Hi....Okayyyy...this is kinda weird. Not that my mom has a blog written all about me and her, but that all of you readers know who I am but I don't know you. If you haven't guessed yet...(drum roll please)...I'm the one, the only, Grace!!! My mom calls me Grace on the blog, but people really call me GRACIE.
I told my mom the posts I like and the ones I didn't read:
Gracie: Mom, I read your blog.
Mom: Really? How much did you read?
Gracie: All of it.
Mom: Oh, wow. How long that take you?
Gracie: Not that long. It was really easy.
Mom: Did you read the comments too?
Gracie: Only some. I didn't read those "Daily...
Mom: "Weekly...
Gracie: Whatever. "WEEKLY Slug." I thought it looked boring.
Mom: Really. It's not.
Gracie: Yeah, but I already know the whole story and I live with Stella now.
Mom: Gracie, it's not just about that. It was how I was feeling too.
Gracie: Oh, well it looked to educational. I mean with the pictures and all.
I had to tell my mom my terms, though, if I were to write on the blog.
1) My wording is NOT edited. Only my spelling, etc. is edited.
2) My posts will be in my own font and color.
My mom is also like, "Gracie, you need to sound more mature when you post. You're audience is now adults." I don't know how to write to adults. This could be a problem.
My mom hasn't even posted yet that she told me! I guess she wanted me to post in my own time.
Some of my favorite posts:
And yet another cake fiasco
The Children's Day Caramel Cake; I actually LOVED this cake. Yes, it was really ugly, but it was soooooo good.
Being A Baby is Hard to Do
I told my mom that the last two photos make her look like a old man.
Handling the Boys
When I was writing that long made up story about why I couldn't meet him, I kept thinking in my head "I'm writing a frickin' novel!"
Handling the Boys Part II
I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING!!! Plus, what was mom doing looking in my message box in the first place?!?!?!?!?
Showing posts with label The Weekly Slug. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Weekly Slug. Show all posts
Friday, November 13, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
News at last
At 8:27a on Friday, August 7th, Stella Magna was born under a full moon, which was completely overshadowed by its brighter cousin, the sun. Yet despite this, Stella shone like a star, perfect in every way, bringing joy to all around her. I am beyond in love with her. Since she officially came into our family Friday morning, we all have been crying in joy, smiling in peaceful contentedness, and spreading love between us in ways I have never imagined before. All went as well as we could have possibly asked for. Stella is healthy, I am healthy, we're going home from the hospital this afternoon. I promise I'll update the blog with more pictures as soon as we're home and have more time.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 34 weeks, almost 35, but who's counting anymore because we're going to have a baby in not more than 11 days.
I thought I'd give you guys some fun stuff to savor since events have been a bit on the heavy side around here.
First, a picture that my husband took of me right before I was taken to triage at labor and delivery last Wednesday night.
I look terrific, don't I? Like it's really not 11 o'clock at night and that I'm contemplating a delivery at 34 weeks? Like I'm not sitting there having contraction after contraction thinking, 'hm, these are starting to hurt a bit'? You guys are too kind. Thank you for reassuring me that I look just fine.
That trip to the hospital did have one good effect. It woke us up to the reality that we were completely unprepared for a baby to come into the house. Or even into our lives. Here's a picture of every first-time dad's nightmare:
That car seat wasn't even out of the box last Wednesday night, much less in the car when we left for the hospital. I guess we figured that if the girl was born at 34 weeks, it was highly unlikely she'd leave the hospital right away with us. Still, the stroller has no wheels and we still really have no idea how to put the car seat in the car safely. I am POSITIVE that when Grace was a baby I was one of those 4 out of 5 people who had the car seat installed incorrectly. Positive.
I still don't have a bag packed for the hospital. For myself or for the Slug. Oh my.
One good thing about Papai going to Brazil just a few weeks before his Slug's birth is that he brought back gifts and gifts and gifts and, oh, did I mention? Some gifts. Here is one of my favorites.
This is from one of my sisters-in-law. It is one bottle of shampoo and one bottle of lotion specially formulated for both mommy and baby. They both smell amazing. She sells products from the entire line of this company. It is like a woman's dream-come-true to have someone in the family constantly supplying green-friendly beauty and health products. She is fabulous.
Even better as a dream-come-true is that I got these babies all prettied up this afternoon, while also having my feet scrubbed and massaged and pampered:
I can't keep my toes from looking like little sausages skewered onto the end of a pot roast, but I can at least get them to be cute. And feel cute. I cannot tell you how amazing of a treat this was. I haven't been able to reach my feet for weeks now, consequently my podiatric hygiene and care has been less than acceptable. Given that I only wear flip-flops now, it was grossing me out a lot that everyone could see them. So I got myself to the mall, went to one of those nail-only places, made good use of the back massager in the treatment chair and relaxed for about an hour. At the very least, by the time this picture was taken my ankle bones were showing a bit. That's a distinct improvement over their normal appearance of late.
And now for my confessions of guilty pleasures. The entire bottom drawers of my nightstand is filled with my stash. Witness it in all its decadent glory:
I wish I could tell you that this is just a symptom of pregnancy but alas, I am a big wimp when it comes to resisting sweets. So there you go. The caramels were just purchased last night on a distinct pregnancy craving. The juicy fruit is going with us to the hospital. When I get around to packing a bag. Assuming that is before the Slug is actually born.
Enough for now about the Slug. I've been neglecting discussion of Grace. Also of The Cat. They will get some good dedicated posts soon. Because they are both pretty awesome.
First, a picture that my husband took of me right before I was taken to triage at labor and delivery last Wednesday night.
I look terrific, don't I? Like it's really not 11 o'clock at night and that I'm contemplating a delivery at 34 weeks? Like I'm not sitting there having contraction after contraction thinking, 'hm, these are starting to hurt a bit'? You guys are too kind. Thank you for reassuring me that I look just fine.
That trip to the hospital did have one good effect. It woke us up to the reality that we were completely unprepared for a baby to come into the house. Or even into our lives. Here's a picture of every first-time dad's nightmare:
That car seat wasn't even out of the box last Wednesday night, much less in the car when we left for the hospital. I guess we figured that if the girl was born at 34 weeks, it was highly unlikely she'd leave the hospital right away with us. Still, the stroller has no wheels and we still really have no idea how to put the car seat in the car safely. I am POSITIVE that when Grace was a baby I was one of those 4 out of 5 people who had the car seat installed incorrectly. Positive.
I still don't have a bag packed for the hospital. For myself or for the Slug. Oh my.
One good thing about Papai going to Brazil just a few weeks before his Slug's birth is that he brought back gifts and gifts and gifts and, oh, did I mention? Some gifts. Here is one of my favorites.
This is from one of my sisters-in-law. It is one bottle of shampoo and one bottle of lotion specially formulated for both mommy and baby. They both smell amazing. She sells products from the entire line of this company. It is like a woman's dream-come-true to have someone in the family constantly supplying green-friendly beauty and health products. She is fabulous.
Even better as a dream-come-true is that I got these babies all prettied up this afternoon, while also having my feet scrubbed and massaged and pampered:
I can't keep my toes from looking like little sausages skewered onto the end of a pot roast, but I can at least get them to be cute. And feel cute. I cannot tell you how amazing of a treat this was. I haven't been able to reach my feet for weeks now, consequently my podiatric hygiene and care has been less than acceptable. Given that I only wear flip-flops now, it was grossing me out a lot that everyone could see them. So I got myself to the mall, went to one of those nail-only places, made good use of the back massager in the treatment chair and relaxed for about an hour. At the very least, by the time this picture was taken my ankle bones were showing a bit. That's a distinct improvement over their normal appearance of late.
And now for my confessions of guilty pleasures. The entire bottom drawers of my nightstand is filled with my stash. Witness it in all its decadent glory:
I wish I could tell you that this is just a symptom of pregnancy but alas, I am a big wimp when it comes to resisting sweets. So there you go. The caramels were just purchased last night on a distinct pregnancy craving. The juicy fruit is going with us to the hospital. When I get around to packing a bag. Assuming that is before the Slug is actually born.
Enough for now about the Slug. I've been neglecting discussion of Grace. Also of The Cat. They will get some good dedicated posts soon. Because they are both pretty awesome.
Friday, July 10, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 32 weeks, or T minus 4 weeks and counting
Here we go.
My husband is leaving for Brazil on Sunday. He is quite insistent that the only thing his daughter needs to do is stay put. Just be happy. Don't try any funny business and all will be fine. I assured him nothing will happen until he's back on the 21st. I'm not dilated, my cervix is high, my blood pressure is fine, everything looks typical for a woman at my stage of pregnancy NOT ready to go into preterm labor. So just don't worry. The only thing he'll miss is my appointment next week with the obstetrician who will be performing my cesarean. We'll be discussing our hopes and dreams for this birth. Or rather, I'll be discussing my husband's and my hopes and dreams on behalf of the two of us.
Last night we took a tour of the hospital maternity ward where our girl will be delivered. That was a little surreal. We had been there before about a month ago for monitoring because my contractions were not happy about calming down. At the time I thought, I'm never coming back here to this triage unit. Since I wasn't in need of actual care last night, we got the tour this time. All the other couples seemed happy and wanted to know about birth plans and such. Our hospital prefers that natural birth be the default and that women triage, labor, deliver and recover in the same room. Baby stays with Mom always. Baby never leaves Mom. I was wishing I could do birth like that at least once. When Grace was born, I labored in a labor room, delivered in a delivery room (read: OR), recovered in a recovery room, and she was whisked away immediately after birth for a couple hours to sob in misery in a nursery while being poked and prodded by latex fingers and lay in a bassinet alone.
On the tour last night, I just asked quietly if they could point out the location of the ORs to us. I just didn't want to disrupt the normal flow of discussion among other expectant parents in the tour about natural childbirth and all.
Speaking of Grace's birth, is it me or has this recession resulted in a severe cutback on the amount of freebies handed out at hospitals and mailed to expectant moms? When I was pregnant with Grace, we raked in the goods. I remember thinking a few weeks before she was born that I could probably go a month without having to go to the store for any supplies. I got a case of formula ready made, two more huge containers of formula powder (mind you, I nursed her, so I didn't even need the stuff), shampoo, lotion, baby powder, baby oil, diaper cream, silverware, OTC medicine samples, diaper bags, samples diaper wipes in cute little containers that fit perfectly in the diaper bag, books, videos, you name it. I was stocked. But for this pregnancy? Nada, nothing, zip, zilch. I even intentionally put in one of our email addresses into one of those "free stuff for your baby" sites that get advertised all over the pregnancy and baby websites? Then I entered our home address, our home phone, selected free magazines, and on and on. All I got for it was spam in my inbox. What is up? What did I miss? How do you get the freebies these days? Do they still exist?
I did something a little unexpected this week. I talked to a photographer about doing a maternity session. She has this awesome website and people give her rave reviews. I just feel like time is slipping away from us and I want to remember this pregnancy for being something good. My husband has told me over and over that he loves to see me pregnant, that I look healthy and beautiful. It's good to hear. So one week before delivery, in the evening of July 31st, me and my husband and Grace will go have a photography session together. We've never (and I mean NEVER) done this before. Had a photography session together, that is. The photographer promises she won't make Grace feel goofy and make her do things that are sappy and insincere just because her mother is pregnant. She even said that she would take a couple of head shots of Grace so she'd have a few decent pictures of herself instead of settling for her school pictures this year. All in all, I'm looking forward to it.
My bestest best friend is coming in town on Sunday, arriving just after my husband takes off for Brazil. She promises him she will take care of me.
I think that covers all the news that is the slug this week. Things are getting hectic and more immediate. I might move to the bi-weekly slug or something like that if things speed up more. Then again...that might be overkill ;-)
My husband is leaving for Brazil on Sunday. He is quite insistent that the only thing his daughter needs to do is stay put. Just be happy. Don't try any funny business and all will be fine. I assured him nothing will happen until he's back on the 21st. I'm not dilated, my cervix is high, my blood pressure is fine, everything looks typical for a woman at my stage of pregnancy NOT ready to go into preterm labor. So just don't worry. The only thing he'll miss is my appointment next week with the obstetrician who will be performing my cesarean. We'll be discussing our hopes and dreams for this birth. Or rather, I'll be discussing my husband's and my hopes and dreams on behalf of the two of us.
Last night we took a tour of the hospital maternity ward where our girl will be delivered. That was a little surreal. We had been there before about a month ago for monitoring because my contractions were not happy about calming down. At the time I thought, I'm never coming back here to this triage unit. Since I wasn't in need of actual care last night, we got the tour this time. All the other couples seemed happy and wanted to know about birth plans and such. Our hospital prefers that natural birth be the default and that women triage, labor, deliver and recover in the same room. Baby stays with Mom always. Baby never leaves Mom. I was wishing I could do birth like that at least once. When Grace was born, I labored in a labor room, delivered in a delivery room (read: OR), recovered in a recovery room, and she was whisked away immediately after birth for a couple hours to sob in misery in a nursery while being poked and prodded by latex fingers and lay in a bassinet alone.
On the tour last night, I just asked quietly if they could point out the location of the ORs to us. I just didn't want to disrupt the normal flow of discussion among other expectant parents in the tour about natural childbirth and all.
