Counting

If I were an old-timey prisoner, I'd be carving hash marks into the walls and dragging my cup along the bars, demanding food, justice—or maybe both.

But I am here, in the present day, and I'm instead counting the days. Counting the days up—10 since I've found out that Babycakes is trying to make her way into the world early. Counting down...to when she arrives. Except we no longer have any idea at all about when that might be. We just know it might be much sooner than we thought.

When I made the appointment, the receptionist looked at me and said "How about December 10?" I said, "oh! That's my birthday!" She said, "Oh, you probably don't want to come on your birthday, let me see what else we have here."

But I stopped her from finding a date the following week. "It'll be a gift to hear her heartbeat on my birthday," I said. "Book it."

Thank goodness we did.

We spent the first part of the appointment chatting about pregnancy symptoms (I, blissfully ignorant, only listed some exhasution and a little hip pain). The midwife clapped her hands efficiently and said, "Well, you're breezing right through! Get up on the table and we'll have a listen."

While she listened for the heartbeat, I asked if Babycakes was still head down. I'd been getting some hard bulge on my right side near my ribs and there'd been a lot of activity the weekend before. I wondered if she got off track.

The midwife felt around. "Hm," she said, sort of puzzled. "I can't find her head."

I giggled. Headless baby.

Then her face got kind of serious, and she said "You know, I'm going to have you get undressed. I'll be back."

I looked over at William. "Shit?" I said, but sort of asked. William looked concerned.

The midwife breezed back in. "I'm just going to do a check," she said, as she snapped on some gloves. I steeled myself.

"Um, well, there's her head," she said.

What?

"You're done with everything. No going to the office. No laundry. No walking dogs." She took the gloves off.

What?

So yes, we learned the baby was head down....and heading down. I had no idea. No symptoms, really. Things are tenuous at best, I realized. And it's too early. "On a scale of one to ten, how freaked out should I be?" asked her. I needed some kind of gauge.

"Well, you're likely looking at NICU time if you deliver now," she said. Oh. That kind of freaked out. She never did give me a number.

Ultrasound revealed long femurs. And a possibly 5.5-pound baby. Who is definitely trying to make her way out.

So for ten days, that's what I've been thinking about. How my baby is already sneaking up on me, taking the wheel, upending my life. How my life is already being given over to hers. Lying here in hopes she doesn't show up before Christmas. Or even before the new year.

It's a weird feeling to be confined to the bed, or the couch, but not feel sick. And not feel like I'm having anything really happen yet. I have to remind myself not to get up for menial tasks. To say yes when people offer help. To stay calm.

After the steroid shot and the exams...my husband attempted to make my birthday special. To erase the freaked-out present I got earlier in the day. He went to a fancy grocery store and asked for their two best New York strip steaks. He told the butcher his wife got bedrest for a present and needed some cheering up.

He melted blue cheese on the top, made spicy broccoli, mashed potatoes. We ate off china while I laid on the couch, and he lit a single candle for me to blow out on my red velvet cake.

I think it was the first dinner where we maybe felt like parents. Not like starry-eyed parents-to-be. Like honest-to-god, holy shit there is a human being in there we need to protect and worry about parents. Sobering. I guess maybe that's what happens when you turn 32 and you're pregnant.

Since then, there's been a flurry of activity around me as I watch from my perch. William frantically getting orders out the door in case the baby comes. My mom coming to make me lunch and clean the kitchen and make grocery runs. Friends appearing with food, well wishes, good distractions. My sister brings pajama pants and socks, my brother brings food. Me wrapping up my own work in hopes it's not a shambles while I'm on leave.

And then I have these moments of stillness. Where all I'm supposed to do is lie here and be quiet. Just me and Babycakes. I breathe deeply. I tell her she'd be an awesome Christmas present, but she'd sure be screwed for birthdays for her whole life. That it's cold outside and she should stay warm. That even though I am starting to let myself dream of her face, what she might be like, or look like, that I can wait a little while longer, and she should too. That I'd hoped she'd get her patience from somewhere else in the gene pool, and not to be impatient like her mom and dad. Be a good girl. I'm already admonishing her.

