Birth Story (first draft...)

This started out as an email but got too long... so I thought I'd leave it here to work on. These are basically chronological recollections and reconstructions from what Saby, Tabby, myself, and the two student nurses remembered from the night Elena was born. It all blurs out quickly for the mother, so I've been working on it since the first Friday we were at home, but as I recall or am told other things, I will add them. Not even necessarily for the entertainment of others, but for my own memory.

Would I do it again naturally? ABSOLUTELY. I have absolutely no regrets other than I didn't push as efficiently as I could have, because I was afraid of blowing my bottom out :-)

Here we go:

Although when I finally sat down to watch "The Business of Being Born" the movie had been removed, I think I beat "the system" and had just about the exact birth I wanted. On Tuesday at about 3am I woke up, partially because of a lightening storm and part for having my first contractions. I wandered edgily around the house, checking the weather channel in the dark and wondering if it were some sort of twisted premonition that maybe our child would be born on a tornado day or something. No, not so. Went back to sleep and had my first conscious contraction. Knew it right away - somehow had the presence of mind to count through it, and also imagined myself walking up a hill and back down (as contractions have peaks, and taper off... where I had [recently] read that, I know not). Guiltily called the midwife on Saby's urgings, and were told by a sleepy sounding Margie to chill at home and did, dutifully counting and timing contractions all morning and afternoon. Saby refused to go on a walk with me (which everyone was suggesting) because i think he imagined a birth on the corner down the block or something... so on his suggestion I did about 20 minutes of a yoga dvd and things really took off from there. I got in the shower under nice hot water, swayed back and forth, and he went downstairs to load the car and called the midwife, and she said we could come in and get checked... I don't think she thought we were very far along, because I was very calm and wasn't making a big deal about the pain. (thank you hypnobirthing and over-dosed pregnancy reading!!) We left for the hospital at 5 pm and when we got there, they checked me and I was 5 centimeters already :D So... we ordered dinner from MVH's awesome catering so we'd have something for later... I ate a few bites of chocolate mousse cake and some grapes, and me, Saby and my doula-friend Tabby all just sort of sat and chatted between contractions... I remember even saying to Tabby, as a contraction ended, that my mind flipped right back to whatever we were gossiping about! I was sitting on a birthing ball or leaning against it on the bed and swaying like a gypsy, which felt better than just standing or sitting. (the two Family Beginnings nurses were very complimentary of my lungi, saying it was just too comfy and convenient. for those who don't know, Lungis are the little "skirt" things that guys in Kerala wear. I was wearing one of Saby's.)

What I couldn't believe and had never read anybody else having was how much pressure and soreness was there in my legs... from the knee up towards my pelvis, that was so sore just generally and I had never expected that. At like 8:30 they checked me again and said I was 9.5 cm dilated and there was a little "lip of a cervix" in the front, so I should do somethings bending over to push the baby against it and then it would be time to push. Pretty quick after that I had an urge to push, which surprised me pleasantly, but not constantly or anything... they were filling up the tub and I was EXCITED to get in. At some point they said "do you mind if we have some students come in to watch? they've never seen a water birth or a natural birth..." So we had an audience but I didn't care, because I didn't open my eyes from about 9 o'clock onwards.

Holy crapoly... I got in, and it was like instant relief. I was making really corny jokes and floating around like a frog or turtle on my stomach, and the midwife and nurse came in and looked at me and said "you know, we tell people to do that and they won't... you're doing exactly the right thing." (yaaay! it felt good! why not!) floated around like that for awhile, and almost felt like I was wasting people's time... so after awhile contractions started coming back a bit more, and I tried pushing.
I asked Tabby to read to me from the Hypnobirthing book about pushing breathing, because it was never really covered in the class and I didn't feel like I was getting enough of a natural urge to know what to do. She read - like a heaven-sent book on tape - in the most beautiful calm voice ever, which provided me stress relief although not really any terribly specific information. I didn't want to get my body out of the beautiful pain-killing water, so I was pushing down between Saby's legs (he was seated on the side of the tub). It wasn't going really well, I think I pushed there for like an hour and a half or so. They wanted me to keep emptying my bladder, and I remember doing it a few times (was drinking lots of water) but apparently not enough. Speaking of water, they did break mine at some point - I couldn't really tell as it didn't hurt or anything, but I gave myself and little baby kudos after hearing the midwife say "ooh, nice clear water." (whoo hooo, no poop inside = non-stressed baby!)

The pushing did not seem like it was going anywhere - I was just trying to do whatever seemed the most natural and efficient to get the baby out at that point, but it was starting to really a.) hurt and b.) be discouraging. I think I got that time-warp sort of thing they talk about, because it seemed like every 5 minutes they were stopping me to check the baby's heart beat, which in turn also freaked me out, because I was afraid they were concerned about it and that was making me more nervous. It had been too high at the beginning (I was holding a warm rice bag to my abdomen for the cramps/contractions, and was throughly reprimanded by nurse Judy), and now it was getting down from there to 120 and all. Still definitely normal I guess, but the difference to me in my mind was shocking and disturbing. Everything seemed like it was going south, although all spectators and involved parties were still very upbeat and encouraging... "you're doing great" etc etc. Although it did suck - I can't think of a better way to describe it - whenever they'd ask me how I was doing, I would smile and give a thumbs up.

To me it seemed sudden, so - SUDDENLY, they said they wanted me to empty my bladder on the toilet. Getting out of the tub was an ordeal. I was pretty much naked - in a soaked tan sleep bra and nothing else - so they wrapped me in towels and blankets, put a pillow on the back of the industrial hospital toilet, and there I sat, dutifully trying my best to pee and, alternately, push. I think I was there with Tabby and Saby in the dark for about 15 minutes, asking for water, and I'm not sure if I ever did pee... but then they said to come to the bed. BUMMER! But bed sounded just a little better than toilet, so off we went... that 7 feet between the loo and the bed were tough. I somehow was heaved into the bed, onto my back, and my legs were neatly folded up so my bum was basically in the air. Then the counting began. How I had watched "Baby Story" and other Discovery Health shows, telling Saby how horrid and crappy that "push... c'mon, 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9..and 10!" scene was for both baby and mom. I couldn't help thinking that if I was holding my breath, then BABY was holding it too... poor thing. And ever since pushing urges had started, all I could imagine was my entire ass turning inside out and spending the rest of my life as a giant hemorrhoid. THAT should have been on the Birth Affirmations CD that I listened too... other than "your cervix is pink and healthy" it should have said "You will push your baby into the world without sustaining any longterm damage to your undercarriage." By the time we were on the bed though, I was past caring... it was "Get Baby Out!" time. I pushed. I held my breath and pushed. I learned at that point that I was not holding my breath enough - I was still letting it out. So damnit, I PUSHED like a mutha.

My eyes were shut for this entire process. At one point, I had what I felt like was a very productive push, and suddenly everyone was gone. Everyone in my line of sight, that is. The nurse and midwife suddenly had run over to the other side of the room! I asked "what happened? Did the baby come out?" I was scared that it had, and something was wrong. But no... they were just getting supplies apparently. The student nurses were still holding my legs and saying sweet things to me. I think Saby had thrown himself under the bed at this point. Soon after I think she crowned, and they asked me to reach down and feel my baby.... it felt like a tomato, all wet and squishy through my distended lady parts, and when they asked me again as her head emerged to touch my baby, I apparently told them "no, I don't want to hurt her." (her? hmmmm). Although I'm sure the events of this paragraph must have taken like 5 minutes, they went by in a flash for me, and the midwife very sternly told me, 'Open your eyes and push that baby towards the ceiling!!" So I did, and suddenly:
push,
gush,
splash,
orgasmic squishy feeling of relief and release...

and suddenly a very wet, warm, wiggly baby was on my abdomen.

My legs were still up in the air. They didn't come down for another 15 minutes or so, ahhhhhhhhh... but the nurses were still holding them, and best of all, I was holding my baby. Who was a SHE baby. Who was filled "with crap" (said the midwife, meaning lots of mucus) but who had a pretty face and wide, wide open eyes and a big round mouth. She looked at me and I looked at her, while they rubbed both of us down. I could feel the big thick umbilical cord still coming out from between my legs - bizzare-o!! - and attaching us... they were rubbing her back and trying to get her to cough, although she was making nice newborn sounds as far as I was concerned... I guess they wanted a nice lusty cry. It seemed too soon but they took her about 4 feet away to clean her up a bit... measure, wipe, warm, and all... and that's where she proceeded to protest by pooping 3 times on nurse Judy. Meanwhile I was having a fun time getting my abdomen manipulated and delivering the placenta... whooo hooo, what fun! Then came stitches - I had torn a little bit, but apparently not in the terribly predictable areas, so I got a double seam, lucky me. In retrospect, that was the most painful part of the ENTIRE proceedings, because I still had my damn legs in the air after what seemed like 20 full hours. (they had been hurting from about 2pm onwards... the actually having to hold them up and out was just the icing on the horrid cake). Although exhausted, and soon, FREEZING, I felt like a million bucks and was telling jokes and explaining to the nurses how we had called the baby Spampy. Saby was calling across the room to her, "Spampyyy... Spampy!" and her little arm flew up in the air, on the warmer, as if it say, "I'm here, Daddy!"

Panic at the Disco... err, Olive Garden

So after my midwife appointment, I took myself to lunch at the Olive Garden. Not always a great idea, because that soup and salad special makes service insanely slow. And Olive Gardens certainly don't seem to train their servers on the little things that make dining alone irritating, like slow checks, empty water glasses, and moving my book. But all that aside...