Speaking of Grace's birth, is it me or has this recession resulted in a severe cutback on the amount of freebies handed out at hospitals and mailed to expectant moms? When I was pregnant with Grace, we raked in the goods. I remember thinking a few weeks before she was born that I could probably go a month without having to go to the store for any supplies. I got a case of formula ready made, two more huge containers of formula powder (mind you, I nursed her, so I didn't even need the stuff), shampoo, lotion, baby powder, baby oil, diaper cream, silverware, OTC medicine samples, diaper bags, samples diaper wipes in cute little containers that fit perfectly in the diaper bag, books, videos, you name it. I was stocked. But for this pregnancy? Nada, nothing, zip, zilch. I even intentionally put in one of our email addresses into one of those "free stuff for your baby" sites that get advertised all over the pregnancy and baby websites? Then I entered our home address, our home phone, selected free magazines, and on and on. All I got for it was spam in my inbox. What is up? What did I miss? How do you get the freebies these days? Do they still exist?
I did something a little unexpected this week. I talked to a photographer about doing a maternity session. She has this awesome website and people give her rave reviews. I just feel like time is slipping away from us and I want to remember this pregnancy for being something good. My husband has told me over and over that he loves to see me pregnant, that I look healthy and beautiful. It's good to hear. So one week before delivery, in the evening of July 31st, me and my husband and Grace will go have a photography session together. We've never (and I mean NEVER) done this before. Had a photography session together, that is. The photographer promises she won't make Grace feel goofy and make her do things that are sappy and insincere just because her mother is pregnant. She even said that she would take a couple of head shots of Grace so she'd have a few decent pictures of herself instead of settling for her school pictures this year. All in all, I'm looking forward to it.
My bestest best friend is coming in town on Sunday, arriving just after my husband takes off for Brazil. She promises him she will take care of me.
I think that covers all the news that is the slug this week. Things are getting hectic and more immediate. I might move to the bi-weekly slug or something like that if things speed up more. Then again...that might be overkill ;-)
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 31 weeks
We have a date, a scheduled date for cesarean, that is. August 7th. If you're suddenly finding yourself doing the math, let me save you the time: 36 weeks, 2 days. We'll do a couple shots of steroids 24 hours before delivery and one last sonogram to get an idea of how big she'll be. The obstetrician who's doing the surgery feels confident that all will go well, given her development thus far.
Today I am officially 31 weeks pregnant. There are good days and there are bad days. Really, I'm just looking forward to seeing my baby and not being pregnant anymore. I know, once the baby is born I will have her to take care of and I won't feel so great because I'll be recovering from a surgery. But the amount of negative effects to my body that I either can't treat well because I'm pregnant or that are induced because I'm pregnant is getting a little much.
Last night I was out shopping with my husband. I was pushing the shopping cart and I felt tired. When we stopped in an aisle, I squatted down and took the weight off my legs, while holding on the handle of the cart. It felt so good. I thought, I wonder if I could just push this girl out right here. I'd been having hard contractions all day, so the idea didn't seem too far fetched...
I got my bathing suit, and wow, what a big difference that makes! It makes me feel beautiful. Better than that, I never imagined how good it would feel to get in the pool. I feel completely weightless and I can actually move around. I can even swim a lap or two in shallow water. It feels so incredible to exercise my arms and legs without feeling heavy or getting sweaty! I love it!
I went to a summer swim meet with Grace on Saturday. After the meet, we were visiting with other families from the community team. A woman there asked me when I was due. I told her in August and that we had our feet in both worlds with a high schooler and a soon-to-be-newborn. Her son who was with her and on the swim team was 8. Turns out, her children span in age from 4 to 28. Her oldest grandchild is older than her youngest child. I suddenly felt normal, like my life wasn't so extraordinary. Beyond that, the meet is filled with families with young kids. I realized that I was enjoying myself and that I fit in with the parents of little kids, even more with my teenage girl there with me.
I think up until now I've been trying to figure out how to be two people at once. Like, how do I be the doting, nurturing mom of a baby while also being the hip, mature mom of a teenager? You'd think I'd have figured out sooner that I can be both at once. But really, it wasn't until Saturday that I realized that being exactly who I am is what both of my daughters need.
Hey, anyone out there use cloth diapers recently and have advice for me? Because I could use some first-hand help and coaching.
Today I am officially 31 weeks pregnant. There are good days and there are bad days. Really, I'm just looking forward to seeing my baby and not being pregnant anymore. I know, once the baby is born I will have her to take care of and I won't feel so great because I'll be recovering from a surgery. But the amount of negative effects to my body that I either can't treat well because I'm pregnant or that are induced because I'm pregnant is getting a little much.
Last night I was out shopping with my husband. I was pushing the shopping cart and I felt tired. When we stopped in an aisle, I squatted down and took the weight off my legs, while holding on the handle of the cart. It felt so good. I thought, I wonder if I could just push this girl out right here. I'd been having hard contractions all day, so the idea didn't seem too far fetched...
I got my bathing suit, and wow, what a big difference that makes! It makes me feel beautiful. Better than that, I never imagined how good it would feel to get in the pool. I feel completely weightless and I can actually move around. I can even swim a lap or two in shallow water. It feels so incredible to exercise my arms and legs without feeling heavy or getting sweaty! I love it!
I went to a summer swim meet with Grace on Saturday. After the meet, we were visiting with other families from the community team. A woman there asked me when I was due. I told her in August and that we had our feet in both worlds with a high schooler and a soon-to-be-newborn. Her son who was with her and on the swim team was 8. Turns out, her children span in age from 4 to 28. Her oldest grandchild is older than her youngest child. I suddenly felt normal, like my life wasn't so extraordinary. Beyond that, the meet is filled with families with young kids. I realized that I was enjoying myself and that I fit in with the parents of little kids, even more with my teenage girl there with me.
I think up until now I've been trying to figure out how to be two people at once. Like, how do I be the doting, nurturing mom of a baby while also being the hip, mature mom of a teenager? You'd think I'd have figured out sooner that I can be both at once. But really, it wasn't until Saturday that I realized that being exactly who I am is what both of my daughters need.
Hey, anyone out there use cloth diapers recently and have advice for me? Because I could use some first-hand help and coaching.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 28 weeks and I'm impatient
My swimsuit is not here. It is coming UPS. GROUND. Why on earth did I decide to do that? It started its journey somewhere on the west coast and last Monday evening (the 8th) it was in San Francisco. UPS updated their tracking today and it says that as of 1:05a Saturday morning it was in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Now I don't mean to be rude, but doesn't that seem a little slow? I mean, San Fran to Cheyenne in 5 days? At this rate, the Slug will be born before I get my swimsuit.
I WANT MY SWIMSUIT!!!!!! The daring one, that is.
What's in Cheyenne besides a UPS tracking station? I've only been to Wyoming once, and that was when I was 3 or 4. I don't remember what cities I went to. I know we went to the Grand Tetons because there's a great picture of me with my sisters and the mountains in the background. Yeah, Florida girls in the 70s in Wyoming. It's quite a shot. But back to the point, what's in Cheyenne? Is it sort of like Mobile, Alabama except with mountains? Or like Topeka?
I saw a moose in Wyoming, I remember that really well. He was about 30 yards from the cabin we stayed in, across the street. He was big with enormous moosey antlers. Maybe that was Cheyenne and I just didn't know it at the time.
OK, enough. Get my swimsuit to Michigan already, where no one would come for a summer holiday apparently.
I WANT MY SWIMSUIT!!!!!! The daring one, that is.
What's in Cheyenne besides a UPS tracking station? I've only been to Wyoming once, and that was when I was 3 or 4. I don't remember what cities I went to. I know we went to the Grand Tetons because there's a great picture of me with my sisters and the mountains in the background. Yeah, Florida girls in the 70s in Wyoming. It's quite a shot. But back to the point, what's in Cheyenne? Is it sort of like Mobile, Alabama except with mountains? Or like Topeka?
I saw a moose in Wyoming, I remember that really well. He was about 30 yards from the cabin we stayed in, across the street. He was big with enormous moosey antlers. Maybe that was Cheyenne and I just didn't know it at the time.
OK, enough. Get my swimsuit to Michigan already, where no one would come for a summer holiday apparently.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 28 weeks
Today, I am officially 28 weeks pregnant. I think that means I'm in my last trimester. First, let us dispense with the good news.
In all truthfulness, I'm just putting one foot in front of the other each day and trying to get through each day. I told my doctor last week that I feel like I'm in my last weeks of pregnancy, rather than my last months. I know women often get to the stage that they wish the pregnancy was over already, but it's usually not this early and it's usually not in a situation where there are no serious problems.
Oh, hey, I bought a bathing suit. My husband thought that with all back pain and depression and anemic fatigue and such, I would probably enjoy getting out of the house and going to the pool. The advice I read about maternity swimwear is don't buy black. 'Cause what's the point, you're trying to look slim? Please. And, um, did I mention that my husband is Brazilian and has an opinion or two about swimwear?
So here's a picture of the swimsuit I bought:
He says it's daring. I like that.
- We've decided on a name. Everyone seems to like it.
- I am not freaked out about labor and delivery like I was last week.
- My glucose test came back good, so there's no concern I have gestational diabetes.
- Blood pressure good, swelling under control, migraines have abated, no signs of preeclampsia.
- I'm anemic. I'm taking daily iron supplements.
- I'm having severe reflux. I'm taking the maximum OTC dosage of Zantac for that.
- I'm sleeping badly. I think the slug is awake in the middle of the night, kicking and waking me up.
- I'm finding it harder to breathe. My immunologist says, 'that's asthma for you. Call me if you start to feel like the inhaler's not doing enough for you.'
- I'm having mild back pain. Occasional Tylenol's taking care of that.
In all truthfulness, I'm just putting one foot in front of the other each day and trying to get through each day. I told my doctor last week that I feel like I'm in my last weeks of pregnancy, rather than my last months. I know women often get to the stage that they wish the pregnancy was over already, but it's usually not this early and it's usually not in a situation where there are no serious problems.
Oh, hey, I bought a bathing suit. My husband thought that with all back pain and depression and anemic fatigue and such, I would probably enjoy getting out of the house and going to the pool. The advice I read about maternity swimwear is don't buy black. 'Cause what's the point, you're trying to look slim? Please. And, um, did I mention that my husband is Brazilian and has an opinion or two about swimwear?
So here's a picture of the swimsuit I bought:
He says it's daring. I like that.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 26 weeks (I think)
As for names, thank you very much for all the suggestions. My husband got a kick out of it. We've narrowed it down to two names, and we just keep trying them over and over. Each is from one of our families. He likes the one from my family, I like the one from his, go figure. But I think we feel better about the whole thing now.
I can't remember how pregnant I am anymore by the calendar. This is information you're supposed to have at the front of your head at all times so that people know. But I can't remember whether I'm at 25 weeks? 27? 28? Does that mean I'm 6 months pregnant? Or in the 6th month? Is this my last trimester yet? Thank goodness for pregnancy websites that utilize cookies.
There is an issue I became aware of this past week that scared the heebie-jeebies out of me. Though everyone expects everything to go as planned with their labor and delivery, I realized this rarely happens. This includes me. In case you're just tuning in, my OB wants to perform a cesarean at 37 weeks or so in order to reduce any risk of uterine rupture caused by natural labor and delivery. This didn't come as a shock when I got pregnant; I knew this was going to be the case after my last surgery to remove fibroid tumors.
Speaking of fibroid tumors, those bitches are a pain in the ass. I really am going to call my reproductive endocrinologist this week and invite her to come see me when our daughter is born. Then I'll ask her when I can schedule another visit with her to examine how bad the situation has gotten. Every time I have any kind of significant digestion movement down there, there's this excruciating pain in exactly the same place. Ugh.
Back to the idea of a planned birth. It occurred to me that women go into pre-term labor, and because I have fibroids, my odds are higher than average. Even if it's not pre-term, I might go into labor before a scheduled c-section. So then what happens? This isn't my first baby; it's not like I expect this to take 10 or 20 hours. Is it possible I could arrive at the hospital fully dilated and ready to give birth? What does that do to the risk of uterine rupture? More importantly, what does that mean for me actually having to go through child birth again???!?!?!? I'd like to pretend I'm some kind of superwoman who wouldn't be fazed in the least by such a situation, but the truth is, it terrifies me. My birth with Grace was traumatic. It's true; as time passes, you tend to forget how awful it was. But really, it was bad. It was induced, so I don't know much of the difficulty was due to overly severe contractions. But doing it over again really scares me to death. I'm not good with relaxation techniques and lots of pain. Grace emerged from my body as I was puking green vomit. When they asked me whether dad or mom wanted to see and hold her first, I felt barely conscious enough to even parse the question.
So then I started thinking this week, ok, no problem, I'll just enroll me and my husband in a childbirth class and then we'll be prepared no matter what situation presents itself. I did this before when I was pregnant with Grace, and though it had very little good effect on my actual childbirth with her, it made me feel less anxious. But going this route has its emotionally negative repercussions too. We're going to spend 4-6 classes learning all about natural childbirth, getting all geared up for such an eventuality, buying into all the reasons why it's the most wonderful thing in the world...and then what? Have a cesarean? It's bad enough I'm suffering from clinical depression (oh yes, I am, more on that another time); do I really need to throw ANOTHER curve ball into this whole thing that will cause more stress?
I feel like I'm in some kind of a pregnancy and childbirth catch-22, like no matter what I do something won't go right. I'm seeing the obstetrician tomorrow, so you bet there will be a lot of questions about 'what should we do now?'
Help me....
I can't remember how pregnant I am anymore by the calendar. This is information you're supposed to have at the front of your head at all times so that people know. But I can't remember whether I'm at 25 weeks? 27? 28? Does that mean I'm 6 months pregnant? Or in the 6th month? Is this my last trimester yet? Thank goodness for pregnancy websites that utilize cookies.
