So it has been a while since I last posted. The third trimester ended up going by much quicker (and ending much sooner) than I had anticipated. I kept meaning to sit down and write about what was happening, but I always seemed to end up working or napping or nesting instead.
To make a long story short, my frame of mind improved considerably after going back on anti-depressants. Thanks to my little happy pills I was able to cheer up and soldier on. Another huge step in the right direction was changing my Obgyn. I finally admitted to myself that I just couldn't get comfortable with the doctor I had been seeing and moved to an all-female practice recommended by my sister.
This ended up being the best decision I could have possibly made. My doctor at the new practice immediately recognized an iron deficiency that was making me feel like garbage, and got me on medication to treat the nausea that had been stopping me from eating and drinking enough to feel well. On top of all that, I finally felt like I was part of the conversation when it came to my pregnancy. Feeling respected and heard helped to make me feel safer and more confident as well.
And... it's a good thing that I felt that way, because the last few weeks of this pregnancy ended up being full of surprises. My maternal fetal medicine doctor had warned me a while back that inducing early (at 38 weeks) was possible and that no matter how healthy everything looked he would not let me go past my due date. He joked that if I farted wrong he would make me have the baby. So, while I knew that delivering at 38 weeks was a possibility, I had kind of been expecting to get at least another week along before we actually induced. My blood pressure had been great, so what was the hurry, right?
At my 36 week Obgyn visit they told me that we would be inducing at 38 weeks after all. My cervix had already started to soften up and even though my blood pressure had remained in good shape, protein had started to appear in my urine and they felt like the safest thing to do would be to go ahead and have me give birth. I freaked out a little when it began to sink in that I would have to GIVE BIRTH in two weeks. I wasn't ready!! There was a bathroom to finish, a bedroom to paint, a month's worth of work to finish and schedule to pay the bills while I was recovering. Plus, I hadn't really started processing all the emotions necessary to deal with pushing a baby out of my body. But at least I had two more weeks to work on everything. Two more weeks!
When I visited my doctors the following week I found out that the induction would actually start the evening BEFORE I officially hit 36 weeks. That left me with one day less to prepare, and sent me reeling a bit. But the next morning when my Obgyn called I got thrown for an even bigger loop. The protein in my urine had increased and they didn't like the too-abundant amount of fluid around the baby. Instead of being induced next week, they wanted to start that night. I found out at ten in the morning and was asked to be at the hospital that evening at seven pm.
OMG!! I tried my best to jam all of my panic away in the back closet of my mind and started making a list of things I needed to do in the next several hours. Call my mom, talk to my sister about watching Charlie, pack a hospital bag, write a birth plan, stick an auto-responder on to my email account, cancel projects that were due that week, generally go crazy...
Somehow I managed to get it all done with enough time to spare to grab a quick dinner on the way to the hospital. Scott and I did our best to hash out our about to have a baby feelings over chips and salsa at a Mexican restaurant, then hopped in the car and headed to the hospital. We got a kick out of surprising our waitress. She asked when the baby was due, and I told her in about an hour. Her face! Haha.
We ended up arriving at the hospital right on time, which seemed miraculous considering I have been about 15 minutes late to EVERYTHING for the past two months. But then the nurse at the check-in desk forgot about us for 45 minutes and we ended up getting into our room about an hour late. Whoops! Luckily, no-one seemed too phased about adjusting the schedule, so there we were. The induction was officially underway around 10 pm. I'll share more details on that whole process in my next post.
Continue on for Part Two, in which I actually have a baby!
The waterworks started when I came home from taking C to a birthday party and let the dog escape through our front door. This happens a lot. I can't really stop her since she is stronger than me, I suck at training dogs, and every time this happens there is a small child in the middle of the whole affair.
But, YOU try telling that to my husband, who seems to think I let the dog out for the sheer thrill of watching him chase after it. We exchanged some heated words in front of the house, made the neighbors blush, and then my eyes started to sting and I ran into my room to have a little cry. In Scott's defense, it is not very hard to make me cry these days, so it's not like he had to do much to encourage this result. But, if you happen to have any advice on NOT making your pregnant wife cry than please feel free to pass that along to him. As far as I can tell he must think making pregnant ladies cry is what all the cool kids are doing these days.
Anyway, I have been finding it harder and harder lately to recover from my sob-sessions, so it took me a while to get up and try to get on with the day. Scott had left for work, so I started to set up the changing table he had driven to get me that morning. I stocked the shelves with little boxes of cloth diapers, swaddles, and baby clothes, and while this was exactly what I wanted to be doing today, my feelings of sadness just kept growing and growing. By time time I was done it was like wading through quicksand.
On top of crying at every opportunity I have been exceptionally cranky and angry over the past couple of months. I've joked about it, but it's actually been a little bit over the top for my tastes. I find myself snapping at my husband and even at my son constantly. My temper is super short, and before I even know what is happening I'm raising my voice. Even out in the world with strangers I find myself losing patience quickly. The cashier at the grocery store feels stand-offish, the lady at the kid's thrift shop is judging me, the stranger on Facebook is making comments that compel me to start a fight. I don't feel like myself, because this isn't how I usually navigate the world.
At first I chalked it up to hormones. I mean, pregnant ladies are notorious for being cranky, right? But a few days ago I saw a quote that got stuck in my mind.
Anger is often grief that has been silent for too long.
