Baby Madelyn

See her perfectly round little head...



I've been watching home movies of her as an infant as well. Musing over the early days.

I was madly in love with this baby.

Well Wishers

7:00 AM, the sun is up and the house is quiet. Every one sleeps but me. It’s rare that I’m up before I have to be on any given weekend (and “have to be” is purely subjective) but I’m sleeping in four hour shifts now. The migraines have returned. My feet look like two large russet potatoes, the albino kind. My contractions (Braxton Hicks) aren’t so easily ignored these days and it’s altogether a restless time to be me.

Atop all of that there’s the slight sense of panic. I don’t feel that everything is in place and I’m heavily dependent on others for help in getting there. So the stillness of this morning is nice. It calms me.

It also gives me a moment to blog, which I’ve been not nearly as motivated to do any longer. Especially in light of the fact that not all the baby blog readers are family, friends and well wishers and I was unfortunately reminded of this recently. I know what you’re thinking. Who oh who in the great wide world would wish us ill? After all Baby Daddy and I are good people. Good people who have overcome a considerable amount of adversity in the last 5 years or so and have thus earned, and are absolutely entitled to, our happiness. Who would poo-poo that? Well I’ll tell ya’ who, BAD PEOPLE… of course. Har - har. Not many. Less than a handful. But enough to creep me out and inspire me to think of a different medium for relaying baby news once baby comes.

And the baby comes all right, 9 days from now. Though it seems like she wants to be here much sooner. As she gets bigger and stronger it feels like she is literally trying to kick down the front door. It’s just a waiting game now, with well wishers waiting for the phone call, and I’m just hoping that the baby indeed waits.
Just wait, little (or perhaps not-so-little) baby…..no surprises please!

A Baby Scottie

Until the other day I’d only ever seen photos of my husband from about age 2 or 3 on. Earlier in my pregnancy I’d asked my mom-in-law to send me a few pictures of him as a wee babe. There’s that whatever percent chance that my little oven roasted bun will look a great deal like him, so I was naturally curious. But mom-in-law was in the middle of a move at the time so I waited. And while I waited I made jokes about how they weren’t giving up the baby photos for a reason. They were hiding something, and I was onto them.

As it turned out his mom decided to give me all his baby pictures, just the other day. Alas Baby Daddy had an adorable baby face, once upon 36 years ago. Very cute. Cuter than I was as an infant I think. And as I sifted through these images, ooh-ing and awe-ing, he heard me say “Oh look at you, such a cutie” with the slightest note of relief in my voice.....and he caught on quick.

“Wait a minute!” He says, “You didn’t want these pictures to see how cute I was. You wanted these pictures to see if I was an ugly baby!”

Hahaha!
Ya' got me!

I like to call this one Old Man River Baby.



The best part is that he still looks exactly like this!
Save for a significant difference in height.

Stranger Danger

Every time I leave the house people react to my very obvious condition. I’ve finally gotten used to strangers smiling at me and I guess it’s sad that this should take getting used to. But some of these people really beam at me and it's startling.

Then there’s the others……with the comments. I wasn’t inside Home Depot but five minutes today before an older woman approached me, patted my arm in a gesture of sympathy, and said (in a half whisper) “You look miserable”. Then beamed her stranger smile at me, of course.

“Oh no! Um, I’m actually doing okay today,” I told her.

I know she was just commiserating. She truly didn’t mean any harm, but sheesh. I get these little comments everyday now. So, without further ado, let me introduce some rules in regards to approaching your local pregnant lady.


• Do NOT tell the pregnant lady she looks tired, miserable, or anything of the sort. Because all the pregnant lady hears is “You look like sh*t. Why are you even out in public?”
• Do not tell her how big she is. Chances are she’s well aware of her size. Her back reminds her, you need not.
• Do not ask if she’s carrying twins (especially if you know damn well that she isn't).
• Do not assume you’re a comic genius by asking if she’s carrying her HUSBAND in there!
• Do not ask if she’s delivering next week, the next day or in the next ten minutes.
• And when she politely answers your questions concerning when she is in fact due, do NOT shake your head and say “Oh, well, you’re not gonna make it”.

