My New Favorite Baby Story

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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!].

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.

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.)

A Busy Few Weeks

A lot has been happening in the last few weeks. I went from being afraid my child would spend her first few months naked to acquiring quite an abundance of clothes. Any maybe more than enough pink, frilly things to Daddy Clay's displeasure. But what can you do when your sister-in-law offers to unload a garbage bag of free stuff on you (only our favorite Ellen outfits, she had said). And then there was the bag of 0-3 month stuff from Matt's coworker for $20. Because I didn't have a single onesie or sleeper yet and was starting to get worried. Last night I rounded up all the baby clothes I had accumulated and washed them all. And while I'll do this a thousand times in the future, that first time is just...weird. Once washed and dried, I did my best to match bottoms with tops and sort into piles: 0-3, 3-6, 6-9, 12 mos., 18 mos. I'll be able to tuck away a lot of those favorite Ellen outfits because it will be a year at least before I use them, but the tiniest onesies and sleepers and pink rompers will need to go in the dresser (if it ever comes in--I ordered it 6 weeks ago!).

I'm also the proud owner of a Diaper Genie, a baby bathtub ( I swore I would not spend $30 on a new one!), and a boppy pillow, thanks to people at work. For those keeping track, that's about $100 in savings right there. And Jennie just offered me her extra car seat base, so there's another $35. So I finally feel like I'm gathering the stuff I need to have a baby. There are others I need to work on--a pump, baby monitor, crib sheets, bibs, wipes--and I have lists everywhere of things to do, people to call, stuff to buy. I need to pack a bag for the hospital, but I also need to buy a nursing nightgown and robe for the trip. Somehow I'm not sure the Mountain Dew shirt and jogging shorts I stole from Matt and have been wearing to bed for 3 months will work.

And we started baby class last week. I didn't think there were too many mysteries left for me regarding this whole baby-making process. After all, I did read the What to Expect When You're Expecting book. But there's something to be said about the lifesize models of what your cervix looks like just before birth and talk of it stretching like a rubber band. I was also told that you're not supposed to go to the hospital until contractions are only 5 minutes apart. Essentially, the head should be about halfway out before you show up. They suggested walking the mall instead. Yeah, because I totally see me and Daddy Clay comparing Yankee Candle scents while I try to pretend I'm not about to pop out a kid.

This week's class is focusing on birthing positions. Despite what television and movies have taught us, lying on your back is not the optimum position for this. There's a whole chart of better positions--squatting, hands and knees, in a tub, etc. Since DC will be at a conference, I guess Miss Joseph will have to help me decide on that one.

Happy Easter Baby Clay

I want you to know that this morning I slept until almost 9, and if everything I've ever heard about babies is true, this sleeping in thing will be over in approximately two months. But what say we make a deal? What if you try really hard to be that one baby who sleeps through the night after about a month? What if you learn to differentiate weekends from weekdays and sleep even longer on Saturday and Sunday mornings? In return, I could promise to buy you a pony someday. Just kick me a couple times in the abdomen if you're cool with this arrangement...okay, and judging from the way my stomach just moved on its own, it would appear like you're on board. Or maybe you're simply excited by the fact that I just ate a big bowl of Raisin Bran. I guess we'll know in a couple months.

Interesting fact about being pregnant: once you hit a certain point, there's no hiding the fact that you're baking a baby in your belly. No sweatshirt is large enough to cover the ever-rounding stomach, the waddling, the wheezing. So that means when you go into a gas station to grab a Snapple, the cashier is going to look at your belly, smile, and ask (in rapid succession) When are you due? Do you know if it's a boy or girl? Do you have names picked out? As if 1)it were any of her business any of it and 2)the answers actually mattered to her.

Granted, there are women out there who love the attention that comes with incubating life. I have a friend who's that way. She takes every opportunity to rub her belly in public. She'll shake her head no, say she wasn't out on Saturday night because (and here's where she points to her belly) she's expecting. She likes to giggle and talk about names, cravings, weight gain, night sweats--all things baby. But I'm not really that way. I like to pretend that I have other interesting things to talk about--my graduate classes, stories I'm working on, that trip to Europe I took last summer, the state of our nation, who should be kicked off American Idol--but no one wants to hear about that. They want to know if I've started mixing pickles with peanut butter or ice cream and summer sausage. They want to know if I can feel the baby kick, if I've picked out a crib, if I'm enjoying sleeping in while I can. Because that's going to stop as soon as you have a kid, they all say.

Hmm. I had a point when I started this. But I've forgotten, as I've forgotten so many things lately. I can say this--on CNN today there was a post about a study done on pregnant women and their memories. They've proven a link between being pregnant and being forgetful. The study also showed that three months after giving birth, memory usually improves (thank goodness!).

First of all, congratulations Baby Clay. You are officially a girl. We have the potentially embarrassing pictures to prove it--amazing that they can do with a sonogram machine these days. This is good news. It would be difficult for me to start switching pronouns now after calling you a she for the last month and a half. Plus Daddy Clay and I had pretty much stopped discussing boy names. We have a short list of girl names, but nothing definitive. So you're still stuck with Baby Clay for now.

