I think Hansel and Gretel should have left a trail of Happy Baby Puffs so they could retrace their steps through the forest and/or be found. You could totally find my house from a three mile radius. We drop them everywhere we go. Just found one on the front stoop.
It stands to reason that as you get older time goes by more quickly. Each year is a smaller percentage of your life as you start tacking them onto your age. Some time ago Dan turned to me and said we must be ready for a baby.Said baby was conceived, grown and given life. She has been with us for nearly a year.
Time is such a strange thing, an odd phenomenon. Most mothers agree to this. Days seem endless but weeks fly by. Hours of sleeplessness, holding, rocking, nursing, while we are inside of them have no end but months fall from the calendar in spite of this. New parents look at the date of their child’s birth and the year looks strange. A promise of the future, of all things futuristic. Project further into the future; your child’s tenth birthday, their high school graduation. The class of 2030. Is that even possible? I’m sure our parents felt the same way about these impossible dates if they took the time to contemplate them
But we soldier on, filling out school enrollment forms, soccer sign up sheets, and somehow some way these years move on. Over us, through us, with us.
My baby was born on march 10th, 2012, three weeks early. She was ready, it was time. From the moment of her birth she has taught me about time and how from that moment on she would control how I defined the passage of it. As she grew she let me know her nap time or bed time would not occur without my full attendance bodily, mentally, emotionally. I have continually had to redefine, re establish, re organize how I use my time. Holding a sleeping child limits what activities that one can undertake. Having a child in one’s bed forces one to redefine the quantity and quality of show much sleep a person can function on.
Of course this is one small part of what being a parent is all about, and the lessons we will teach each other will constantly move between us evolving with our ever changing capabilities. Naomi will surely teach me as many things as I teach her, if not more.
32 weeks-only 8 (potential) weeks to go before the baby gets here. Eep.
Nothing new under the sun here I suppose. Every mother-blogger does the countdown and the inevitable freakout about the closing in of days.
The nursery is still a mess, shower gifts everywhere, furniture not organized. We also have our “drink station” in there-crystal, wine rack, scotch, vodka. It’s pretty funny when friends stop by to take a look at the paint colors. I have to tell them we’ll be replacing those bottles with other ones, we swear. Please don’t call CPS.
Through all the belly rubbing and glassy smiles I have been happy to see that I am not the only one that fears (okay panics) at the thought of the sleeplessness. In this respect, and many others, I feel that Dan may be much better prepared for this than I am. If I haven’t mentioned it before he can get by easily on about five hours a night. That would make me melt down psychotically on a long term basis. Oh who am I kidding, one night of that makes me pretty fucked up.
The every two hours I wake up to pee each night feels like training for what is to come. I hadn’t thought of it too much until last night as I trudged to the bathroom and sighed. I felt like shit. I was so annoyed. And then I thought, “Get used to it babe, this is it!”
Of course I’m sure my annoyance will be tempered with the fact that I will be getting up to care for the baby. We also plan to keep him/her with us in the bedroom in a bassinet in the beginning so this will minimize my night time travels. I am blind without glasses and we have a shoe addiction that litters the house. I should really do something about that…
Whatever it is-hormones, spiraling fear, an impending sense of doom, waking up at these odd times-the dreams! So weird! And most of them non baby related. Some of Dan’s co workers have asked him if he’s having any sympathy pains/cravings. He thinks this is stupid, but I have to say he has been having messed up dreams, too.
And I guess it’s true-I have carpal tunnel in my left hand which is fucking un-awesome since I am left handed and even drying my hair has become ouchy. It seems to be the worst in the morning when I wake up and lessen as I drink my eleventy millionth glass of water. I was in denial because there are no real visible signs of swelling, my rings are still on (and spinning-it is winter in NY although about 50 degrees but whatevs) but alas, I have strange numbness in a tiny spot on the tip of my middle finger and a sore palm when I make a fist. So much for punching people today…
Superbowl watching for the first time in a long time (I am old, people) without quickly descending into inebriation was odd. Being a Giants fan and Irish, there is always a pessimism and a sense of dread. I’m not the typical New York asshole fan-I never assume that “my” team will win. If I even dare to think that I know I have hopelessly jinxed them and it’s all ruined. Don’t even get me started on the Rangers this season. I should be doing a jig, and I’m freaking out.