I'm just not a still, quiet person. I dream every night of losing my locker combination, being late to class, being unprepared for a test. Over and over and over. I practice being quiet. I count her hiccups. I think about what to put in the hospital bag. I pet the dogs. I read. I finish a mountain of thank-you notes. In some ways, I've never been so efficient.

I remind myself when I get restless of the second day after I found out. Eyes snapped open at 4:30 a.m. Feeling pukey. Something not right. Taking a shower and feeling my belly round out and harden over and over. Thinking, nonononononononono.

No. Not yet.

Maybe she's practicing too, I realize, because since then, so far, so good. 10 days down. Who knows how many to go. I wait.

31 Weeks

Dear Babycakes,

I mean to write to you more often. Isn't that terrible? It's not that I'm not thinking of you—much of my brain is now devoted to your well being on the inside, your journey out, and what happens on the outside. But we are in the throes of the final-finals, here. I mean, just yesterday the midwife confirmed that you are head down. Head down! You are getting ready, too, I see.

So far I have felt pretty calm about your arrival. I have made jokes about being freaked out, but I never really mean it. Except for maybe, uh, now. Reality is setting in. My belly is getting rounder by the day. I feel you move on the regular—an elbow here, a knee there (I am not sure which is which, but it's no longer the popping-popcorn muscle-twitch feeling). Two mornings ago, I woke up to a chin full of pimples. And my dentist confirmed I have three cavities. Do you see what I am doing for you? Probably not. And probably won't...until you have your own someday (if you decide to do that). It is getting a lot harder to put my socks and shoes on, but at this point, I can still do it.

People regularly ask when I am due when they see me waddle by at a store or standing in line. Many of them get this same, dreamy, far-off face that lets me know that they, too, have children and miss "those days." The ones that are still in the trenches, well, their faces pinch up more and basically wish me good luck.

We are almost done with our birth classes—just one to go. We were talking about getting the rest of your nursery together. Tonight over dinner, your daddy said to me "What if it's a BOY? I mean, should we have some kind of backup names at the ready or something?" It happens! Don't worry, we'll man up your pink bedroom if that's the case. (I suddenly had the chills, like, "Oh man, WHAT IF?" Hormones are a crazy, crazy thing.)

Overall, baby, I have to say: I've been feeling pretty good. The day before and day of Thanksgiving you were awful quiet. Of course, I ran several terrible scenarios through my head. I mean, hello, I basically ate THREE Thanksgiving dinners and you gave me almost nada for movement. But I just kept breathing and trusting that all was right with the world and you were just taking a nap. Turns out, tryptophan works on babies. Or maybe you were gearing up, because then the next two days were an extravaganza. It was a straight-up rave in there, I thought. I told my midwife this on Monday and she got really excited. She said, "Ooh, that can mean that she was getting in the right position." Sure enough when she felt around, and listened to where your heart sounds were coming from, you had shifted from a sort of cradle-like position to back on the left, head down. ThudTHUDthudTHUD went your heart. Speeded up, she said, from us poking around in there. But overall, symptom-wise I'm not too terribly sore. I'm sleeping pretty well. I'm a little short of breath, though. And the heartburn is a little more insistent and often. And The Tireds are returning. Just in time for the zillion things I need to do before you get here! But that's just training wheels for what's to come, I am sure.

So the physical reality, and the hormones, they are a-changin'. And life's about to, in a big way. I'm still in that halfway zone...so thrilled to meet you, to hold you, to kiss you...and still hanging on by a thread to the life I know. The quiet one, the one with adequate sleep, and time for a long, hot shower. The one where you just go with me, unobtrusively (but more obtrusively by the day.) Where I still, for all intents and purposes, do what I want.

But already I know I wouldn't give you back for the ($500 million) Powerball jackpot. I swear to you. Not for nothin'.

Love,
Mama

Creative Hearing

It's been a long, taxing week for both William and I. He's ramping up for holiday shows, we're attacking our to-do list with a ferocity, I have a million details swirling and keeping up is getting harder—definitely third trimester is kicking in now. But here's a funny excerpt from this evening's conversation.

Scene: Driving home after a three-hour birth class. William is driving. I'm starting to get that lead-in-the-limbs sort of tired feeling washing over me, after staying up late for the election, an evening work event, another evening obligation, and now this class (all after long days at work). 

