it closer to the 25 lb side of things. But with 10 weeks left to go and the forecast weight gain of .5-1 lb a week, I shouldn't gain more than the recommended amount, which is good.
Something else that made me feel good is my doctor lifted my shirt to get the baby's heartbeat and exclaimed, "Your belly is so small for 30 weeks!" And then I think she felt bad for comparing her patients' bodies because she said, "It's just so interesting how each woman's body is so unique and responds in its own way to pregnancy." Whatever. My belly is small. My doctor told me so.
After taking the baby's heartbeat (140), my doctor then attempted to measure my fundal height (the size of my uterus). Turns out, she couldn't measure it right away because, in her words, I was "having a small contraction." Could've fooled me. A month ago, I was told I would start experiencing Braxton Hicks (false labor) contractions but I have yet to feel them. Apparently, though, the contractions make my stomach muscles tight, which prevents her from measuring the fundal height. So I lay on the table a minute or two and she kept checking to see if the contraction had let up. She said it's normal for me not to feel anything, but I'm a little distressed about it. I wish I knew what a contraction felt like so I could be prepared. So I keep putting my hands on my belly randomly throughout the day and try to gauge how tight my muscles seem to be.
So all in all, things are moving along. I had a pedicure this morning with a friend. Pedicures seem to be the thing to do when you're pregnant and can't easily reach your own feet any more. Now I just need to get things ready for "the move" tomorrow afternoon, and then maybe we can get to work painting the walls.
Anyway, at the appointment, I learned I've gained a grand total of 24 lbs so far. I was a little bummed about that. Everything I've read says I should gain between 25 and 35 lbs total and I'd hoped to keep it closer to the 25 lb side of things. But with 10 weeks left to go and the forecast weight gain of .5-1 lb a week, I shouldn't gain more than the recommended amount, which is good.
Something else that made me feel good is my doctor lifted my shirt to get the baby's heartbeat and exclaimed, "Your belly is so small for 30 weeks!" And then I think she felt bad for comparing her patients' bodies because she said, "It's just so interesting how each woman's body is so unique and responds in its own way to pregnancy." Whatever. My belly is small. My doctor told me so.
After taking the baby's heartbeat (140), my doctor then attempted to measure my fundal height (the size of my uterus). Turns out, she couldn't measure it right away because, in her words, I was "having a small contraction." Could've fooled me. A month ago, I was told I would start experiencing Braxton Hicks (false labor) contractions but I have yet to feel them. Apparently, though, the contractions make my stomach muscles tight, which prevents her from measuring the fundal height. So I lay on the table a minute or two and she kept checking to see if the contraction had let up. She said it's normal for me not to feel anything, but I'm a little distressed about it. I wish I knew what a contraction felt like so I could be prepared. So I keep putting my hands on my belly randomly throughout the day and try to gauge how tight my muscles seem to be.
So all in all, things are moving along. I had a pedicure this morning with a friend. Pedicures seem to be the thing to do when you're pregnant and can't easily reach your own feet any more. Now I just need to get things ready for "the move" tomorrow afternoon, and then maybe we can get to work painting the walls.
Monday, April 5, 2010
He is Risen (and all associated celebrations)
Five years ago when my husband and I first left middle America, the issue of how to celebrate Easter with no family and no small children around became a bit of a problem for me. Easter is the most important holiday of the year to me, but as bunnies and dyed eggs are a bit immature and no one ever invited us to their family Easter barbecues, Craig and I generally did nothing special to celebrate. We went to church (as usual) and then tried to find things to do. That first year, we did absolutely nothing. The next, I actually did make a ham for just the two of us. Another year, we hiked the mountain behind our house (this was in Colorado).
