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.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
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.
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!
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!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Boob Thing
Boo Boo had a first grade project in where she was asked, amongst other questions, to list 3 facts about herself. She chose that she was born in Seattle, WA, that her birthday is on Christmas Eve and after that she was stuck for a third fascinating factoid. I suggested that she add how she was going to be a big sister, and she shook her head no.
“The other kids will just talk about the boob thing.”
“The WHAT?” I said
“The boob thing…..you know….they always talk about the boob thing. It’s gross.”
She was horrified to learn recently that she had been breastfed. She calls it “the boob thing” with her eyes averted and her arms crossed.
I almost opted out of doing “the boob thing” this time though. For purely selfish reasons, I’m worried about the longevity of my ta-ta’s. You see God preformed a small miracle for me the last time I breastfed. Usually a year of "the boob thing" will effectively wipe out your hooties. I remember when my breasts were engorged in those first weeks after delivery and I looked down to see that one boob was the size of my head. Each pore so stretched and enlarged that it looked like the surface of an orange peel, and I thought “Oh no, they’ll never be the same……” And they were never the same....they were BETTER!
I don’t know how that happened. After weaning they dried up to look like a couple of fried eggs. We’re talking National Geographic and I was devastated! But then, within six months time, they literally bounced back and were better than before. I couldn’t have wanted for better looking hooties. Some one had sprinkled the magic booby dust on them. A for real deal modern day miracle.
All that said, it would be completely self-serving of me to deny this next baby the countless and undeniable benefits of breast milk just because I want to keep a hot looking rack……but you best believe I considered it.
And I’d like to go on record and address those who cringe a little at “the boob thing”. Certainly no other experience in my life has quite so reminded me that I am a mammal, but it is indeed a sweet and natural thing. It is not sexual or pleasurable in anyway, whatsoever (it actually hurts like a son of a bitch) and I don’t have enough time or energy to list the immeasurable benefits of breastfeeding here, so just quit being weird about it. I don’t advocate mom’s whipping out the teet in crowded restaurants but other than that….. let’s give “the boob thing” a break already.
The boob thing is a GOOD thing! But good luck trying to tell Boo Boo that.
OH, as for her third fact? She wrote "I have the best mom".
(And I have the best kiddo!)
“The other kids will just talk about the boob thing.”
“The WHAT?” I said
“The boob thing…..you know….they always talk about the boob thing. It’s gross.”
She was horrified to learn recently that she had been breastfed. She calls it “the boob thing” with her eyes averted and her arms crossed.
I almost opted out of doing “the boob thing” this time though. For purely selfish reasons, I’m worried about the longevity of my ta-ta’s. You see God preformed a small miracle for me the last time I breastfed. Usually a year of "the boob thing" will effectively wipe out your hooties. I remember when my breasts were engorged in those first weeks after delivery and I looked down to see that one boob was the size of my head. Each pore so stretched and enlarged that it looked like the surface of an orange peel, and I thought “Oh no, they’ll never be the same……” And they were never the same....they were BETTER!
I don’t know how that happened. After weaning they dried up to look like a couple of fried eggs. We’re talking National Geographic and I was devastated! But then, within six months time, they literally bounced back and were better than before. I couldn’t have wanted for better looking hooties. Some one had sprinkled the magic booby dust on them. A for real deal modern day miracle.
All that said, it would be completely self-serving of me to deny this next baby the countless and undeniable benefits of breast milk just because I want to keep a hot looking rack……but you best believe I considered it.
And I’d like to go on record and address those who cringe a little at “the boob thing”. Certainly no other experience in my life has quite so reminded me that I am a mammal, but it is indeed a sweet and natural thing. It is not sexual or pleasurable in anyway, whatsoever (it actually hurts like a son of a bitch) and I don’t have enough time or energy to list the immeasurable benefits of breastfeeding here, so just quit being weird about it. I don’t advocate mom’s whipping out the teet in crowded restaurants but other than that….. let’s give “the boob thing” a break already.
The boob thing is a GOOD thing! But good luck trying to tell Boo Boo that.
OH, as for her third fact? She wrote "I have the best mom".
(And I have the best kiddo!)
Busy Baby Bee
My baby widget (the spinny baby graphic to your right) is upside down. How appropriate since I think the real baby has flipped as well. I felt her hiccups in the lower half of my abdomen yesterday and it now feels like I’m being punched in the bladder, rather than kicked. You’d think the punching would be better than the kicking but you would be wrong.
It’s recommended that I keep track of fetal movements at this stage. 10 movements in and hour is a good sign that all is well in there. My baby moves 10 times in 10 minutes. Not every single hour but ….this baby is very busy!
I try to imagine how she must be keeping herself entertained. All the super important things she has to do in there. Tying the umbilical cord in knots, then untying them. Random spells of River Dancing. Searching for new places that she has yet to push, kick or sock me in. Scratching off the days on the uterine wall.
She likes to get up to all this ruckus most rigorously between 12 AM and 3 AM so I’m anticipating a lot of late nights with the newest little pumpkin face. And oh, I can’t wait to see that face!