John Adams and I waddled into a 4 top table in the corner of an almost full dining room at about 12:30 today. When the server finally made it over, I ordered myself a raspberry lemonade and said, "Can I just order?" I had known what I wanted since the morning. Eggplant Parmesan. Ordered, denied any desire for an appetizer, and settled into my book just as John Adams was departing from France to try and obtain a loan from Holland for the American cause.

Adams was heading through the French countryside towards the Neatherlands, in the midst of what was one of the most prosperous summers of French history. His two sons were writing cute things about Mons and the fields through which they traveled. An old man nearby (in Olive Garden) was complaining that neither candidate would do anything for them. And I was cramping up like a mutha.

I shifted a bit in my chair. My very narrow, uncomfortable Olive Garden arm chair. Salad arrived. I couldn't quite get the hang of eating, because in order to get my head over my plate, I had to lean over my gigantic belly. In order to leverage the belly forward to make room to lean, I'd have to spread my legs. (one of the most awkward things about late pregnancy is sitting basically on your OWN lap) And in order to spread my legs, I'd have to perch on the end of my chair, taking up an additional 2 feet of room that wasn't really there in the over-seated section.

I pushed the table about a foot and a half forward and scooted myself back, a little more comfortably. Now able to reach my food (thank God it wasn't soup), I wasn't driving myself further down Crampy Road by burrowing my abdomen into my nether regions. Crisis averted.

The Eggplant Parm arrives. Looks beautiful. Also arriving are 4 men with a combined age of about 900, and they settle loudly and cheerfully into the table right behind me. I shift my entire table another foot forward, making the 8 year old in the table's direct path look around nervously, like he's living in the path of a magma flow. I continue to cramp, thinking "hey, this old wives tale about eggplant parm is rubbish... I haven't even eaten it yet." I eat, enjoy, and start to sweat a little bit. How I'd really like to be eating this is sitting on my yoga ball, in front of our TV, with my leg spread open in a squat wider than a barn door. THAT would feel good... but even at the edge of the stupid armed chair, I can't get comfortable. Squirming doesn't help, and also makes me feel conspicuous - which I already do, as the old men would obviously not approve of the young wipper-snappers form of dress - old people tend to hate the "show your belly" style of today. And then the white tank top screams "Spill marinara sauce on me!" and I bend over my belly and plate, trying to shovel food into my mouth while avoiding the suggestion, and cramp cramp cramp owwww...

Amber my server asks pleasantly if everything tastes okay (never ask that - it suggests something should not taste right. say "taste good?" instead.) and I smile crankily and ask for a box. By the time the box arrives, I've finished all but about 4 bites and a breadstick of the meal. She offers to run and get another smaller box, but I cut her off and say, "I think I might be going into early labor... I need to just go." She smiles as if she didn't really hear what I said but assumes it was something nice, and then you see it hit her - poor Amber's eyes go sort of wild for a moment, and she stammers, "Uhhh, I'll be right back with your check..."

Early labor or not, it won me my check fast and an extra handful of those tasty chocolate mints. Upon reaching home and laying down for a pasta-induced nap, things calmed down quite a bit... I think just being able to move around properly without hitting the table full of Methuselahs was enough to bring things back from the brink of discomfort.

Now I understand why Saby suggested putting me on house arrest :-) I can't walk around and do squats in my underwear at Olive Garden!!! What a sensible fellow my dear husband is. That, my friends, is why God made take out.

Day late and a dollar short...

Hey, it's July 21st! My father-in-law is now 71 years old, and Spampy is one day older in the womb. Had a midwife appointment this fine morning and got to be "monitored" - as is standard procedure for people past their due dates. This involved getting a fetal heart monitor and one of those snazzy contraction minders both strapped on to various sections of my tummy - contraction contraption on top, and FHM down by baby's heart beat, which is usually through it's back in the lower right side of my abdomen.

Heard the little horse gallop/techno thumping sound of baby's heart once Nurse Jill turned up the monitor, and slowly a thick tape of earthquake monitoring paper started to grind out of the machine. This paper (with the help of me clicking a button each time I felt baby move) would help determine how things were inside there... still healthy and happy? Or getting cranky and sicky?

After 15 minutes in the La-z-boy chair watching (and feeling) for kicks or movement, Nurse Jill came back in to analyze the paper and say that we had a smart baby that had passed it's first test - lots of heart rate variation, getting higher with more movement, and chilling out generally otherwise - a good sign of a healthy baby. Pointing to the heart rate line, she said, "you don't want to see that line flat. That means a sick baby... probably because their neurological systems aren't functioning properly." Ohhh. Sad! But then she said, "You've got a good one. Lotsa variation. Mr Baby passed his first test." Or Missus Baby, I reminded her. Everyone I meet is convinced that this child is a boy. (I still have absolutely no instinctive feeling either way- lame, yes.)

So then Margie the scatterbrained yet fabulous midwife came in. After asking what day it was a few times, we did establish that I was indeed one day past my due date. That merits coming into see them TWICE a week, whooo hooo! I like coming down to the hospital. She then asked me to hop up so she could feel my stomach. After some poking and prodding, during which I must have looked uncomfortable because she said, "Oh, it'll be much worse. It's gonna hurt worse." I said, "now c'mon, you're not supposed to say that." She sort of giggled and said, "oh yeah, we're supposed to say... oh, what is it..." and I interjected "some crap" and we both had a little chuckle while she continued shoving her fingers into the crevices of my abdomen. "Oh WOW, you have some tight abs!" That alleviated any pain ;-) Apparently my tight abs gave her the impression that should it NOT be head down, it probably wouldn't have a chance of turning at this stage of the game and I'd be bounced from the birthing center and possibly thrown all the way into a scheduled c-section. (she did not say any of this, it's just what I assumed ran through her head) Anyway I was just throughly impressed that my abs were not only still present, but still tight... hallelujah! She suggested getting a quick scan, so that I didn't "show up fully dilated and end up having little feet sticking out instead of a head." (breech births are not done at Family Beginnings anymore... too many liability issues, I guess)

We waddled down the hall to the little ultrasound machine room, where I was lubed up again and stuck with the magic roller... and a big, round head of hair appeared on the screen. "That's definitely a head." Yes, Margie, it is. So baby is officially head down, no sweat. Healthy, head down, still comfy, showing mild contractions occasionally (per the monitoring), and otherwise doing good with blood pressure and sugar (never even an issue) - as long as this kid decides to make it's appearance before August 3rd, we will be able to do it at Family Beginnings, in the tub, and have a beautifully delicious catered meal and freshly baked bread afterwards.

The only thing we have scheduled is my sister arriving on July 24th, Thursday. Other than that I am keeping the entire week FREE AND CLEAR (like the brain parasites group... Fight Club reference) as to not put any pressure, suggestion, etc into the old subconscious bucket. We technically should use this still baby-free time to go to the church and get our marriage blessed, but I am convinced that the minute we go out of our way to schedule something, it will throw a wrench into the well-oiled machinery that is this process of [slowly] bringing a baby into the world. (the thing sitting on my other shoulder suggests that the baby is waiting until we have our marriage blessed to be born... but I knocked that little bugger off with my curling iron this morning and accidentally stepped on him, so his suggestion is entirely off the table at this point.)

Due date...

Well, well, well. Should we somehow managed to have a child within the next hour and 20 minutes, we will be part of the 5% of people who actually give birth on their due date. Damn! I thought we would be part of the five percent!! I really did. And I was hoping we could manage it because today is Saby's dad's birthday, and I wanted to give him a grandkid for his 71st birthday :-) Alas, it is not to be...

Last night, the scenario seemed to suggest that things would go as we hoped. We had what we considered our "last meal" - taking into consideration things like protein for the long run, ease of digestion, and for me... what might be thrown up the easiest. Ate beautiful take out from Logan's Roadhouse - Saby had salmon, I had a half rack of ribs (see my thoughts in a previous blog about eating ribs in the birthing tub). And a salad, and grilled veggies... that was my justification for the rather unhealthy rib rampage. But it was indeed delicious, and after watching some tv we took a mini-walk (and saw the beautiful full or almost full moon through the clouds) and then retired to the bedroom for potentially a long night.

I was rubbing my handy dandy Palmer's Organic Stretch Mark Massage Cream into my giant, dropped belly before officially climbing into bed, when I discovered that it was turning all skanky on the far side of the belly. You know, the "lee" of the tum... the part I can't see... the proverbial dark side of the moon. I had itched, scratched or somehow made contact with that part of my body and discovered that a nasty sticky film was forming on my taunt but supple belly. I was grossed out. Utterly disgusted. I had trusted that junk all through my pregnancy and suddenly it turned on me. Bastard lotion! That inspired a shower, at about midnight, which was turning into every birthing story we've read... "my husband woke up when I was in the shower at 3am with contractions..." laaa la laaa, yada yada yada. Well, while being extremely relaxing it also got the skank off my belly.

Now, after getting out of the shower and applying a new coat of a different species of Palmers Organic (tummy butter kicks massage cream's ass!!), I came back to bed in my little shorts and sleep bra and started to read. At some point while we both intermittently watched my tummy tighten and move, Saby noticed that every single hair on my body was standing up. Including (and where he initially noticed) the little peach fuzz hair on my belly. And that made me realize I was super sensitive, and a little cranky. Boo-ya! "PMS-like symptoms" - a sign of labor or pre-labor or something or other. But it was not to be.