Anyhow, drinking would have provided a nice buffer from the stress, but sadly, it couldn’t be. I had one corona. I’ve never selected a beer so carefully in my life. One beer a night? Choose wisely.
I am so looking forward to being with the baby and my husband, enjoying life, love, the outdoors. But I can’t say that I’m not wishing for the day, those summer days, sitting outside, sipping on rum and punch in the afternoon. Ahhh…I love summer, and mommy’s happy juice.
But the Giants won, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Or as much of a breath as Baby Basmati lets me take these days while shoving my lungs ever upward. I told Dan that Baby B will be born under the Chinese zodiac sign of the dragon, supposedly the luckiest sign.
So far so good!
So I have spent a considerable amount of time bitching about how women have a crashing case of pregnancy amnesia which is indeed not helpful to their pregnant sisters out there who are looking for advice, so I thought it would behoove me to keep a record of the symptoms I have experienced along the way so I too don’t fall victim to brain dump at the moment of birth.
Of course along with the normal queasiness in the first trimester, I have had the heightened sense of smell. I still have it, although I think I’ve gotten more used to it. In the beginning as I walked into rooms it felt like an alarming superpower, but now it’s become part of daily life.
The thirst! At times it was crazy. At about 12 weeks it really ramped up, and even though I am constantly drinking my lips are always dry. I know maybe some of that can be attributed to winter dryness, but I know that I am much more thirsty than I ever was before.
When I was sick a few weeks ago my hands felt sore in the mornings and it was hard to make a fist. That feeling dissipated during the day, so I attributed it to dehydration. Now that I am on the mend, my left hand is still hard to open and close. There are no visible signs of swelling; my rings are still on and spinning around. My middle finger is also intermittently numb, so I am chalking this up to a mild case of carpal tunnel.
I have been side sleeping for some time now, even though I have no symptoms of vena cava syndrome. But some of these warnings just seep in like childhood warnings of the boogey man, and even the calmest of us pregnant women are not immune. Like, “Don’t sleep on your back or horrible horrible things will happen! BUAHH HA HA HA!” When I woke up this morning my hips were super sore. Like I had run 15 miles. I have a pillow placed between my knees when side sleeping, but I think between the relaxin moving my bones and staying in one sleeping position for an extended period of time, this is bound to happen.
So I’m going to do my best to keep these memories alive. Just so you know I am singing the title of my post a la Tom Hanks in “Big” for those of you who remember.
My mom surprised me though with her memory of my brother’s birth, her first, back in 1970. I guess when I comes to horror stories,, though, most women remember. I have a little library of books accumulating next to me on the sofa about natural childbirth (I’ll talk more about it in the next post) and I just finished “Husband Coached Childbirth” by Doctor Robert Bradley of “The Bradley Method”. I hope I don’t get into trouble since I don’t know the key to place a trademark logo next to “The Bradley Method” since this seemed essential in the text of the book, but oh well.
The Bradley Method is a school of natural childbirth and the book focuses on the husband/partner as birth coach. It’s a quick read, but somewhat provincial and quaint in it’s suggestions about husband/partner behavior.”Rub her back, buy her fresh fruit daily, tell her you love her, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, etc…” Depending on your situation it may make you smile or it may make you want to punch the nearest wall/face/TV. Or both.
Anyway Dr. Bradley spends some time talking about the early days of childbirth where women were drugged, strapped to their beds and helmets placed on their heads until they got the baby out. He termed this “knock em out drag em out” delivery and it did indeed seem terrifying. Watch Betty Draper give birth to Eugene in season 3 of Mad Men. The episode is called, “The Fog” and according to my mother is pretty damn accurate.
It’s crazy to me to think that not so long ago medicine was so, um antiquated? Fucking scary? Altogether wrong? I don’t know. I guess 30 or 40 years is a long time, but to me not so long in the history of mankind. The development of maternal and fetal medicine in the past ten years alone have been astounding and have saved many lives.