William: You mad at me or something?
Me: No, why?
William: You seem mad. You look mad.
Me: No, I'm just really tired.
William: Me too.
Me: Yeah.

A few minutes pass. 

William: Are you SURE something's not wrong?
Me: Yeah, it's just that I'm starting to lose that second-trimester energy already. This week was really hard on me, and I've got a lot left to do [I'm going out of town for a weekend-long work event]. I'm fading fast.

William: Did you just say "i'm fat and sensitive?"
Me: NO! I said "I'm fading fast." But now that I think of it, I mean, that's not far off.

Hysterical laughter ensues.

Electric Feel

Dear Baby,

Time is going so fast. Last week I measured in at 28 weeks instead of 27, so besides the calendar pages flying off the tablet like they do in old black-and-white movies, you've also kicked up the growing a notch.

I've gained 20 pounds. Everyone says I'm carrying it well, whatever that means. Your dad says I don't look pregnant from the back. But I feel pregnant everywhere. You're getting bigger and making yourself more known to me by the day. You've sent up a little heartburn but it's been mercifully short spurts (so far, anyway, but keep up the good work!) I'm tired, too, I can feel the second-trimester energy waning a little already. Tonight I had to take a little snooze on the couch while I "watched" 60 Minutes.

Last night we had a get together with three other couples, two of whom have gone before us into the parenting abyss. They gave us lots of funny advice and some sweet presents —a cute dress and a t-shirt that predicts you're going to grow up to be a monkey wrangler. Given your dad's level of energy, that may well happen! It was nice to be with them, and to see how our friendships have grown and how we've changed over the years. Unsolicited advice: loyalty is a totally underrated virtue these days. When you find good friends, stick with them through thick and thin. You won't always agree, you won't always be in the same phase of your lives at the same time, but it is always good to have people in your life who have known you forever, and love you just the same. Those are often the people who will catch you when you fall, and help you laugh it off.

Speaking of, he is busy painting your room as I type this. We picked pink. Cliché? So what? I love pink. And it's not too hit-you-over-the-head pink. Paris White, actually. French people even do white better than we do. I can't wait to get your room all put together—we have fun plans. It won't be a total pink-a-palooza. You just kicked your approval, so I'm guessing you'll like it. What color is it in there? Maybe sort of pink, right? I hear you can open and close your eyes now, and I think that maybe you had hiccups last night.

Now that we're actually making your little nest, we also registered for some goodies to get you started when you get here, which some kind-hearted people are excited to provide for you. Driving home, your daddy turned to me and said "I am so excited to be having this baby girl with you." It melted me to my toes. He already knows he's in deep with you—he was picking out princessy dresses and snuggly teddy bears for you today when we should have been picking the more boring, but safe and necessary stuff, like car seats and the like.

We started our birth classes last week, too, to learn about how to take care of each other through this last phase before you come out, and for the days leading up to and on your birthday. Our doula is teaching the class, and she is fun and funny. I'm glad we chose her to help us on our first big day as a family.

Baby, I look at your cousin Gus, who is only 6 months old, and I am so in love with him that if I think of it too much, it brings tears to my eyes. I can only imagine the depth and complexity of the feelings and love that will evolve as you grow, not only from your daddy and me and Murray and Ernie, your fursiblings, but your extended family and our friends, who are so excited to meet you. I hope my heart can handle it!

On one hand, I want to stop time, hit the pause button, do the Zack Morris time out: I feel like I need more than the 90 or less days I have left with you in my belly to wrap up business ... nursery, showers, holidays, birthdays, last-fling friend times, work stuff, decisions about your birth and all that comes after, etc. It's a long, pressure-filled (but mostly joyful!) list, and I'm not sure how I'm going to manage everything once you come and shake up my entire universe. It's coming like a freight train.

But on the other hand, I cannot wait to have you in my arms. I know it will be like the day I married your dad (best choice ever), where I cannot believe it is actually here, but here we go, and oh, it will be better than anything I had ever imagined happening to little old future me.

Love,
Mama

It's A Girl!

I can't imagine anyone was on tenterhooks waiting for this next post, since everyone who reads my blog has heard the news otherwise (or at least I think so), but if not: Sorry for my absence!

