You may have discerned that I am not longer pregnant. Me too! Every so often, it hits me. For instance, when I notice:
1. Well, I have a baby! That's most obvious. Other signs include:
2. My fingernails start cracking and peeling. Back to my sucky nails, yes. When I was pregnant, they were freakin hard as, well, nails.
3. I can bend over and retrieve stuff off the ground! Wow! This is a novelty. I'm still not allowed to pick up anything heavier than 10 lbs, but still!
4. I don't need to eat every two hours. Now I need to pump/feed child every 2-3 hours. Similar, but different.
5. I can turn over in bed without major contortions.
6. Also, my hips don't pop when I turn over.
7. I can fit into early-pregnancy clothing again. Yes, I can wear those pants. Notice I did not say *pre*pregnancy.
8. I can lean over to flush the toilet without bracing myself against the wall.
9. People call me "mommy." Okay, they called me mommy before, but now they mean it.
10. My shoe laces are now tied mostly straight.
11. People have stopped trying to rub my belly.
12. I can see below the belly-button.
13. i can look behind me when I'm backing out of a parking space.
14. Water tastes good to me again.
15. My face looks slimmer rather than fuller (I'm told).
16. My wedding rings fit on my hand again!
It's sinking in. No more tracking my dietary intake. No more ignoring the state of the litter box. No more enduring pregnancy advice. Oh, wait; now on to parenting advice. Oh, joy. But it (being a parent, no longer pregnant) is, actually; it's a joy.
--
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
To Labor or Not to Labor?
Well, it's off to possible labor I go. Like earlier this week, we will go to an appointment and get a few tests done. Unlike the earlier appointment, we are well aware that we might not be coming home from the hospital today! Depends on whether they determine I actually have pre-eclampsia or "merely" pregnancy-induced hypertension. Yes, I am peeing into the "hat" for a day and icing my collection in the big orange jug.
Since I'm far enough along in gestation to not worry so much about the baby's level of development, any hint of pre-e will send me straight over to be induced. Which is rather earlier than we expected or would prefer! Which sent us into a couple days of last-minute frenzy to get the minimal preparations in place.
I won't get into the paint job that turned into a 2-week saga, but *thank goodness* (!!!) I had taken the effort to clean out the little room for the painting in the first place! See, I am now on modified bed rest and am not allowed to spend much time standing or walking or exerting myself much. This is even harder for me than usual pregnancy slowness! For one thing, all those little errands I was going to run after recovering from my cold are right out! For another thing, I do have friends and family (including Mr Sweetie) to do things for me, but they also have their own lives. Now I not only have to stifle my energetic impulses but ask other people to fulfill them for me! It's hard. It's especially hard when I cannot take care of my usual household routines. I need my routines!
My best strategy for Mr Sweetie is to make a (modestly long, I mean short) list of tasks for him each day. That gives me a place to put my ideas (rather than verbally raining them on him when he gets home), and it gives him something concrete to work off of and see accomplished. So far, we both like it. He surprised me by saying that we should continue this method after the baby is born.
In any case, off I go. Maybe I'll be back home today, maybe not.
--
Since I'm far enough along in gestation to not worry so much about the baby's level of development, any hint of pre-e will send me straight over to be induced. Which is rather earlier than we expected or would prefer! Which sent us into a couple days of last-minute frenzy to get the minimal preparations in place.
I won't get into the paint job that turned into a 2-week saga, but *thank goodness* (!!!) I had taken the effort to clean out the little room for the painting in the first place! See, I am now on modified bed rest and am not allowed to spend much time standing or walking or exerting myself much. This is even harder for me than usual pregnancy slowness! For one thing, all those little errands I was going to run after recovering from my cold are right out! For another thing, I do have friends and family (including Mr Sweetie) to do things for me, but they also have their own lives. Now I not only have to stifle my energetic impulses but ask other people to fulfill them for me! It's hard. It's especially hard when I cannot take care of my usual household routines. I need my routines!
My best strategy for Mr Sweetie is to make a (modestly long, I mean short) list of tasks for him each day. That gives me a place to put my ideas (rather than verbally raining them on him when he gets home), and it gives him something concrete to work off of and see accomplished. So far, we both like it. He surprised me by saying that we should continue this method after the baby is born.
In any case, off I go. Maybe I'll be back home today, maybe not.
