Dear little girl who keeps me waiting,
I now have the perfect story to throw out at your 13th birthday party, the day you bring a boy home, at your own baby shower someday. It's a story I find hilarious and one I'm sure you'll grow to hate. So I'll do my best to only share it on special occasions and not Facebook it.
On Wednesday I had what I hope to be my last doctor's appointment without a baby. For the record, I have another one scheduled on Monday afternoon in case you still haven't decided to vacate the premises, but I really hope that's an appointment I can cancel. The appointment was going well. I was at 3cm, things were moving and thinning and generally looking good. Then the doc said, "Wait. What's this? I've been feeling a head for the last few appointments and now it feels like a butt." She thought maybe it was just paranoia, but she wanted an ultrasound just to be sure. I looked at Papa Clay. A butt would mean c-section for sure, something I'm not particularly interested in.
We walked over to the ultrasound room and checked it out. Thankfully, you were still head down. I breathed a sigh of relief. No imminent c-section for me...just a kid whose head was mistaken for a butt. Which definitely comes from your father's side.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Yesterday, instead of having a baby...
...I had another Monday at work. A long, painful Monday full of people saying "didn't expect to see you here today" "when are you due" "you look so uncomfortable" "I did ____ to make the baby come." Over and over and over. And I do my best to be polite because they don't know how annoying they are or how often I hear the same thing in a day. It's getting painful. Worse than the lower back aches and the hip joints.
...I ate Dominoes pizza and cinnamon sticks.
...I watched Papa Clay spray paint a bookcase and touch up the paint on the front door.
...I weeded the garden. Yep, on my hands and knees. I even got sweaty. I thought for sure this would hurry things along. It didn't.
And today I went to work again, thinking (HOPING) that you would show up right on your due date. That you would be one of those 5% of babies born on the day that has been circled on their mommies' calendars for six months. Really, I sort of believed you would be that baby, that the date I've had in my head all this time--6-22-10--would be the one date I'd have to remember for the rest of my life, the date I'd have to write down as I filled out your baby book and your kindergarten registration and your junior high hockey participation form (I threw that last one in for your dad). But unless you show up soon and with a vengeance, I don't see this happening. I don't see myself being a mommy in 4 1/2 hours. (Though if that's what you're planning, don't feel like you need to change your plans for me.) Instead, it's another night of waiting and wondering just when you'll decide to show up. Thankfully, I have a doc appointment set up for tomorrow morning. Hopefully, she'll be able to give me a little more insight.
...I ate Dominoes pizza and cinnamon sticks.
...I watched Papa Clay spray paint a bookcase and touch up the paint on the front door.
...I weeded the garden. Yep, on my hands and knees. I even got sweaty. I thought for sure this would hurry things along. It didn't.
And today I went to work again, thinking (HOPING) that you would show up right on your due date. That you would be one of those 5% of babies born on the day that has been circled on their mommies' calendars for six months. Really, I sort of believed you would be that baby, that the date I've had in my head all this time--6-22-10--would be the one date I'd have to remember for the rest of my life, the date I'd have to write down as I filled out your baby book and your kindergarten registration and your junior high hockey participation form (I threw that last one in for your dad). But unless you show up soon and with a vengeance, I don't see this happening. I don't see myself being a mommy in 4 1/2 hours. (Though if that's what you're planning, don't feel like you need to change your plans for me.) Instead, it's another night of waiting and wondering just when you'll decide to show up. Thankfully, I have a doc appointment set up for tomorrow morning. Hopefully, she'll be able to give me a little more insight.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Today, instead of having a baby...
...I made French toast, bacon, and coffee and watched HGTV.
...I read the paper and clipped out coupons and recycled the Sports section.
...I dealt with a crabby husband with a migraine who was no help in getting the floors scrubbed, the only thing in the world that I want done right now. And not like a quick run-through with the Swiffer. No, I want to see someone on his or her hands and knees scrubbing that floor with a sponge. And I keep thinking about doing it, but I know I can't, that my knees and back can't handle it and why won't someone do it for me?
...I talked to Aunt Jess, who said she'd scrub my floors if she were here. And I know she would, too. She'd scrub them until they shined, and then she'd make a meatloaf and cupcakes with homemade frosting.