This morning we woke up, still pregnant but optimistic, and moved through the day watching every little twinge and cramp with great interest. I went for a swim in the late morning and basically paddled around the deep end (all 5 feet of it) for awhile and then did these strange, frog-like squats back and forth in about 4 feet of water. Somewhere between the swimming and jumping (and not contracting or cramping or anything, much to my dismay) I did get a few instances of "very hard baby" belly, which is either Braxton-Hicks contractions or just our baby deciding to push as hard as possible against the outside world. Felt the pressure in the belly itself, and reached down to feel it with my hands, marveling at how hard the little bugger gets. Continued my froggy jumps across the pool. Subconsciously reach down for my belly as another skinny girl walks into the pool, and realize it's gone completely - COMPLETELY - soft. Like, smushy, gushy, barely seeming to be there compared to how hard it was. In a little panic, I looked around and reached down to check if there was a baby floating nearby somewhere. Whew...

We ate Thai food this afternoon, and after a delicious 2 or 3 hour nap in the afternoon, we had smoothies, installed the car seat, went to Meijer, got dinner from Wendys (hehehe) and watched some of the Espy's - very entertaining, by the way. We took a long walk (by our standards) around the apartment complex while hearing about how the skydiving adventures of some friends went. That walk certainly seemed to help - I've been sort of consistently crampy since returning home, whooo hooo! Now we're simply back to waiting... tomorrow at 9am I have a midwife appointment, and she'll tell me fun things like how dilated I am and all the cool things that shoving a hand up my hoo-hoo can relate... Saby's coworkers threw him a party on Friday with a card and a delicious cake with a baby face on it. They aren't expecting him back Monday, but it looks like he'll make an unexpected appearance.

That's life on our due date. More news whenever something newsworthy happens.

Gloating

http://www.bizjournals.com/dayton/stories/2008/07/07/daily38.html

So our hospital has been rated one of the best in the nation. Not necessarily for having babies, but rather for orthopedic care. But they also measure other aspects to get the general rating, and being kickass is a "measurable" we're well acquainted with already.

Yay Miami Valley!

7 lbs, 2 oz

Spampy's a big'un! That was on July 3rd, too.

The Baby Borrowers

Holy Crap!
I'm watching the new show "The Baby Borrowers." I want EVERYONE to watch this show. It illustrates a couple of beautiful points:

1.) A few of the kids on this show, which I assume represent a decent portion of today's youth, are useless, irresponsible, spoiled idiots.
2.) Babies are lots of work.
3.) Useless, irresponsible, spoiled idiots should not have babies.

Some of these kids are doing good - natural multi-tasking parent types, even at the tender ages of 17 and 18. On the other hand, one girl can't barely hold her head up straight, much less care for a baby or have a job. It's incredible.

My sister and I have determined that there's a bubble, and you can live either in or outside of it. Inside the bubble, everybody's married relatively happily, they hold jobs; they don't do illegal things or engage in self-destructive behavior, have tattoos, or neglect their children. One nice thing about the bubble is that it is transparent. When you get up to the edge, from either side, you can see through to the other. It helps keep things in perspective.

Yeah, I'm judgmental. But I also have standards, and I hold other people to them. Sorry if you don't make the cut.

A Baby Story... House of Babies... Bringing Home Baby

For those of you (if there's anybody left out there) who like to watch baby shows or who have had children of your own, will it be worthwhile to dust off the old 2001 video camera and sort of document the first few weeks of life with baby? Technology mandates it being done on the regular digital camera, for ease of editing and hopes of ever doing anything with it, but would the regular camera sitting around the house inspire random visitors, well wishers, and family members to attempt cinematic direction and result in snippets of video that will be amusing 2 years from now?

Or should we sell our camera on Craigslist like Liz and Matt did?? :-) That potential $100-$130 would buy a lot of diapers, or maybe a stroller... or one 12th of a 47 inch LCD flat screen TV.

I like to think that it would be fun, especially considering we're going to have Kelly here for the first week or so as our helper and extra special Aunt, followed by Mummy and Daddy (my inlaws) plus Saby's sister Deepa and her daughters, Leah and Lisa, and possibly a few other aunties and uncles from around this end of the country. It would be extra super special to have record of all these folks being around for the little Spampers to look back upon. But like so many other things, will it ever see the light of day? Liz and Matt still await their wedding video. Poor Melanie has yet to ever see the video we took in late May of 2003 in Real de Catorce. AHHHHH!!!

Maybe that should be a project. Last 3 weeks of pregnancy... go through ALL the old videos, put them (if worthy) on to video tapes (ahhh, for a dvd burner), and catalog them properly. Others... perhaps I'll burn them :-) Like, in a fireplace.

Time Flies When You're Having Fun...

Tomorrow we'll have one month and about 2 days left before Spampy's due date. My due date, Spampy's, ours... to whom does a due date actually belong? (correct usage of "whom"? Anybody, anybody?)

Suddenly this past week or so, everyone is my best friend. The check out girl at Trader Joe's. My dental hygienist. The bouncer at Sam's Club. Each had their own piece of wit or wisdom. The bouncer at Sam's had me particularly worried, because he was looking back and forth, from my receipt to the cart, over and over. Not one to be accused of shoplifting, especially because I was a Sam's Club newbie and wasn't sure of the whole process, I asked what the problem was... and the old man responds with a twinkle in his eye, "you're smuggling out a watermelon." Ahhhhhh, funnnnnnyyyy.

I think some of the best advice I've gotten was while I bought almonds and (heheheh) WINE (for the in-hospital, post-Spampers celebratory toast) at Trader Joe's today. Somehow we got onto the subject of how two of her kids came one week early, and two of hers had been one week late. (She had 5, she said, so was one just on time?) She told me that the early kids were fussy little screamers from the point of being born until they reached what would have been their due date.

INTERESTING!

She asked me how I felt. My standard answer (many seem to expect, "miserable!") is "great... so far so good." She told me that she always tells ladies who are eager to get things going, and get the baby "out", to just wait. Wait for your peace of mind, and wait for the development of the baby. I really liked hearing that, because I had said waaaay back that I wanted to go late. My plan was to let the little bun brown off as long as possible. (no Mocha Spampy pun intended)

Lots of people told me I'll not feel that way closer to my due date. But right now, I really like how everything is paced. I'm not eager to be done, but I'm not dreading the whole birthing process either. Pregnancy is perfectly paced and I'm not going to mess around with nature - nine months (or ten, depending how you count) is the perfect amount of time to adjust and adapt in a relatively peaceful way, without totally changing you life; it's time to stretch without bursting; it's time enough to grow comfortable in your skin, both physically and mentally, without plateauing along the way.

So on Friday I hit 36 weeks, and as we drive up to Kristine's wedding in Michigan I'll only be able to imagine where and what might be happening 2, 3 and 4 weeks from then. We have 2 birthing classes left (more on that later) and beyond that, the only activities planned for July are vague notions of nesting and lots of time in the pool.

Ode to Handicapped Parking...

Ahhh, I found my loophole, my chance to take advantage of the system. Not even my midwives knew that pregnant ladies can apply for a handicapped parking pass, at least temporarily. How did *I* know that? Thanks to Windo, who's sister would probably fall into the category of having milked her pregnancies for all they were worth. Ha! Well, thanks to her...

I said to my midwife Margie, "is there any truth to the rumor that I could get a handicapped tag?" She looked at me like I was nutty (which is the pot calling the kettle black, seriously... read on) and I affirmed that a "friend in Michigan" had done it. Recognizing how there are actually a lot of differences between how Michigan and Ohio run, she said she'd try... and wrote me a prescription for a pass, ending two weeks after my estimated due date. When I arrived at the friendly Beavercreek Bureau of Motor Vehicles, they were all set to hook me up. As I peered over the high counter at my friendly clerk Maryann, I watched her eyes look over the paperwork and then heard her mouth mutter, "2002?" Ignore... ignore! Curiosity got the best of me and I asked, "2002 what?" The script had been written to last until "August 4, 2002." Two-thousand-TWO??? Margie is a very sweet, wonderful woman, and I'm very comfortable with the idea of squeezing out my little cantaloupe in her presence, but sometimes I wonder if she has Skittles for brains.

Well, all's well that ends well. Made some phone calls the following day and had them fax over a new script. One check for $3.50 later, and I was walking about 25 steps into Target to buy ice cream, almonds, and a pool noodle. Good times! Normally I park way out to prevent any denting of the new car... now I can park way IN. Hallelujah!

Diapers!

Holy Guacamole... we bought diapers. Well, I bought diapers.

Babies R Us sends out these coupons that you can use for a strange string of days that are far, far away from the date you receive them. Good marketing, Babies R Us... I've been coveting that coupon for almost a month now, pouring over our registry to determine what item would benefit the most from 15% off, making plans around the effective dates and discussing it all ad nauseum with Saby. Attached was another snazzy coupon for $10 off any "two" massive packs of diapers. Massive INDEED...

We now have the first 308 diapers of our baby's life sitting in our front room.

I haven't been getting many hours at work, and I think I'm starting to nest, so over the past few days I have stalked websites about diapers, checking reviews, prices, etc... seems people just rave over Papmpers Swaddlers because they're soft and don't leak. So I bought a 92 ct box of those, size newborn, and a massive 216 ct box of the next size up - 1 - so that our baby's precious waste will be swaddled in the softest sling available, up until 14 lbs.

I've been advised that the best diapers in the world are from Target, from Costco, from Huggies, and from Pampers. Oh, and Sam's Club. They're ALL the best... apparently. We will have to see what size/shape/poop-capacity our baby is in order to determine whose advice is true.

Yeah, diapers are expensive and I am aware that I'm going to be filling up my own landfill. But we are actually toying with the idea of using cloth diapers after a point, especially if we were to travel to India anytime during the infancy (or I guess anytime pre-potty training) of lil' Spampy. When Saby's sister brought her disposable diapered baby to India, my mother-in-law (bless her heart) had to dig a hole on the edge of their property and bury the diapers. No municipal garbage removal... no standardized disposal of trash. At least not in rural Kerala. Unless you wanna be looking at those diapers for the next 5 years, you gotta find a way to get rid of them yourself.