First the sentence sat in my mind, then it simmered, then it sunk, like a brick, down into my brain and I finally got it. Of course I'm angry. I lost a baby. ANOTHER baby. I lost a fifth baby. And it hurts like hell, still, and maybe putting away all of those sweet little onesies and miniature socks forced me to face what is probably one of my deepest fears. The fear that it will never stop hurting - even when I am finally holding my rainbow baby in my arms the pain will still be there. The loss will still be there. My heart is just permanently cracked - and no amount of beautiful healthy babies can fix it.
I knew that, but it's one thing to expect something and another to experience its proof. I'm just a little while away from having another baby, and I should be really happy right now. I should be nesting and celebrating, and trying to enjoy the last couple of months of experiencing pregnancy. I should be relishing every kick, warmly chuckling over my discomfort, and basking in gratitude that this is FINALLY HAPPENING. But it's hard to do all of that while carrying this weight of grief around with me - especially when the grief has been disguising itself as anger.
I'm furious at my husband for not missing our other twin, Bebe, like I do. It's lonely to grieve all by yourself, and if he is hurting like I am he doesn't tell me about it. It isn't surprising, of course, the babies we lost never felt real to him the way they did to me. He didn't know them like I did. He didn't have a CHANCE to love them like I did. They were ideas and those ideas vanished. Loving an idea and loving another human life just isn't really the same thing. If I'm going to be mad at Scott for not grieving like I do than I should just go ahead and be mad at my whole family, the whole world. And maybe I am actually.
The only other person that I think really felt the last loss as intensively as I did hasn't even had his fourth birthday yet. I can't exactly lean on him for emotional support. He still brings up Bebe, and his random explanations to strangers about how he "used to have two sisters but one had to go back to heaven instead of being born" is a really great for ripping my guts out.
(Also great at ripping my guts out: questionnaires/pamphlets/receptionists that want to know how many pregnancies I've had. Why does EVERYONE want to know this?)
But Charlie is one step ahead of me. He acknowledges the loss, and how sad it made him, while I keep charging along determined to be happy no matter what. So while I was stocking up my bedroom for our newest addition it finally hit me (like a truck) there should be TWO co-sleepers. There should be TWO little bundles of onesies to fold, and TWO infant car seats to get a hold of. Seeing these things set up in my room don't make me as happy as I thought they would. Instead, they look lonely, because Bebe's half is missing.
Bebe is missing.
And people, I hate to admit this too, because I thought I was stronger than this, but I am scared. Like really, truly, irrationally, scared. The closer we get to the end, the more afraid I am that something horrible is going to go wrong, or be wrong. I'm scared that she won't make it at all, or that she'll be born way too early, or with serious health problems. I'm scared to death and it's getting harder and harder to push off the fear and find any peace.
So that brings me to a place where I realize that I need to lady up and accept that my feelings at this point are complicated at best. I'm taking the pressure off of myself to celebrate or happily prepare. Instead, I'm going to take a minute and grieve the losses that still hurt, lick my wounds a bit, and then try to re-group so that I can try and meet this baby with the joy she deserves to see from her mama. I canceled my pre-baby party, I'm taking a break from nesting, and I'm going to see if I can just focus on healing a bit more for now.
I will probably also find myself a therapist to try and navigate this whole crazy nut that just cracked open because mama can't afford to cry all day.
But first, one more bellyache. Why can't I just be a normal person?!! WHYYYYYYYYYYY????? WHHAAAAAAAA!!!
Week 29 is here and I'm finally returning to my little baby blog with an update. Once we got past the scary stuff the rest of the pregnancy has gone by pretty quickly. I've been pretty insanely busy over the past few months so the whole second trimester kind of went by in a blur. Now I'm deep in to baby season and feeling a little bamboozled by the physical and emotional intensity that has crept up on me.
Maybe it's being four years older and having my first "geriatric" pregnancy at the ripe old age of 37 that has me feeling so sore and exhausted. Or, perhaps it's just a matter of every pregnancy being different and I just got really lucky the first time I went through a third trimester.
More than anything, I suspect that the intensity of my discomfort during this phase of pregnancy has to do with not treating myself as nicely as I did when I was pregnant with C. During that pregnancy I napped as needed, ate nothing but the healthiest of meals, went to yoga twice a week, and swam or walked every single day. I was really killing it at self-care.
My reality right now is quite different. The nauseous feelings that were so severe during my first trimester took a bit of a break in the middle weeks, but never really went away. Now they are back again in Trimester 3 and it's making eating healthy (or eating at all) a constant challenge. If I don't eat I get shaky, crazy hungry. But nothing, and I do mean NOTHING sounds or looks appetizing most days.
Between heartburn and a general aversion to food, eating well is almost impossible, so I'm stuck with trying to make the best out of meals as I can, and enduring at least one or two hurls per week. I have to tell you that I definitely worry about this baby getting everything she needs nutrition-wise. Even keeping vitamins and supplements down has been dicey.
So there's that. Then there is the physical penalty of omitting yoga and regular exercise from my pregnancy routine. I knew that stuff made a big difference, but I had no idea quite how intense that difference would be. It hurts to lay down. It hurts to stand up. Everything just hurts in general - especially my poor hip joints which feel like they might just quit any day now.
And, of course, when I complain about such things I am inevitably met by questions like "why don't you just go do some yoga?" A fabulous suggestion, and one that I surely should prioritize, but people, I'm also really frigging tired, really frigging busy, and really frigging stressed out, so even though it really IS just as easy as it sounds, it's also not!