--
Sunday, December 28, 2008
This is Your Brain on Pregnancy Hormones
This Christmas, I found myself both enthused about celebrating, but without my usual perseverance. I'd start something and then it'd peter out. I chalked this up to the over-abundance of endorphins these days. It's hard to care too much about some things, somehow. Not that I am uncaring!! Just that I am feeling weirdly dreamier than usual, and that impacts my motivation.
Added on to the usual too-much-to-do of the season, I found myself more than usually willing to cut back on activities. Yes, I'd bake cookies, but not too many kinds. Yes, I'd decorate cookies with my niece, but if we only got an hour of quality time together, that was still good. Yes, I'll get tickets to the concert, but I won't worry about the other event that I can't find enough energy for, even though I had been looking forward to it for the previous 6 months (seriously, it happened). I'm actually happy with how things turned out, although some people are still lacking in Christmas cards, because you know... I just ran out of steam somehow.
This reminds me of this Summer, actually. I started several cool new projects in the Spring and early Summer, only to find myself... falling asleep and unable to concentrate. Gee, I wonder why that was. Everything started changing, and all the gnashing of teeth and berating and nagging myself to do some things was completely inadequate to giving me any actual energy for those things. It wasn't even that I didn't want to do those things; I just could not concentrate enough to care enough.
So a number of very fine things in my life fell by the wayside. Some things don't feel as interesting or as important as before. I've learned that - oh well - that's just the way it is now.
And now all the things I am trying to do in the next 6-8 weeks is suffering just as badly. I can see that there are some things that just won't get done. Maybe they will sometime in the next decade... or not! And no doubt, there will be other things that I will let fall in the next year because they won't be as important or urgent as being with my child.
I'm not idealizing the self-sacrifice inherent in the situation or imposed by a gauzy stereotype of motherhood. I'm simply acknowledging that my brain is not the same. I'd be more upset about it, but... gosh, when I'm not feeling strung out with anxiety about preparations, I'm still feeling floatyly unconcerned. I guess I'll run with it.
--
Added on to the usual too-much-to-do of the season, I found myself more than usually willing to cut back on activities. Yes, I'd bake cookies, but not too many kinds. Yes, I'd decorate cookies with my niece, but if we only got an hour of quality time together, that was still good. Yes, I'll get tickets to the concert, but I won't worry about the other event that I can't find enough energy for, even though I had been looking forward to it for the previous 6 months (seriously, it happened). I'm actually happy with how things turned out, although some people are still lacking in Christmas cards, because you know... I just ran out of steam somehow.
This reminds me of this Summer, actually. I started several cool new projects in the Spring and early Summer, only to find myself... falling asleep and unable to concentrate. Gee, I wonder why that was. Everything started changing, and all the gnashing of teeth and berating and nagging myself to do some things was completely inadequate to giving me any actual energy for those things. It wasn't even that I didn't want to do those things; I just could not concentrate enough to care enough.
So a number of very fine things in my life fell by the wayside. Some things don't feel as interesting or as important as before. I've learned that - oh well - that's just the way it is now.
And now all the things I am trying to do in the next 6-8 weeks is suffering just as badly. I can see that there are some things that just won't get done. Maybe they will sometime in the next decade... or not! And no doubt, there will be other things that I will let fall in the next year because they won't be as important or urgent as being with my child.
I'm not idealizing the self-sacrifice inherent in the situation or imposed by a gauzy stereotype of motherhood. I'm simply acknowledging that my brain is not the same. I'd be more upset about it, but... gosh, when I'm not feeling strung out with anxiety about preparations, I'm still feeling floatyly unconcerned. I guess I'll run with it.
--
Thursday, November 20, 2008
One of those days on the go
for NaBloPoMo
Here's where I look at the clock and say to myself, "Oh, crap!" Only half an hour to make my post.
Today I've been preoccupied with other things besides all the wonderful writing ideas in my head. For instance, I woke up this morning feeling like I was coming down with a cold. Snuffly and drippy with a side order of bleeding dry (?) nose. Yet I was not sure of what to eat OR does myself with given my upcoming test, so... I ate a little (non-sweetened) bran flake cereal, drank a little (non-contraindicated) herbal tea and went back to bed.
I dragged myself awake two hours later, got myself presentable for the public, and went off for my latest OB appointment wherein my doctor told me that *this* time she sounded like a girl (ha! unlike three months ago), experimentally shoved my uterus around (cool!), measured me (just right for my gestation) and pronounced me good to go.