I really need to get some belly photos up. I have grown QUITE a bit since this 19-week mark. (Holy shit, I'm 24 weeks this Tuesday!)

Around the time this photo was taken, William and I were at Izzy's, an ice-cream cafe here in St. Paul where they have the most extraordinary flavors. I was standing behind a grandparent-age couple, and they struck up conversation with us. They were out-of-towners, so they were looking for flavor advice. I gave them mine—midnight snack!—and we joked around a bit. Then the woman said to me: "When I was pregnant, I lived across the street from an ice-cream shop in St. Louis. I gained 70 pounds!" It was a moment for me: Someone dared to assume I was pregnant and comment on it, without commenting on it. I told her I'd be careful on the ice cream. 

******************

Last weekend, I was at the doughnut shop a few blocks from where I live. It was one of the first truly chilly mornings of the fall, and I was dressed in a swing-style sweater coat and leggings. When I got up to the counter to pay, the owner of the bakery dropped an extra doughnut into the bag. "For the baby," he grinned and said.

I was surprised he noticed. I guess I still think I'm in the stage where it's a could-be-or-couldn't-be, and I thought the coat just looked like a swing coat. I expressed my gratitude—and surprise. He's an adorable Vietnamese-American man and he said with all the charm in the world: "Oh, you showing up now. This your first?" I told him yes. "Oh, you will have more," he predicted. "I have four. All verrrrry different."

********************

I got a haircut a couple of weeks ago. When the stylist, who I adore, pulled back my hair and put the black cape on, I said "Whoa, my face...it's getting fat!"
"Mmmm, I'd say it's just losing...dimension," he hedged.
"No, it's OK. It's getting fuller for sure."
"I'll cut layers to help with that," he reassured.

**********************
I'm on to full-on ravenous mode. A far piece better than the sicks early on, although no less urgent in its nature.

Things I have craved:
Pickles (I am a giant cliché)
Salami/pastrami with cream cheese on everything bagels (and pickles)
Mini rye bread loaves with cream cheese and salted cucumbers (hmmm, sensing a pattern here?)
Ikea Swedish meatballs with mashed potatoes and lingonberries
Spaghetti and meatballs (with LOTS of garlic)
For the love of God, I have eaten AT LEAST a full peck of Honeycrisp apples since apple season has started here in Minnesota. I want to cry because so many of our farmers lost significant portions of their crop, so we'll have a short season (my favorite orchard told me they lost 70 PERCENT due to a spring frost and early cold fall here).
Chili
Early on: Laffy Taffy, cherry Icees, Granny Smith apples, dried-fruit-rollups
Cereal (specifically honey-nut Cheerios)...I never eat cereal, really.
Chewy Sprees (I do like these normally, but not the way I like them now.)

**********************

The baby is now kicking hard enough that she can make my belly jump when she wants to. I can rely on her to move when I switch positions in bed in the morning, after I eat, and when I lie on my back to read at night before I go to sleep. Some days she moves more than others. and it kind of freaks me out when she moves less, but my doc says it won't be until late 20-some weeks where I might feel her move reliably all day long. She seems to respond to Wm's voice when he talks to my belly. I was working late one night, lying in bed, and listening to an REM concert on YouTube while I typed. She kicked through the whole thing, and she also kicked a ton at the Louis CK show we saw this weekend.

**************************
I can't stay awake. If I'm on the couch, watching TV, and the right temperature, I'm out. I managed to stay awake for Louis CK this weekend which STARTED at 10:30, but I had to close my eyes in the car on the way home, and I was totally wrecked yesterday afternoon. I slept for a good few hours on the couch in the afternoon, fell asleep watching TV at night, slept all night.

***************************

Nesting is kicking in. Last weekend we made a giant list of things we'd like to see done before the baby comes, among the engagements we know we have already this fall, holidays and birthdays, and the like. Oy. It's a lot. But I feel motivated to tackle a bunch of things so that it's not happening when the baby goes to college. I know the BABY won't know the difference, but we have been living in this house a year and still haven't painted.

***************************

We hired a doula! More specifically, a doula team. I already feel more empowered. More to come on this.