Medically speaking, baby and I are doing OK. There have been no signs of high blood pressure or blood clotting. Baby is measuring right on target, and I have passed all of my usual prenatal lab tests within normal limits.
There is one little thing going on that does have me stressed out, and just to warn you all, this might be TMI for some of you. BUT, this blog is all about full frontal motherhood so I'm going to come right out and over-share.
I have had a yeast infection for almost FIVE MONTHS. And yes, it is just as awful an experience as you might imagine. Did you know that recurrent and seemingly impossibly resilient yeast infections were a thing during pregnancy? Me neither, but I sure do now.
Aside from being extremely maddening and uncomfortable, the issue has thus far not been a huge concern as far as danger to the baby goes. BUT, according to my OBGYN, if the infection is not eradicated before the cervix starts to soften there could be big trouble. Yeast infections (especially those that have had months to wear away at one's most delicate tissues) can break waters early and lead to premature birth, emergency C-sections, and even uterine infections - all things that are potentially very very dangerous for both baby and me.
Good times. The fun NEVER stops.
As a last ditch effort to relieve myself from this malady I am taking extra vitamin C and cranberry extract daily and have cut out every smidgen of sugar from my diet. I'm simultaneously taking oral and topical medication for the 1-millionth time, and I'm even switching to a new OBGYN because if this joker can't fix the problem I am hoping someone else can.
Emotionally, I've been a real rage monster ever since quitting my Zoloft prescription at 28 weeks. While taking Zoloft during pregnancy is considered relatively safe I just didn't want to take any extra chances during this third trimester when there is already a chance I'll deliver early. Between the yeast infection issue and the fact that my body is still wired in some ways to treat this pregnancy as twins, an early delivery is certainly possible, and the prospect is starting to freak me out.
There's some evidence that Zoloft can interfere with the development of baby's lung function when taken in the third trimester, and if she does come early she is going to need all the help she can get in that department.
Speaking of early delivery, I also JUST FOUND OUT that my OBGYN is planning to induce me at 38 weeks, meaning I am likely to have a baby more like June 7 than June 21. This was a surprise to me, and another reason that I'm not thrilled with my OBGYN right now. I am 100% on board with doing whatever it takes to deliver my baby safely but I would like to be included on the plan. Not too much to ask, right? I still wouldn't know if I hadn't cornered the guy earlier this week with questions about the birth plan.
We had several differences of opinion as far as the birth plan goes too. This guy is definitely an old-school doctor and seems awfully set in his ways. While I am glad that he's experienced and am trying to respect and trust his opinion, I feel like that opinion might be a little outdated. He also loves explaining everything to me in terns of "if he doesn't do it this way the baby could die". Not the most comforting tactic, and not something I need to hear right now.
Sigh.
So the third trimester is shaping up to be a whole lot more dramatic and a whole lot shorter than I had anticipated.
Also, my book is coming out in the middle of all this!! AHHHHHH!!!! I just found THAT out too.
It's been quite a week. If you happen to run into me be warned. I'm pretty cranky.
Today's the day we hit forty weeks of pregnancy. It's kind of mind blowing to think that I've been pregnant for a full ten months. How the time did fly. I've been lucky, spending most of the time in relative comfort. Now that I've reached the tail end I am finally starting to feel it. My hips and bladder are particularly troubled lately. I wake in the middle of the night in almost too much pain to roll over and make it to the bathroom. My bladder is screaming from the pressure of the baby's head pressing into it, and my hips feel like they are just about ready to rip from their hinges, sending aches all the way down my legs and up my love handles.
Friends, I think I am ready to have this baby - like now. The pain is no picnic, and being on mostly bed rest is kind of mind numbing. Emotionally, I feel like I'm quickly passing from eager to anxious when it comes to finally putting my arms around this little child. I want them out - safe, sound, and before my eyes. Last night I had three nightmares in a row where someone either stole, interfered, or laid claim on my baby, the last of which woke me screaming in bed. I guess my subconcious is taking the brunt of my desperation to get a hold of this kid.
My hormones are also becoming a little disruptive. I spent the better part of Tuesday crying. It started after a stressful phone call with an insurance company, then continued for no particular reason throughout the afternoon. I begged Scott to come home early and help calm me down so that my blood pressure would stop spiking. When he finally did, I became super combative - arguing with him about anything and everything that crossed my mind.
Two days later I'm showering him in kisses and baking him chocolate cream pies. Late pregnancy Mary is awfully mercurial.
There isn't much more for me to nest over either, so my attentions are dangerously singular at the moment. The nursery is pretty much done (you can see it here). The house is mostly clean, and what isn't clean is too much for me to tackle under blood pressure activity restrictions. For example, I would love to scrub my refrigerator within an inch of its life, but I'm resisting the temptation in order to avoid preeclampsia.
Today I'm taking care of the last little things - leaving a note for my Mom to find when we head to the birth center, battling Scott on our post-delivery takeout order, making sure my camera is charged and has the correct lens attached, making a few last blog posts, and sending out a couple of emails that need attention. After that, I'm plum out of things to do.
Here's hoping Babeleo decides to make the plunge sooner rather than later.