I am grateful that in the event of an emergency the hospital will have everything I and/or the baby might need, but honestly right now I am looking forward to a birthing center experience with the benefits of the hospital. I really don’t want to be flat on my back hooked up to a million monitors.
Next book is “Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth”. I’ll let you know how it goes.
So I managed to get through the holidays pretty painlessly, or so I thought. There I was, merrily rationalizing all those cookie calories being a nice even swap for my missing vodka and blood orange juice bliss, having a quiet New Years Eve with my one glass of Perrier Jouet, and then blam.
I wake up Monday morning with a head cold. And it wouldn’t go away.
I don’t know about you, but I think that other women just don’t want to give it up when it comes to the pregnancy advice. Either they don’t remember because of “pregnancy amnesia” or there is such a wild variation of pregnancy symptoms and conditions among women, I don’t know. All I can tell you is that when I tell other women that have had children about what I am suffering I get either no response, the “really? I don’t remember that” answer, “that seems unusual” or something equally as comforting. What the fuck?
Here’s things: I can tell you first hand that if you get a cold you will be dehydrated. Epically. Like you need to drink water constantly. Like if you’re drinking a lot, you’re not drinking enough. I was so dried out that it felt like my brain was sucking inward from my skull, like the worst hangover you’ve ever had times a million.
This symptom far outweighed any problems I had from just the nasal congestion alone.
And-tylenol doesn’t work for crap, at least for me. My go to drug of choice for headaches, excedrin migraine, is off limits due to it’s aspirin content, and taking tylenol after a certain point felt like a cruel joke. I would wake up in the middle of the night, hours after my last fluid intake of a jillion gallons with an even more massive headache, a painfully dry throat and a pounding heartbeat. This cycle continued on a two hour basis of fluids and peeing (not in the bed, by some kind of miracle, even though I had dreams of using the toilet). My normally composed self fell into a crying heap, and poor Dan didn’t know if I needed an OB or a psychiatrist.
As a last resort I scuffled out to CVS to get a humidifier. I wandered aimlessly about with a cart in CVS. I actually should have done this earlier since my advanced maternal age diagnosis has been making me feel old. I was the youngest person at CVS using a cart-this is normally reserved for the 70 and older set of women who are shopping for depends and denture supplies.
I got home, plugged it in and zonked out.
And by some miracle, I felt, human the next day.
The headache was gone. It was like when Mia Farrow’s morning sickness left her in Rosemary’s Baby. I put all thoughts of having Satan’s child out of my mind and rejoiced in the fact that I could place one foot on the floor in front of the other without fear that my head would indeed explode and enjoyed not sleeping with a bag of frozen peas on my eyes. (This incidentally makes a great eyemask-I recommend baby sweet peas. They mold well around the eyes and nose and cook up very deliciously in a skillet with butter, shallots, prosciutto and sage.)
So my words of wisdom today is that pregnancy will make you thirsty. Your blood volume increases by 50%. You need water. A LOT of water. And if and when you get sick you need more. I actually recommend coconut water too since it hydrates super well and it is very low calorie. I believe that water will stave off a myriad of pregnancy issues-constipation, swelling, skin issues, etc…none of which I have had.
Eight glasses? Bleh-try twelve. Try always drinking something. I know, I know, you will spend your life in the bathroom. I’m sure this is the case anyway. I’ve kind of come to terms with it.
And a humidifier is worth a shot. I always thought that they were for the sickly, allergy, hypochondriac set. Of course I registered for one to go in Baby Basmati’s room as a matter of course, but I never thought much of it otherwise. Here on Long Island the summers range in the 196% humidity range. But winter can be drying, and the thing on high cranked out water like nobody’s business.
On a similar note, I manged to make it to my midwife appointment in the midst of my illness. I told the receptionist (who has a son) about my cold and my thirst. She asked if I had been tested for gestational diabetes. I was getting the results back at that appointment, so I didn’t know, but I didn’t think so. I thought it was weird that she didn’t think my constant runny nose and my body fighting a cold would necessitate more water intake, and that I must be diabetic. I know thirst is a symptom, but whatever.