Oh, did I mention that this was the day that I drank the super-sweet Glucola stuff? The nurse came in with two bottles, and just as I was about to ask her how much of it I had to drink, she told me my dose was only *half* a bottle, but that I had to drink it down within two minutes from start to finish. Internets, why do you scare me so? The stuff was not bad. I repeat: tolerable! I've eaten pie that was sweeter! And then I felt fine, just fine. Mr. Sweetie was the one who was famished and begged my granola bar to offset his lack of lunch. And I was just fine. Of course, I had a modest lunch beforehand, so I was not chugging the stuff on an empty stomach. What the internets did not tell me was that I wasn't allowed to even drink any water in the hour following. Yikes.
Then after the timed blood draw, we were on our was to nosh on a proper lunch, both of us. And the counter lady knew immediately about the Glucola! I was just amazed that she picked up on my condition under all my fleece. She said: Girl, pleeease! You're rockin'! And then she told us about her oldest baby, who is 17 years and 6 feet, and still asking her advice about college admissions.
Devoured a grilled cheese and some delish "gypsy soup" (tomatoes, chickpeas, and squash), and THEN drove over to the next city/suburb to make headway on my errands. Some approved cold medicine (just in case), Christmas truffles (for family stockings), and some fab Christmas cards (starting my pre Xmas list). Looove that tastefully-accented-with-glitter look!
And then home to reconvene with Mr. Sweetie and head in the *other* direction of the region for our first childbirth class. Six couples, all on their first children, three of us due within the same week (yes!), and most of us willing to admit our trepidations. The instructor said she cut and chopped the curriculum to make sure we spent part of every class on the vital stuff, not necessarily spending two whole hours on a single topic that would bore us or overwhelm us. Mr. Sweetie got a "coach point" right away and when asked if he even knew there were going to be coach points (and what they were), he said, No, but we want them! Lots of humor. It was good. All the Dads were all clearly cool people. Still getting to know the other Moms. The instructor tossed us "golden nipples" (chocolate kisses with almonds) for coming up with advantages for breast-feeding. Learning plus chocolate! Plus protein and color illustrations. We can see that there is a definite bias towards the natural childbirth in the class, but not annoyingly so. That's what it's all about anyway. We are all there to learn.
And no! I'm still! Awake! Or maybe it's the brownie! See? It's my OMG-I-don't-have-time-to-write-a-NaBloPoMo-post kind of day. Off to bed.
--
Here's where I look at the clock and say to myself, "Oh, crap!" Only half an hour to make my post.
Today I've been preoccupied with other things besides all the wonderful writing ideas in my head. For instance, I woke up this morning feeling like I was coming down with a cold. Snuffly and drippy with a side order of bleeding dry (?) nose. Yet I was not sure of what to eat OR does myself with given my upcoming test, so... I ate a little (non-sweetened) bran flake cereal, drank a little (non-contraindicated) herbal tea and went back to bed.
I dragged myself awake two hours later, got myself presentable for the public, and went off for my latest OB appointment wherein my doctor told me that *this* time she sounded like a girl (ha! unlike three months ago), experimentally shoved my uterus around (cool!), measured me (just right for my gestation) and pronounced me good to go.
Oh, did I mention that this was the day that I drank the super-sweet Glucola stuff? The nurse came in with two bottles, and just as I was about to ask her how much of it I had to drink, she told me my dose was only *half* a bottle, but that I had to drink it down within two minutes from start to finish. Internets, why do you scare me so? The stuff was not bad. I repeat: tolerable! I've eaten pie that was sweeter! And then I felt fine, just fine. Mr. Sweetie was the one who was famished and begged my granola bar to offset his lack of lunch. And I was just fine. Of course, I had a modest lunch beforehand, so I was not chugging the stuff on an empty stomach. What the internets did not tell me was that I wasn't allowed to even drink any water in the hour following. Yikes.
Then after the timed blood draw, we were on our was to nosh on a proper lunch, both of us. And the counter lady knew immediately about the Glucola! I was just amazed that she picked up on my condition under all my fleece. She said: Girl, pleeease! You're rockin'! And then she told us about her oldest baby, who is 17 years and 6 feet, and still asking her advice about college admissions.
Devoured a grilled cheese and some delish "gypsy soup" (tomatoes, chickpeas, and squash), and THEN drove over to the next city/suburb to make headway on my errands. Some approved cold medicine (just in case), Christmas truffles (for family stockings), and some fab Christmas cards (starting my pre Xmas list). Looove that tastefully-accented-with-glitter look!
