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.)
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