OK, hopefully I'm back on the blogger wagon with this post. Life has just been so hectic and when I fall asleep so early at night it makes it hard to get a post up. Now I'm off to read  a chapter in Birthing From Within. (Just finished Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, for those keeping track, and for my own records.)

Twas the Night Before Christmas...Sorta

Dear Babycakes,

I haven't been posting, because I need to get my photos ready, but tomorrow is a big day, and so I need to put this out there, photos be damned. (Note: Please don't talk like your mama.)

Tomorrow we get to look at you, all up close and personal-like, in your little baby chamber. 10 a.m. I have to drink a big, big, big glass of water, hold it (ow! that's going to be harrrd! I'm hoping the magic of ultrasounds distracts me) and then we get to poke around and have a look-see.

We'll look at your organs, and your teeny baby-head (which I know will smell delicious once I get to hold you in my arms). We'll measure stuff, count fingers and toes. Take an inventory.

We're a little nervous, baby, even though have no real reason to be. Everything seems to be moving along like it should. In fact, we've been feeling you kick for a couple of weeks now. It's magical, each and every time. After I eat lunch or dinner, I get a few good burbles from you. I like to pretend you are approving of my diet. And when I lie down at night, you move about. I didn't think your dad would be able to feel it this early, as soon as I could, but he can feel some of them. Sometimes it feels like you're giving me a sly, secret elbow: Hey, don't forget about me! I'm here! As if I could forget. You can nudge me all day long if you want. It's reassuring.

But worrying about all this—it's just my nature. I've been talking to you about how you need to shape up and be a good, healthy baby, and that I'm doing my best on my end, but just so we're clear: We will love you no matter what.

But I sure hope the Powers That Be will declare an all-clear on you, so that we can move forward with even less hesitation than we have now. That we can just focus on the Big Question, the one everyone keeps asking:

Are you a boy or a girl?

Now, to be clear, your dad and I have a "Vote No"* sign in our front yard this election season (wow, did I pick a bad season to stop drinking, but I'll do it for you). Gender, or how you identify yourself as you get older, and often its accompanying question of who it is that you love, is not as rock-solid as we all once thought. Boys don't automatically mean trucks and girls and, well, more girls. Girls don't mean pink and dolls and chasing Prince Charming. Your dad and I get that. But I think that if there are some things that I can "control" for before you arrive, it sure would help me get prepared. And again: Whoever you come out being, we love you and accept you for who you are. How could we not? We made you.

I can't believe that this day is upon us. Kind of symbolic, in a way, that it's the day after Labor Day. The first day of school. I'm too excited to sleep.

Consider my crisp, lined notebook open and my sharpened pencil poised. We have so much to learn.

Love,
Mama

*Note to non-MN residents: We are voting this November on whether to add an amendment to the constitution defining marriage as one being between one man and one woman. We will be voting against it at our house, and hope that others do the same, in the name of equal rights and protection under the law. Not to mention the pursuit of happiness. And asinine things like: We don't need the amendment anyway if you're against gay marriage, because duh—gay people already can't get legally married here. It's just mean. And stupid. And unfair. And short-sighted. And many other things. I hope my child grows up in an atmosphere of tolerance and love, and that starts with getting to the voting booths in this pregnancy. We plan to be on the right side of history.

Getting to the Point

Well, I sort of feel human again.

**FRANTIC KNOCKING ON WOOD.**

After the aforementioned terrible sick days (bolting from work one morning and taking a sick day: see previous entry), I reached the end of my rope. I was lying on the couch in the I Quit The World Is Ending kind of mood. Desperate for some relief. Every time I stood up, I got dizzy and faint. I felt wildly sick to my stomach. No food appealed, but I felt hungry. I had to talk myself into eating a few crackers or something starchy or carb-laden, then would feel OK for approximately two minutes, then cycle back to feeling thoroughly rotten. I had a perma-horrendous taste in my mouth.

Then, I started to cry. Because I didn’t feel like I could take much more of this feeling. Because someone had said, not unkindly, “Wow, fourteen weeks in and you’re not feeling better by now?” So of course I waltzed right down Bad Thoughts Avenue: Jesus, no, I’m not. And I should be, you’re right! And what if I’m THIS sick for nine months? I cannot do this. Game over.