Well, thankfully our current church offers an Easter sunrise service each year. It's a nice way to do something out-of-the-ordinary to celebrate when there's not much else. We rolled out of bed at 5am, bundled into tights and sweaters and thick fuzzy socks; we packed hats and blankets. Last year, the sunrise service was cold and misty, but this year we found the blankets and hats superfluous. It was a beautiful morning. We started singing while it was still dark and by the time worship was over, the sky was full of lavenders and pinks. A friend of ours attended the service with us and, after the service, he and two of our other friends came over for an early Easter brunch. There was a mushroom and onion quiche, turkey bacon (alas, pork has been rendering me inexplicably ill since my pregnancy), hashbrowns, a spinach salad, and fresh pineapple, strawberries, and kumquats. We played word games and then tried our hand at a Lord of the Rings trivia game but quickly learned that our level of nerd-dom is not quite high enough to be successful at such a game.
When our friends left around noon, Craig and I proceeded to take a two-hour nap. (This was perhaps the highlight of the entire day.) And then life fell back into place a bit. I called my family, we washed dishes, ran out to buy laundry detergent, ran some loads of laundry, took the dogs out for some fresh air, played more word games, read, and ended with a movie and popcorn.
In the midst of all that, while we washed dishes, we noticed our "new" rocking chair (a friend's grandfather made it but she's passed it along to us) inexplicably rocking. We chalked it up to the dogs. An hour or two later when friends started asking us if we felt "the quake," we were totally confused. Craig looked up his go-to quake website and said it wasn't reporting any quakes and we decided just to ignore everyone. This morning, when family (from clear out in middle America) asked about the quake, we decided to look again. We went to a different website and lo and behold, there it was: a 7.2 in Baja California, Mexico. Apparently Craig's go-to website doesn't include Mexico on its map. Perhaps not the most helpful go-to quake website after all for people living in southern California.
But the real celebration took place hours after going to bed and hours before getting out of bed. Everyone says that 3rd trimester women don't get any sleep. They blame this on simple and inexplicable insomnia, on acid reflux and gas, on bladders pressed to near-bursting, on searing back pain, and on intense, hormone-driven dreams. Well, no one told me that I could be kept awake at night by the actual baby herself! About 2 or 3 in the morning, I woke up not because I had to pee and not because acid was burning my throat but because my little girl decided to throw a dance party inside my belly. If she were 13 years old I'd do something about this, but as it was all I could do was lay there and wait for her to tire out. Who knows? Maybe this was her way of celebrating.
Well, thankfully our current church offers an Easter sunrise service each year. It's a nice way to do something out-of-the-ordinary to celebrate when there's not much else. We rolled out of bed at 5am, bundled into tights and sweaters and thick fuzzy socks; we packed hats and blankets. Last year, the sunrise service was cold and misty, but this year we found the blankets and hats superfluous. It was a beautiful morning. We started singing while it was still dark and by the time worship was over, the sky was full of lavenders and pinks. A friend of ours attended the service with us and, after the service, he and two of our other friends came over for an early Easter brunch. There was a mushroom and onion quiche, turkey bacon (alas, pork has been rendering me inexplicably ill since my pregnancy), hashbrowns, a spinach salad, and fresh pineapple, strawberries, and kumquats. We played word games and then tried our hand at a Lord of the Rings trivia game but quickly learned that our level of nerd-dom is not quite high enough to be successful at such a game.
When our friends left around noon, Craig and I proceeded to take a two-hour nap. (This was perhaps the highlight of the entire day.) And then life fell back into place a bit. I called my family, we washed dishes, ran out to buy laundry detergent, ran some loads of laundry, took the dogs out for some fresh air, played more word games, read, and ended with a movie and popcorn.
In the midst of all that, while we washed dishes, we noticed our "new" rocking chair (a friend's grandfather made it but she's passed it along to us) inexplicably rocking. We chalked it up to the dogs. An hour or two later when friends started asking us if we felt "the quake," we were totally confused. Craig looked up his go-to quake website and said it wasn't reporting any quakes and we decided just to ignore everyone. This morning, when family (from clear out in middle America) asked about the quake, we decided to look again. We went to a different website and lo and behold, there it was: a 7.2 in Baja California, Mexico. Apparently Craig's go-to website doesn't include Mexico on its map. Perhaps not the most helpful go-to quake website after all for people living in southern California.