...I talked to Aunt Jennie, who retold her unfortunate labor story--including all the details about her hours of pushing and how she ultimately needed a C-section.
...I made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
...I did laundry.
...I pulled out a puzzle I hadn't looked at in years and put it together. And when I finished, I sat up and nearly fell over from the pain in my back.
...I thought about you, Baby Clay. A lot. Mostly I thought about how this is (HOPEFULLY!) my last weekend without you and how there's really nothing I'd rather be doing than holding you, touching you, getting to know you. (That, and I've been cursing that fact that it looks like I'll be spending another day at work.)
...I read the paper and clipped out coupons and recycled the Sports section.
...I dealt with a crabby husband with a migraine who was no help in getting the floors scrubbed, the only thing in the world that I want done right now. And not like a quick run-through with the Swiffer. No, I want to see someone on his or her hands and knees scrubbing that floor with a sponge. And I keep thinking about doing it, but I know I can't, that my knees and back can't handle it and why won't someone do it for me?
...I talked to Aunt Jess, who said she'd scrub my floors if she were here. And I know she would, too. She'd scrub them until they shined, and then she'd make a meatloaf and cupcakes with homemade frosting.
...I talked to Aunt Jennie, who retold her unfortunate labor story--including all the details about her hours of pushing and how she ultimately needed a C-section.
...I made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
...I did laundry.
...I pulled out a puzzle I hadn't looked at in years and put it together. And when I finished, I sat up and nearly fell over from the pain in my back.
...I thought about you, Baby Clay. A lot. Mostly I thought about how this is (HOPEFULLY!) my last weekend without you and how there's really nothing I'd rather be doing than holding you, touching you, getting to know you. (That, and I've been cursing that fact that it looks like I'll be spending another day at work.)
Monday, June 7, 2010
A Few More Things
I meant to write a brief note about last week's doctor appointment. Things started out same as always--get a weight (ugh!), pee in a cup, get blood pressure checked, have doctor look at grossly swollen feet. Then she had me on the bed, tummy covered with gel, ready to hear the heartbeat. But she couldn't get one. She rubbed the little microphone-thing around a while before declaring that the batteries were dead. So she got new ones and tried again. But again, nothing. And, granted, this lasted a whole two minutes, but it quickly became unnerving for me. I was trying to remember if I had felt BC move around that morning (I hadn't). I stayed calm, but I began mentally preparing to be rushed over to the hospital.
Again, this whole process lasted only about two minutes, but I realized just how frightened I could get about this tiny person I haven't even met yet. But eventually there was a heartbeat (150s) and all was fine in the world. When I called Papa Clay later and retold the story, he let me know how glad he was that he hadn't been there, that he would have freaked out. And I nodded and said, "I know baby." Because I did know. That man would not have handled it well.
Again, this whole process lasted only about two minutes, but I realized just how frightened I could get about this tiny person I haven't even met yet. But eventually there was a heartbeat (150s) and all was fine in the world. When I called Papa Clay later and retold the story, he let me know how glad he was that he hadn't been there, that he would have freaked out. And I nodded and said, "I know baby." Because I did know. That man would not have handled it well.
The Waiting Game
This waiting thing sucks. I'm anxious pretty much all the time. Papa Clay and I spent the weekend staring blankly at each other and wandering from room to room looking for something, anything to do. It's difficult without house projects or baby projects or homework. We're bored. And when we get bored, we tend to fight. But this weekend we were even too bored to fight. Instead, I did some last minute baby laundry--sleepers and socks they were practically giving away at the end of a neighbor's garage sale. I also picked up a glider and ottoman with cushions that need to be reupholstered and wood to be painted darker. But that's unlikely to happen before baby gets here.
We went through the registry and the baby book to determine what else we should have (bottles, bottle brush, Pedialyte). And we sat on our deck and pretended we were enjoying the weather and the quiet. But mostly we stared at each other, at the belly, guessing at when it would all be over, when we'd finally meet Baby Clay. (And with my doctor out of town all weekend, I spent a lot of time willing her to stay in, at least until Monday.)