There is an issue I became aware of this past week that scared the heebie-jeebies out of me. Though everyone expects everything to go as planned with their labor and delivery, I realized this rarely happens. This includes me. In case you're just tuning in, my OB wants to perform a cesarean at 37 weeks or so in order to reduce any risk of uterine rupture caused by natural labor and delivery. This didn't come as a shock when I got pregnant; I knew this was going to be the case after my last surgery to remove fibroid tumors.
Speaking of fibroid tumors, those bitches are a pain in the ass. I really am going to call my reproductive endocrinologist this week and invite her to come see me when our daughter is born. Then I'll ask her when I can schedule another visit with her to examine how bad the situation has gotten. Every time I have any kind of significant digestion movement down there, there's this excruciating pain in exactly the same place. Ugh.
Back to the idea of a planned birth. It occurred to me that women go into pre-term labor, and because I have fibroids, my odds are higher than average. Even if it's not pre-term, I might go into labor before a scheduled c-section. So then what happens? This isn't my first baby; it's not like I expect this to take 10 or 20 hours. Is it possible I could arrive at the hospital fully dilated and ready to give birth? What does that do to the risk of uterine rupture? More importantly, what does that mean for me actually having to go through child birth again???!?!?!? I'd like to pretend I'm some kind of superwoman who wouldn't be fazed in the least by such a situation, but the truth is, it terrifies me. My birth with Grace was traumatic. It's true; as time passes, you tend to forget how awful it was. But really, it was bad. It was induced, so I don't know much of the difficulty was due to overly severe contractions. But doing it over again really scares me to death. I'm not good with relaxation techniques and lots of pain. Grace emerged from my body as I was puking green vomit. When they asked me whether dad or mom wanted to see and hold her first, I felt barely conscious enough to even parse the question.
So then I started thinking this week, ok, no problem, I'll just enroll me and my husband in a childbirth class and then we'll be prepared no matter what situation presents itself. I did this before when I was pregnant with Grace, and though it had very little good effect on my actual childbirth with her, it made me feel less anxious. But going this route has its emotionally negative repercussions too. We're going to spend 4-6 classes learning all about natural childbirth, getting all geared up for such an eventuality, buying into all the reasons why it's the most wonderful thing in the world...and then what? Have a cesarean? It's bad enough I'm suffering from clinical depression (oh yes, I am, more on that another time); do I really need to throw ANOTHER curve ball into this whole thing that will cause more stress?
I feel like I'm in some kind of a pregnancy and childbirth catch-22, like no matter what I do something won't go right. I'm seeing the obstetrician tomorrow, so you bet there will be a lot of questions about 'what should we do now?'
Help me....
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 25 weeks
I need some help, y'all. Those of you who read my blog are a pretty smart bunch. Clever, witty, far more entertaining than I'll ever be. So here goes.We are stumped for a second name for our girl-to-be coming sometime in mid-August. We have gone through more names than you can imagine. It's getting ridiculous. So I'm charging you all with the challenge to help me think of a name. Generally speaking, your choices are broad. You can go for English/Irish/Scottish names or venture into names from any of the Romance languages (e.g., French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Latin). German names are up for consideration too. But we're not stopping there. If you think of a Russian name or Swahili name that you think is just groovy, send it along to me. Really the only parameter I can definitely throw out there is that we're not wanting to go for something too exotic or outside of our cultures, so Barack (or Baracka?) isn't really something we'd consider.
I know this would easier if you had all the other names this girl will get (first, mom's and dad's surnames), but my good bloggy friend Baby? Maybe. (Or Maybe Not.) strictly admonished me in comments a few weeks back to keep the first name hush-hush. So I'm on the down low with that 411. But I could be persuaded over email to reveal the first name just as long as you don't post it here in comments.
Below are listed names that are taboo due to unfortunate people in the past associated with them. My apologies if one of the names listed is your own. I promise you, it's not on the list because of you, but rather because it belongs to someone else who is yucky and who's only good quality is sharing a name with you.
Janine, Jeannie, Janet, Jenna, etc
Amy
Rebekah/Rebecca
Ruth
Michaela/Mikayla
Francis/Francisca
We also don't want names that are too overused, like:
Emma
Emily
Hannah
Anna
Sophia/Sofia
One other consideration. Generally speaking, there's a ton of names that start with "L" that we really like. Unfortunately none of them work due to the tongue-twister they create when combined with the first name. So no Lori, Lauren, Lana, Lucifer...hey, how did that one get in there?
I think that gives you enough ideas. Please send me your ideas. I don't care how many you send. I'm just so sick of googling "baby name meaning 'not a troublemaker' starting with B" and then bombarding my husband with, "Barbara? Barbie? Beatrice? Belinda? Belissima? Benita? Bernadette?..."
Thank you, thank you all. I appreciate you very much. I appreciate you helping me keep my sanity on this one.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 24 weeks
I'm officially in over my head. I had no idea pregnancy and childbirth and parenting and family-making had become such a fuss. Perhaps it's always been this way and I have just been terribly naive the first time around. Regardless, I am feeling a little overwhelmed.
It seems like you are required to have an opinion on every single little thing that could possibly ever happen to a child. And not just any 'ole opinion, a STRONG opinion. For instance, am I going to use cloth diapers or disposables? Or, am I going to have my child vaccinated on a recommended schedule or should I be conservative and slow down that pace? Or refuse vaccinations altogether? Breast or bottle, work or stay home, child sleeps in bed with parents or in a bassinette in the same room or in a separate nursery in a bassinette or in a crib...
Note that I haven't event touched the mother* of all topics: childbirth.
Before we go much further, I'm having a cesarean section. It will probably be done at or about 37 weeks. That being said, let's go on.
This week I saw this video at Momversation:
Before I saw this, I didn't even know there was such a thing as a birth plan. What the hell is a birth plan? Clearly the women on the forum think the idea of a written document is a bit over the top, with the exception of Heather Armstrong. Do I need a birth plan? Shouldn't someone who is caring for my pregnancy tell me about a birth plan? I'm almost through my second trimester and I don't even know what a birth plan is!!!!!!!
Listening to the dialogue got me thinking about how I used to talk about pregnancy and childbirth, long, long ago, way back when I was a budding young mother...
Grace was a healthy 7 lb, 15 oz baby born after 14 hours of labor by way of an induced labor, an epidural, an episiotomy, and a forceps delivery. The labor was induced because my doctor was concerned she would be very big and force me into c-section. Her Apgar scores were 8 and 9 and she left the hospital roughly 36 hours after delivery with a slight case of jaundice which resolved itself within the next 48 hours. Prior to childbirth, I had attended childbirth classes and hoped for a delivery in a birthing room in the hospital without the need for an epidural. That was the extent of my "birth plan."
After my daughter was born, I started learning about all the other options I could have chosen. If I hadn't had my labor induced, could I have averted so many other consequential negatives? What about breaking my water artificially, was that bad? Or the epidural that they gave me after 8 solid hours of intense contractions, while I progressed to only 5 cm dilation? My mind went wild. That doctor was a medical menace. He didn't take my feelings into account. He didn't ask my opinion of anything (did I have an opinion?). I got mad at my (now ex-)husband because he never considered anything other than a hospital birth, saying that he wasn't going to have his kid born in "some kind of a half-way house where pregnant women walk around naked and moaning." I learned all about how doctors don't care about women and just want to make money, never even considering whether the recommendations they give women are the best options for their health.
Well. That was many years ago. I still think there is not enough done in research about women's health issues. But after being treated for years for uterine fibroid tumors and endometriosis and resulting infertility, I've come to a different view of gynecology and obstetrics. The medical team who has treated me the last few years has not only tried everything in their power to make my reproductive options as healthy and natural as they possibly could be, they are also active researchers in the exact areas they treat me for.
Back to my scheduled c-section and a birth plan. I plan on having a healthy baby and doing whatever it takes to optimize my reproductive health to hopefully do this again. Though it might not apply to most women out there, choosing to deliver vaginally would put those goals at too high a risk for my husband and I to consider. So we're going to deliver this baby as late as we possibly can, while maintaining that there be as little chance as possible that labor contractions could begin on their own. That will probably be in week 37.
I don't see my doctor as pushing me into anything. My reproductive endocrinology surgical team tried everything they could to avoid cutting my uterus, thus allowing any (hopeful) future pregnancies to progress as naturally as possible. When we got to the point that there were no other options but surgery and making an incision across my uterus to remove a large fibroid out of a mass of adenomyosis, the lead surgeon talked with my husband and I as long as we liked about what this would realistically mean for any future pregnancy and childbirth.
For me, cesarean or vaginal birth is not a determination of whether I am empowered as a women. For me, the whole process of being empowered about my health is working with physicians who always communicate with me and work together with me. This applies not only to obstetrics and gynecology, but also to every kind of medical care I received.
I'm fortunate to have a great set of doctors, both at the infertility clinic and at obstetrics. They work together seamlessly, so seamlessly that I hardly even noticed a shift in my care from one need to the other. I know this isn't the case for most people out there. I hope that we as a society can work towards it.
As for the other things I MUST have an opinion on:
* Get it? Mother of all topics? Childbirth? A-ha! I made a joke, did you guys see that?
You're not laughing, I can tell.
Damn, I'm still not funny.
It seems like you are required to have an opinion on every single little thing that could possibly ever happen to a child. And not just any 'ole opinion, a STRONG opinion. For instance, am I going to use cloth diapers or disposables? Or, am I going to have my child vaccinated on a recommended schedule or should I be conservative and slow down that pace? Or refuse vaccinations altogether? Breast or bottle, work or stay home, child sleeps in bed with parents or in a bassinette in the same room or in a separate nursery in a bassinette or in a crib...
Note that I haven't event touched the mother* of all topics: childbirth.
Before we go much further, I'm having a cesarean section. It will probably be done at or about 37 weeks. That being said, let's go on.
This week I saw this video at Momversation:
Before I saw this, I didn't even know there was such a thing as a birth plan. What the hell is a birth plan? Clearly the women on the forum think the idea of a written document is a bit over the top, with the exception of Heather Armstrong. Do I need a birth plan? Shouldn't someone who is caring for my pregnancy tell me about a birth plan? I'm almost through my second trimester and I don't even know what a birth plan is!!!!!!!
Listening to the dialogue got me thinking about how I used to talk about pregnancy and childbirth, long, long ago, way back when I was a budding young mother...
Grace was a healthy 7 lb, 15 oz baby born after 14 hours of labor by way of an induced labor, an epidural, an episiotomy, and a forceps delivery. The labor was induced because my doctor was concerned she would be very big and force me into c-section. Her Apgar scores were 8 and 9 and she left the hospital roughly 36 hours after delivery with a slight case of jaundice which resolved itself within the next 48 hours. Prior to childbirth, I had attended childbirth classes and hoped for a delivery in a birthing room in the hospital without the need for an epidural. That was the extent of my "birth plan."
After my daughter was born, I started learning about all the other options I could have chosen. If I hadn't had my labor induced, could I have averted so many other consequential negatives? What about breaking my water artificially, was that bad? Or the epidural that they gave me after 8 solid hours of intense contractions, while I progressed to only 5 cm dilation? My mind went wild. That doctor was a medical menace. He didn't take my feelings into account. He didn't ask my opinion of anything (did I have an opinion?). I got mad at my (now ex-)husband because he never considered anything other than a hospital birth, saying that he wasn't going to have his kid born in "some kind of a half-way house where pregnant women walk around naked and moaning." I learned all about how doctors don't care about women and just want to make money, never even considering whether the recommendations they give women are the best options for their health.
Well. That was many years ago. I still think there is not enough done in research about women's health issues. But after being treated for years for uterine fibroid tumors and endometriosis and resulting infertility, I've come to a different view of gynecology and obstetrics. The medical team who has treated me the last few years has not only tried everything in their power to make my reproductive options as healthy and natural as they possibly could be, they are also active researchers in the exact areas they treat me for.
Back to my scheduled c-section and a birth plan. I plan on having a healthy baby and doing whatever it takes to optimize my reproductive health to hopefully do this again. Though it might not apply to most women out there, choosing to deliver vaginally would put those goals at too high a risk for my husband and I to consider. So we're going to deliver this baby as late as we possibly can, while maintaining that there be as little chance as possible that labor contractions could begin on their own. That will probably be in week 37.
I don't see my doctor as pushing me into anything. My reproductive endocrinology surgical team tried everything they could to avoid cutting my uterus, thus allowing any (hopeful) future pregnancies to progress as naturally as possible. When we got to the point that there were no other options but surgery and making an incision across my uterus to remove a large fibroid out of a mass of adenomyosis, the lead surgeon talked with my husband and I as long as we liked about what this would realistically mean for any future pregnancy and childbirth.
For me, cesarean or vaginal birth is not a determination of whether I am empowered as a women. For me, the whole process of being empowered about my health is working with physicians who always communicate with me and work together with me. This applies not only to obstetrics and gynecology, but also to every kind of medical care I received.
I'm fortunate to have a great set of doctors, both at the infertility clinic and at obstetrics. They work together seamlessly, so seamlessly that I hardly even noticed a shift in my care from one need to the other. I know this isn't the case for most people out there. I hope that we as a society can work towards it.
As for the other things I MUST have an opinion on:
- breast only, hopefully at least for the entire first year
- bassinette, in our bedroom, until she's big enough for a crib, and then she'll probably still stay in the bedroom a bit longer
- cloth diapers
- NO PHOTOGRAPHS of me during delivery or anytime closely thereafter. And none of my dear daughter that make her look like a wet rat or something else disgusting.
- I don't want to see any of the delivery when it happens, nor do I want to have it filmed or photographed. Been there, done that, know myself, wish to stay conscious and not become faint at the sight of my own gore.