It’s recommended that I keep track of fetal movements at this stage. 10 movements in and hour is a good sign that all is well in there. My baby moves 10 times in 10 minutes. Not every single hour but ….this baby is very busy!
I try to imagine how she must be keeping herself entertained. All the super important things she has to do in there. Tying the umbilical cord in knots, then untying them. Random spells of River Dancing. Searching for new places that she has yet to push, kick or sock me in. Scratching off the days on the uterine wall.
She likes to get up to all this ruckus most rigorously between 12 AM and 3 AM so I’m anticipating a lot of late nights with the newest little pumpkin face. And oh, I can’t wait to see that face!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
One Baby Shower in Pink
Do you measure the success of your baby shower in the amount of goods you rake in, the amount of guests that attend or the amount of compliments you receive? Because I wasn’t looking for tons of gifts, I don’t have many girlfriends down here and I sure wasn’t expecting to be showered with praise but as we sat around Annixa’s kitchen table nibbling on red velvet cake (courtesy of the lovely Miss Lauren) these ladies dubbed me radiant and debated over which movie star I looked like.
Those are some good friends!
Special thanks belong to Miss Annixa (who doesn’t even read this) for being yesterday’s hostess and being such a great friend to me during the last leg of my pregnancy. Such a great friend that I have gone so far as to forgive her for drinking the Kool-Aid and becoming a Fox News fed Republican. She’s that great a friend, ha-ha! Truly she is, and she made sure the whole affair was superb.
My favorite photo came late in the afternoon when Baby Daddy crashed the shower and posed with me. One shower reveler, who’d never met him before, watched us banter for awhile and beam at each other and told me privately what a beautiful thing we have, B.D. and I.
I couldn’t agree more.
Those are some good friends!
Special thanks belong to Miss Annixa (who doesn’t even read this) for being yesterday’s hostess and being such a great friend to me during the last leg of my pregnancy. Such a great friend that I have gone so far as to forgive her for drinking the Kool-Aid and becoming a Fox News fed Republican. She’s that great a friend, ha-ha! Truly she is, and she made sure the whole affair was superb.
My favorite photo came late in the afternoon when Baby Daddy crashed the shower and posed with me. One shower reveler, who’d never met him before, watched us banter for awhile and beam at each other and told me privately what a beautiful thing we have, B.D. and I.
I couldn’t agree more.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Next Week?
“Next week?” asked the sweet little Asian lady doing my pedicure yesterday.
“I’m sorry?” I said, indicating I didn’t understand her meaning.
She pointed at the enormous growth under my shirt and repeated herself.
“Next week?”
“Oh!” I said “Oh no. Um, next month….or so.”
I’m not leaving the house anymore!
“I’m sorry?” I said, indicating I didn’t understand her meaning.
She pointed at the enormous growth under my shirt and repeated herself.
“Next week?”
“Oh!” I said “Oh no. Um, next month….or so.”
I’m not leaving the house anymore!
Friday, October 17, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Week 32: Itchy & Scratchy
Officially 8 months along now! And the beach ball I swallowed itches more and more every day. Do you know what that means? It means my skin is stretching. You know what happens when your skin stretches to proportions that accommodate a small planet? Well, depending upon the elasticity of one’s skin, or lack thereof, it could mean stretch marks. The dreaded stretch marks.
I got off pretty easy last time. Three or four lines on each hip that faded fairly quickly. No grooves, gouges or roadmaps on my stomach. But holy cannoli am I BIGGER with this baby. My giant hubby insists this is because I’m carrying his equally giant dinosaur sized baby. Maybe. Whatever the reason I gained all the weight I was supposed to by month 6.
Whoops.
This happened to me last time too. You’re medically advised to gain no more than 30 pounds. That 30 pounds usually melts off very quickly after delivery. I gained approx. 60. I went from 135 lbs (which I already thought was terribly fat at 24 yrs old…….such a moron) to 196……I stopped looking at the scale at 196, the week I delivered.
I promise you that’s where I’m headed again. I don’t think I’ll ever tip the scales over the ominous 200 mark but…..never, ever, ever say never-never.
The interesting thing is my doctor has said nothing on the subject of my weight gain. My former OB had made me feel lousy for it. “You can’t gain 10 lbs a month” she’d said (and I’d thought “Oh you wanna bet?”) and even though I did just that I thankfully returned to my original size….eventually. But I wonder if this doctor, this time around, doesn’t bother admonishing me because of my age. Does he know something that I don’t? Does he assume my body is now a lost cause?
I should ask him, but I’m too chicken! Because this is the part where my youth screams “WAIT……I’m too young to die!”
I got off pretty easy last time. Three or four lines on each hip that faded fairly quickly. No grooves, gouges or roadmaps on my stomach. But holy cannoli am I BIGGER with this baby. My giant hubby insists this is because I’m carrying his equally giant dinosaur sized baby. Maybe. Whatever the reason I gained all the weight I was supposed to by month 6.
Whoops.
This happened to me last time too. You’re medically advised to gain no more than 30 pounds. That 30 pounds usually melts off very quickly after delivery. I gained approx. 60. I went from 135 lbs (which I already thought was terribly fat at 24 yrs old…….such a moron) to 196……I stopped looking at the scale at 196, the week I delivered.