But the real celebration took place hours after going to bed and hours before getting out of bed. Everyone says that 3rd trimester women don't get any sleep. They blame this on simple and inexplicable insomnia, on acid reflux and gas, on bladders pressed to near-bursting, on searing back pain, and on intense, hormone-driven dreams. Well, no one told me that I could be kept awake at night by the actual baby herself! About 2 or 3 in the morning, I woke up not because I had to pee and not because acid was burning my throat but because my little girl decided to throw a dance party inside my belly. If she were 13 years old I'd do something about this, but as it was all I could do was lay there and wait for her to tire out. Who knows? Maybe this was her way of celebrating.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Minor Tragedies and Major Successes
Things have been a little crazy around here lately. The mold has been cleaned up, new walls have been put back into place, and the painting of the new walls is (almost) complete. My computer crashed, a temporary replacement computer (a dinosaur of a full 5 years ago) has been found, and the backlog of freelance work I was unable to get to due to the lack of computer has been cleared away. My husband turned 30 years old, we nearly died in a nighttime blizzard on our way to Tahoe, we skied and/or shopped, made a music video, posed for an old-time Western photo, and returned to balmy 80 degree beach weather, where I managed to come down with a crazy sinus problem that has not (as of yet) turned into a full-blown infection but that has definitely knocked me flat on my back for the past few days (yes, Mom, I'm drinking plenty of liquids (12 cups a day) and taking Tylenol for pain/fever and taking a decongestant per doctor's orders).
Due to the sinus problems, all I really ever want to eat these days is ice cream--which actually isn't that big of a change for me. But for lunch yesterday, despite the half gallon of Dreyer's Cookie Dough in my freezer, I settled for a Pomegranate-Pick-Me-Up smoothie from Jamba Juice instead and then settled down to watch Sunset Boulevard. So glad I did! Baby LOVES SMOOTHIES! The acrobats taking place in my stomach were sometimes more fun to watch than the movie, even if they did occasionally make me slightly uncomfortable (baby can KICK too!). Craig is working from home today (so he can "be available to take care of a certain sick pregnant lady") and we're definitely headed back to Jamba Juice again for lunch so he can see how giddy a little bit of pomegranate juice mixed with raspberry sherbert makes our little girl.
But the big news is that I've finally finished a nearly year-long domestic project: throw pillows. The last thing I sewed was a football pillow in middle school, which earned me a solid B, perhaps the only B I received until high school. So I was pretty dependent on a good friend of mine to pull me through. Despite sewing machine problems, a wedding, a honeymoon, a new pregnancy, bouts of morning sickness, and holiday travels, these lovely little pillows are finally finished. And they're quite beautiful if I do say so myself. As for durability, well, that will be put to the test soon enough.
Due to the sinus problems, all I really ever want to eat these days is ice cream--which actually isn't that big of a change for me. But for lunch yesterday, despite the half gallon of Dreyer's Cookie Dough in my freezer, I settled for a Pomegranate-Pick-Me-Up smoothie from Jamba Juice instead and then settled down to watch Sunset Boulevard. So glad I did! Baby LOVES SMOOTHIES! The acrobats taking place in my stomach were sometimes more fun to watch than the movie, even if they did occasionally make me slightly uncomfortable (baby can KICK too!). Craig is working from home today (so he can "be available to take care of a certain sick pregnant lady") and we're definitely headed back to Jamba Juice again for lunch so he can see how giddy a little bit of pomegranate juice mixed with raspberry sherbert makes our little girl.
But the big news is that I've finally finished a nearly year-long domestic project: throw pillows. The last thing I sewed was a football pillow in middle school, which earned me a solid B, perhaps the only B I received until high school. So I was pretty dependent on a good friend of mine to pull me through. Despite sewing machine problems, a wedding, a honeymoon, a new pregnancy, bouts of morning sickness, and holiday travels, these lovely little pillows are finally finished. And they're quite beautiful if I do say so myself. As for durability, well, that will be put to the test soon enough.
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