Cloth diapers are not a good scheme for a family not committed to the idea, with a brand new baby who poos and pees 6-8 times a day. Maybe after 7 months or something. (and did anyone ever tell you that good cloth diapers cost upwards of like $20 a piece?) But another consideration is that once a cloth diaper goes on, Saby's ability to change it will probably turn off. I do not foresee him scraping crap out of a cloth diaper, swishing it around in a toilet, and then throwing it in a bin to wait to be washed. How this will actually go: Saby with diaper in one hand, bare-butted baby in the other, baby peeing freely in the wind, Saby throwing up in a bin.

Anyway, for better or for worse we have now what seems like a massive quantity of diapers... I'm sure in a few months we will look back and laugh at how negligible the number 308 really is in the grand scheme of things. We did crack open the newborn size box and took out one diaper, in order to see how small they really are.

They really ARE small. And they smell like heaven. Ooooogie boogie little diapers going around little baby bums and legs... softy sweetie smells like powder delicious diapers, cootchie cootchie cooooooo...

until they fill with caca.

Home Sweet Home

Still feeling carpal tunnel-y, but I write this to say that we've finally gotten our house set up! We have furniture, and food, and most excellent and perhaps surprising of all, cleanliness. I think it's because we actually have room now - life has been simplified quite a bit since the 1 bedroom or even the townhouse days.

If you're reading this from afar, it means, "come visit!".

Getting to be a big, proper pregnant lady with a tight belly and a rolling twisty head-down baby. Watching lots of Jon & Kate Plus 8 to get used to the crying noise in the house... eating massive amounts of veggies... drinking from my big water bottle... doing Rocki's Prenatal Yoga volume 1 at least once every two days, with intentions of swimming on the off days (although that has only happened once to date).

Going today to buy a car seat from Babies R Us, because I have a coupon burning a hole in my pocket that expires June 5th, and also because I'm anxious to buy some baby crap :-) This ends up being the most useful, and in the off chance that baby comes early, at least we'd have a way to bring it home from the hospital!

Self-imposed Distress...

Note: Photo above from Lalee's house, May 11th. Testing the capabilities of a Boppy. Results: works well as a portable coffee table.


Arrggghhh, I'm experiencing the most uncomfortable thing of my pregnancy... carpal tunnel! Saby says it's not, but I said it IS (I WebMD'ed it, for God's sake... they're NEVER wrong!) and it hurts and I shouldn't even be typing this, because it finally feels better for the first time in 3 days.

Bash this into a basket with the fact that my car's title is floating in some neverland between Ohio and Michigan, with me (the owner) having no idea where or how to find it, and Tim Kerr, my co-signer, sitting in Missouri at a Chrysler plant trying to keep his company afloat while also dealing with the procrastinatory (I made that word up) issues of his sister-in-law and needing to get some crappy documents notarized so he can sign off on whatever it is I need to do in order to get new license plates.

Hello, run on sentence.

Other than that, apparently I'm 32 weeks and 4 days pregnant today... time is beginning to fly, people! Lessons learned at this point include:

a.) how much I actually use my right hand, which becomes painfully obvious when use is uncomfortable and as a result I have to have Saby push me out of bed from behind (unless of course, I can swing my legs down and get enough momentum to just pop OUT of bed, but that risks a charlie horse)

b.) that I never, ever want to be overweight. Being about 25 lbs heavier takes a notable physical toll on a person, and while I still feel pretty fit and lithe comparable to how I look, just climbing into bed can leave me wheezing for air. This of course is not just all being a fatty, it's partially because baby is busting forth in my sternum and pushing my diaphragm up into my lungs.

c.) our baby is a disco dancer, mountain climber, explorer, boxer, Kung Fu artist, Chinese circus tumbler, contortionist, acrobat, and possibly even the bad guy from Monsters Inc. (because of the way my belly will ripple and bumps suddenly appear and disappear). Apparently this (like everything in pregnancy) is an "enjoy it while you can" issue, because at 33 weeks and beyond baby is getting to big to be punching and jabbing in such a confined space, and rather just rolls and tumbles around.

d.) Braxton Hicks contractions are the coolest things ever... completely painless and throughly interesting, they consist of my uterus contracting and thus becoming HARD... like watermelon hard, where it will give a bit but remain firm. Very cool! That's when I actually try and get people to touch me. "Hey, wanna feel this?"

May showers brings June...

Can I just take a moment to mention that while in April it was almost constantly 70 degrees Farenheit or above, it is now mid-May and not even going to reach 60 degrees at noon.

Happy Birthday to me

Tomorrow's my 29th birthday. That's the age that lots of people pretend to be, when they don't want to get any older. After 29 comes 30, and then it's just a giant slide towards 40 and beyond.

More importantly, my Grandma Schaefer turns 98 in one extra day, May 21st. She lives on her own and until a year ago, was not taking a single medication. Think of all the people our parents' ages, or even OUR age, who are already on some sort of medication for a chronic condition, like high blood pressure or cholesterol. Talk about good genetics... she's from hearty Irish stock. Which, actually, I'd almost consider that they'd be a little worse for wear on the grand scheme of things, as her father was an unemployed flax-mill worker in County Armagh and I'm sure they were working hard, with not a ton to eat. She was born in good old Grand Rapids though, and prospered on good Michigan milk and cherries :-)

For my birthday I am treating myself to less work and more personal pampering... baby's getting big and life is starting to edge towards that "world of uncomfortable" that pregnant ladies talk about. It's time for prenatal yoga, swimming, fruits and lots of stir-fry. We're testing a theory brought up by our birthing class teacher - don't give your kid anything other than vegetables when it first starts solid foods. We thought we'd kick that off amniotic-style... so I'm trying to catch and send the vegetables, but as a result, I'm bombing Saby out of the apartment now with noxious broccoli gas. Apparently the whole thing of giving stomach gas to your baby via breastmilk is rubbish, so as long as he can continue bearing it, we will continue the experiment, even once babe is born. And hopefully Spampy will come out of the womb and ask to be taken directly to Mongolian BBQ.

Yesterday we had an Ikea breakfast to fuel about 2.5 hours of Ikea wandering, down at - yup! you guessed it! IKEA. We moved into a two bedroom apartment having only about 1.25 bedrooms worth of stuff, and now we're looking for a sofa bed for the front room, a bed for the guest/baby's room, a chest of drawers at the right level to also be a changing table (functionality), and maybe a hutch or sidebar. Saby was a TROOPER and wandered happily with me among the POANGs and BJURSTAs. When we realized that a Poang chair would be much cooler and more comfortable than a regular nursing rocker, we giddily decided to get one and did finally burn ourselves out trying to find it in the "self-serve" area. I've never shown my middle finger to more inanimate objects on shipping palates before in my life... alas, the Venna blue was out of stock, so we shall purchase our lovely chair and ottoman combo in a few weeks when we go back for a properly researched shopping orgy.

I like the way you move

I think the days of Baby holding disco parties with friends, and running back and forth through it's womby home like somebody's chasing it, are over. Space must be getting tighter inside there, because lately little Spampers has taken up barrel rolling. Big, clunky rolling surges can be seeing moving across my belly. Less of the sudden jolts and more of these tsunami-style waves are happening at night. Yesterday I was sitting and reading while the baby put on a show... when Saby came to see what was happening, we discovered (much to our terrified delight) that one particular spot on my stomach would pop out suddenly by about a half of an inch. *plink* That fast - you couldn't believe you'd seen it. Like the baby was pushing with either a foot or it's head... probably bracing itself against a rib and stretching out. To our even MORE terrified, disturbed delight, we discovered that if you then tapped that exact spot, it would pop out again. We used it to divine all sorts of questions... no movement meant no, one or two meant yes: "Baby, are you happy in there?" *plink-plonk* - yes.
Baby did refuse to answer whether it is a girl or a boy. Cagey lil' thing.

7 Months!

Quick post, as still lots to do... although a lot less than the last 4 days or so.

Apparently in the hubbub of the last week I've suddenly jumped to being 7 months pregnant! And to celebrate, I think Spampy ran off to Sam's Club and bought "shim"self a trampoline. Things are especially bouncy down there. Already I admire this baby's energy. Or maybe it's all the fast food... poor thing is tripping out.

Two days ago we moved to Beavercreek (Money Magazine's 88th Best Place to Live in the US, apparently) and yesterday I went and signed papers on our new car... today I am exploring the capabilities of our washer and dryer and trying to assemble enough food and clean clothing for Saby to survive 5 days without me. Tomorrow... leaving for St. Louis for the aforementioned 5 days of sisterly love and activities in Kerrville West.

Meanwhile: hungry, feeling great, occasional hip issues but very minor, getting a big ol' belly (to the point where I'm offered chairs at Time Warner Cable, and the check out boy told me at Kroger he'd take my groceries to my car for me - woah!) and generally very excited for the goodness of May: car, birthdays, trip to Michigan, St. Louis, lovely weather, swimming pool opening, etc etc etc. (not in that order)

One note on our new digs: we have a store down the road called "Mall of India." Thought it was a creatively named Indian grocery. Seems it's a grocery-cum-Devon Street style store chock full of accessories, knick-knacks, and clothing as well. First time I've been to an Indian store that had only white people in it. Huh! I think it's expensive :( Honkeys don't know any better ;-)

The "Things to Do" List

Third trimester... time to make an agenda.