And then home to reconvene with Mr. Sweetie and head in the *other* direction of the region for our first childbirth class. Six couples, all on their first children, three of us due within the same week (yes!), and most of us willing to admit our trepidations. The instructor said she cut and chopped the curriculum to make sure we spent part of every class on the vital stuff, not necessarily spending two whole hours on a single topic that would bore us or overwhelm us. Mr. Sweetie got a "coach point" right away and when asked if he even knew there were going to be coach points (and what they were), he said, No, but we want them! Lots of humor. It was good. All the Dads were all clearly cool people. Still getting to know the other Moms. The instructor tossed us "golden nipples" (chocolate kisses with almonds) for coming up with advantages for breast-feeding. Learning plus chocolate! Plus protein and color illustrations. We can see that there is a definite bias towards the natural childbirth in the class, but not annoyingly so. That's what it's all about anyway. We are all there to learn.
And no! I'm still! Awake! Or maybe it's the brownie! See? It's my OMG-I-don't-have-time-to-write-a-NaBloPoMo-post kind of day. Off to bed.
--
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The next viewing starts at 10:45
for NaBloPoMo
I have been entertained by the belly the last several months. I take pictures of myself every so often, just to document the progression and expansion. Different scenes, different angles, new art.
My mother takes pictures of me every month to show off when she visits relatives. (I can only presume that they are reasonably attractive.)
My in-laws are chomping at the bit to see me next week as they haven't laid eyes on the belly yet, or hands on it, either.
My one friend eyes it like it might bite her. Oh Mah Gawd, look at that thing.
Another friend waves at the belly and talks to it. Hi baby!
My sister emailed me today to say she was wondering how big I was getting these days. She hasn't seen me for several months, so I sent her a bunch of my pics.
This is one of my favorite pics of the belly so far, even though it's a month out of date already.
The cats are, of course, oblivious to the belly.
People sometimes want to feel the belly too, and I'm surprised at how little that's bothered me. Or maybe everyone seeking a belly rub thus far has been affectionate and respectful instead of attempting a surprise lunge, so I'm okay with that. Do not lunge or slap at the belly, thanks.
I saw some pictures of myself from last weekend, though, and I am not amused.
I thought I'd get away with looking "great" the whole time. That's what people keep telling me: I "look great." But this week, I've started putting on additional layers.
My reaction: Noooooooo!
My arms are getting fat, my chin is fat, my hips are yet larger, my *back* is getting plumper. Gack! I didn't even know that was possible.
I even saw a bit of video of myself, and I move like a thick waisted linebacker. Gracefully, but yes, a linebacker. Is this what Twyla Tharp wanted to document when she was expecting her own child? It certainly has its own style.
It's an adjustment. It's already been a physical adjustment; now it's an ego adjustment. Argh, argh, argh. This doesn't even look like me, not my usual self. My self image is still in shock.
But then I look again at the Tharp video. She drew upon that memory and visual documentation to inspire a new work of dance Baker's Dozen.
I'm thinking that although it's a shock to see my latest self, maybe I should embrace that. Make it like a new work of dance. A new work for unusual times. A new work for *rare* times. Because how often will this happen to me again? Not likely ever.
So, okay, Twyla, lead me on. Because this schlumpy linebacker doesn't know what to think of herself.
--
I have been entertained by the belly the last several months. I take pictures of myself every so often, just to document the progression and expansion. Different scenes, different angles, new art.
My mother takes pictures of me every month to show off when she visits relatives. (I can only presume that they are reasonably attractive.)
My in-laws are chomping at the bit to see me next week as they haven't laid eyes on the belly yet, or hands on it, either.
My one friend eyes it like it might bite her. Oh Mah Gawd, look at that thing.
Another friend waves at the belly and talks to it. Hi baby!
My sister emailed me today to say she was wondering how big I was getting these days. She hasn't seen me for several months, so I sent her a bunch of my pics.
This is one of my favorite pics of the belly so far, even though it's a month out of date already.
The cats are, of course, oblivious to the belly.
People sometimes want to feel the belly too, and I'm surprised at how little that's bothered me. Or maybe everyone seeking a belly rub thus far has been affectionate and respectful instead of attempting a surprise lunge, so I'm okay with that. Do not lunge or slap at the belly, thanks.
I saw some pictures of myself from last weekend, though, and I am not amused.
I thought I'd get away with looking "great" the whole time. That's what people keep telling me: I "look great." But this week, I've started putting on additional layers.