- Thinking about getting a Tummy Tub, but I can't imagine the expense is worth it. People will make fun of me for putting my baby in a bucket, I know it.
* Get it? Mother of all topics? Childbirth? A-ha! I made a joke, did you guys see that?
You're not laughing, I can tell.
Damn, I'm still not funny.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 22 or 23 weeks, depending on how you count it
No, I won't tell you her name. But everyone in our family refers to her by her name now, not Slug. I feel like I should rename the segment "The Weekly INSERT-BABY'S-FIRST-NAME-HERE." It wouldn't be so bad because her first name starts with an S. OK, that's all I'm telling you. We're back to debating a middle name anyway, two different possibilities now. There's a third alternative that I've soundly rejected. My husband is stuck on wanting to give the child my mother's maiden name as a middle name. My mom comes from deep German American roots. You know, where there's a Meyer on every corner and people cook meat and potatoes and carrots and peas frequently and put radishes in salads and everyone is very outspoken? So her maiden name, like all surnames in her family before she married my Scotch-Irish Dad, is very recognizably German. If we gave the Slug this middle name, her full name would go first name, German-name, English-name, Latin-name. I think that's too much to do to any kid. Another thing we've rejected in the baby-naming category is my middle name Lee. It comes from my grandaddy who died three years ago. He was Robert Lee. Yes, he is named after the general. In fact, I would be the last of many generations in my family who is named after Robert E. Lee. I would like to give a child one of the names, either Robert or Lee, but it just doesn't seem right just now. I guess you could say this makes me optimistic that there will be a third child to give the name to.
Now, on to me. I won't complain, really. Most of what I could tell you is so damn typical of the kinds of things women complain about when they are pregnant. Back pain, tiredness, feeling heavy, constant physical adjustment, having trouble getting comfortable in bed...you get the idea. One thing that has reared its ugly head is fibroids. If you've been following this blog for a bit, you know I had two surgeries last summer to remove a few biggies. When I had my first ultrasound to confirm this pregnancy in January, three more could be seen. They were bigger 10 weeks later. And now? Now I can tell you where they are. I don't need an ultrasound, I can feel them. There's nothing that can be done about them right now. But here's the very short narrative a fun scare I had a week ago. I realized last Saturday that I was having contractions. They had been going on for three days, but by Saturday I was having them every time I wasn't laying down, and I was having to breathe through them. I called labor and delivery triage at the hospital. They said to lay down and drink lots of fluid and juice. I did, and the contractions slowed. And then I started thinking, what's causing this? The only red hot source would be the fibroids. I read somewhere online that 8% of women without fibroids have real-live preterm labor and 20% of those with fibroids do. Regardless of the odds, real-live labor at any point in my pregnancy would be bad due to my surgeries last summer and other factors. And I find myself realizing, the odds really don't matter at all unless it's you. So we hope I beat the odds and that the Slug does too.
On a very wonderful note, I am loving this pregnancy. The contrast between my emotions 15 years ago and now are stark. When I was pregnant with Grace, it was completely unplanned and the entire pregnancy was surrounded with shame and I-told-you-sos from people who thought I was too young and shouldn't have been having sex while not married. That definitely had an effect on my view of the pregnancy. Worse? I think it had an effect on my parenting all along the way. I have a feeling I'm going to write more about this in the coming weeks. I don't think I would have ever realized any of this had I not had the experience of this pregnancy.
The day after the contractions-that-wouldn't-stop episode, I sat on my bedroom floor and went through the contents of five or six big boxes that had been in storage for over a decade. They were filled with everything from a lock from Grace's first haircut and the cards of congratulations we received when she was born to a schnazzy light blue coat I bought for her in Berlin on a trip to visit her godparents when she was seven-years-old. In between were scores of tailor-made outfits my mother had stitched together for Grace, baby clothing from my own infancy, blankets, cloth diapers, and other baby linens. I felt the crash of emotions. I was excited for the possibility of having another girl to use these items, while simultaneously realizing that I didn't have such joy and anticipation when I was expecting Grace.
This pregnancy is completely different than when I was expecting Grace. It is amazing to watch the every day growth and development of this baby within my body. I love looking at my body. I love feeling this little girl kick and kick, and I can't wait to see her. Last night, for the first time, my husband felt her kick. She was really active and was giving one good kick after another. So as we were laying in bed, I just laid his hand over my belly. Sure enough, within a few seconds, he felt it. His eyes flew open and a huge grin came across his face. There were three more episodes like this during the evening and overnight. The bottom line is, I am loving every minute of her life, anticipating her arrival with joy. The apprehension of being the mother of a baby again has almost completely dissipated. I'm doing things like eagerly thinking about what kind of diapers would be the best choice for our family and what color curtains I'd like in our nursery (Mom's coming next week and maybe I can go to the fabric store with her and get some custom-made ones :-) ).
All these feelings are good, but they bring up so much in me that I didn't know was there. I don't think these are things you share with children. That you were apprehensive about them being born. That you cried the day your milk came in because your body looked so, well, motherly. That you didn't know how to cope and balance your youthful wants and desires with her youth. I'll think on that a bit more.
Now, on to me. I won't complain, really. Most of what I could tell you is so damn typical of the kinds of things women complain about when they are pregnant. Back pain, tiredness, feeling heavy, constant physical adjustment, having trouble getting comfortable in bed...you get the idea. One thing that has reared its ugly head is fibroids. If you've been following this blog for a bit, you know I had two surgeries last summer to remove a few biggies. When I had my first ultrasound to confirm this pregnancy in January, three more could be seen. They were bigger 10 weeks later. And now? Now I can tell you where they are. I don't need an ultrasound, I can feel them. There's nothing that can be done about them right now. But here's the very short narrative a fun scare I had a week ago. I realized last Saturday that I was having contractions. They had been going on for three days, but by Saturday I was having them every time I wasn't laying down, and I was having to breathe through them. I called labor and delivery triage at the hospital. They said to lay down and drink lots of fluid and juice. I did, and the contractions slowed. And then I started thinking, what's causing this? The only red hot source would be the fibroids. I read somewhere online that 8% of women without fibroids have real-live preterm labor and 20% of those with fibroids do. Regardless of the odds, real-live labor at any point in my pregnancy would be bad due to my surgeries last summer and other factors. And I find myself realizing, the odds really don't matter at all unless it's you. So we hope I beat the odds and that the Slug does too.
On a very wonderful note, I am loving this pregnancy. The contrast between my emotions 15 years ago and now are stark. When I was pregnant with Grace, it was completely unplanned and the entire pregnancy was surrounded with shame and I-told-you-sos from people who thought I was too young and shouldn't have been having sex while not married. That definitely had an effect on my view of the pregnancy. Worse? I think it had an effect on my parenting all along the way. I have a feeling I'm going to write more about this in the coming weeks. I don't think I would have ever realized any of this had I not had the experience of this pregnancy.
The day after the contractions-that-wouldn't-stop episode, I sat on my bedroom floor and went through the contents of five or six big boxes that had been in storage for over a decade. They were filled with everything from a lock from Grace's first haircut and the cards of congratulations we received when she was born to a schnazzy light blue coat I bought for her in Berlin on a trip to visit her godparents when she was seven-years-old. In between were scores of tailor-made outfits my mother had stitched together for Grace, baby clothing from my own infancy, blankets, cloth diapers, and other baby linens. I felt the crash of emotions. I was excited for the possibility of having another girl to use these items, while simultaneously realizing that I didn't have such joy and anticipation when I was expecting Grace.
This pregnancy is completely different than when I was expecting Grace. It is amazing to watch the every day growth and development of this baby within my body. I love looking at my body. I love feeling this little girl kick and kick, and I can't wait to see her. Last night, for the first time, my husband felt her kick. She was really active and was giving one good kick after another. So as we were laying in bed, I just laid his hand over my belly. Sure enough, within a few seconds, he felt it. His eyes flew open and a huge grin came across his face. There were three more episodes like this during the evening and overnight. The bottom line is, I am loving every minute of her life, anticipating her arrival with joy. The apprehension of being the mother of a baby again has almost completely dissipated. I'm doing things like eagerly thinking about what kind of diapers would be the best choice for our family and what color curtains I'd like in our nursery (Mom's coming next week and maybe I can go to the fabric store with her and get some custom-made ones :-) ).
All these feelings are good, but they bring up so much in me that I didn't know was there. I don't think these are things you share with children. That you were apprehensive about them being born. That you cried the day your milk came in because your body looked so, well, motherly. That you didn't know how to cope and balance your youthful wants and desires with her youth. I'll think on that a bit more.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Well, hello again.
So, sorry, that was a bit of a break, wasn't it? It was the result of a conspiracy of too many thoughts running through my head, too many logistical details making it difficult to post, and a difficulty putting words together that expressed myself adequately.
Where to start? I guess I should start with, nothing's wrong. The pregnancy is going well. We picked a name *I think.* The first name came quickly, but a second name was a pain. See, we have to pick names that not only go together, but that create a somewhat normal flow from surname to surname. My last name is about as English as you can get and my husband's is about as Latin as you can get. So our kid's name has to go first-name, middle-name, English-name, Latin-name. And it all has to be pronouncable (yes, I say that that's a word) in English and in Portuguese and is has to sound nice in both languages and it has to flow in both languages. Anyways, we seem to have met all those criteria and I think it's all good. More details on that little girl on Sunday for The Weekly Slug.
As for what's been going on otherwise, I'll just pick up with Grace and her father, my ex-husband. Easter sucked, as it always does. Grace always spends it with her father. As far as I ever knew, her father could care less about the holiday. But Grace's stepmother loves it. So for the most part, it's out of the question for Grace not to spend Easter with her father and stepmother. That led me to a couple realizations. First, I'm really sick of sharing my daughter's time. She's my daughter and I think it's normal for a parent to want to spend the holidays with their kid. Divorce screws all that up. I'm just supposed to accept that and get over it and just be happy. So is Grace and so is her father (who, remember, I don't think really cares that much about seeing his kid anyways; more on that a bit later). I guess this is why some couples figure it's better to stay together than split up. Whatever. It sucks. It really, really sucks. And I'm just tired of it. It won't ever get better with Grace, I'll just be sharing her with other people for the rest of my life. It's just part of the sucking suckiness that is the world I lived in long ago with my ex-husband. Sucks.
Then there's the other half of this. I've written before about how sick I am of Grace's father not calling and communicating about wanting to see Grace, and then expecting everyone to just drop everything when he does get around to placing a call. And I've had more than one person tell me it's my responsibility to make sure Grace sees her father no matter how much of a slacker he is. So instead of me waiting for him to confirm a visit and assuming it's off and waiting until Grace desperately calls him and asks if he's going to spend time with her and he calls acting like that was his intention all along, I should be taking care of everything and walking him through the process, and play like I'm still his helpful mate. Hm. I've finally put two and two together as to why this bothers me so much.
Grace's father is not so bad. He's kept the same job for the last ten years. He's never been arrested. He doesn't gripe about paying child support. He isn't mean or abusive to Grace, nor is anyone else he's exposing Grace to, to the best of my knowledge. This doesn't mean I think everything he does is terrific, it just means he could be way worse. However, there's one very useful skill he's developed over his lifetime that is very clever, and one I'm not so keen on. He knows how to not lift more fingers than he has to and make other people do his work for him. And for some reason, many people, myself included, feel like it's no big deal to pick up the slack where he leaves off. I'll give an example to illustrate the point.
Last week while Grace was staying with him at his house, he called me at 10p. Everyone was up -- him, his wife, two toddlers, Grace, two dogs, the tv, you name it. I was surprised. Except for Grace, they all had to go to daycare and work the next day. The next night when Grace returned home, Grace told me that her plan for the day had been to sleep in and when she woke up after everyone else had left the house, she was supposed to call her grandmother to come pick her up and spend the day at her grandmother's house. But that's not what happened. Instead what happened was that the parents woke up late without time to get the toddlers up and ready, or time to drive them to school and make it in to work themselves. So Grace's father called his mother and asked her to come over, get the kids ready, and take them to daycare so he and his wife could leave for work right away. The inconvenience to Grace was that her grandmother said she wouldn't make two trips to the house, so Grace would need to get up and be ready to go for the day when she got there.
It might have been a one time occurrence, I agree. Maybe. But I've known the guy for almost 20 years. This is pretty much how he operates. He screws up, and then he calls on other people to help him out. Once in awhile would be ok, but all the time gets tiring. In my experience, he doesn't really reciprocate the favors.
So I was married to this guy for over 8 years. Did I put up with this? Hell, yes. Way too much. I learned to figure out how to get him to do what I needed him to do. And I never assumed he would do more. The week we separated, I had an a-ha moment of just how much I carried him due to his own negligence to keep track of stuff. The deadline for his financial aid form was due for his grad school tuition that week. I knew it, because I kept track of all that stuff. I always showed it to him, but he didn't keep track of it himself at all. I thought about calling him and reminding him, walking him through the process, coddling him as I had done for so many years. And then suddenly I realized, no, I don't need to do this anymore. He's a grown-up, over 30 years old. He can take care of his own grad school tuition. After all, I'm definitely not going to be here forever. I don't know what the result was, but I felt foolish at that moment realizing how much I had taken care of and looked out for. The guy didn't know much of what was going on at school with his daughter, didn't know about the maintenance on the only car we owned, didn't know anything about our finances. The only thing he did know was how to get cash out of an ATM so that his spending wouldn't leave a paper trail.