1.) Talk to baby more. Apparently babies from about 30 weeks on are able to hear and sometimes even see, as much as one would be able to through lots of muscle, skin, and amniotic fluid. They begin their "learning" at this stage, and books read out loud to in vitro babies are responded to more favorably once they're out. Huh! If this is true, our baby will dance to the theme from The Office and King of Queens, and recognize the voices of talk radio almost as much as our own. (We did read "What's Wrong, Little Pookie" 3 times last night)

2.) Eat better Meaning healthier, more often, and in smaller portions. Space is tight in there, between baby and organs. Stuffing myself on JELLO has been proven to be possible. Who would have thought? Don't take me to a buffet, I will be a waste of money.

3.) Take it easier Round ligament pain, how you are a pain in my ass. Or rather, my sides. Getting up or bending down quickly often elicits a response that makes me think my ab muscles are ripping... but they're not, they're just sensitive and holding more than they're used too. Move slowly, lil' Momma.

4.) Swear less So Windo last summer would chide us that we'd never be fit parents because we swear too much. I say a$$ and sh*t as much as anyone, but apparently the occasional f-bomb when your car breaks down was just too much for him. Before he calls child services... Judge not lest ye be judged; his sister throws her kids into a dark closet and locks the door when they misbehave. I'm betting her peace of mind now won't be worth the shrink bills later.

But still, cutting down on the vulgarity is a great idea whether children are involved or not.

5.) Make lots and lots of lists
OCD. I love to see everything written down. Thus this blog. 'Nuff said.

SUBLIST... for the short term

a) Pack your brains out!
b) Call movers! Today!
c) Pick a color for the bedroom to be painted, and the small wall in the dining area. One decision down? Baby's room = 2 walls of AVOCADO. Why? It's neutral, it's calming yet lovely, absorbs light, and most of all... it's left over.
d) Buy a car. Sweet baby jane, that sounds easier than it is. Why doesn't Chrysler have more attractive vehicles this year? It would be so easy for us, and inexpensive, if only they hadn't blinded the designers after their separation from Daimler.
e) Pack for St. Louis, Michigan, etc... two trips on two adjacent weekends, what studs are we? One's on an AIRPLANE, maw!!! Yeeeeehaw! Okay, it's not Tahiti, but I like to travel, anywhere.

Off to the races!!

Statistical Goodness, Version 3.0

Twenty six - woaaah, TWENTY SEVEN weeks pregnant, today. That's almost 7 months. That's a viable baby. A viable 2 pound baby, but a few weeks in the NICU could do wonders for that. Holy moly.

I weight something around 165 lbs. Still not sure where I started, but it appears I've put on about 20 lbs, give or take 3. (mostly take)

Quit measuring my belly, because it's begun speaking for itself.

Quit measuring my big momma pillows, because they've got a mind of their own, too.

Feeling movement about a billion times a day, which is beautiful and wonderful and not painful or intrusive at all.

Maternity clothes purchased... countless. But tickled pink with every single item. Motherhood Maternity really is a decent little shop. Got to break out the tank top today, aye carumba.

Temperature outside: 75 (yay!)
Internal temperature: rising. Saby has begun to notice that I'm wandering around in my skivvies while he's wrapped up in a blanket. I'm not sweating or noticing anything much, besides a beautiful absence of that cold feeling in my feet. I will take it!

Bathing suits: 2, at a time. I have one big suit I bought on clearance, thinking it could be faux maternity... no such case, it's just too big. My regular swim suit is too tight. I thus wear the loose one over top of the tight one, and pretend I'm training for Sectionals and need more drag. (hello, 1996)

Maternity Bathing Suits: ZERO. Although I have my eye on two at the store. Beetches don't make the bottoms big enough... am wondering if I could be fired for mixing and matching a large bottom with a medium top. Will screw up inventory and make hell for manager, who I love. Not worth it. Will just swim bottomless.

(Just Kidding)

Registreeee

Just got back from another pointless but entertaining visit to Babies R Us. Babies R Us is located about 300 yards from where I currently sit, on my bed, typing this - thus the reason I had applied there for a job back in the early fall when we moved to this side of I-75. Unfortunately, they felt I was highly qualified for an assistant manager position (oooh, flattering!) down in Cincinnati (ooh, stupid!). And this is why I do not work at Babies R Us.

I like to wander around our mall-side neighborhood's strip mall atmosphere while drinking something cold from Starbucks. It gives me a feeling of purpose that I don't get laying around at home. And it's nice exercise. So today I wandered out to Starbucks, then to a Mazda dealership nearby for some extremely preliminary car shopping, and then out Mazda's back door through a mine-field of geese poop to Lowe's to check paint colors for our new apartment. (Side note: $30 worth of paint and a day's worth of effort have made our current apartment, a six-hundred something square foot, one bedroom living space, seem like the house we will never bother to buy. It's been a beautiful haven of serenity in a time of uncertainty and transient living, and I want to continue that vibe in our new place... with more paint) Too caffeinated (even decaf has it's perks) to go home yet, and needing to use a loo, I wandered back via Babies R Us.

Now, Babies R Us is a superstore of cheer and helpfulness; sort of a pastel Wal-Mart look with a cult-recruitment attitude. They are NICE. All the signs are done in a sort of feminine, adorable font. Things are purple and they play Sufjean Stevens on their music rotation. There are iddy-biddy clothes for the ladies and grannies to coo about, and enough big box items to challenge and entertain the dads. (I for the most part pack myself in with the men... when given the choice between a Cabbage Patch doll and a pair of Fisher Price plastic roller skates as a 5 year old, I chose the skates because I wanted to play with the switches and gears that would adjust the size. I still can't get an infant car seat off of the base, though.)

Today I had enough estrogen -perhaps I had used up all my testosterone sitting on a tractor at Lowes reading about color schemes and paint quality- to go directly back towards the nursery bedding sets. All the cutesy little crib bumpers and quilts and dust ruffles that people tend to think they need, simply because they are available. It's interesting... a friend bought a set at a steal of $80 (they run between $129 and $200+) and her son has never slept in his crib, to my knowledge. Now even the sources you're supposed to turn to for good information on safety... no names come to mind, thank you, Google for making me dumb... say that crib bumpers are unnecessary and even dangerous, quilts are strangulation hazards, and, well, they don't have any problems with dust ruffles at this point, but I supposed a predator could hide under your crib easier that way, if you want to be really paranoid. I have convinced myself that I do not want to take a part in the nursery bedding orgy and that my son or daughter is going to go through babyhood sleeping on a tightly fitted sheet in a hand-me-down luxury crib, in a well-accessorized room with at least one wall painted. And that's why I was there: to decide what color to paint that one wall would be.

See, having very little imagination and lots of expectations regarding the concept of a baby's nursery, I look to the very things I call rubbish for inspiration. Being unaware of the gender of our soon-to-be child is one x factor. The fact that baby's room will be mostly unoccupied by baby and serve as more of a transient home to guests and helpers for around 8 weeks is another thought. Animals or alphabets? Modern Ikea functionality or funky, friendly textures? Arrrrgghhh... Ikea! That's my other decorating demon. Knowing that it's just a few miles down the road makes me want to hitch-hike down for some cheap baby textile buying. Yeah. Not sure where I'm going with this, but basically when it all comes down to it, I am going to build the color scheme for this child's room from a simple, $14 fitted crib sheet.

I knew that when I walked out of Babies R Us today, but I wanted to justify the decision. So I pop online and try to get my friend Google to give me some backup. Self-doubt took over and I found myself searching the nursery bedding sets I liked on eBay. Prices were still high... high enough to bring back my cynicism. With great scorn, I turned to Google at last and searched "Baby bedding sets are crap", hoping to get an official press release from the surgeon general about how you will save your baby's life and millions of dollars by not giving in to the peer pressure. Instead, I found some dude's very entertaining blog:

http://www.westnet.com/~crywalt/pregnancy/morestuff.html

After reading his entry, I can proudly say our hand-me-down crib is a KinderKraft. Well, a 13 year old KinderKraft. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, surgeon general.

Big Bummer

Ahh, lousy news. My grandma down in Florida fell last night, and has broken her pelvis. Arrggh!

Very little news at this point, but she seems fine, although very uncomfortable. I don't know if it's constant or just a result of movement, but when my Uncle Bill carried her into the house, she passed out from the pain. Poor Helen!

I was online trying to find out some information about pelvis injuries, when I happened upon the blog of a lady who rides horses. Her horse threw her, apparently, and she ended up with a fractured pelvis. She's managed to get around decently in a wheelchair during her recovery, and I found this entry to be very entertaining, about going to the mall...

"When we approached the elevators to get back to the parking garage there was a line. Not a line of wheelchairs or even strollers. There was a line of fat people. Now, I’m not a svelte person but these were people in danger of having their abdomens filmed for a news report on obesity in America. They were sort of milling around until I pulled up in the wheelchair. Then they formed a line and studiously did not look at the person in the wheelchair. When the elevator came and they piled on and there was no room for the person in the wheelchair, they all looked away. The doors closed and the husband yelled, “You all should take the stairs!” For some reason the elevator came back to our level and opened with the same people on it. I looked pitiful and the husband said that if they had taken the stairs they’d have been there by now.

I think that we should take turns from now on going to the mall with the wheelchair. Shaming lazy people is a blast."