As we wind down to the end of this wild ride called pregnancy, I thought it might be helpful to other, newer mamas if I pointed out some of the items that became essential to me over these past nine+ months. Early on, and especially previously to actually becoming pregnant, I had a lot of crazy ideas about minimalism. It's OK to dare to dream and all, but I quickly became disillusioned about my own dreams of buying little to nothing to accomodate my pregnant body. I thought if I just kept a thrifty head, I'd come out on the cheap. I mean, did I really NEED maternity clothes? Couldn't I just wear leggings?
While I am sure there are plenty of women out there in posession of either magical bodies or magical wardrobes that allow for maternity store avoidance, I did not turn out to be one of them. In fact, I didn't even get out of the first trimester in regular pants. My chest and midsection bloated immediately, and before I knew it, I was sporting a pair of elastic-band jeans and a cup-size larger bra.
That was just the beginning. By the time the second trimester was in full swing, I couldn't even wear normal leggings! Almost all of my normal clothes either hurt, or didn't fit. I was shocked.
Without further ado, I give you my maternity MVP's.
Full Panel Jeans These can be found most cheaply at Target, Old Navy, and baby consignment shops. Occasionally there are good sales at maternity stores too. I recommend going cheap on the jeans for a couple of reasons. You might wear them out by the end of your run, but then again, you might grow out of them when your body changes shape later on in the pregnancy. Keep in mind that even if you don't gain a lot of weight, your hips literally MOVE. There is no guarantee that the jeans you buy at three months in will fit six months later. Also remember that pregnancy lasts the better part of a year. You might need to trade those jeans in for shorts or capris by the end of your term.
Sleep Bras Cotton Sleep Bras are sort of like sports bras, only a million times more comfortable. They are great for sleeping, of course, but also for bumming around the house or lounging in bed. Your boobs will be on a crazy rollercoaster for the forseeable future, so giving them a break from underwires and padded cups is pretty awesome. Sleep Bras are also great for delivery. You can strip down to the bra if you aren't interested in being totally naked. This is ideal for shower time, laboring in the tub, or just plain old huffing and puffing. Birthing is hot business, y'all. Oh! You can also nurse pretty easily in a Sleep Bra, so they'll come in handy later too.
Maternity Underwear This is one of those things that sounded totally stupid to me early on, but when my belly really started growing, I found that granny panties really took the edge off. Maternity Underwear are like granny panties designed specifically for pregnant bellies. The come with a high panel on top, and extra room around the waist, giving your poor aching tummy just a little extra help. I bought two three-packs, and curse the gods every time I run out, wishing I had more. (Pro Tip: six pairs might sound like a lot, but not when you are preggo. Pregnancy is juicy business.)
A Really Good Body Pillow I started out with a standard el-cheapo body pillow from Target. It was a big rectangle with a fuzzy white cover. I called it "Big Fluffy" and it took up about 1/3 of our bed. Scott Bobleo pretended to hate Big Fluffy, but I knew the truth. Every night I'd have to shake him off and steal it back from his clutches. I liked Big Fluffy well enough, but when we went on a trip to CT, my sister-in-law loaned me her own body pillow, a Snoogle. That thing was amazing. Shaped like a six-foot candy cane, it wrapped around my head and shoulders, and gave me great support between my knees. I loved that thing. When we got home I ended up ordering my own Snoogle and never regretted it. Eventually, I ended up adding a few more elements to my "sleep nest", including a king sized pillow between my knees and a foam wedge under my belly. It might sound crazy, but without all of this I wake up feeling like my hips are going to break off of my legs.
A Giant Water Bottle Get ready to drink more water than you thought humanly possible. Staying hydrated has been a big challenge throughout my pregnancy. If I don't chug water constantly I become dehydrated, which is incredibly uncomfortable when you are pregnant. Not having enough water can cause everything from headaches to charlie horses to constipation, and quick! I've learned to arm myself with quart-sized mason jars and oversized Nalgene bottles while I am out and about. At bars and restaurants I have learned to skip formalities and just order an entire pitcher of water as opposed to a single glass. I also used an app called Waterlogged early on to make sure I was actually drinking as much water as I should be.
Maternity Spanx Ok, so this one could be argued to be a luxury item, but I stand by it's status as an MVP. Some women always feel beautiful while they are pregnant, and that's great for them. Other women, like myself, might just need a little extra confidence to rock some of those well-fitted, super cute maternity dresses. Spanx help, they really do. Plus, they provide a little extra comfort and support while wearing dresses. As your belly grows, you'll notice that the weight can get pretty intense when you aren't in full-panel pants. Spanx are a great alternative, especially when they are paired with some maternity undies.
At Least One Super Cute Maternity Dress/Outfit It's worth investing in at least one outfit that makes you feel like the beautiful, sexy, mama-to-be that you are. For me, this was a $30 maxi dress from Old Navy. I felt so good in that dress that I almost feel sad when I realize I won't be wearing it anymore. There may be times when you feel like your body has gone completely crazy - that you don't even recognize it in the mirror. Having one outfit on hand that makes you feel really great about yourself can be a great tool for getting through those crumby moments. If I was flithy rich, I would have loved to have a closet full of those outfits, but one turned out to be enough.