I promise you that’s where I’m headed again. I don’t think I’ll ever tip the scales over the ominous 200 mark but…..never, ever, ever say never-never.
The interesting thing is my doctor has said nothing on the subject of my weight gain. My former OB had made me feel lousy for it. “You can’t gain 10 lbs a month” she’d said (and I’d thought “Oh you wanna bet?”) and even though I did just that I thankfully returned to my original size….eventually. But I wonder if this doctor, this time around, doesn’t bother admonishing me because of my age. Does he know something that I don’t? Does he assume my body is now a lost cause?
I should ask him, but I’m too chicken! Because this is the part where my youth screams “WAIT……I’m too young to die!”
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Ye Olde Pro
Besides sometimes seeming (and feeling) like an old vet at all this pregnant mommy stuff it surprised me just how much I’d forgotten about the days leading up to and following the big event. Then I remembered I was half comatose in my 9th month and out of my freaking mind in sleep deprived delirium the first two weeks of my daughter’s life….so it’s no small wonder a few details have escaped me.
I forgot, for example, that B.D. leaves the OR with the baby while they sew me up. I forgot that he is to stay by baby’s side that entire first day because I won’t be competent enough to be left alone with her (they’ll have me drugged on something close to morphine). I forgot that he has to spend his nights on a crappy cot next to my hospital bed. I forgot if or when I get to shower…..or how I’m supposed to even do that as a stapled together, crippled mess. I forgot about the birth certificate, social security card and first photos, all done right there in the hospital while I’m damn near out of it.
I’ve been taking a refresher course by way of two TV shows on TLC, A Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby. With A Baby Story I find that I cry every time they have the baby……even though I KNOW they’re going to have the baby. It’s the whole point of the show. There’s never an episode where they DON’T have the baby. It’s called A BABY STORY!…..and still, I tear up every single time the baby is born. I could be across the house in the laundry room, have the television on just for noise, be passing by the living room on my way out the front door, hear the “waaaahhhh” of the baby being born and BAM…..salty tear city.
Because I’m the silly hormone monster.
Bringing Home Baby serves to remind me of the reality of it all. It’s a show that documents the parent’s first 36 hours home with a newborn. Their haggard faces following the first night home says it all. We’re going to be fortunate enough to have my mom and mother-in law there to help entertain and care for Boo Boo (formerly known as Doo Doo). I count myself especially blessed because my mom isn’t the naggy know-it-all type and my mother-in-law isn’t the disapproving dictator type. They’re both terrifically lovely AND…. get this…..they get along!
Point is, we won’t be left wanting for helping hands and a great deal of it will come back to me, like some foggy dream I once had. And what B.D. doesn’t know I can help him with. But I sometimes wish I wasn’t so experienced. It would have been nice to have had my first child with him. Not that I’d give up my Boo Boo for love or ridiculous amounts of money, but how nice if he’d been there for her birth. Both of us being brand new at this thing called baby, rather than me appearing to be an old hand at the prego trade.
But oh well. Nothing is ever ideal, at least our little family comes awfully close.
I forgot, for example, that B.D. leaves the OR with the baby while they sew me up. I forgot that he is to stay by baby’s side that entire first day because I won’t be competent enough to be left alone with her (they’ll have me drugged on something close to morphine). I forgot that he has to spend his nights on a crappy cot next to my hospital bed. I forgot if or when I get to shower…..or how I’m supposed to even do that as a stapled together, crippled mess. I forgot about the birth certificate, social security card and first photos, all done right there in the hospital while I’m damn near out of it.
I’ve been taking a refresher course by way of two TV shows on TLC, A Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby. With A Baby Story I find that I cry every time they have the baby……even though I KNOW they’re going to have the baby. It’s the whole point of the show. There’s never an episode where they DON’T have the baby. It’s called A BABY STORY!…..and still, I tear up every single time the baby is born. I could be across the house in the laundry room, have the television on just for noise, be passing by the living room on my way out the front door, hear the “waaaahhhh” of the baby being born and BAM…..salty tear city.
Because I’m the silly hormone monster.
Bringing Home Baby serves to remind me of the reality of it all. It’s a show that documents the parent’s first 36 hours home with a newborn. Their haggard faces following the first night home says it all. We’re going to be fortunate enough to have my mom and mother-in law there to help entertain and care for Boo Boo (formerly known as Doo Doo). I count myself especially blessed because my mom isn’t the naggy know-it-all type and my mother-in-law isn’t the disapproving dictator type. They’re both terrifically lovely AND…. get this…..they get along!
Point is, we won’t be left wanting for helping hands and a great deal of it will come back to me, like some foggy dream I once had. And what B.D. doesn’t know I can help him with. But I sometimes wish I wasn’t so experienced. It would have been nice to have had my first child with him. Not that I’d give up my Boo Boo for love or ridiculous amounts of money, but how nice if he’d been there for her birth. Both of us being brand new at this thing called baby, rather than me appearing to be an old hand at the prego trade.
But oh well. Nothing is ever ideal, at least our little family comes awfully close.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