Back to Grace. Recently Grace's father has been less than able to keep up with his visitation schedule. In the last couple months, for the first time, Grace decided just not to worry about calling him and arranging visitation. Sure enough, we heard not a word from him until the evening of the first night he was supposed to spend with her. I don't know what he told her, but he assured her that he would be there to pick her up that Friday for the weekend. And that he did -- 3 hours late. The next weeknight that he was scheduled to spend with her, again, we didn't hear from him until late the night before. He talked to her first and gave her some explanation as to why he wouldn't see her. She said fine and handed the phone to me. I talked about Easter weekend and Grace's spring break with him and that was that. By the time spring break was over and the event of the "calling grandma over to pick up the slack" occurred, I realized what has been bothering me for so long. It's everyone around this guy, including his daughter, accommodating his behavior and acting as if it's acceptable. The everyone else is their own choice. But my daughter? No.
That's the core of it. I want my daughter to not accept that she has to give and give and give in a relationship, doing what the other person can't (or won't) do. Part of the reason she still sees him at all is because other adults in his life have carried him - his mother, his wife. But I think it has to stop when it comes to your kids. The bottom line is, I don't want my daughter to learn that a relationship is supposed to be one person giving and striving and yearning and desiring while the other person just treats the whole thing like easy come, easy go. It's dysfunctional, at best.
Imagine if this scenario was your kid in a relationship with a boyfriend or girlfriend. Your kid places all the calls, waits around for hours until the significant other bothers to show up, accepts every explanation imaginable for being late or standing her up, always expects that plans can be made at the spur of the moment...
Would you be happy? I wouldn't. I'd tell my kid to get out of the relationship because this person was completely walking all over them, taking advantage of their affections, and giving nothing in return.
But yet Grace's father is teaching her that it's ok for her to be treated this way. Yeah, I put up with it, and I learned my lesson the hard way. But you know what? I think that my gained experience should count for something in how I parent my daughter.
So I finally answered (a big part of) the question of why I dislike Grace's stepmother and why I wish she would go away. Because she's an enabler. She makes it possible for Grace's father to be in Grace's life, and for him to implicitly teach Grace that she should put up with his negligence and pick up the slack. And there's a good chance that if Grace puts up with his behavior, he won't be the last person she does it for.
Sorry to come back on such a sour note, but it had to be gotten off my chest.
**************
AN ADDENDUM
One more thought I had after rereading this. I ended this post sounding like I blame this whole thing on Grace's stepmother. Oh, no. No, that would get Grace's father off the hook far too easily. He's the one who's the big screw up, the one who's being a jerk in his relationship with his daughter. I'm just sick of other people around him (his mother, his wife) putting up with it and continuing the cycle of women who learn to tolerate this kind of behavior from a man. For my daughter's sake, I'd just as soon these women would wise up or move to a place away from influence over my daughter.
Where to start? I guess I should start with, nothing's wrong. The pregnancy is going well. We picked a name *I think.* The first name came quickly, but a second name was a pain. See, we have to pick names that not only go together, but that create a somewhat normal flow from surname to surname. My last name is about as English as you can get and my husband's is about as Latin as you can get. So our kid's name has to go first-name, middle-name, English-name, Latin-name. And it all has to be pronouncable (yes, I say that that's a word) in English and in Portuguese and is has to sound nice in both languages and it has to flow in both languages. Anyways, we seem to have met all those criteria and I think it's all good. More details on that little girl on Sunday for The Weekly Slug.
As for what's been going on otherwise, I'll just pick up with Grace and her father, my ex-husband. Easter sucked, as it always does. Grace always spends it with her father. As far as I ever knew, her father could care less about the holiday. But Grace's stepmother loves it. So for the most part, it's out of the question for Grace not to spend Easter with her father and stepmother. That led me to a couple realizations. First, I'm really sick of sharing my daughter's time. She's my daughter and I think it's normal for a parent to want to spend the holidays with their kid. Divorce screws all that up. I'm just supposed to accept that and get over it and just be happy. So is Grace and so is her father (who, remember, I don't think really cares that much about seeing his kid anyways; more on that a bit later). I guess this is why some couples figure it's better to stay together than split up. Whatever. It sucks. It really, really sucks. And I'm just tired of it. It won't ever get better with Grace, I'll just be sharing her with other people for the rest of my life. It's just part of the sucking suckiness that is the world I lived in long ago with my ex-husband. Sucks.
Then there's the other half of this. I've written before about how sick I am of Grace's father not calling and communicating about wanting to see Grace, and then expecting everyone to just drop everything when he does get around to placing a call. And I've had more than one person tell me it's my responsibility to make sure Grace sees her father no matter how much of a slacker he is. So instead of me waiting for him to confirm a visit and assuming it's off and waiting until Grace desperately calls him and asks if he's going to spend time with her and he calls acting like that was his intention all along, I should be taking care of everything and walking him through the process, and play like I'm still his helpful mate. Hm. I've finally put two and two together as to why this bothers me so much.
Grace's father is not so bad. He's kept the same job for the last ten years. He's never been arrested. He doesn't gripe about paying child support. He isn't mean or abusive to Grace, nor is anyone else he's exposing Grace to, to the best of my knowledge. This doesn't mean I think everything he does is terrific, it just means he could be way worse. However, there's one very useful skill he's developed over his lifetime that is very clever, and one I'm not so keen on. He knows how to not lift more fingers than he has to and make other people do his work for him. And for some reason, many people, myself included, feel like it's no big deal to pick up the slack where he leaves off. I'll give an example to illustrate the point.
Last week while Grace was staying with him at his house, he called me at 10p. Everyone was up -- him, his wife, two toddlers, Grace, two dogs, the tv, you name it. I was surprised. Except for Grace, they all had to go to daycare and work the next day. The next night when Grace returned home, Grace told me that her plan for the day had been to sleep in and when she woke up after everyone else had left the house, she was supposed to call her grandmother to come pick her up and spend the day at her grandmother's house. But that's not what happened. Instead what happened was that the parents woke up late without time to get the toddlers up and ready, or time to drive them to school and make it in to work themselves. So Grace's father called his mother and asked her to come over, get the kids ready, and take them to daycare so he and his wife could leave for work right away. The inconvenience to Grace was that her grandmother said she wouldn't make two trips to the house, so Grace would need to get up and be ready to go for the day when she got there.
It might have been a one time occurrence, I agree. Maybe. But I've known the guy for almost 20 years. This is pretty much how he operates. He screws up, and then he calls on other people to help him out. Once in awhile would be ok, but all the time gets tiring. In my experience, he doesn't really reciprocate the favors.
So I was married to this guy for over 8 years. Did I put up with this? Hell, yes. Way too much. I learned to figure out how to get him to do what I needed him to do. And I never assumed he would do more. The week we separated, I had an a-ha moment of just how much I carried him due to his own negligence to keep track of stuff. The deadline for his financial aid form was due for his grad school tuition that week. I knew it, because I kept track of all that stuff. I always showed it to him, but he didn't keep track of it himself at all. I thought about calling him and reminding him, walking him through the process, coddling him as I had done for so many years. And then suddenly I realized, no, I don't need to do this anymore. He's a grown-up, over 30 years old. He can take care of his own grad school tuition. After all, I'm definitely not going to be here forever. I don't know what the result was, but I felt foolish at that moment realizing how much I had taken care of and looked out for. The guy didn't know much of what was going on at school with his daughter, didn't know about the maintenance on the only car we owned, didn't know anything about our finances. The only thing he did know was how to get cash out of an ATM so that his spending wouldn't leave a paper trail.
Back to Grace. Recently Grace's father has been less than able to keep up with his visitation schedule. In the last couple months, for the first time, Grace decided just not to worry about calling him and arranging visitation. Sure enough, we heard not a word from him until the evening of the first night he was supposed to spend with her. I don't know what he told her, but he assured her that he would be there to pick her up that Friday for the weekend. And that he did -- 3 hours late. The next weeknight that he was scheduled to spend with her, again, we didn't hear from him until late the night before. He talked to her first and gave her some explanation as to why he wouldn't see her. She said fine and handed the phone to me. I talked about Easter weekend and Grace's spring break with him and that was that. By the time spring break was over and the event of the "calling grandma over to pick up the slack" occurred, I realized what has been bothering me for so long. It's everyone around this guy, including his daughter, accommodating his behavior and acting as if it's acceptable. The everyone else is their own choice. But my daughter? No.
That's the core of it. I want my daughter to not accept that she has to give and give and give in a relationship, doing what the other person can't (or won't) do. Part of the reason she still sees him at all is because other adults in his life have carried him - his mother, his wife. But I think it has to stop when it comes to your kids. The bottom line is, I don't want my daughter to learn that a relationship is supposed to be one person giving and striving and yearning and desiring while the other person just treats the whole thing like easy come, easy go. It's dysfunctional, at best.
Imagine if this scenario was your kid in a relationship with a boyfriend or girlfriend. Your kid places all the calls, waits around for hours until the significant other bothers to show up, accepts every explanation imaginable for being late or standing her up, always expects that plans can be made at the spur of the moment...
Would you be happy? I wouldn't. I'd tell my kid to get out of the relationship because this person was completely walking all over them, taking advantage of their affections, and giving nothing in return.
But yet Grace's father is teaching her that it's ok for her to be treated this way. Yeah, I put up with it, and I learned my lesson the hard way. But you know what? I think that my gained experience should count for something in how I parent my daughter.
So I finally answered (a big part of) the question of why I dislike Grace's stepmother and why I wish she would go away. Because she's an enabler. She makes it possible for Grace's father to be in Grace's life, and for him to implicitly teach Grace that she should put up with his negligence and pick up the slack. And there's a good chance that if Grace puts up with his behavior, he won't be the last person she does it for.
Sorry to come back on such a sour note, but it had to be gotten off my chest.
**************
AN ADDENDUM
One more thought I had after rereading this. I ended this post sounding like I blame this whole thing on Grace's stepmother. Oh, no. No, that would get Grace's father off the hook far too easily. He's the one who's the big screw up, the one who's being a jerk in his relationship with his daughter. I'm just sick of other people around him (his mother, his wife) putting up with it and continuing the cycle of women who learn to tolerate this kind of behavior from a man. For my daughter's sake, I'd just as soon these women would wise up or move to a place away from influence over my daughter.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 18 weeks
We have a saying at our house when someone gets a little fussy: "Don't be such a whainer compliner!" In other words, stop being such a baby and complaining so much. I think I'm being too much of a wainer compliner.
I have spent years trying to get pregnant and stay pregnant. During those years, I experienced what most women who have been there experience: the constant frustrating reminder that pregnancy is often arrived at without much forethought or concern. People just get pregnant. If they've never dealt personally with any serious measure of infertility, they tend to be insensitive, saying the wrong thing without even knowing it. I've been on both sides of the fence. My first pregnancy more than 15 years ago was a complete accident. Though most of my peers were much too young to have faced infertility, there were a few women around me who had. The hard feelings over my blatant oblivion regarding my fertile self still hold to this day. Now that I'm on the other side of the fence, I realize that my current pregnancy and any others that may come along are nothing short of miracles.
One of my friends gave birth to her first child a few years ago. No troubles conceiving, no troubles with pregnancy, no troubles with childbirth, healthy baby. I got pregnant a few months after her child's birth, a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. But backing up a bit, when I got a positive pregnancy test and told her, she went straight ahead to "healthy baby" and sent me her personal pregnancy journal. The journal was humorous, yes, but centered along the theme of what a pain and inconvenience the whole thing was. Whining and complaining. She started by saying that this wasn't the right timing. She wanted to wait another year until her husband had a permanent position, not a postdoc. Things just weren't perfect. Then the complaining about every little detail ensued. Sure, it was humorous, and sure, it had its value in just writing about things as they are. Still, at the moment of realization that my pregnancy was ending, I wished I had never read it.
With my current pregnancy, in less than four months, I have forgotten so much of how desperately I have been trying to get to this point, the point where I have a healthy pregnancy, and a healthy baby inside. In some dark corner of my mind, I still believe something will go wrong. I've read way too many stories of the 21-week pregnancy with no signs of problems that ended in fetal death. Or the unexpected 24-week delivery that resulted in months of day-by-day uncertainty in the NICU. And if I'm there in the future, I get the feeling that I'll look back at some of the things I've written wished I had never thought them.
Don't get me wrong; I know that griping and complaining has its value at times. However, when I reflect on my experience as a mother, I realize that sometimes I do a bit too much of this. Mothers tend to bond on the griping. It starts early, with the pregnancy, and I don't think it ever stops. But let's be honest about it: the griping and complaining seems perfectly fine until something goes wrong. Once something goes wrong, you long for the time in which the biggest problem you had was sleep deprivation or the details of typical potty-training or noisy kids or fill-in-the-blank here with whatever else is a normal part of parenthood that feels better once you gripe about it.
It's a balance, right? You need to speak out and speak your mind and just let all your emotions hang loose once in awhile. But sooner or later, you have to count your blessings and realize that despite the trials, what you have is good. A year ago I was having horrid hot flashes as a result of having injections of Lupron Depot. Now, don't get me wrong, given everything I knew at that time, if I had to do it all over again, I would do it. But still. I would wake up in the middle of the night in pools on my own sweat, unable to sleep, hoping that these injections really would have some positive effect on the fibroid tumors that were causing so much trouble. By the start of May we knew that it had had little effect. After my second surgery in August we found out that this was because the largest tumor was actually a fibroid tumor embedded within a rich mass of adenomyosis. And then I was put on four weeks of strict bed rest in order to promote the smoothest healing possible (read: reduce internal uterine scarring). After all that, I didn't know whether to think optimistically about the possibility of a successful pregnancy or not. I had had so many maybes, sort of positives and early miscarriages (before 5 weeks), not to mention one late first trimester miscarriage, I didn't know what to think about getting pregnant. I wanted to have a baby, there was no question about that, but the hoping and trying seemed like an unbearable roller coaster ride that I wanted to get off of. Given all this, it seems like now is a time to count my blessings, right? But in reflection, I haven't been. Though there is still a lot that could go wrong, I sort of put myself into a comfort zone where I felt like I should gripe and complain and go on and on about how inconvenient the whole pregnancy is.