Really Comfortable Shoes Just like the rest of your body, your feet are subject to change during pregnancy. They can swell, flatten, loosen up, or even grow. It's pretty weird. Meanwhile, your center of gravity shifts, your joints loosen up, and your flexibility changes. Basically, walking may become a more challenging sport than usual. I rocked a pair of wool felt Dr. Weil clogs for the first two trimesters, and was truly bummed when the weather became too warm to wear them anymore. Since then, I have been muddling through in a pair of loafers, wishing I had an extra $60 for some summer orthopedics. When I have a long walk ahead of me, I wear a pair of comfortable sneakers with plenty of ankle support. These are great for hiking, neighborhood walks, and days spent out enjoying Austin. The one time I shirked resposnsibility for fashion was during SXSW. I ended up taking a dive into the sidewalk thanks to my cute, but completely unsupportive pair of Converse.
Belly Balm or Body Oil There are tons of different brands of belly balm out there, but I can tell you from a formulator's perspective that most of them really suck. They are packed with fillers like water, alcohol, and silicones - ingredients that do nothing for your skin. They might feel good when you use them, but with a belly that is growing and stretching at the rate that it is, you'll benefit from much more intense nourishment. I made my own belly balm and body oil using recipes that I shared on The Natural Beauty Workshop. If you'd like to buy a pre-made balm, look for something that doesn't contain water or alcohol, only pure butters, oils, and wax. If you want to make it even easier on yourself, just pick up a bottle of extra virgin or cold-pressed oil at the grocery store. Olive, Almond, Hazelnut, or Grapeseed will all work perfectly well to keep your belly (and sides!) moisturized. Whatever you use, do your best to apply it to your belly, waist, and boobies every single day.
Prenatal Vitamins and Supplements This one should be obvious, but just in case, I'll add it to my list. I used cheap prenatal vitamins while we were trying to conceive, just to have something in my system. As soon as we got pregnant, I switched to a brand that packed a heavier punch. Every day, I take a prenatal multi-vitamin and a separate DHA supplement. At times during my pregnancy where I felt that my body needed even more support, I took extra supplements for fish oil, probiotics, and potassium. What your body is doing - building a whole new person - takes a lot out of you. While baby might be able to scrounge what he or she needs from what's available in your body and from your diet, you also need to continue nourishing yourself. Between the two of you, it could take a lot to keep nutrition on track.
Topo Chico Sometimes you just need a beer. Since you can't have one, I suggest stocking up on fizzy water. I took to squeezing grapefruit juice into glasses of Topo Chico. This habit increased pretty much in perfect harmony with Scott Bobleo's beer intake. Of course, mineral water can never be beer, but it's better than nothing. Some folks will go for the occasional half a beer, non-alcoholic beer, or watered down beer over ice instead, but that just didn't work for me. Until I can really HAVE a beer, I'd just as soon forget the whole thing.
Tums People are going to tell you all kinds of crazy ways to battle heartburn. I hope that drinking pickle juice, doing special yoga poses, and chanting hoodoo-voodoo works for you. I really do - but it didn't work for me. No sir. The only relief I found from the constant volcano in my midsection was in the form of tiny little chalky circles. I prefer the fruit-flavored kind. You'll find Tums and Gas-X in my purse at all times. (Apparently growing human beings makes me gassy.)
Kind Bars Snacks are key. I keep a few Kind Bars in my purse in case of hunger emergencies. This practice has not only saved me from suffering, it has more than once saved my husband from grevious bodily harm. If sugar is a concern, look for the bars marked "Only 5g sugar". They make a few varieties that are low sugar and high protein, the perfect mix for a pregnant lady on the edge of hunger-rage.
On Monday morning I wrote this really great blog post all about fear. That post never made it up, because life kind of took an interesting turn between the time I saved the draft, and the next time I made it back to the laptop.
I had recently started having some anxiety over the upcoming birth, and after a little exploration, I worked out that my fears were stemming from some leftover infertility feelings. Somehow I am still suffering under the notion that all of this is simply too good to be true. At the beginning of my pregnancy, that same apprehension robbed me of some of the happiness I could have enjoyed. It was hard for me to accept that I was finally getting the very thing I had wanted after years of disappointment and frustration. How could it be real?
It wasn't until the blood clot developed and I was told that the baby was in danger that I woke up and really owned the pregnancy. Having something to fight against somehow allowed me to move past the fear and insist that my baby would be just fine. I felt like all I could do to protect my child was to believe in her, so I did, fiercely, even when doctor after doctor told me to be prepared for a loss.
Then the second trimester started and we entered this magical period of safety and bliss. The blood clot dissipated, baby was growing and thriving as expected, and I felt great. We trucked along that way for pretty much the rest of the journey, and for that I am grateful.
So it was kind of surprising when I recently started feeling a tinge of sadness when I thought about the upcoming birth. It would occur to me that within X amount of days or weeks I would have a baby, then out of nowhere, I would have this weird sense of loss. What the heck was that all about? I wondered if maybe I was prematurely feeling sad about not being pregnant anymore. Could be. For the most part, I have enjoyed being pregnant, and I could easily describe the past 9 months as some of the happiest in my life.
On the other hand, I would obviously prefer to have my baby rather than go on being eternally pregnant, especially now that I'm starting to feel encumbered by the size of my belly. After a little thought, I realized that what I was feeling wasn't so much sadness as it was fear - fear that after all of this, something would still go wrong and stop me from being a Mom after all. I guess deep down I am still worried that this just isn't meant to be - that somehow it will all be taken away from me.
These thoughts were keeping me up at night over the weekend, but I felt a little better after writing them out Monday morning. I determined that what I needed was to find that same faith that carried me through the trials of my early pregnancy. I needed to believe in my baby, that she would make it through delivery happy and healthy. I knew I needed to find that kind of courage again. What I didn't know was that life was about to give me something much more tangible to worry about.