My reaction: Noooooooo!
My arms are getting fat, my chin is fat, my hips are yet larger, my *back* is getting plumper. Gack! I didn't even know that was possible.
I even saw a bit of video of myself, and I move like a thick waisted linebacker. Gracefully, but yes, a linebacker. Is this what Twyla Tharp wanted to document when she was expecting her own child? It certainly has its own style.
It's an adjustment. It's already been a physical adjustment; now it's an ego adjustment. Argh, argh, argh. This doesn't even look like me, not my usual self. My self image is still in shock.
But then I look again at the Tharp video. She drew upon that memory and visual documentation to inspire a new work of dance Baker's Dozen.
I'm thinking that although it's a shock to see my latest self, maybe I should embrace that. Make it like a new work of dance. A new work for unusual times. A new work for *rare* times. Because how often will this happen to me again? Not likely ever.
So, okay, Twyla, lead me on. Because this schlumpy linebacker doesn't know what to think of herself.
--
Monday, November 10, 2008
NaBloPoMo - symptomatic edition
for NaBloPoMo
It's a good thing this sneaks up on me gradually. Otherwise, I'd be incapacitated! I appreciate my ability to adapt and adjust. A few things I've had to adjust to:
Not standing up for long periods. This used to bother my hips terribly, but I stopped wearing my heeled clogs, and that helped. Still, if I stand for a long time, it starts to get to me. I've gotten better at going ahead and sitting down before I feel too much stress.
Waddling or walking like a duck. The week before Halloween, I noticed that I was listing from side to side as I walked down my hallway. DH said, "Maybe we shouldn't watch that movie about the Penguins." Ha. So of course, I had to go as a penguin this year. I had the belly AND the walk. There were a number of people, though, who couldn't tell if the belly was real or part of the costume. heehee!
That's your "fairy freakin godmother" on the right.
(Just a friend, NOT DH.)
I can't eat large meals. This one is because, as I said, my digestive system is confined to a sub-compact area. So the stomach is now under my left breast and god knows where my bowels are. This means that any meal larger than my fists starts killing me within 45 minutes after consumption. There is no room, people! This isn't heartburn per se, just a certain amount of ongoing pain. Sometimes my stomach starts growling before the indigestion has passed, and that's the weirdest of all. But I'm all like: send something else down the pipes!
I can't quite bend over any more. That has been hard for a while. I have to tie my shoelaces sideways because straight on? Nope, not gonna happen! But now I can't lean over in the car, even. I flail my arms in the direction I'm trying to reach, as if it's going to help. The belly, it's already in my way.
I have a hard time turning over in bed. I don't have the abdominal maneuverability that I am used to, so I have to inch my hips over and turn, inch my hips over and turn a little more, until I can flop to the other side. I've actually gotten pretty good at this. As a side symptom, my hips hurt if I lie for too long on one side. Darn those ligaments. :)
Okay, so this is totally boring, I'm sure. Hopefully I'll have something more interesting to write about (or at least more wittily) tomorrow.
Ugh, ugh, grunt, urg. Just let me turn over...
--
It's a good thing this sneaks up on me gradually. Otherwise, I'd be incapacitated! I appreciate my ability to adapt and adjust. A few things I've had to adjust to:
Not standing up for long periods. This used to bother my hips terribly, but I stopped wearing my heeled clogs, and that helped. Still, if I stand for a long time, it starts to get to me. I've gotten better at going ahead and sitting down before I feel too much stress.
Waddling or walking like a duck. The week before Halloween, I noticed that I was listing from side to side as I walked down my hallway. DH said, "Maybe we shouldn't watch that movie about the Penguins." Ha. So of course, I had to go as a penguin this year. I had the belly AND the walk. There were a number of people, though, who couldn't tell if the belly was real or part of the costume. heehee!
That's your "fairy freakin godmother" on the right.
(Just a friend, NOT DH.)
I can't eat large meals. This one is because, as I said, my digestive system is confined to a sub-compact area. So the stomach is now under my left breast and god knows where my bowels are. This means that any meal larger than my fists starts killing me within 45 minutes after consumption. There is no room, people! This isn't heartburn per se, just a certain amount of ongoing pain. Sometimes my stomach starts growling before the indigestion has passed, and that's the weirdest of all. But I'm all like: send something else down the pipes!
