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.
Monday, July 21, 2008
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.)
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.)
Sunday, July 20, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, July 11, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
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.
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.
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