But crying even proved to be too difficult, so I gave up on that and went back to the listless lying about in the sunroom, watching the Olympics. Then my brain started clicking. What ELSE could I try? I tried hard candy, ginger (which gave me some relief), carbonated beverages, Saltines by the bed. I tried sleeping it off. I tried doggie snuggles. I tried calling my mom. I tried reminding myself that women have done this for millenia. I tried whining. No dice.

But I hadn’t tried acupuncture. Friends, this is where a teeny-tiny ray of light began to peek its way down the dark, dark Bad Thoughts Avenue.

Then I remembered: I had a LivingSocial deal for two treatments!

I moved faster than I’d moved in days. I got up, called the clinic, and begged for an appointment that afternoon (it was already 1:30). Luckily, she could fit me in.

I’d never had acupuncture before. I believed that it provided a lot of relief to people, but hadn’t really thought about investing in it until now. I wish I had about 12 weeks ago.

After a brief consult, in which the therapist kindly said that acupuncture treats nausea particularly well and that she ahd worked on many pregnant women successfully (and that I should have called sooner), she got to work. I laid back in a recliner while she stuck my hands, wrists, inner forearms, ankles, feet, and backs of my knees with needles.

I know if you have’t done it, you’re wondering: but does it REALLY hurt?

From this wussy girl to you: No, it does not hurt. Not one bit. Not even a little. Some of the places she needled me registered more like a very quick pinprick, but I wouldn't call the sensation painful. Some I didn’t feel at all. AT ALL. Even though I watched them go in.

Then she snuggled me up in a blanket, and told me to sleep until she returned. So, in the dark, with some tinkly spa music playing…I thought to myself “Eh, I’m not tired but I’ll just relax…” That was my last thought. So, it’s also entirely possible to fall asleep with thirty needles sticking out of your body and face.

She woke me 45 minutes later, and I felt…refreshed. But that could have been the nap. I reserved judgment, and drove home.

By the time I got home, I felt …. HUNGRY. In a way I hadn’t felt hungry in weeks. WEEKS.  I ate about a half a box of Triscuits with some cheese, and then ate a full dinner (warm vegetables! Pork chop!). I still felt dizzy and weak, but I was eating!

I went to bed early. When I woke up the next morning, I felt…normal. As normal as I’d felt in a long time, anyway. I still had the hiccups/burps. But I was upright! And showering! And getting dressed! And putting makeup on! And I didn’t have to lie down in between! I went to work and worked all day.

WHAT.

I know.

So now I’m all cult-y. You guys. It works. If you are having any kind of chronic problem, or pregnancy symptoms (it also works for headaches and sciatica and other things, she told me), and you don’t want to medicate, or can’t medicate, or you’ve always wanted to try acupuncture, or whatever: get thee to an acupuncturist.

I went back for a second treatment that Friday. I was starting to feel woozy again, but nowhere near where I’d been earlier in the week. And once again, a few needles, an hour nap, and voila! Almost-normal Katie!

I was supposed to go back this week for more, but I honestly have been feeling so awesomely decent I didn’t think I needed it (she told me to “listen to your body and call when you're ready”). I do want to go back this weekend, possibly, or early next week.

Now, some of this might be the final bits of the first trimester wearing off. But I’m telling you that within 12 hours I felt like a different person. Like, I actually felt like a person instead of a trash heap.

Now, some people have asked about expense. It runs the gamut. I actually went to a place that is considered “community acupuncture” so it’s done in one big room, with recliners spread about. So no spa room. But most of the points you need to access are on your limbs. So you get good treatment. My place has a sliding scale from $15-$40 a treatment, which is considerably less than a spa or Chinese medicine clinic. But it might be a good way to start out and see if it works for you. The “group” atmosphere didn’t bother me at all; the first time, I was alone. The second time, there was one other woman in there with me and we were across the room from each other; I couldn’t even see her. It's also dark in there.

To, to encapsulate: it doesn’t hurt (I promise! And sometimes you can feel this energy radiating from the needle, which is kind of rad), it can be affordable, and I felt a very real relief from it. I highly recommend it. I mean, if you’re already considering it, what can trying it hurt? I’m just saying, I think it saved me from jumping off the roof of my house.