Turns out that after ingesting that orange syrup, my blood glucose was low. Hypoglycemic low. Apparently my body has ninja like abilities to fight and reduce incoming sugar. And since I am otherwise healthy, my midwife told me I should eat frequent small meals, and not let myself go too long without eating. This explains why I feel the desire to rip somebody’s arm off and beat them with it when I’m sitting at my MIL’s house on Thanksgiving before dinner for three hours and there’s nothing to eat except crackers and wasabi peas. This year was brutal in particular, and the arm in question was my poor husband’s.
In my defense I told him we shouldn’t have gotten there so early. We stopped by my parents’ and I stuffed my cheeks like a squirrel with prosciutto, mozzarella, chicken wings and shrimp. I should have put them in my purse.
Today I’m 29 weeks, and since I hadn’t been to to the gym in a few days, I got a good sidelong gander at my belly in the studio mirrors last night. Holy cow-pun intended. I think I popped in the past 10 days! Luckily my slothness didn’t pack on the pounds too badly as my last weigh in at the midwife was comforting. I can’t bring myself to weigh myself at home, so at least I have a break from that kind of insanity.
Onward and upward!
Here we are, two days after Christmas. I really suck at keeping up with this blog, so I guess my resolution should be to post more often.
Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I feel like I’ve whizzed past some pregnancy milestones. Today I am 26 weeks and 4 days. I’ve done the anatomy scan/ultrasound where everything was peachy, gotten to my midwife a few times where I experienced my first real wait in her office. Apparently all of her patients decided to get knocked up in March so there are a slew of births on deck for December/January. Last Monday she was stacked with appointments that were rescheduled from a day where she was at the hospital attending a birth. I guess this could be considered a drawback of not going to a mega OB group with eleventy million doctors, but I really didn’t mind.
Naively I thought I’d escape the glucose test since she hadn’t mentioned it to me, but alas, I was handed a scrip to go to the lab that week. I figured, hell, I’ll just get this over with before Christmas and the inevitable cookie parade that will be going down my throat. I’d just better effin pass because I don’t feel like going through it again.
For those of you that have done this, I have to say it really wasn’t that bad. My midwife told me I could eat a light breakfast before hand with I thought was sane (who expects a pregnant woman to fast, drink that crap and then not eat for a further hour? Stupid.) I had an egg as to not throw off the test with too much starch. I drank almost an entire bottle of water while I did the NY Times crossword and waited. As I took the last sip, the tech behind the reception desk said, “Don’t drink too much water.” Uh, too late. Nobody told me that before.
Whatever. They drew the blood (three vials, jeez) and didn’t mangle me too badly. My arm usually ends up looking like Julia Robert’s in “Steel Magnolias” They asked if I felt okay. I said no worse than usual, got up and left.
I have a friend who owns a local coffee shop/restaurant where DH (my husband’s initials are DH so he’s just Dan now)and I have breakfast every Saturday morning, and we’ve been chatting about pregnancy. She gave birth at the hospital I’m going to with a midwife. She’s given me some invaluable resources about pregnancy, birth, diapers, etc…one of them is metrominis, which I’ve been meaning to go to to take a free cloth diapering instruction class. I know what end to put the diaper on, it’s just figuring out where to start that’s overwhelming me a little. I don’t want to buy fifty of one kind of diaper and say, oh fuck, I should have gotten x or whatever. I also want to do the whole babywearing thing and make my own baby food. This elicits stares, “good lucks!” and swift changes of subject with a lot of people, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not delusional, I know some days will be hard, but I’m firmly convinced in my ability to do a load of laundry. And steam and blend food. If I can make au gratin potatoes with mushrooms and leeks I can boil some freaking broccoli. God.
Anyhow, she was laughing because I told her I am the executive chef for Christmas at my mothers-I transport the side dishes and do the roast there. “Why is it that the pregnant lady is doing all the work?” My husband says “Well otherwise we wouldn’t eat.” Of course I could have backed off this year using my advanced maternal age and pregnancy condition as an excuse, but being type triple A doesn’t allow for such behaviors. I have to say though, the fruits of my labor cookie wise were totally worth it. And anyone in the Huntington/Long Island area needs to get a Buche de Noel cake from Copenhagen. I don’t care if you celebrate Kwanzaa, go get one. I almost broke my “no pregnancy binges” rule and ate half the thing. It almost (almost) made up for missing drinking half the bottle of pink champagne my dad had. Boo.