Touch my belly all you want!
Smile at me all you want!
But, for the love of God, please leave the subject of my fat ass alone.

They Say Timing is Everything

Look at how SMALL this diaper is!



You really have to see it live to get the full miniature effect. It’s a Pampers Swaddler designed for newborns up to 10 lbs. I’ve packed the diaper bag for the hospital with 2 or 3 of these little guys inside. It isn’t necessary, the hospital provides almost everything in the way of infant care, I just wanted to.

This afternoon I bought Lily’s going-home outfit. A soft off white Pooh Bear jacket with weetle matching pants and weetle matching shoesies. I want to sew weetle matching ears on the hood of the jacket because there is NOTHING cuter than a baby with (weetle bitty) bear ears.

Tee-hee!
Oh man, I want to have this baby already!
I am totally stupid about this baby!

Today I’m washing onsies, blankies, little hooded towels and booties in Dreft. For those not in-the-know Dreft is an infant specific detergent that smells like tiny puffs of angel babies sent from heaven. It's true.

I’ve set up the nursery (will post pictures soon), I’ve nested like crazy in-between periods of severe discomfort and 50 extra pounds of aches and pains and so…..I WANT TO HAVE THIS BABY ALREADY!

However, having this baby before the set scheduled c-section date puts a crimp in almost everyone’s plans. Baby Daddy is in the middle of instructing a class that does not graduate until Dec 4th. This means long days teaching and even longer nights grading papers. I’ve hardly seen him in the last two weeks. Doo Doo Monkey is in the local production of the Nutcracker Dec 5th and 7th. This means practice every day, a winter parade, and an urgent need for a mommy who is not bed ridden. And speaking of mommies, MY mommy flies in Dec 6th with the high hopes of being present for the birth.

But my mother-in-law flies in this weekend, which is such a relief. If I do indeed end up in the hospital with a newborn, before the scheduled date, at least she will be kind enough to stick around and take us home!

Week 36: GO TIME

This morning my doctor informed me that if I go into labor in the next four weeks they will not attempt to stop the labor, it’ll be go time. And I was being foolish to fret over hard labor, undue stress on my uterus is exactly what they’re trying to avoid. But the baby is considered full term now. I am 9 months pregnant now. I’m here. I made it. It’s the beginning of the end….of this.

This is also the part of the pregnancy where everything went to hell the last time. I never get heart burn but I have it now, since my stomach has been slowly shoved into my throat. And I wonder how long I’m going to be able to wear shoes. I get so warm now, especially when I try and sleep, that my cheeks are almost constantly sporting sand dollar sized circles of pink. I gained five pounds of water in one week and STILL have not crested the 200 mark, but fast approaching. There’s other less than lovely stuff, but you get the idea.

Yet today I’m feeling pretty good. When the nurse had me lie down this morning to check for the baby’s heart rate said baby kept kicking her little hand held machine. This tickled the nurse to no end. I made some comment about how active the baby is and she said “I know it’s uncomfortable for you but it’s a good thing for us. It’s the ones that just piddle around in there that we worry about”.

And lastly, the other day my friend says “Niki, I just don’t think it’s a girl. I have this nagging suspicion”. People have asked me if I have a feeling about the gender one way or the other. No. Not this time. I initially thought it was a boy but had a dream about a baby girl….and have since had a dream about a baby boy that looked Chinese. So, no. I haven’t a single inkling that I trust anylonger. With Maddy I knew. When the technician announced to the room of family and friends that the baby was female I punctuated that with “I already told you this”. But this baby? The lady performing this baby’s ultrasound was 99.9999999 % sure of the sex. In fact this technician had a “feeling” it was male as well, so she continued to check and check and check to make certain. “No, that’s a girl…wait…...oh yeah, that is definitely a girl”.

But some sneaky whisperer in the back of my mind has said “well what if it’s wee-wee is just really, really small and they couldn’t see it”. Hmmmmm, the super small wee-wee theory, food for thought. All I’m saying is that I haven’t opened any of the pink stuff.