- http://www.spiritblog.net/?p=502

My grandma was just telling us how she wanted to get rid of the Rascal scooter that was taking up space after the passing of my grandfather... hopefully, if she still has it, she could get some use out of it while she heals. Poor sweet Grandma. She's going to turn 90 in October and she was planning to come to Port Clinton for a huge celebration in her honor, with a rented condo for she and Aunt Kathy to stay in, and lots of food and a family marathon of Jon and Kate Plus Eight (we're all fans now!). With a little luck and some helpful healing prayers maybe she could still make the trip. I want to go down and help, or at least be around to cheer her up, but she'll be recovering in the wilderness of northern Florida where first-time pregnant ladies are not advised to go in their final trimester (advised, by husbands and midwives, at least). *Sigh*

Jumpy, Swimmy, Kicky

Our baby has opened a clay-shooting range inside my womb. It has friends over between about 9 and 11:30 p.m., almost every night, and they jump, chase each other, and then I think they even do that thing teenagers do when you try to rock the car at stoplights... but instead they're rocking my uterus!

You can see it on the outside. It jolts. The whole thing will pop up, and then suddenly shift abruptly to the left. If it were a seismic plate you could measure it on the Richter scale, but sadly I am not a geological phenomenon and can only judge it by my own personal "holy CRAP!" meter. Last night was a new all-time high.

I think some are hiccups, because lots of the movement is relatively rhythmic. I like those a lot, because they are the closest to predictable. Otherwise, except for the higher likelihood of having all this jumping and bumping happen after dinner or before going to bed, I really have absolutely no control over what this child inside me does. And that is scary... interesting... even prophetic. It's not me. It's it's own person, even now.

International Baby Mania, Part 2

Well, Saby's friend's wife gave birth yesterday to a little baby girl. No c-section, yaaay!

Recently we've found out that cousin Sunil's sister is expecting her second. Now another Babi (Dhanya's sister) is expecting her first. And another India cousin, Reema (I think) is expecting her first as well.

When it rains, it pours, baby!

The Amazing Inflatable Transparent Woman

Long time, no write!

In whatever that gap of time has been, I've developed a lovely and very obviously pregnant belly. No more wondering by strangers if I'm potato shaped because of a thyroid condition, hump back, or just horrible posture... I'm probably just about at that point where strangers will try touching me soon. One prohibitive issue to that is that I seem to be carrying high, and my breasts seem to be consuming my belly. I don't want some grandfather in Cub Foods with 80-year old depth perception to lovingly pat one of my boobs!

Instead of the little pixie belly that you see on some (mostly taller) women, I've got a decently oval shaped bump that wants desperately to see what's going on around my chesticle area, and keeps expanding upwards. My fundus jumped over what seems like a span of 2 weeks from being below my belly button to knocking at the door of my second ribs. So the on-ramp leaving normal-shaped me, heading towards the hilly highway o' birthing, ascends from just beneath the band of my bra to a pinnacle that has yet to be measured, since it hurts my hip and butt to lay flat on my back :-)

Although, speaking of that... funny thing. It hurts (hurt being relative too... it is often quite uncomfortable) to lay on my back if my buttocks and hips are flat down on any surface... ultrasound table, exam table, bed, floor, futon, even couch. So I go to sleep, like many pregnant women, propped up into a very unnatural-yet-comfortable state with pillows: one behind my back, one about half under my belly, one between my legs, and one and a half under my head. With each subsequent visit to the bathroom in the night, one of these pillows drops off the priority list and usually physically drops off the bed. More often than not I wake up in the morning, FLAT on my back. Or sometimes even on my stomach - go figure. Now other than the hurty-painy thing, prego-chicks are not advised to sleep on their backs anytime after about 16 weeks, because the weight of the uterus can impede the flow of blood down a major vein heading to your legs and artery heading back out to your heart. Dizziness and freaked-out, oxygen deprived babies can apparently result. Other sources say to sleep however you are comfortable. Apparently my body is listening to the latter, especially after about 4am.

And waking up. That's been interesting as well. Thanks to our Hypnobirthing class, we have these fabulous cds to which we can listen - one is called "Birthing Affirmations" and is followed by the Rainbow Relaxation script, which leads you through all these different visualizations that help you relax in order to have a more pain-free labor and birth. Both are very relaxing, although the first makes Saby giggle because there are three different instances of "My cervix is opening as my body prepares to bring my baby into the world." Even in class, I heard the Rainbow Relaxation script about 1/4th of the way through, because to me, it just screams "GO TO SLEEEEEEP!" So listening to these at bedtime, while drifting off to sleep, has resulted (for me at least) in the most delicious, beautiful slumber. Waking me up is like bringing someone out of a coma. I've slept through my alarm, Saby's alarm, thunderstorms, and most recently, the temperature of our room dropping to about 45 after I'd left the window open with the fan in it. Saby "Hot-Bunz" George, who runs a constant body temperature about 10 degrees higher than me, woke up freezing. He stumbled around the bed to shut the window and stopped, expecting to see either my lifeless, frozen body on the other side, or an empty spot I'd abandoned in order to go and crawl into the oven... but there I was, completely and utterly oblivious to any climate change and hibernating like a bear.

As I drifted back to dreamworld this morning after Saby left for work, I wondered how long this beautiful ability to sleep is going to last. Even after Saby goes, I am definitely no longer alone in bed... there are two of us, and more, we joke. Saby's theory is that our baby not only is very active, but is also very naughty, and has friends sneak over late at night. They then stay awake playing even after we've gone to sleep. This morning, our child seems to have been hosting some sort of track and field event with it's friends. (Maybe a March of Dimes event?) I was very dimly aware that my belly was jumping - literally JUMPING - on an axis perpendicular to my body, as if Spampy baby were laying across the uterus and doing some variation of a tap dance routine where arms, legs and head would all jolt out at the same time. Ka-poom. Ka-poom. Like a very violent muscle twitch. I'm not sure if the kid calmed down or whether sleep just got the better of me, but it really is pretty amazing having somebody inside of you, even if they are running relays with friends.

It's doing it now, too!!

BUT, the strangest new development I've noticed is that I'm the amazing transparent woman. Like those plastic figures that are part fertility goddess, part anatomy-teaching tool, where you can see all of their veins? That's me. Life size. I stepped out of the shower yesterday and was giving myself the visual once over and stretch mark lotion rub down. Once upon a time I had noticed crazy veins running to and from my growing boobies... well them veins are EVERYWHERE now. Not varicose veins, mind you. My actual, normal veins and arteries must be running at extra high capacity, thanks to all the extra bloody pregnancy makes you have, and that combined with the freakish paleness of spring are resulting in my stomach and sides looking like a Rand McNally atlas of Kentucky.

So between that and the growth spurt, I feel like the fabulous inflatable transparent woman! Come see me grow!!

6 Months

Holy crap, I'm 6 months pregnant! Whooopie!
I would sing my 6 months pregnant song but it doesn't translate to the written word very well.
I chose this time to start swimming again... snuck into Dayton Sharks practice but just hung out in a lane by myself, doing laps of kicking and arms, barely ever both at the same time though as I didn't feel that ambitious.
Good times. Bought my first nursing top, too. It was miraculously returned by some no-longer medium sized woman one morning that I worked, and I had that bad boy in the office for myself.
That's all!

International Baby Mania

It's mostly because Saby has lots of newly married cousins that he and I have found ourselves to be the North American branch of an international baby makin' syndicate.

I can proudly say that thanks to the Catholic side of my family, we had our own population boom (international even, as one cousin was born in Germany) during a time frame that allowed my sister to participate. She cast in her lot as co-engineer of two girls and a boy over a span of about 6 or 7 years. Other cousins of mine have managed to have upwards of 5 in that same time; some are sticking with one.

Sometime this summer, our cousin Babi was not the first of the new generation of cousins to have a baby, but the first to have one after I had actually met her. Until our trip to India in the end of '06, the joy of most family baby announcements had been diluted by vague descriptions like "Daddy's 2nd youngest brother's second daughter had a baby boy yesterday" and Saby saying, "She was just a KID when I saw her last!" Add to it a pile of names like Anju, Manju, Renju, Reena, and Reema... it was just hard to imagine everyone. So ta-daaa, go to India, meet everyone, sort the Anjus from the Manjus, and now we can authentically rejoice in the birth of everyone's children.

Babi had a girl. Babi managed to get pregnant on probably her wedding night, as all good Kerala girls should, and subsequently had a baby some 280 days later. Her daughter is a cute little thing, from the few photos we've seen, and I'm sure she's being loved to death as the first grandchild of Joy Uncle and Valsama aunty.

Next came Dhanya. Dhanya is from the other side of Saby's family... Mummy's. She is the second daughter of Matkutty uncle, who lives in Jersey City (and who is a very nice guy.) See, I can play this whole thing out now, even though I've never met her. Dhanya has always been a bit of a luddoo gordita supreme, and unfortunately had to go through a c-section before her daughter Riya could be introduced to the world. (the fourth Riya/Rhea in the family, btw... not sure what that is all about. We have more than one Babi too) Riya was born at a whopping 9 point something pounds... very close to ten. She's now probably the most kissable little glub-glub you'll ever see in photos.

Now the newest addition to the club is our cousin Cynthia. She's the wife of Vinod, the big Egyptian looking fellow from our wedding, should anybody remember. She is relatively tall and very very slim, and has never allowed me to see any photos of her pregnant because she feels she looked like she had swallowed a watermelon. Huh. (I'd be proud of that, but hey...) Have never seen photos of their wedding, either, because she claims to look like crap. Anyway... she just gave birth on the 30th to a baby girl named Maya... unfortunately also via cesarean operation. She was terrified about the idea of giving birth and said she'd sell her mother and husband for an epidural... then later recanted that, saying she was nervous that the doctors in Cochin were too inexperienced on giving epidurals. We have yet to hear how it all went down, or get any further statistics on the baby, but it also looks like a sweet little thing and has the same big cheeks of Cynthia and possibly Vinod's nose.

A friend of ours in Michigan gave birth on March 15th to a baby girl ( to Anjali, the best Hindi movie name ever)... and another friend of ours is in the "watch-and-wait" stages, holding out for April 5th or so.