Of course all this superwoman crap has finally caught up with me and I am freaking exhausted. I slept until 10:30 today and still feel like a zombie. This week is strange for everyone, I suppose, this netherworld between Christmas and New Years. Dan is at work, and it sucks. As it stands now come the new year I will be looking for different work (more on that in another post I guess) which comes at the suckiest timing. Pregnant lady looking for work, great. Anyhow, I’ve been trying not to think too much about it since this week is never really productive for most people.
Dan’s family doesn’t celebrate Christmas (his mother is Jewish and his father is Hindu), so I give him my tales of fuzzy Christmas memories of toy orgies, overindulgence on candy, cookies, gift wrap blizzards, and the day(s) after. Like a bomb went off, a sleepy, pajama-ed week of strewn tinsel, melting snow (sometimes) and toy reorganization. And the thought that after all this, the anticipation, the planning, the suspense, it’s all over for another year.
And now what?
That long wait for the first crocus bulbs of spring…
It’s going to be awhile.
A few weeks ago, I could feel my appetite going into overdrive. Now at almost 25 weeks, I truly have the potential to turn into an eating machine.
Dan and I went to Five Guys last Saturday and I ordered a cheeseburger all the way, forgetting that the standard issue there is a double patty unless you ask for the baby burger (or whatever they call it). I figured, oh well I’ll just eat whatever I can.
Except when I was done I looked down at the empty wrapper, sighed and said, “I think I could put away like three more of these. Seriously.” Under normal circumstances having a lunch like that would coat my stomach with a joyful feeling of fullness. But that didn’t happen, and it was almost kind of frightening.
I suppose if one was inclined they would take this as a cue that “baby’s hungry” or whatever and go back up to the counter. I feel like this reaction may be more along the lines of a caveman remnant where our bodies were gearing up for the feat of labor and the charge of a newborn where we would not be out hunting and gathering, so you’d better sock away the calories now. Of course it is 2011 (well almost 2012) and we don’t have to hide in a foodless cave for months, so I don’t feel the need to pad myself with 40 pounds of extra fat.
Though it would be pretty frat boy and badass to see how many burgers I could sock away. And since I’m off mixed drinks maybe I’ll indudge my childhood love of a strawberry milkshake. It’s not quite the same, but, oh well…
I guess that’s my problem with the whole pregnancy eating thing. I’m not really a kiddie food sugar/sweet palate person. Mainlining Haagen Daaz isn’t on the top of my list, and I know it’s crazy but in the past I have had nightmares about “regret eating”. Like eating too much chocolate cake and thinking, “Oh I shouldn’t have eaten that”. Then I wake up and I’m so glad it was a dream. I know I’m a psycho, but that’s me.
Anyhow, I’ve kept up with my exercise regimen pretty well, though I have had tired days and I am slowing up a little bit on some routines. As crazy as I thought it was to have this relaxin substance unhinging me like a snake (thanks pregnantchicken.com) I can feel my pelvic bones shifting in a really weird way. This can limit my movements sometimes, which I’m okay wit. It’s basically just common sense, when something doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. If you work out, you’ll know your body well enough to recognize this happening.
On that note, Urban Baby NY put up a link to Equinox’s page. Apparently a new compilation of studies was published in Obstetrics and Gynecology doing away with the old guidelines from the ACOG. None of this heart rate nonsense, the fear that you’re hard boiling your baby by breaking into a sweat, etc…and you can even work your abs. Wow.
I was of the mind that working your abs would only benefit you, especially in terms of core strength and keeping your back from completely giving out on you. I know I’m not flattening anything, but it definitely helps me keep my back feeling all right.
I’m glad that these guidelines came out. I’m tired of people thinking that they have to shut down entirely during pregnancy. Unless you’re having complications, how is that good for the baby, or you? There’s going to be enough weight to lose after the baby as it is, and precious little time to find for oneself to exercise. Why lose all of your strength and training and gain more weight than necessary? It shouldn’t be out of fear.