Wanted: Sensory Deprivation Chamber

My relationship with sleep is becoming a strained one.
Let me tell the story of last night.

12 AM
Around midnight my eyelids were drooping. Already in bed, I turned off the television and rolled onto my left side. Sleeping on the left side of my body shifts my mammoth uterus off a major blood vessel, which helps with the swelling (that and I’ve always slept this way). Baby Daddy takes this as his cue to snuggle up and drape his arm around me. This is how we have slept since the beginning of us. And since the beginning of us it has been a contest to fall asleep before he starts all the god awful snoring. The minute his arm comes over me I hear the crack of the gun in my head, the race is on. I know I have mere seconds to fall asleep before he starts in. I rarely win this race.

I’m not always sensitive to his sawing of logs but I’m reactive in general lately so…… I spend the hour between 12 AM and 1 AM fighting the Great Big Snorehead. “Hey, you’re snoring” and “Stop snoring!” and “No snoreheads allowed!” and “Dude… seriously?” all to no avail. Holding his nose until he gasps for breath via his mouth, no good. Putting pillows over my head, putting pillows over his head, kicking shins and throwing elbows, nothing. Finally I roll him over on his right side, damn near rolling him off the bed itself, and then…. eventually……I fall asleep.

2 AM
I hear a noise in the kitchen. I’ve been asleep for an hour. I don’t know how or why I heard the noise but I literally shoot out of bed and storm into the kitchen shouting “Hello!?”…. only to find a startled little Night Walker (formerly known as Boo Boo, formerly known as Doo Doo Monkey) staring at me wide eyed, and she says “I was…I was just thirsty Mama”.

Now I am WIDE awake. I go back to bed with Snorehead (formerly known as Baby Daddy, formerly known as Loving Husband) and try to fall back to sleep, only to realize I have to pee. Of course. The first pee of the wee hours. The first pee of many, many a pee.

2:30 AM
I’m still awake, bladder empty, belly huge, when Night Walker suddenly appears at my bedside complaining of “weird noises” in her room. Any other night I might have investigated, put her at ease and tucked her back in but tonight I just threw back the covers and said “Get in”.

3 AM
THEY ARE BURNING ME ALIVE!
I’m cooking in their body heat, being sandwiched between the Snorehead and the Night Walker. One of them has to go. Snorehead will be getting up shortly to go to work, and is not afraid of weird noises. In fact he cannot possibly hear weird noises, or ANY noises, over his own noise so….. I shake him awake and very sweetly request that he move to the spare bedroom. He does so, groggily and graciously. I roll into the warmth of the space he left while Night Walker sleeps at arms length from me.

4 AM
Night Walker is all up in my grill! Over the course of an hour Night Walker has inched all the way over to my side of the bed, flung her leg over me, attached her hands like suction cups to me, and gluing the baby fat of her cheek to mine. It’s so warm inside her grip I’m convinced I will catch on fire. I spend the next hour pushing her back over to her side of the bed only to fight her off again every five minutes.

AND…. I have to pee.

5 AM
Snorehead no longer snores. He’s coughing instead. He’s awake in a bathroom somewhere in the house and I hear his incessant morning coughing. It sounds like an old man dying. I can’t remember, at that early hour, if it’s due to his medication and I should feel sorry for him or if he’s doing it on purpose just to make me crazy. I think it’s the latter.

6 AM
Would not at all object to a catheter.

6:30 AM
Somehow, someway, found me some sleepy town.

7:30 AM
RISE AND SHINE!
Snorehead has made me coffee and kissed me goodbye already. Night Walker wakes bright eyed and all sorts of 6 year old busy. I play games with the snooze button until at least 8 AM, deluding myself that this means I’m somehow getting more sleep. Except that I can't EVER go back to sleep since I ALWAYS have to PEE.


Surely this is how God prepares one for 3 AM feedings.

Voting & Nap Time

We voted! Baby and I, that is.
Whoo-hoo!

A little boy at the polling place points to me and hollers to his dad: “Woh! She has a REALLY BIG BELLY!”
(Boo-hoo)

And now....we nap.
We really enjoy the naps lately.