After that, the spotlight goes to cousin Meril (from Daddy's side of the family) in the UK on or around July 18th, and then to me immediately after. It's very interesting to look at it all this way. At least for me.

"I ate that cow!"

Ahhh, French Kiss. Great Meg Ryan movie that (among many, many, MANY other things) brings to light the plight of hundreds of thousands of North Americans: LACTOSE INTOLERANCE

Something funny has been happening to me lately. I seem to be able to drink milk. And eat ice cream, and have milkshakes, and smoothies with yogurt, and have cheese in absolutely everything I eat (minus ice cream, milkshakes, and smoothies with yogurt).

There's no stinky-poo aftermath to be suffered by all. No cramping, no painful build-ups with subsequent explosions. In fact, perhaps in a mean inter-bodily plot to make me fatter, my digestion seems to be loving this stuff. We're saving about $5 a month not having to buy Lactaid milk, and I'm pumping that saved $5 directly back into Boston Stoker Mocha Lattes! I have calcium coursing through my veins at an unprecedented rate! Osteoporosis is no longer in my long-term plans! YES! For the love of God, I want the whip cream!

This is a new development over probably the last two months. I'm not sure if some new bacteria has taken up residence in my intestine or what... but milk no longer makes me want to shoot myself. This is a very nice thing.

Bloody hell...

Ahhhhh, I only have 30 minutes to throw together something to distract Spampy's Aunty Melanie from her future as a lawyer... her contracts class is coming up fast at 10 a.m. Central Time! Damn Texas for not being on mountain time! And shame on St Mary's in San Antonio for allowing their law students to have wireless internet in class!

Well... let's see. Today is Wednesday, and the last one of March. How the month has flown! Went from getting my first kick-in-tha-ute on March 2nd to having an almost constant bowling alley atmosphere in this formerly peaceful womb.

Spampy is my private dancer. I'm sure parents world-wide draw all sorts of conclusions about why their kids are bouncing around in vitro. We are certainly no exception. I tend to think this kid is a enthusiastic little ball of birth, doing his/her involuntary movement exercises, yanking on the umbilical cord and swimming cleverly around, sipping amniotic fluid occasionally. Saby likes to err on the side of... well, his own personality. He's a sleeper, and sort of a twitchy one with restless leg syndrome and a constant and real fear that he's going to inadvertently throw a jab at me in the night. Spampy seems to get most rowdy after dinner and then right before I go off to sleep... which is very similar to big poppa's routine. This morning the poor thing seems to have gotten hiccups... and per his/her dad's line of thought, this was from being startled awake and having to bump-a-bump over to the kitchen to make coffee and lunch.
But then, last night there was also spasms of some sort occurring... hiccups from too much Chili's take out, too late at night? General excitement about faintly hearing (and now, recognizing) The Office through all the digestion noises? The little pamphlet my Aunt Kathy sent us stated that at 24 weeks, babies are able to respond rhythmically to music or sound that they hear in the womb. Meaning, on the extremely scarce chance that those hiccups were actually rhythmic responses to whatever the outside world was transmitting, this kid already has a longer attention span than I do!!

Photographic Evidence

Here's a photo from very early in the morning, the day of both the Ohio Presidental primary and our 20-week ultrasound. I actually deleted the side view photo, because I realized my face was starting to get a little chubby and I couldn't stand seeing my own chins.





And here's another from Friday, March 21st at (apparently) 5 months and 3 weeks, or 23 weeks. I am actually standing up straight, as much as it does not look like it.



And last but not least, here's photographic evidence of both Daddy and Mum, very late in the evening of March 22nd after the Easter Vigil at our church. I'm a little greasy after being anointed (smeared) in perfumed oil in honor of becoming a confirmed Catholic... Saby is resoundingly cheerful after sitting for 3 hours. Spampy was just chilling :-)

Life is pretty amazing...

Here's an article from the UK on a baby born at 22 weeks, and survived. She's already had plastic surgery, to repair an ear that was ripped off during delivery. (yikes!)
But it's pretty amazing. Makes me want to go and punch an abortion doc in the stomach.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/health/healthmain.html?in_article_id=437236&in_page_id=1774&in_page_id=1774&expand=true#StartComments

Curious George

When my friend Radha was pregnant with her baby girl, I would always hear this song and cry...

Now waiting for my own baby, I don't cry. Thank you, Baby, for stabilizing my hormones!

The Fundus Among Us

Five month doctor (midwife) visit today

Unless you're going to be a fusspot worry-wart or actually have a genuine reason to be in a high risk pregnancy and really need the monthly attention, I'm beginning to wonder what would happen if I just stopped going for these appointments. It's like all they want to see is whether the baby still has a heart beat. (which is fine... I like to hear it) No measurements - a few feels of the almighty fundus through your belly, an offer to quickly answer any questions, and bam - I'm out of the office in more time than it took me to find parking the the structure.

So today I came armed with questions per the request of Saby, who wanted (if possible) stats on size, length, and heart rate. Also thought I'd try and score some more free prenatal vitamins, as they're super nice and don't make me constipated. Fun times!!

Well. As a result of today's visit I can give you boring information on how baby's femur is 3.4 something centimeters long, or I can tell you the slightly more interesting factoid of a 144 bpm heart rate. If all else fails, I can tell you that this morning I weighed 162 on the office scale... which is always higher than the home scale by which I swear. (Perception, baby... it's all about your perception) I also now have two more weeks worth of super vitamins with Lina-soluble iron. Thanks Nurse Mix... my colon thanks you too.

I guess the most interesting thing to me was that when I lifted my sweater and pulled down the Secret Fit panel of my jeans for midwife Lisa to doppler baby's heart, she had to chase the little swimmy around my uterus. First she was up high (my fundus is 2 fingers above my belly button, which is a pleasant surprise... I'm suddenly getting beeeeeeegg) and to the left (my left), and then s/he must have doggie paddled down lower to avoid whatever was making the house roof sag, where after a few seconds Lisa found the heartbeat again. That is interesting, because I almost always feel kicking/movement/SOMETHING in the same spot (mid lower right), and for this I sort of assumed that baby had settled into a comfy position and was just looking for a foot rest.

When Saby told his mother about our swimmy, moving baby, she said it must be taking after me, because he had been such a lazy infant, both in vitro and out. Saby was apparently a pavum, quiet little thing, weighing in at just barely 6 lbs. You'd be hard-put to look at him and say he was the smallest in his family for so long...

My other theory is that since it's St Patrick's Day, perhaps baby is jigging, utilizing the enthusiasm and gusto provided by his/her one-eighth Irish genetics. Perhaps it's the half Keralite that makes it want to beat on the walls of my uterus? No place here for half-cracked stereotypes ;-) Although if I did have a drink at any point, once the alcohol crossed the placenta the Irish and Mallu DNA might start a nasty bar brawl against each other... (harrr, harr harr...)

Just kidding :-)

I'm taking a nap and then making some St Pat's cupcakes. Haven't baked in ages... let's get our domestic on! The corned beef for our feast-for-two tonight is already at about hour 14 in the slow cooker, and smells nice... nice enough to finally kill the fishy smelly from two subsequent dinners of baked haddock and then salmon. Is THAT why baby is so swimmy? All the friendly Omega-3 DHA fatty acids from the fishies inspiring him/her??

Good night for now!

Haiku

Stupid winter, go!
Back to the Great White North. Taunt
Canada, not us.

by Fu King Irritated

Ultrasonic!

Yaaaaaaay! 20 week ultrasound happened today... and now I feel like I've met the little creature that lives inside me.

It's really neat to be in a dark room while a over-caffeinated 30-something brunette who squeezes warm jelly onto your bare tummy and then pushes what seems like a high-tech roll-on deodorant stick around on your abdomen. The deodorant stick translates the high tech sound waves and vibrations into pictures, which you see on the little tv above you... and voila... a flash of a spine, some blobs, there's a head! Little moving arms, tiny 10-toes. Depending where she goes with the roller, you see different things... baby's head profile view. Nice nose. Big forehead. Baby's head top down view. Brain stuff. Blood flowing (when she turns on the color, Doppler view... baby's brain lights up like a Windows 95 screensaver). Same with the heart, and kidneys, and lungs. Four little chambers, whump-whump-whumping away, and then one flip of the switch and they're suddenly Technicolor with the flow of blood, thanks to the same technology that makes the weather forecast so cool.

I realize now that she did not show me much of Baby from about the belly button down. Being among the huge minority of people who don't want to know the gender of their child, she was very good with avoiding the "gootlies" area. She did however investigate that end while I kept my eyes shut (honest), and typed on-screen the results, and took a photo. That print out went directly into an envelope, was sealed, and is now on it's way to one trusted soul who has promised Baby about a year's worth of actual gender specific clothing. All this happened while I was still covered in slowly cooling jelly, laying on the table.

Baby weighs about 14 ounces... as I told my mother on the phone, "I've eaten steaks bigger than that." But it's amazing to think that this particular steak already has fully functional organs (minus lungs) and can hiccup, kick, and startle just like a regular, outside the womb baby.

The ultrasound technician said that baby looks perfect for where s/he should be, and that s/he was "very fun"; one moment when she was trying to get a look at something and Baby rolled right over, mooning us.

Life is fabulous!