After I finished my draft, I packed it in and headed to the Birthing Center for my weekly checkup. That's when the midwives discovered that my blood pressure had jumped to a dangerous place. Concerns about hypertension and preeclampsia were suddenly on the table, and before I knew it I was being sent home on bed rest while the midwives started running tests.
In a flash, the two to three weeks ahead of me was shrinking. The midwives are now on a mission to get this baby out ASAP. The tests came back OK, so I don't have preeclampsia right now, but I do have high blood pressure, and the longer the baby stays in the less manageable the situation will become. If we stay within safe limits we can still deliver naturally at the birth center, but if my blood pressure rises, or if I show any other symptoms of preeclampsia I will be headed to the hospital to be induced and shot up with an epidural immediately.
So here we are again, me with an unfounded fear, and fate handing me something bigger to worry about. The next time I indulge an anxiety for no good reason, someone please shake me.
We're doing our best to help encourage Babeleo to come out early, but as everyone knows, babies do what the hell they want to do. Unfortunately, no amount of acupuncture, acupressure, evening primrose oil, targeted breathing, or hanky panky can force this baby to come any earlier than he or she damn well pleases, but we are still going to try.
To all of you reading this blog I'd like to ask you a favor: think baby thoughts. Visualize a happy, healthy baby coming SOON. While you're at it, visualize a nice easy birth for mama too. Maybe if we all tell Babeleo it's time to come out, he/she will listen. Shout loud!
I've resigned myself to the likelihood that my friend's psychic was way off on her birthing predictions. While my lady parts are well on their way to being labor-ready, I just don't FEEL like I'm going to deliver this baby any time soon.
Of course, this is kind of a good thing. Babies need their full time to cook, so the longer Babeleo stays in there the better. I've also got plenty of work left to do before he/she gets here. I'm trying to get the second chapter of my book finished before baby time, and there is still plenty of planning and writing left to do for my day job.
But then... then... I'm starting to feel like I have a case of the Friday's every day of the week. It's harder and harder to focus on anything with such a huge part of me screaming out "GIVE ME MY BABY!!" Yes, the impractical part of me can't wait to get my arms around this little one. Sometimes I feel like waiting another two or three weeks will kill me.
So, I try to keep myself busy, distracted, immersed in work of one kind or another. Between writing a book, making a monster batch of test ice cream, working full-time, and squeezing in as many social events as possible, I'd say I'm doing a pretty good job of that. This weekend we are hitting up the O. Henry Pun-Off, attending a backyard crawfish boil, and hopefully making it to the Gelato World Tour in Republic Square Park.
Sewing continues to serve as a handy distraction as well. I completed three changing pads this week, and I've been trucking along on an embroidery project using a cute pattern from Kitschy Digitals. By the way, the nursery is nearly complete. We're just waiting on some curtains from my Mom, then we can do a big reveal!
I've also entered nesting mode. After writing for a few hours last night I went downstairs to refill my water glass, only to be waylaid by a sudden urge to scour my kitchen from top to bottom. THESE PIPES ARE CLEAN!!!! Part of me just wants to ditch my job and spend the next three weeks disinfecting my house. Darn you, fiscal responsibility.
Scott Bobleo is feeling the itch too. Every time I have a contraction he starts hopping up and down, eager to get his watch out and start timing. He keeps cooking up new projects to obsess over too. This past Monday I woke up to a truck delivering a boatload of lumber. Apparently he's building some things. Is this the male version of nesting? Instead of cleaning the floor he builds a fence.
They're always causing trouble. It's a matter of fact.
One of them barks, and two of them cry.
I think it's time to make... animal pie.
Scott started singing this song shortly after we adopted two wild and crazy kittens. This was way back, long before the prospect of babies was even on our radar. He'd sing it to me and I'd squeal "nooooo!!!", and then he'd sing it some more. Eventually the song was forgotten, and the phrase "animal pie" became an idle threat, reserved for moments of frustration when our beloved pets would do something especially awful.
"That's IT!", Scott would shout. "ANIMAL PIE!!!"
We love our pets. We really do, probably more than is normal, but my god, they sure have a knack for pissing us off. It seems like the closer we get to our due date, the crazier they all seem to get. I think Gracie (also affectionately named "Simple Dog") has only just figured out that I'm pregnant. I've heard that dogs often sense pregnancy early on, but Simple Dog has never been all that observant. I don't know what tipped her off, but suddenly she's glued to my side, staring and panting like a derranged stalker.
Simple Dog, that bed is not for you.
She's even taken to sleeping on the floor next to my side of the bed. This might sound endearing, but consider that my nightly jaunts to the bathroom are now considerably more tricky. Trying to avoid a black dog sprawled across the floor while you are half asleep and clumsy-pregnant is no picnic. She's also taken to waking up around 5 am and panting in my ear. Charming.
Meanwhile, the cats have been running through the house at night, howling. I don't know what is up with that. They don't seem distressed. It's more like a cat party that starts around midnight, just when we would be finding our way into a deep, restful sleep. The only stop their rampage when I get up to use the bathroom. This is their opportunity to petition for a middle of the night snack, so as I pee, they hammer on the bathroom door, bawling. I do my best to ignore them, which only inspires extra fury later on.
Fudgy Pudgy, destroyer of couches.
