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!