So this week is about counting blessings. On Monday we had our second trimester ultrasound screening. She's a girl. She's growing well. For the most part everything looks good. Since I'm over 35, they look and search and inspect every little part of her anatomy trying to find any signs of genetic disorders. Due to some atypical growth in this girl's brain, this caused the doctor to explain to us that though this growth falls within normal range, this brings the likelihood of Trisomy 18 to a 1 in 6,000 chance. Or something like that. But other than that, she looks like a healthy baby. She sucks her thumb. When it wasn't in her mouth, she had her left hand curled into the shape of Fonzie's and close to her face. And I've started noticing that she likes to sleep in the mornings. During the whole 45 minute sonogram, she slept and slept. Maybe we'll be lucky and she'll keep up this schedule after birth.
There you go.
I have spent years trying to get pregnant and stay pregnant. During those years, I experienced what most women who have been there experience: the constant frustrating reminder that pregnancy is often arrived at without much forethought or concern. People just get pregnant. If they've never dealt personally with any serious measure of infertility, they tend to be insensitive, saying the wrong thing without even knowing it. I've been on both sides of the fence. My first pregnancy more than 15 years ago was a complete accident. Though most of my peers were much too young to have faced infertility, there were a few women around me who had. The hard feelings over my blatant oblivion regarding my fertile self still hold to this day. Now that I'm on the other side of the fence, I realize that my current pregnancy and any others that may come along are nothing short of miracles.
One of my friends gave birth to her first child a few years ago. No troubles conceiving, no troubles with pregnancy, no troubles with childbirth, healthy baby. I got pregnant a few months after her child's birth, a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. But backing up a bit, when I got a positive pregnancy test and told her, she went straight ahead to "healthy baby" and sent me her personal pregnancy journal. The journal was humorous, yes, but centered along the theme of what a pain and inconvenience the whole thing was. Whining and complaining. She started by saying that this wasn't the right timing. She wanted to wait another year until her husband had a permanent position, not a postdoc. Things just weren't perfect. Then the complaining about every little detail ensued. Sure, it was humorous, and sure, it had its value in just writing about things as they are. Still, at the moment of realization that my pregnancy was ending, I wished I had never read it.
With my current pregnancy, in less than four months, I have forgotten so much of how desperately I have been trying to get to this point, the point where I have a healthy pregnancy, and a healthy baby inside. In some dark corner of my mind, I still believe something will go wrong. I've read way too many stories of the 21-week pregnancy with no signs of problems that ended in fetal death. Or the unexpected 24-week delivery that resulted in months of day-by-day uncertainty in the NICU. And if I'm there in the future, I get the feeling that I'll look back at some of the things I've written wished I had never thought them.
Don't get me wrong; I know that griping and complaining has its value at times. However, when I reflect on my experience as a mother, I realize that sometimes I do a bit too much of this. Mothers tend to bond on the griping. It starts early, with the pregnancy, and I don't think it ever stops. But let's be honest about it: the griping and complaining seems perfectly fine until something goes wrong. Once something goes wrong, you long for the time in which the biggest problem you had was sleep deprivation or the details of typical potty-training or noisy kids or fill-in-the-blank here with whatever else is a normal part of parenthood that feels better once you gripe about it.
It's a balance, right? You need to speak out and speak your mind and just let all your emotions hang loose once in awhile. But sooner or later, you have to count your blessings and realize that despite the trials, what you have is good. A year ago I was having horrid hot flashes as a result of having injections of Lupron Depot. Now, don't get me wrong, given everything I knew at that time, if I had to do it all over again, I would do it. But still. I would wake up in the middle of the night in pools on my own sweat, unable to sleep, hoping that these injections really would have some positive effect on the fibroid tumors that were causing so much trouble. By the start of May we knew that it had had little effect. After my second surgery in August we found out that this was because the largest tumor was actually a fibroid tumor embedded within a rich mass of adenomyosis. And then I was put on four weeks of strict bed rest in order to promote the smoothest healing possible (read: reduce internal uterine scarring). After all that, I didn't know whether to think optimistically about the possibility of a successful pregnancy or not. I had had so many maybes, sort of positives and early miscarriages (before 5 weeks), not to mention one late first trimester miscarriage, I didn't know what to think about getting pregnant. I wanted to have a baby, there was no question about that, but the hoping and trying seemed like an unbearable roller coaster ride that I wanted to get off of. Given all this, it seems like now is a time to count my blessings, right? But in reflection, I haven't been. Though there is still a lot that could go wrong, I sort of put myself into a comfort zone where I felt like I should gripe and complain and go on and on about how inconvenient the whole pregnancy is.
So this week is about counting blessings. On Monday we had our second trimester ultrasound screening. She's a girl. She's growing well. For the most part everything looks good. Since I'm over 35, they look and search and inspect every little part of her anatomy trying to find any signs of genetic disorders. Due to some atypical growth in this girl's brain, this caused the doctor to explain to us that though this growth falls within normal range, this brings the likelihood of Trisomy 18 to a 1 in 6,000 chance. Or something like that. But other than that, she looks like a healthy baby. She sucks her thumb. When it wasn't in her mouth, she had her left hand curled into the shape of Fonzie's and close to her face. And I've started noticing that she likes to sleep in the mornings. During the whole 45 minute sonogram, she slept and slept. Maybe we'll be lucky and she'll keep up this schedule after birth.
There you go.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 17 weeks
And...this week I got a few little pitters in the inside. That was nice. But given what else has transpired this week, I can completely believe that I can't tell up from down when it comes to what I feel physically. When I realized the little pitters were indeed the tiny movements of a tiny person inside of my belly, it had already been going on for two hours. Yes, two hours. How's that for oblivious? Not just that, I can't even tell a muscle strain from gas anymore.
Early Monday morning I had a pain in my lower abdomen. Not a bad pain, not like something you go to the ER for, but a constant pain. It kept me from moving around. Given that constipation has been a regular issue during this pregnancy, I went to work. Extra doses of magnesium (can't hurt anything), milkshakes with flaxseed and prunes, raisin bran with bananas, and lots and lots of water. Still, nothing. The pain stubbornly remained in the same place. I started thinking crazy things, like maybe this slug has got its foot pushed up against my colon and that gas bubble can't out get for anything. Right. Like the tiny, tiny foot attached to a tiny, tiny leg of someone who doesn't even weigh 5 ounces could possibly put enough pressure on my colon to overpower my involuntary muscles and trap something.
I was quite regular throughout Monday and Tuesday. Still, nagging pain in my lower right abdomen below my pregnant belly. Then I started getting curious. Where is a baby located relative to my internal organs? Do I even know? Well, here we are at 17 weeks and, except for a few centimeters of growth, this is roughly what a baby looks like inside:
See how the stomach, small intestines, and colon are all above said baby? Seems highly unlikely that the pain on my right side below my baby belly was gas then, eh?
And then I started noticing that it was difficult to stand up using my legs because it triggered the pain in this spot (so much for using your legs instead of your back for lifting). Sitting up without using my arms also caused pain in the same spot. Leaning over and then standing back up. The final straw was when, while shaving in the tub, I realized I had pain when I lifted my leg. Um, yeah. I had strained a muscle or something. I felt really goofy. I could have just taken some tylenol and relaxed.
It could have been worse. I could have called the doctor about this pain. I could have gotten all worried and panicked over nothing. At least I stayed cool.
In unrelated news, I am wondering how much it will cost to give birth to this baby. I mean in terms of dollars and cents as they are spelled out in hospital bills. Any ideas? I'm fortunate enough to have good insurance, and lucky enough to have had two surgeries under that insurance. So I know that despite the outrageous prices that hospitals charge, much of it will likely be covered. Still, there's stuff I don't know about like cesarean surgery and staying at the hospital and me and a baby and not just me. And usually things like childbirth aren't covered as broadly as non-elective surgeries, right? So I'm just wondering what this is going to look like when the final bill comes home.
Tomorrow at 7a we have an appointment to have an ultrasound. Provided the slug is cooperative, we'll get to find out whether this is a boy or a girl. So in response to this week's edition of The Slug, you need to voice your opinion. Shall I wait an entire week to post any pictures and news of gender in the next edition, or shall I post a special edition as soon as I am able?
Early Monday morning I had a pain in my lower abdomen. Not a bad pain, not like something you go to the ER for, but a constant pain. It kept me from moving around. Given that constipation has been a regular issue during this pregnancy, I went to work. Extra doses of magnesium (can't hurt anything), milkshakes with flaxseed and prunes, raisin bran with bananas, and lots and lots of water. Still, nothing. The pain stubbornly remained in the same place. I started thinking crazy things, like maybe this slug has got its foot pushed up against my colon and that gas bubble can't out get for anything. Right. Like the tiny, tiny foot attached to a tiny, tiny leg of someone who doesn't even weigh 5 ounces could possibly put enough pressure on my colon to overpower my involuntary muscles and trap something.
I was quite regular throughout Monday and Tuesday. Still, nagging pain in my lower right abdomen below my pregnant belly. Then I started getting curious. Where is a baby located relative to my internal organs? Do I even know? Well, here we are at 17 weeks and, except for a few centimeters of growth, this is roughly what a baby looks like inside:
See how the stomach, small intestines, and colon are all above said baby? Seems highly unlikely that the pain on my right side below my baby belly was gas then, eh?
And then I started noticing that it was difficult to stand up using my legs because it triggered the pain in this spot (so much for using your legs instead of your back for lifting). Sitting up without using my arms also caused pain in the same spot. Leaning over and then standing back up. The final straw was when, while shaving in the tub, I realized I had pain when I lifted my leg. Um, yeah. I had strained a muscle or something. I felt really goofy. I could have just taken some tylenol and relaxed.
It could have been worse. I could have called the doctor about this pain. I could have gotten all worried and panicked over nothing. At least I stayed cool.
In unrelated news, I am wondering how much it will cost to give birth to this baby. I mean in terms of dollars and cents as they are spelled out in hospital bills. Any ideas? I'm fortunate enough to have good insurance, and lucky enough to have had two surgeries under that insurance. So I know that despite the outrageous prices that hospitals charge, much of it will likely be covered. Still, there's stuff I don't know about like cesarean surgery and staying at the hospital and me and a baby and not just me. And usually things like childbirth aren't covered as broadly as non-elective surgeries, right? So I'm just wondering what this is going to look like when the final bill comes home.
Tomorrow at 7a we have an appointment to have an ultrasound. Provided the slug is cooperative, we'll get to find out whether this is a boy or a girl. So in response to this week's edition of The Slug, you need to voice your opinion. Shall I wait an entire week to post any pictures and news of gender in the next edition, or shall I post a special edition as soon as I am able?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 16 weeks
Something's really getting to me. I want to feel this baby move already. I know, I know, they say 18 weeks. Don't expect to be able to feel it before 18 weeks. So it's not like I'm really worried. Well, no, actually, I am worried because I just want everything to be perfect and know everything is perfect. If I could feel it moving, I would get a constant reassurance that the slug is fine, wiggling and worming away.
I know, I saw the slug moving and dancing and flipping and grooving a few weeks ago, so I shouldn't be so worried. And it was cool to watch. But that was a month ago. Really. A MONTH AGO. I assume this kid is still doing all that stuff, but who knows? Maybe it was just a random burst of energy we saw that day, never to be repeated again. I mean, there are 15 minute clips of me that you could catch and I would look like an Olympian, but that would be the wrong generalization to make. Maybe my slug was just having an Olympian moment and now I'm all relaxed thinking everything is cool, but maybe it's not.
To summarize what I've read about when you can feel a baby move, sometime between 18-22 weeks pregnancy is when a mom usually can feel her baby's movements for the first time. Sometimes second-time moms can feel it earlier, presumably because they're not mistaking the sensation for something else. And then there's the fat versus skinny thing. If you're skinny, you might be able to feel it earlier because, well, there's just less there to mask the sensation. So I'm a skinny second-time mom, paying constant attention to my belly. Seems like I should have gotten some unambiguous motion by now that I could say, "now THAT'S a baby."
Actually, you know what's killing me the most? I probably can feel the baby moving, but I can't be sure that it's that and not gas or digestion or my breathing or my own pulse coursing through the placenta. If I could filter out all those things, what's left has got to be a lot of sensation that is the wriggling little thing. But I got so much else going on inside of me, an almost 5 inch-long person can't be detected.
I have an ultrasound scheduled for a week from now, so I'll just have to wait. Chances are that I won't feel anything before then. So hopefully that slug won't sleep through the whole exam and instead will give us something fun to watch again.
On another entirely different topic, I keep looking at myself in the mirror and looking at pictures of pregnant women and looking at diagrams of pregnant women, and I find myself asking, is it normal for one's back to cave inward like that? It looks so uncomfortable. Actually, let me refine that: it IS so uncomfortable. I know I've shifted my weight big time and that I stick my belly outwards to stay balanced. I gave a presentation about a week ago and about 5 minutes into it I had to catch myself on the podium because I leaned too far backward and couldn't regain my balance. Once I caught myself and stood back up straight, I changed the slide on my powerpoint and said, "excuse me!" Way too many people there, way too many people I had never met before. That wasn't too embarrassing or anything....