Secondly, you'll be pleased to know that our weekend was spent clearing out the baby room of all things Mommy's. Unfortunately, most of it has ended up in our living room. We're working on consolidating it into the two rooms downstairs. We also put together the crib. Yay! Turns out putting together furniture is one of those things Daddy and I are pretty good at. We've made some bookcases, a kitchen table, that IKEA shelf thing. We don't even fight when we do it. That's gotta be a good sign of something.

Tomorrow we're going to look at a house about 5 miles out in the country. I'm torn about this. While I like the idea of having a bit more space and trees, and a place to plant a really big garden (and did I mention it has this huge outdoor pool), it means not having neighbors and block parties and a place to borrow an egg. Then again, I wouldn't ask any of our neighbors now to borrow an egg. But the point is, I grew up in a neighborhood with no less than 5 girls within a year of me. That meant for some sweet games of capture the flag and flashlight tag. But in the country? Then again, if we have a pool I'm pretty sure you'll never be hurting for friends. Neither will Mommy and Daddy. We'll see how the inside looks tomorrow. It's definitely older than this house: 1967 versus 2003. Do I really want to start the remodeling process all over again? Especially while pregnant? I'll keep you updated.

Food update: I am eating lots of the following--cereal (especially Golden Grahams and Honey Nut Cheerios), iced oatmeal cookies (I had a dream about them and needed to buy them immediately), orange juice, grape juice, pink lemonade (not technically foods, I know), yogurt, and bananas.

And finally, I need another new bra. I've outgrown the first maternity bra I bought. It was an ambitious purchase, I know, getting it at month 3. But really, who would have thought they'd get even bigger? Eesh.

Dear Baby Clay,

It's 10:30 and I should probably be in bed based on all those pregnancy books that say things about getting enough sleep for the baby and blah blah blah. I think they'd have something to say about me not getting enough fruits and vegetables and substituting fruit snacks and oj instead. Then again, so would your Auntie Jess.

And since it's late but I really felt the need to update, I'll just do this is bulleted list format. That sounds nice.

• Your Uncle Joe and Aunt Kari are having a baby boy. They found out a couple weeks ago, but I sensed that the whole time. This will be your cousin who will only be a week or two older than you. Or maybe more or less. Guess we don't really know these things until they happen. Really, you could come first. Who knows?
• Your Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dan (Yes, you're going to have a lot of "Aunts" and Uncles"--not to be confused with Joel and Kari from the last bulleted point. They're blood relatives, not necessarily the people I chose to associate with because of their super coolness [think: Aunt Jess]) Anyway, they're also having a boy. And again, I suspected that was such from the beginning. Unfortunately, Aunt Rachel needs some time to adjust. She was really thinking girl. But if she's lucky, that boy will come out with eyelashes like his dad. That man has some beeyootiful eyelashes. You'll likely get to know this boy well too. And if all goes well, in 25 or so years you will come to realize your lifelong love for each other, marry, and have babies with those beeyootiful eyelashes. That is, assuming that first sonographer was right and you are a girl. But don't get this confused with me saying I have a problem with you two getting together if you are both boys. I certainly don't. You'll learn early on that your mama is a proud liberal who will gladly accept you no matter who you fall in love with. (Okay, that's a lie. Even I have my limits. You'll know when you've hit them.)
• Wow, that was a long bulleted point. I may have forgotten what else I was going to note. Oh yes, the heartburn. I'd read about that in the baby book too. I thought that, much like that morning sickness they'd talked about, this would skip me too. But it hasn't. And it's come with a frenzy. At first I wasn't even sure what it was because it was like no heartburn I'd had before. It felt like when you walk outside on the coldest winter days and your breath just escapes you. Or like when you chug a glass of ice water too fast. It's a cool buring from top of throat to chest. I've basically been chasing my meals with Tums.
• Gas. It's also come back with a vengance. Mostly I feel bad for you father. He has to share a bed with me.
  
• Speaking of your father, he's already tracking down the best possible daycare facility for you. Good thing he's here. If it were up to me, I'd forget about it until a week before I went back to work and then drop you off at the closest available home with no time to check if the owner has locks on the lower cabinets where she stores her toilet bowl cleaner. Ok, maybe that's not entirely true. But you can be sure it wouldn't be on my radar until a bit closer to your birth (or just afterward, I promise).
• I'm officially wearing maternity pants. Okay, that started closer to Christmas. But I was really trying to get myself into my jeans for as long as possible. And yes, that meant threading a ponytail holder through the button hole to add a couple extra inches. That added another week to my pre-maternity clothes time. But now I'm into the stretchy panel pants. And I gotta say, I'm not missing zippers. These are seriously the most comfortable pants I've ever owned aside from sweatpants. In fact, it really feels like I'm wearing pajamas to work. I give this two thumbs up.
• Speaking of thumbs, the baby book says you have fingerprints this week. Good job! Way to go! What a great effort!
• Next week we'll know for sure if you are Baby Girl Clay or Baby Boy Clay. Frankly, it never mattered to me one way or the other. But I have started using the female pronouns, so that might get awkward if you turn out to be a boy. I'll keep you posted.
• Remind me to tell you about the moment I had with my mom in Don Pablo's. That's a good story. Instead I'll just say that I'm really excited to feel you start kicking. Any time, the book says. So...let's get on that, k? Great.

And now I'm going to go drink lemonade out of the carton. Goodnight baby.