As dawn approaches, Mr. Pickles, the cutest and naughtiest of our pets, finds objects in the bedroom to knock onto the floor. If this doesn't get our attention, Ziggy, his fudgy-pudgy partner in crime starts going to town on the leather loveseat in the living room. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. If all esle fails, Mr. Pickles hops into bed and starts pulling hair with his teeth. They are really serious about their breakfast.
On Sunday I spent the day in full-on relaxation mode. We started things off by going out to breakfast, then made our way to Deep Eddy for some sunshine and swimming. Afterwards we hit up a juice bar for smoothies, then headed home to share an impromptu taco dinner with some friends. After tacos, I was in the mood for dessert, so I threw together an apple and blueberry crumble. We all sat on the deck, lounging the rest of the evening away. When the sun started to set, everybody went home, and Scott and I spent our last hour before bed rotting our minds with the latest episode of Once Upon a Time.
I was all set to sleep like the dead. My body was wiped out, and my brain was at peace. This was going to be a sleep for the record books. Or so I thought...
After a night full of pet-related and bladder-related interruptions, I woke up this morning with a panting dog mouth in my ear, and one thought on my mind, ANIMAL PIE.
Mr. Pickles, the enemy of sleep.
On a cuter note, the kitties are very curious about the nursery. Whenever I go in there, they follow, cautious but enthralled by everything in the room. They sniff each bit of baby gear carefully, then crawl under, through, and into everything they can. Gracie comes in too, but I usually kick her out, because the room only seems to make her extra panty. Oh animals, you need to get over it, and quick!
Every day it seems like I'm faced with something new to adjust to - a new pain, a new limitation, a new craving, discomfort, fear, or idea. Being pregnant is an ongoing series of adjustments - much, I expect, like being a parent is bound to be. While this can all make my life pretty challenging, now and then I stop to consider how it might affect the man who lives with me.
Of course, when I say "now and then" I certainly don't mean often. Most of the time I can be pretty callous about my husband's discomforts. In fact, hearing him complain about being tired, sore, or suffering from indigestion, can sometimes make me say things I later regret. "Who you tellin'?!" gets thrown around a lot. To be perfectly honest, sometimes I just want to smack that man silly.
But every now and then I do wonder - what is this like for him? He knows there is a baby on the way. He's watched my belly grow, felt little kicks through my skin, and he's been present at all but one prenatal appointment. He sat right next to me during every weird birthing video and every lecture on childbirth. The man knows all the terminology, from mucus plugs to episiotimies.
I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge that not all men would be so supportive. As far as partners go, I know that I'm lucky. I wonder if he feels the same way?
I mean, living with me has it's challenges, even when I'm not pregnant. Now that I'm knocked up, I'm a lot more demanding. First of all, I eat EVERYTHING. No snack is safe from the ravenous appetite of my third trimester. The poor guy goes to make a sandwich before work only to find that I've polished off the bread at some point during the night.
Then there's the whole bending over thing. Since my contractions started, I've pretty much given up on anything that requires me to bend down. As a result, "Honey can you ______?" has replaced a number of my usual chores.
And, of course, I'm moody, unpredictable, and sometimes inconsolable. For the most part, I stay pretty chipper, but every week or so I'm hit with a new wall of hormones and shit. gets. real. There's crying, plenty of crying, and my anxiety is often let out by rattling my worries off to Scott, over and over. Other times I'm just kind of mean. Since there are only two people in the house, you can guess who I'm usually being mean to. (The poor dog also gets a share of my impatience. STOP BARKING!!)
Those are the bad days. On the good days I keep one eye on the clock, waiting for Scott to get home. Work is a drag, so I look forward to him coming home every day, and every day I jump him, expecting an immediate reciprocation of joy, affection, and enthusiasm. Sounds nice, but imagine if you are that tired guy, coming home after a crappy day of work. It's hard to switch from gloom to sunshine just because your wife is happy to see you.
On top of all this, he's still expected to be crazy about me, despite my moods, needs, and expectations. I still want him to look at me like he did before I had an enormous belly. The body he's used to being attracted to has been transformed. It's not just the belly, either. Everything has changed, and in some of the most sensitive places. When he hugs me he can only get so close. The baby between us keeps him at a distance. It's his job to act like he enjoys it all just as much as ever, but can he? How would I feel if he suddenly changed shape?
I also wonder how real this all feels to him. I'm often confounded by the idea that I'm about to be a mother, that this squirmy, kicking being inside me is, in fact, my own baby. If it's that hard for me to process reality when life is literally growing inside me, how can he possibly be prepared? I ask him if he can even believe it and all he can say is "Yeah. Of course I can."
I feel like this has all gone by in an instant. He says he feels like I've been pregnant forever. I'm up at night worrying about becoming a parent. He approaches the entire thing with some kind of mystical machismo, confident in our innate ability to care for a tiny infant.
Once I was talking to him about infertility, and how powerful the drive to have a baby could be in a woman. When your body and your soul decides that it needs to be a mother, that feeling can be all-encompassing. It's an urge that screams to be fulfilled. I said that I thought it was puzzling that men didn't feel that same urge, and I wondered why he, specifically, a man who certainly wanted kids, wasn't equally destroyed by the prospect of not being able to have them.
He told me that he felt like women had their bodies to tell them if they needed a child, the urge to create, but that he thought men were different. Men, he said, can't understand how much they need their children until they have them, then suddenly they have a purpose, a meaning in their life that wasn't there before. The male urge comes after the baby, the urge to provide, protect, and nurture.