Back to the point. Is it true that pregnant women are just constantly poised as if carrying a sack of potatoes around in front of their belly? Isn't that bad for you in the long run? I feel like if I tried to stand up straight, I'd fall right over like a lopsided suitcase. I presume this would be worse than bending my back in a weird way like I'm using my back muscles to lift, not my leg muscles.
After last week's "marathon" in Georgetown, I arrived home with back pain for two days. That wasn't fun. I also had leg cramps, but that's to be expected independent of the pregnancy. The back pain was really persistent, though. I can't help thinking it had very little to do with the weight of my laptop over my shoulder and more to do with the weight of my slug's placenta on my belly. And whatever else in there weighs so much, because lord knows it's not the slug itself. Clearly I was using my back muscles for lifting, exactly what they always tell you not to do in those "safety first" videos you have to watch when you get a new job.
By the way, I've finally gained enough weight back to weigh exactly as much as I did when I first found out I was pregnant almost three months ago. No worries about the baby; my belly is nicely rounded. My back, on the other hand, it proudly displaying my rib cage and my spine like a Cardassian. If it weren't for my protruding blood vessels on my hands due to the increased blood supply coursing through them, my hands and fingers would be just as creepy-looking. Oh wait, I think that does make my hands even more creepy-looking than my back. Great.
Alright, clearly I'm more into whining and griping than worrying, so that's a good sign. Take all I've said here with a grain of salt.
I know, I saw the slug moving and dancing and flipping and grooving a few weeks ago, so I shouldn't be so worried. And it was cool to watch. But that was a month ago. Really. A MONTH AGO. I assume this kid is still doing all that stuff, but who knows? Maybe it was just a random burst of energy we saw that day, never to be repeated again. I mean, there are 15 minute clips of me that you could catch and I would look like an Olympian, but that would be the wrong generalization to make. Maybe my slug was just having an Olympian moment and now I'm all relaxed thinking everything is cool, but maybe it's not.
To summarize what I've read about when you can feel a baby move, sometime between 18-22 weeks pregnancy is when a mom usually can feel her baby's movements for the first time. Sometimes second-time moms can feel it earlier, presumably because they're not mistaking the sensation for something else. And then there's the fat versus skinny thing. If you're skinny, you might be able to feel it earlier because, well, there's just less there to mask the sensation. So I'm a skinny second-time mom, paying constant attention to my belly. Seems like I should have gotten some unambiguous motion by now that I could say, "now THAT'S a baby."
Actually, you know what's killing me the most? I probably can feel the baby moving, but I can't be sure that it's that and not gas or digestion or my breathing or my own pulse coursing through the placenta. If I could filter out all those things, what's left has got to be a lot of sensation that is the wriggling little thing. But I got so much else going on inside of me, an almost 5 inch-long person can't be detected.
I have an ultrasound scheduled for a week from now, so I'll just have to wait. Chances are that I won't feel anything before then. So hopefully that slug won't sleep through the whole exam and instead will give us something fun to watch again.
On another entirely different topic, I keep looking at myself in the mirror and looking at pictures of pregnant women and looking at diagrams of pregnant women, and I find myself asking, is it normal for one's back to cave inward like that? It looks so uncomfortable. Actually, let me refine that: it IS so uncomfortable. I know I've shifted my weight big time and that I stick my belly outwards to stay balanced. I gave a presentation about a week ago and about 5 minutes into it I had to catch myself on the podium because I leaned too far backward and couldn't regain my balance. Once I caught myself and stood back up straight, I changed the slide on my powerpoint and said, "excuse me!" Way too many people there, way too many people I had never met before. That wasn't too embarrassing or anything....
Back to the point. Is it true that pregnant women are just constantly poised as if carrying a sack of potatoes around in front of their belly? Isn't that bad for you in the long run? I feel like if I tried to stand up straight, I'd fall right over like a lopsided suitcase. I presume this would be worse than bending my back in a weird way like I'm using my back muscles to lift, not my leg muscles.
After last week's "marathon" in Georgetown, I arrived home with back pain for two days. That wasn't fun. I also had leg cramps, but that's to be expected independent of the pregnancy. The back pain was really persistent, though. I can't help thinking it had very little to do with the weight of my laptop over my shoulder and more to do with the weight of my slug's placenta on my belly. And whatever else in there weighs so much, because lord knows it's not the slug itself. Clearly I was using my back muscles for lifting, exactly what they always tell you not to do in those "safety first" videos you have to watch when you get a new job.
By the way, I've finally gained enough weight back to weigh exactly as much as I did when I first found out I was pregnant almost three months ago. No worries about the baby; my belly is nicely rounded. My back, on the other hand, it proudly displaying my rib cage and my spine like a Cardassian. If it weren't for my protruding blood vessels on my hands due to the increased blood supply coursing through them, my hands and fingers would be just as creepy-looking. Oh wait, I think that does make my hands even more creepy-looking than my back. Great.
Alright, clearly I'm more into whining and griping than worrying, so that's a good sign. Take all I've said here with a grain of salt.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 15 weeks
This morning I found myself walking through Georgetown to the Metro station at DuPont Circle. I didn't think it would be that big of a deal. Me, not even pregnant enough for anyone around me to tell, pulling my small rollerboard suitcase and carrying my laptop in my messenger bag, walking a route I had taken many times before. The distance is a little more than a mile and a half; at a brisk pace it takes about 35 minutes. How much longer could it take toting along an extra suitcase? Taking Metro would only cost me a couple bucks at most and given that I knew I could walk to the station easily, I couldn't even begin to justify another $20 cab fare to get to the airport. And really, the exercise would do me good. The weather was relatively good, though overcast. I was just sure it would be a pleasant walk, especially in the almost spring on a Sunday morning.
Um, yeah. Somewhere about 40 minutes into my journey when I realized I was still in Georgetown, the whole thing got to me. A pregnant me toting my luggage for now 45 minutes in the almost rain, just to save a few bucks. My shoulders were hurting, my back was hurting, my legs were hurting, and I wanted to sit down and rest. And my spirit was defeated. I couldn't have gone even a mile before I felt like giving up. One mile? That's it? That's the extent of my ability to exercise? What is wrong with me?
By the time I got to DuPont Circle, it was raining. My glasses were all wet and I felt like every single step was arduous. But no worries, I was there and now I just needed to get to the station and catch the train. When I got to the station, I could feel my body letting go. I was starting to feel good about the exercise, despite the rain and my aching muscles.
And then the other shoe dropped. The down escalator to the station was out. I was going to have to pick up my suitcase and carry it down the escalator stairs.
If you've never been to DC and taken Metro, maybe you're thinking this is no big deal. The escalators are about three stories high. Here's a picture from the bottom of the escalators upward:
I just stood there at the top of the motionless escalator in disbelief, contemplating whether I was really going to try to pick up my suitcase and walk down. Should I ask where an elevator was? There had to be one; Americans with Disabilities Act and all. But it could be a long way from where I was already, which would require me to walk even further. And what are the chances that the person I asked on the street would actually point me in the right direction? I could spend another 15 minutes wandering around the circle, all in an attempt to avoid the stairs.
Finally I took to the left side of the escalator and took it slow. I stopped on the way down three times. I think even when none of your faculties are impaired the task will give you vertigo, but today I really felt like the world was spinning around me. Though the station was sparsely populated, relatively speaking, five groups of people passed me on the way down.
The whole experience has made me feel like I'm turning a corner into a whole new way of running my life. When I boarded my flight to Washington three days ago, it wasn't until I was already in the jetway that I had no idea how I was going to store my suitcase in the overhead bin. Then I thought, I should have preboarded. Preboarding? For pregnancy? 15 weeks? Is that allowed? But in 6 short months, I'm going to be happily jumping in that preboarding line, with my infant car seat and my gate checked umbrella stroller and my diaper bag and...
And suddenly it's all dawning on me. I'm doing this whole thing all over again. The days of everyone packing one little bag or backpack and doing the town on foot are gone. I passed the threshold of being able to travel with Grace like she was an adult several years ago. Since then it's been no effort. She packs her own suitcase, she carries her own stuff, she goes through security on her own, she knows what to do with her passport, she keeps track of her stuff and doesn't lose it; to sum it up, she's grown up. But now I'm thinking, the trunk of my car isn't big enough for all the stuff a baby needs. I think. What does a baby need these days anyways? I can't even remember. Am I the kind of person who prefers a baby sling or a stroller? Do I want a changing table or is it a waste of space and money? How do I pack for a long flight when I have a baby? How many bottles do you need? Pacifiers? What kind? Do you need them at all?
I feel like a novice, like I've never done this before. I know I did, it was just so long ago that I can't even remember.
Um, yeah. Somewhere about 40 minutes into my journey when I realized I was still in Georgetown, the whole thing got to me. A pregnant me toting my luggage for now 45 minutes in the almost rain, just to save a few bucks. My shoulders were hurting, my back was hurting, my legs were hurting, and I wanted to sit down and rest. And my spirit was defeated. I couldn't have gone even a mile before I felt like giving up. One mile? That's it? That's the extent of my ability to exercise? What is wrong with me?
By the time I got to DuPont Circle, it was raining. My glasses were all wet and I felt like every single step was arduous. But no worries, I was there and now I just needed to get to the station and catch the train. When I got to the station, I could feel my body letting go. I was starting to feel good about the exercise, despite the rain and my aching muscles.
And then the other shoe dropped. The down escalator to the station was out. I was going to have to pick up my suitcase and carry it down the escalator stairs.
If you've never been to DC and taken Metro, maybe you're thinking this is no big deal. The escalators are about three stories high. Here's a picture from the bottom of the escalators upward:
I just stood there at the top of the motionless escalator in disbelief, contemplating whether I was really going to try to pick up my suitcase and walk down. Should I ask where an elevator was? There had to be one; Americans with Disabilities Act and all. But it could be a long way from where I was already, which would require me to walk even further. And what are the chances that the person I asked on the street would actually point me in the right direction? I could spend another 15 minutes wandering around the circle, all in an attempt to avoid the stairs.
Finally I took to the left side of the escalator and took it slow. I stopped on the way down three times. I think even when none of your faculties are impaired the task will give you vertigo, but today I really felt like the world was spinning around me. Though the station was sparsely populated, relatively speaking, five groups of people passed me on the way down.
The whole experience has made me feel like I'm turning a corner into a whole new way of running my life. When I boarded my flight to Washington three days ago, it wasn't until I was already in the jetway that I had no idea how I was going to store my suitcase in the overhead bin. Then I thought, I should have preboarded. Preboarding? For pregnancy? 15 weeks? Is that allowed? But in 6 short months, I'm going to be happily jumping in that preboarding line, with my infant car seat and my gate checked umbrella stroller and my diaper bag and...
And suddenly it's all dawning on me. I'm doing this whole thing all over again. The days of everyone packing one little bag or backpack and doing the town on foot are gone. I passed the threshold of being able to travel with Grace like she was an adult several years ago. Since then it's been no effort. She packs her own suitcase, she carries her own stuff, she goes through security on her own, she knows what to do with her passport, she keeps track of her stuff and doesn't lose it; to sum it up, she's grown up. But now I'm thinking, the trunk of my car isn't big enough for all the stuff a baby needs. I think. What does a baby need these days anyways? I can't even remember. Am I the kind of person who prefers a baby sling or a stroller? Do I want a changing table or is it a waste of space and money? How do I pack for a long flight when I have a baby? How many bottles do you need? Pacifiers? What kind? Do you need them at all?
I feel like a novice, like I've never done this before. I know I did, it was just so long ago that I can't even remember.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 14 weeks
My slug hears some things these days. It has been demonstrated that a human fetus is able react to auditory stimuli outside the mother's body at 16 weeks gestation (Shahidullah & Hepper, 1992). If they can react at sounds outside the womb at 16 weeks, it's not too hard to imagine that they can hear the sounds that are going on inside their mother's body before this point. It's not clear from the research how much my slug can hear or with what definition it can hear, but it can hear.Spectacular, huh? I've started to get used to the idea that this slug is a real person who is with me all the time. I enjoy the idea of having it with me and getting to know it day by day before I get to actually see it face to face. The hearing part is wild, though. I think about everything around me and whether it is a soothing sound or not.
I have been asking myself, would I talk to Grace in the tone I do and in the volume I do if I were holding a baby in my arms? Well, I might if I lost control, but I think we can all agree that it wouldn't be good for the baby for me to nag and yell and scold and go on and on and on the way I do. It's not good for Grace, either. Or me.
Anyone who knows me will tell you, I am a laughing person. Sometimes I do it out of nervousness, other times because I'm naturally gregarious. But whatever the cause, everyone can tell you, I laugh a lot. So my kid is hearing a lot and lot of laughing as he or she is growing inside me.
I realized something about myself this week. I sing to myself a lot. My husband and I were talking about music and pregnancy the other day, saying that any kid of mine will necessarily get a lot of prenatal exposure to music because I love listening to music everywhere I go. But the singing part I didn't realize until this week. I sing every single time I get in the car and drive somewhere. When I have a tune in my head, I hum it. So much so that I have to remember to suppress it when I'm working and there are other people around. It's a strange thing because I don't think of myself as a singer or singing very much or even having a good singing voice. But I guess my kid is getting a good dose of it every day.
Singing, laughing, talking, humming. Yelling. Arguing. Resting in silence. It's a strange thing to try and imagine what it must be like to have this be the primary way one experiences the world. Yet that's about it for months, until birth. Just the sounds coming from your mom and around her while she's pregnant.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 13w and some days
I'm somewhere in my 13th week of pregnancy and, much like when your child hits two years old and you get sick of telling people her age in months, I've tired of saying how many weeks and days I'm pregnant. We all know that there is no way I'm going to term with this pregnancy anyway because of my myomectomy for fibroids last summer and the three new fibroids that are growing in my uterine wall every day. So this week we'll just call this 13 weeks and that I've started the second trimester. From here on out, it's just weeks. Done.