I also had a chance to speak to new mom Rachel, who had her baby last Wednesday. Thankfully, she didn't have any frightening stories to share, just one word of advice: get the epidural as soon as possible. I let her know that it wouldn't be a problem, that I am all about the drugs, that even my doctor declared that they were invented for a reason and that I should take what I can get. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love my doctor? I love that she tells me every visit that her son's birthday is the day before my due date. And that she gained 50 pounds with her pregnancy and so has never given me any grief about my own weight gain [of which I'm not sharing!].
We went through the registry and the baby book to determine what else we should have (bottles, bottle brush, Pedialyte). And we sat on our deck and pretended we were enjoying the weather and the quiet. But mostly we stared at each other, at the belly, guessing at when it would all be over, when we'd finally meet Baby Clay. (And with my doctor out of town all weekend, I spent a lot of time willing her to stay in, at least until Monday.)
I also had a chance to speak to new mom Rachel, who had her baby last Wednesday. Thankfully, she didn't have any frightening stories to share, just one word of advice: get the epidural as soon as possible. I let her know that it wouldn't be a problem, that I am all about the drugs, that even my doctor declared that they were invented for a reason and that I should take what I can get. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love my doctor? I love that she tells me every visit that her son's birthday is the day before my due date. And that she gained 50 pounds with her pregnancy and so has never given me any grief about my own weight gain [of which I'm not sharing!].
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Boo!
You know what's just cruel for a very pregnant lady? Itchy mosquito bites on your feet. Especially considering I haven't been able to reach my feet for a month.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Last Night of Baby Class
Last night was the last night of baby birthing class (we still have breastfeeding, newborn care, and carseat safety class to go). I think they may have saved some of the worst info for last (though I didn't think it would get worse than watching a 20-year-old video of on overweight, sweaty woman giving birth--with a giant mirror at the end of the bed so she could see what was happening. Ugh.)
Anyway, last night was the night the nurse pulled out the bag of "after-birth goodies." That's when I found out how long I'd bleed afterward. That's when I saw the giant diaper pads we get in the hospital. That's when they pulled out the squirt bottle and said this is how we'll want to wipe ourselves for the next few weeks. Warm water, not cold. And then there were Preparation H wipes. Oh, and they mentioned more than a few times the stitches. I tried to tell Jess all of this, but she did not seem interested in hearing it. "Oh, but I'll be the best person to talk to when you have a baby," I told her. "I'll tell you everything that people don't tell you." She didn't seem interested in that either.
But then I told her the interesting thing about pregnancy. I told her that I was super scared by all of this at the beginning, that the idea of actually pushing something out of there terrified me. But the longer you're pregnant, the less you care. You've felt this baby rolling and kicking and moving around inside you for so long, you're ready for her to come out so you can actually see her and hold her. You don't care anymore how that happens. You accept your fate and know that if it were really that bad, people would not have siblings. I was number 3, after all. If it were that bad, I wouldn't even exist. (Yes, I gave my mom extra props last Sunday on Mother's Day. I think I get it now.)
Anyway, last night was the night the nurse pulled out the bag of "after-birth goodies." That's when I found out how long I'd bleed afterward. That's when I saw the giant diaper pads we get in the hospital. That's when they pulled out the squirt bottle and said this is how we'll want to wipe ourselves for the next few weeks. Warm water, not cold. And then there were Preparation H wipes. Oh, and they mentioned more than a few times the stitches. I tried to tell Jess all of this, but she did not seem interested in hearing it. "Oh, but I'll be the best person to talk to when you have a baby," I told her. "I'll tell you everything that people don't tell you." She didn't seem interested in that either.
But then I told her the interesting thing about pregnancy. I told her that I was super scared by all of this at the beginning, that the idea of actually pushing something out of there terrified me. But the longer you're pregnant, the less you care. You've felt this baby rolling and kicking and moving around inside you for so long, you're ready for her to come out so you can actually see her and hold her. You don't care anymore how that happens. You accept your fate and know that if it were really that bad, people would not have siblings. I was number 3, after all. If it were that bad, I wouldn't even exist. (Yes, I gave my mom extra props last Sunday on Mother's Day. I think I get it now.)
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