Statistical Goodness 3.0

Weight: 154.5 lbs (growing pleasantly, although 3 lbs of that is probably a bag of organic Oreos I blew through in about 5 days)
Hips/Belly: 40 inches
Waist: 31.25 inches
Bustyola: 37 inches
(awww, no new development there)
4: estimated and exaggerated pounds of mucus I've coughed up from stupid cold
3: times I've broken my Lenten fast and had a burger, because somehow I thought that starving myself of beef was making my cold last longer
3: number of pairs of maternity pants I'm holding steady with... refusing to buy more until 6 months, when I can justify a pair of cute jeans, and by then it might be warm enough to go for the "convertable capris" for 29.98 (+ 30% discount!)
15: times I've almost bought the French wool teddy bear daddy/baby set at Motherhood (their names are Emile & Emilien!) and decided against it

Thierry Henry or Mia Hamm?

I think I got my first booting in the ute by Spampy baby, during my RCIA meeting on Sunday morning. It was a relatively quiet and still atmosphere, and I didn't have much digestional excitement happening, and suddenly, from inside... "whump." I looked around - tiny earthquake on an forgotten Dayton fault line? New sort of gas? God Himself poking my internal guts with an ethereal finger?
Later, in church, I got the feeling that there was some swimmy-swimming sort of activity happening down there as well. It's time, according to all sources, to be feeling Baby. S/he's still small enough to have plenty of wiggle room inside the womb, but big enough to be making some waves.

eBay Baby and the Belly

Well, our package arrived and last night we spent a few minutes with headphones on, pushing that "gently used" Bebe Sounds listening thingey into my belly and clicking. The device itself looks like a combination of a giant computer mouse and the baby monitor they use in the movie "Signs" to hear the aliens. Aptly, that's what we would do - hold, click, and hear aliens. So far we're not sure what all they're saying.

There is a gush-gush-gush sound that is probably my placenta, as it's much louder on one side than the other, and then aways off in the distance you can hear my heart beat. As for whether we can hear baby, we're going to wait and try again under less rushed circumstances. The instructions advise above all being patient, while a quiet room, 4 hours since last meal, and being at least 5+ months along are it's other suggestions for optimal baby hearing goodness.

But as far as indicators of baby's health and all, the new snowplow of a belly I'm beginning to push out in front of me says all is well. Today I'm at 20 weeks and 2 or 3 days, and it's either a compliment to how I've been dressing myself or it's a baby & uterine growth spurt, because the staff of Motherhood has collectively been amazed at my sudden baby bumpiness. Yesterday I wore a sweater over another tighter, sheer white sweater... and once we were preparing to close, I took the bulkier one off. Coworker Linda's eyes about popped out of her head. "Loooooook at you!" She then laughed and told me, while making me promise to tell my husband she had noticed, that "your boobs are jigglier too."

So for comparative goodness, I shall put together a Statistical Goodness and see where this belly actually is, size-wise. Tomorrow is our 20-week ultrasound. Smile and wave, Spampy... I wonder if s/he'll be a thumb-sucker like his/her mom was for so long?

eBay Baby

I'm waiting to make an eBay sniper bid on a stupid Bebe Sounds Prenatal Heart Monitor so I can be like Tom Cruise and stalk my baby in-vitro... and of course to play it songs through the sounding board of my belly.
Had to kill 3 minutes somehow. Damn, I type so fast...
Arrrgghh, panicked and bid more than I intended. Hopefully this on eBay doesn't cost more than a brand new one at Motherhood, with my discount! I am pretty comfortable in the knowledge that I think this is the fiddy dollar gift set version...
"gently used"
Now at least I have done what I always tell the customers to do when they bitch about something being too expensive... go find it on eBay. Yee haw.

Statistical Goodness 2.5

Holy Guacamole! I was initially a little worried that I wasn't putting on any weight. After coming back from Michigan, I suddenly bounced from about 151 to ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY EIGHT POUNDS, per my own scale. Then at Wednesday's doctor appointment, the official doc scale told me 159.
I almost shat. But didn't, and I suspect that this is also the reason for the weight gain - another unpleasant bout of preggo constipation. Thanks, intestines... thanks, hormones. It's been fun. Luckily nature has resolved the issue and I'm now back on track, weighing in at 153 on my own scale at home (the one that I thought was stuck at 151).

Family Beginnings...

Look! It's a very happy me after orientation at the Family Beginnings Birthing Center, Miami Valley Hospital!



Actually this is a amused and well-fed me on Sunday morning in Michigan, as the two inches of ice that had encased our car slowly melted outside and as Jesse reheated biriyani that made our jackets and any other unwashed or unwashable garments (shoes! purses! arrgh!) stink to high masala hell.

I didn't have a photograph of our initial reactions after orientation, so I'm sliding that in as a sub. It's election time, who needs truth and ethics?

Anyway, let me tell you about this place.

After joining the midwives' and Dr Guy's practice at MVH, they handed me a pile of brochures about the hospital, baby making and baby health, and Family Beginnings. Lots of googling "Birthing Center" and "Dayton" had already led me to know of it's existence. After my first prenatal appointment, I was encouraged to give them a call... which I subsequently forgot about until my second appointment. With this cozily situated somewhere on my list of things to do (sort of like "hire a DJ" on my wedding to-do list... and see how far that got me!) but not actually anywhere in my brain, life carried on.

Only later did I notice in a magazine the statistic: more babies are born in the month of July in the US than any other time of year. Suddenly, visions of well prepared mothers laboring in my bathtub, with my birthing ball, eating my snacks, surrounded by family, all cozy in the caring confines of Family Beginnings filled my head; the obvious alternative was that me and other mothers who put it off would be screaming and squatting in a ditches along the lousiest stretches of road in Dayton... mine would be Smithville Road, while we're identifying worst case scenarios, probably while their husbands played golf in shirts that still smelled like biriyani masala... but I digress. This slightly exaggerated thought made me call and take the first possible orientation appointment available, February 19th. The woman manning the phones there is a sweet and patient thing with an accent of sub-Saharian African origin, and let me tell you - this babe will talk at her own pace no matter what.

Me: (after a long list of yes/no questions to determine that my pregnancy is low risk)
So what do I have to do? Are tours available?

Lady: J'you will haveah do come for an ohreehentashion....

Me: (Sort of interrupting) Okay...

Lady: ...anduh we havah ohreehentashion hin hevenings, six surty un-teel seven surty...

Me: (obviously eager to sign up) Okay...

Lady: ... abailable openings are fo Feb-a-uary h'nineteensh, Feb-auary twentayseex, Mawrch farth...

Me: I'll take the first one, Feb 19th?!?

Lady: ...Mawrch aighteenth, Mawrch twentayfeefth, Apebril first, Apebril aighth, Apebril fivteenth, Apebril twentayninah, May seex...

Me: Can I take the first one, please?

Lady: ... anduh May dirtheenth. (pauuuuse.) Whichuh one j'you wooood likeuh?


Needless to say, two nights back we were there, albeit late, to hear a kind nurse (who looked like a chubby Carrie Heffernan/Leah Remini) patiently read the entire low down to a room full of Saby, myself, and probably 3 or 4 other nice responsible looking couples and a few ladies (also nice looking) on their own. The approach brought us through the regular Maternity rooms, which appear to be very nice, but once you step through the double doors that separate Family Beginnings from the rest of the ward, it's like stepping into a Country Inn and Suites. There is a common kitchen and family room area, stocked with rockers, recliners, couches and the all important TV. I almost expected a self-serve waffle station. Then down a little corridor filled with photos of previous happy families born there, are three birthing suites. They have the typical hospital, red plastic room numbers on the outside, but once you're inside it's like a little bed and breakfast.



We were impressed to hear they do NOT have hospital beds - each of the three rooms is equipped with a queen bed, in which both you and your husband can sleep after the birth, a crib for baby, a changing table, cd player and a flat screen tv with DVD player, and a blanket warmer. The bathroom, which is about as big as our bedroom at home, is stocked with the most fabulous TUB ever:



Oooooh, TUB. What a beautiful sight. Us Schaefer girls are bath-takers, much to the disdain of my dear husband, who is too big to fit into a tub and therefore does not understand the joy of soaking oneself up to your chin in hot water. This tub is big enough for me, dear husband, a medium-sized farm animal, and whichever midwife is on duty that night. Not that I'm going to have a goat with me come July, or even invite anyone else in, but I can't imagine that the big beautiful bathtub in my Family Beginnings suite will remain unused once it comes time for Mrs. Lina George to give birth.

Other things Mrs. George loved about Family Beginnings:

FOOD!
Short of actually having that waffle station I mentioned, they, unlike most hospitals today, allow mothers in labor to eat. Not just eat, but eat whatever they want. I'm sure if I were in the tub, dilated 4 centimeters, and asking for a plate of baby back ribs they might protest, but for all intents and purposes it is allowed. Which was one of my biggest issues with a regular hospital birth. Let's see... for 14+ hours I'm going to be extremely uncomfortable, pushing my guts out, and then not be allowed to eat? And all this while not only in labor, but still harboring another living being withing the confines of your physiology. Not eat!?!? I couldn't hack more than three hours of just sitting still without at least a snack. Screw that, maaan!

DVD player and flat screen tv in every room.
Hello, dvds of Sunrise Planet/Sunrise Earth from the Discovery Channel. (hint - this is something that doesn't come on the registry list at Babies R Us, but still something I would love and appreciate as a gift.) Hello, happy hubby watching his reruns of King of Queens after he can no longer handle any more of seeing my distended belly underwater in the tub.

Nurses with a sense of humor.
After reading about the tub from the list of regulations, the nurse who looked like Carrie Heffernan noted that husbands are welcome in the tub, but must bring their own bathing suit. Yikes!

Needless to say, I am actually excited, as it's beyond exactly what I wanted. We're the first ones on the list for the childbirth classes offered at Family Beginnings come June. The environment and attitude there are both phenomenal and it sort of rubs off on you. Definitely good vibes! And I don't think they'll laugh at my birthing chair :-)