I'm looking more and more pregnant by the day. If I was a pregnant teen, I could mask the whole thing by wearing baggy jeans and oversized sweatshirts. Of my boyfriend. Who would have been the one who knocked me up. And I'd slump a lot. Then no one would be able to tell I was pregnant for another two months at least.
But as it is, I'm not a teenager. I'm 20 years past that. I go out every day in my town where you're almost certainly bound to run into someone you know.
As far as wearing comfortable clothing, that problem is taken care of. The weather is warming up, so I've mostly solved the problem I had of a few weeks ago where I was feeling uncomfortable wearing tights or long underwear. I went to wearing maternity clothing exclusively last week, which feels great too.
But sooner or later people are going to start noticing that my bustline above the empire waistline is indeed smaller than what's protruding below my waistline.
It's not that I mind telling family or close friends. We've told my husband's family already and I've told two of my closest friends. I'm waiting to tell my family because one of my sisters just bought her first house and I don't want to steal her thunder. But in another week or so I'm sure we'll share the news.
It's not that I'm ashamed of being pregnant. I could go on and on about how ridiculous it is that in the United States everything surrounding pregnancy and childbirth are relegated to the closet because it's clear evidence that women have sex (gasp! no! the horror!). When I was nursing Grace, I just told everyone to get over it. I wasn't going to go to some dirty closet somewhere or suffocate my baby under a blanket and watch her break out in sweaty hives just because people couldn't accept that she was a baby that needed to eat. I nursed for almost a year. As far as my being pregnant with Grace, well, there was the issue with my shotgun wedding and conservative religion and how most people around me treated my pregnancy as something shameful. But I gotta tell you, once I found out I was pregnant, it never occurred to me that I should hide it. I'm pregnant, for God's sake. Why should anyone have an issue with that?
So....what's up now? Why don't I just want to say, hey, I'm pregnant! I think it has to do with my maturity. When I was young, my life was an open book. I told everyone everything. Nothing was a secret. What we had for dinner last night, how much sleep I got, how many times I went to the ER as a kid, what my relationship with my parents was like, how much I paid in rent...I was like one big walking meme. My list of 25 random things about yourself that you're supposed to make, the one that's been running around the web the last month or so? In those days, my list would have been more like 50 and as detailed as I could possibly make them.
I'm more private now. I don't tell people very much at all. I like to be a bit private about my personal life. I mean, sure, I have confidants and people who are close to me. They know a lot. But the people in my every day life are really just acquaintances. They could be my facebook friends, but not my friend friends, you know? Even if they were my friends on facebook, I'd put them in a special group that doesn't get to see stuff about my family and personal life.
Being pregnant is like broadcasting your private life to everyone who sees you. You are expecting a baby. It's about your health and your past and your future and everything. Worse, when you're pregnant, people feel like they have permission to ask you about it, comment on it. But if it were up to me, I'd just keep it to me. Like if I were adopting, I probably wouldn't tell anyone except close friends. I know the same would be true if I were trying to conceive with a little help from fertility treatment. When I was having treatment and surgeries the last few years, we told very few people what was up. When I had surgery, people that had to know were told that I was having surgery. But even then I didn't tell them what the surgeries were all about.
So suddenly I'm facing sacrificing that privacy. I don't really like the idea of it. My impulse is to just go about my days and at some point when something about my pregnancy becomes relevant to the conversation, I'll just mention it. Is there any reason why I should just make some announcement at work or in other social circles like I'm coming out of the closet or something? It just seems like it shouldn't be that big of a deal. Yet it is. It's a huge deal to me.
I'm scratching the surface of something bigger here, I just haven't figured out what it is yet.
I'm looking more and more pregnant by the day. If I was a pregnant teen, I could mask the whole thing by wearing baggy jeans and oversized sweatshirts. Of my boyfriend. Who would have been the one who knocked me up. And I'd slump a lot. Then no one would be able to tell I was pregnant for another two months at least.
But as it is, I'm not a teenager. I'm 20 years past that. I go out every day in my town where you're almost certainly bound to run into someone you know.
As far as wearing comfortable clothing, that problem is taken care of. The weather is warming up, so I've mostly solved the problem I had of a few weeks ago where I was feeling uncomfortable wearing tights or long underwear. I went to wearing maternity clothing exclusively last week, which feels great too.
But sooner or later people are going to start noticing that my bustline above the empire waistline is indeed smaller than what's protruding below my waistline.
It's not that I mind telling family or close friends. We've told my husband's family already and I've told two of my closest friends. I'm waiting to tell my family because one of my sisters just bought her first house and I don't want to steal her thunder. But in another week or so I'm sure we'll share the news.
It's not that I'm ashamed of being pregnant. I could go on and on about how ridiculous it is that in the United States everything surrounding pregnancy and childbirth are relegated to the closet because it's clear evidence that women have sex (gasp! no! the horror!). When I was nursing Grace, I just told everyone to get over it. I wasn't going to go to some dirty closet somewhere or suffocate my baby under a blanket and watch her break out in sweaty hives just because people couldn't accept that she was a baby that needed to eat. I nursed for almost a year. As far as my being pregnant with Grace, well, there was the issue with my shotgun wedding and conservative religion and how most people around me treated my pregnancy as something shameful. But I gotta tell you, once I found out I was pregnant, it never occurred to me that I should hide it. I'm pregnant, for God's sake. Why should anyone have an issue with that?
So....what's up now? Why don't I just want to say, hey, I'm pregnant! I think it has to do with my maturity. When I was young, my life was an open book. I told everyone everything. Nothing was a secret. What we had for dinner last night, how much sleep I got, how many times I went to the ER as a kid, what my relationship with my parents was like, how much I paid in rent...I was like one big walking meme. My list of 25 random things about yourself that you're supposed to make, the one that's been running around the web the last month or so? In those days, my list would have been more like 50 and as detailed as I could possibly make them.
I'm more private now. I don't tell people very much at all. I like to be a bit private about my personal life. I mean, sure, I have confidants and people who are close to me. They know a lot. But the people in my every day life are really just acquaintances. They could be my facebook friends, but not my friend friends, you know? Even if they were my friends on facebook, I'd put them in a special group that doesn't get to see stuff about my family and personal life.
Being pregnant is like broadcasting your private life to everyone who sees you. You are expecting a baby. It's about your health and your past and your future and everything. Worse, when you're pregnant, people feel like they have permission to ask you about it, comment on it. But if it were up to me, I'd just keep it to me. Like if I were adopting, I probably wouldn't tell anyone except close friends. I know the same would be true if I were trying to conceive with a little help from fertility treatment. When I was having treatment and surgeries the last few years, we told very few people what was up. When I had surgery, people that had to know were told that I was having surgery. But even then I didn't tell them what the surgeries were all about.
So suddenly I'm facing sacrificing that privacy. I don't really like the idea of it. My impulse is to just go about my days and at some point when something about my pregnancy becomes relevant to the conversation, I'll just mention it. Is there any reason why I should just make some announcement at work or in other social circles like I'm coming out of the closet or something? It just seems like it shouldn't be that big of a deal. Yet it is. It's a huge deal to me.
I'm scratching the surface of something bigger here, I just haven't figured out what it is yet.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 12w and growing too fast to know how many days
The slug got a very cute face this past week. I saw it twice. On Monday, that baby was asleep, sound asleep. Just holding so still, heart just pumping away. When I got to my office after the appointment, I told my husband via email that his nene had a cute nose. I couldn't get the exact tone of his voice over email, but the reply contained a lot of exclamation points, something about how he didn't know I was going to get to see the baby that morning. But how was I to know?!? You show up to the appointment, they've got an ultrasound machine ready to go in the exam room, and they say, hey, let's take a look at the booger, why not? The nurse practitioner said that I image well. I said maybe practice made perfect.I'll give it my slug, that kid is consistent. Since my first ultrasound right after new years, that baby has measured in at precisely the right size for a due date of September 2, 2009. No variation. It's like the growth is just perfectly along the mean. How average.
Fortunately, the omission of my husband's presence at the ultrasound Monday was remediable. The big first trimester genetic screening imaging was already scheduled for Friday. I'm 37 years old, so they gotta tell you all about your risk for Down's Syndrome and other genetic abnormalities due to your aging eggs. You know, I think my eggs are ok; I don't know why we have to go and insult them just because they're getting on in years. But the people over at obstetrics and genetic counseling don't feel the same way I do. They feel they have to tell you about how your eggs are probably freaking out because they're over the hill. Well, ok then. Screening it is. On to the perk -- the screening includes an ultrasound image, and they look carefully at a lot of stuff inside, so I knew we'd get another chance to see my slug's cute little face. The husband was very happy. Despite the 8a scheduled appointment, we rolled out of bed on time, got over to the hospital, and got ourselves prepared to see that kid. (With, of course, the downer that we had to get a whole counseling session on what could look bad in the image beforehand.)
That slug is healthy in every way measurable at this point in its brief three-month existence. What's more, in four days, that slug grew a whole half a centimeter. It was 5.5 centimeters long on Monday and exactly 6 cm long on Friday. Now I know that doesn't seem like much, but that means it grew 7 days of growth in 4 days! So much for being average; I guess the slug wants to be an overachiever now. But the best part? That slug put on quite a show for us during the ultrasound! It wiggled, it waved, it rolled over completely four times. It turned itself completely around, head on the entirely opposite side of my uterus by the end of the 15 minute scan. It kicked like mad. I think the slug just really wanted to stop getting poked around. But it was cute as hell, I tell you. We got pictures of hands and feet and arms and face. We heard the heartbeat and got to see its little heart beating just like four days earlier.
I have one totally technical question about ultrasounds if anyone out there knows the answer. How do I get digital images of ultrasound pictures? On Friday, I finally got my hands on printouts of the ultrasound that were interesting, but I don't know how to do anything with a piece of paper. Do you have to bring a flash drive to the appointment with you or something?
Now that you know that the slug is fine, on to me. I pulled out the maternity clothing this week. God, I feel so much better. Stockings and leggings and pants and dresses and tops and all. One big oops on my part was that I was way too practical when buying maternity clothing. Everything is black, grey, or white. Granted, now I could add any new piece to the wardrobe with no problem, but it would be nice if I had diversified a little bit beforehand.
And a piece of discouraging news. That last ultrasound revealed three new and healthy fibroid tumors. My REE found them 5 weeks ago for the first time, but they were pretty small. Now? Oh, they are loving the bath of hormones this pregnancy is giving them, just loving it. The doctor I saw on Friday for genetic screening said not to worry too much about the effect of the fibroids on the pregnancy. But I'm not so worried about the pregnancy as I am about what happens to them after the pregnancy. My reaction to this is, in a word, "fuck."
But hey, as of right now I'm getting a healthy, lively, energetic baby out of this whole thing. So I won't worry about the afterwards just yet. Let's move forward to the SECOND TRIMESTER!!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Weekly Slug: 11w, 4d
I find myself doing weird things.
Googling "likelihood of miscarriage after heartbeat" and "11 weeks good heartbeat pregnancy chances of miscarriage." I'm showing no signs of miscarriage, but still. I want to get out of the woods. I know that the likelihood of a successful pregnancy increases with every passing day. I know that I've seen nothing but good signs so far.
Still, I'm skeptical and feeling nervous about getting so attached to our "nene" (colloquial Portuguese for "baby").
I thought about taking a prenatal yoga class to help with my breathing. But the classes aren't cheap and we, like everyone else in the world it seems, are tightening our belts. With the upcoming addition to our family, we're trying to save as much money as we can. So now I'm trying to decide if a relative yoga novice like myself can possibly learn yoga techniques from a book and practice them at home.
I tried taking my migraine prevention meds every other day. The result is living in a cloud of sort of a migraine most of the time. It's not exactly a migraine because it doesn't leave me incapacitated, but it's like the constant feeling of a migraine onset. Very weird. I guess I should keep taking the meds every day from now on and stop trying to taper off of them.
My baby is getting bigger. The estimates for 11 weeks are somewhere between an inch and a half to 2 inches long, head to tail so they say. I guess you only start counting your height in terms of your limbs once you're born into the world. The size of a plum, I read somewhere. How big of a plum, though? I'm still losing weight. I'm four pounds lighter now than I was at any point during the fall. A plum has been transplanted into my belly, along with its entire support system, and I've lost four pounds of weight. Do you think I'll get lucky enough to maintain the weight loss after this pregnancy comes to an end? (heh, heh, heh, no way.)
On to more personal things. Deep inside of my thoughts, I still cannot believe this thing is happening. I was so oblivious when I was pregnant with Grace, and now that I've had to deal with infertility, I am paying attention to every little thing I sense physically. And yet, the idea that a small person is inside of me is still far too wild for me to conceptualize. That person is with me every second of every day. Beginning to realize that life is. I am the first person this little person is exposed to, so to speak. What is that like for this new person?
When Grace was first born, I had a wild thought. I realized that she is the one person that I would know from the earliest moments of her life. I would watch her every moment of her life, watch her every move. But more than just being present, the relationship I had with this person would be unlike the relationship I had with anyone else. From the moment of her awareness, I was there, and our relationship has been building since she had that first awareness. Now I'm doing it all over again. But I'm remembering that this is a strange thing to do with someone you don't know yet. The process of getting to know this person coincides perfectly with that person becoming a person. It's completely unlike any other person I know.
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