He said that if we really couldn't have kids of our own that it would hurt, but he could get past it. On the other hand, if he were unable to care for any kids that we did have, if he were to fail them, that would kill him in the same way that infertility was killing me.
Yeah, so maybe I should forgive him for not rubbing my feet. He's a good guy.
My own personal version of Hell might just look like a car dealership. Buying a car is the only situation that I can think of where you start at one price, only to be haggled UP by the person selling to you. Somehow, the salesman always makes you feel like you are at their mercy - like you are so woefully undeserving of the car that you are trying to purchase, and they are just doing you a favor by trying to take your money.
When else would we allow ourselves to be treated this way? How would it be if restaurants operated like this?
Let's say you go in prepared, knowing that you'll have to eat in a little while, but you aren't so hungry that you'd be inclined to make a bad decision. Your hunger level is at a 3 of 10 when you walk in. You're greeted immediately, and a waiter informs you that they certainly DO have a table that would be great for you, they just have to go and get it ready. Sounds reasonable, but then it takes about fifteen minutes for you to finally be seated. By then, your hunger level has gone up a little, maybe about a 4, but you are still totally in control as you peruse the menu.
Perhaps you ask the waiter a few questions about the pizzas you are looking at. It turns out that this waiter is QUITE the pizza enthusiast. In fact, he can't wait to finish his shift so he can eat that very same pizza you are considering. It's his favorite. Finally, you settle on the pizza of your choice, priced at a reasonable $11.95. You're waiter congratulates you on an excellent decision, then speeds off, leaving you happy, but hungry (now at a level of 6 or so, with all of the menu browsing and anticipation going on).
After about ten minutes, the manager shows up to discuss your bill. It turns out that the pizza you've selected isn't actually $11.95. Those prices are only available with a series of special rebates and coupons that you don't have. For you, that pizza will cost more like $17.95.
Jeez, you only came in here with $15.00 in your pocket. What will you do now? You're getting hungrier, and you really wanted that pizza! Should you consider getting a different pizza? Won't they all be marked up just as badly? You start to panic. You feel disappointment setting in like a heavy weight on your shoulders.
But wait, the manager has a solution. If you open a credit card with the restaurant, they can give you a special discount and bring the price of the pizza down to $15.50. Phew! What a relief. You'll get to have lunch after all. You shake hands with the manager and he runs off to finalize your deal and get your pizza into the oven.
All this stress has raised your hunger level to a 7, teetering on the brink of an 8. You're feeling nervous too, because you really hadn't planned on spending quite so much on lunch, or opening a new credit card account. "Oh well", you think, sometimes that's just the way it goes, right?
The pizza finally arrives, and it looks amazing. It smells so good, and it's hot and bubbly and everything you dreamed it would be. Your hunger level jumps up to a screaming 9 as soon as you lay eyes on it. But before the waiter sets it down on the table, the manager intervenes.
He looks upset, really upset. He's SO sorry, but there was a mistake! They ordered you THE WRONG PIZZA. This pizza right in front of you, the one that is so close you can taste it, actually costs $16.95, even after that special financing discount they gave you. Though it seems identical to the pizza you ordered, he insists that THIS pizza comes with extra options, and the restaurant just can't afford to swallow the extra cost. They're so sorry though, and would be happy to throw in extra paper napkins with your $16.95 pizza.
So what do you do now? You're hungry. You're tired. You're upset, and somehow, without you even realizing you've been here for almost an hour! Your lunch break is almost over, and you have to get back to work. If you walk out, you won't have time to eat at all! The manager consoles you again as you sign your name to the financing contract, one that with interest, will end up costing you an extra 3.5% on your lunch. As he lays down the pizza in front of you he cheers. Congratulations! You made a GREAT choice!
This is pretty much what happened to Scott Bobleo and I this week at the Clay Cooley Nissan dealership in South Austin. Only the object in question, of course, was not a pizza, but a new car. I used hunger in the story not only as a metaphor, but in honor of what became my very real situation by the end of the night. We were basically held hostage there for over four hours while a ridiculous game of bait and switch unfolded before us. It was really and truly slimy, the kind of horror story that car dealer stereotypes are made of.
Being over nine months pregnant, the whole ordeal was way too much. By the time we were two hours in, I was having contractions, and I'd started to get hungry. Lately, when I get hungry, I get REALLY hungry, like shaking, painful hungry. We begged them to speed things up, and we explained over and over that I needed to leave so that I could rest and eat. They kept apologizing and begging for "five more minutes" which turned into ten, which turned into thirty, etc.
In hindsight, I wonder if they were intentionally using my distress to try and hustle us. Anyone could see that I was exhausted and extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps they thought if they could just tire me out, I'd roll over eventually and pay extra for a car with bells and whistles that I didn't even ask for. They seriously miscalculated my priorities. By the end of the night, I cared a lot more about getting some protein in my body than driving away with a new car. We left empty handed, empty stomached, and infuriated.
Today I crafted a nice long letter to the dealership, the dealership's owner, and Nissan corporate. Torturing a pregnant lady to try and make an extra handful of cash is pretty freaking low. The worst part is that we still don't have a car, so we'll have to do this all over again somewhere else. Maybe I'll get lucky and go into labor before Scott Bobleo can drag me into another dealership.
That says a lot, doesn't it? I'd rather push a baby out of my body than deal with another sleazy car salesman.