I can't quite bend over any more. That has been hard for a while. I have to tie my shoelaces sideways because straight on? Nope, not gonna happen! But now I can't lean over in the car, even. I flail my arms in the direction I'm trying to reach, as if it's going to help. The belly, it's already in my way.
I have a hard time turning over in bed. I don't have the abdominal maneuverability that I am used to, so I have to inch my hips over and turn, inch my hips over and turn a little more, until I can flop to the other side. I've actually gotten pretty good at this. As a side symptom, my hips hurt if I lie for too long on one side. Darn those ligaments. :)
Okay, so this is totally boring, I'm sure. Hopefully I'll have something more interesting to write about (or at least more wittily) tomorrow.
Ugh, ugh, grunt, urg. Just let me turn over...
--
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Panic and Calm
for NaBloPoMo
Floating on a cloud of endorphins. Thinking good thoughts. Knowing there is scary stuff out there, but not willing to live there on the "just-in-case" chance that something bad will happen. Nope, not me. There is no down-payment on suffering. Why take out a loan on pain? Why pay extra interest on something that may never happen?
So what, me worry? No! I refuse.
A little trickle of worry. A thin thread of doubt, a little warning sign sends me reeling in a panic. I breathe, pull out the references and confirm the concern. In an instant, I imagine the worst, the hopes crashing down, the pain and humiliation, the endless days of sorrow. I live that life flashed before me, scenes unreeling like clockwork; I can't close my eyes.
I breathe again and fumble for the number.
Voice shaking, I thread my way through the phone system as calmly as I can and find a person who knows their stuff. Thank god this number worked (not like the last one). Blessedly, no one questions whether I should be talking to them (not like the last time).
The person who knows their stuff is calm and compassionate. She asks all the defining questions, ruling out risks and reasons. And then, the verdict: not yet, no suffering for you (just a little taste).
She gives me a list of symptoms that would indicate a worsening of condition. I scribble a lifeline, ask questions, voice the panic and the not-knowing. Dear woman affirms the scariness of my uncertainty and calms my heart.
I clutch the list and assess sensations. No, not yet. Maybe. It's hard to tell. But I have the list and I am not on it.
The panic subdued but not gone, I rehydrate, lie down, and now that I can wait until morning, sleep.
Scary monsters do not visit me. On the other side, they wait and speculate. Her? Or not? On my side, I speculate, I wait. Me? Or not? On her side, my daughter rolls over and yawns.
Fake the calm so I don't live the panic. It's a plan, anyway. Remember the happy place and say "Yay!" It's still good. Panic can wait.
--
Floating on a cloud of endorphins. Thinking good thoughts. Knowing there is scary stuff out there, but not willing to live there on the "just-in-case" chance that something bad will happen. Nope, not me. There is no down-payment on suffering. Why take out a loan on pain? Why pay extra interest on something that may never happen?
So what, me worry? No! I refuse.
A little trickle of worry. A thin thread of doubt, a little warning sign sends me reeling in a panic. I breathe, pull out the references and confirm the concern. In an instant, I imagine the worst, the hopes crashing down, the pain and humiliation, the endless days of sorrow. I live that life flashed before me, scenes unreeling like clockwork; I can't close my eyes.
I breathe again and fumble for the number.
Voice shaking, I thread my way through the phone system as calmly as I can and find a person who knows their stuff. Thank god this number worked (not like the last one). Blessedly, no one questions whether I should be talking to them (not like the last time).
The person who knows their stuff is calm and compassionate. She asks all the defining questions, ruling out risks and reasons. And then, the verdict: not yet, no suffering for you (just a little taste).
She gives me a list of symptoms that would indicate a worsening of condition. I scribble a lifeline, ask questions, voice the panic and the not-knowing. Dear woman affirms the scariness of my uncertainty and calms my heart.
I clutch the list and assess sensations. No, not yet. Maybe. It's hard to tell. But I have the list and I am not on it.
The panic subdued but not gone, I rehydrate, lie down, and now that I can wait until morning, sleep.
Scary monsters do not visit me. On the other side, they wait and speculate. Her? Or not? On my side, I speculate, I wait. Me? Or not? On her side, my daughter rolls over and yawns.
Fake the calm so I don't live the panic. It's a plan, anyway. Remember the happy place and say "Yay!" It's still good. Panic can wait.
--
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Wiggling & Whooshing
Well, it's been quite the whirlwind week here.
First, we had our wedding anniversary, or at least saw it go by. We have already reached that "old" married state where we don't need to make a huge deal out of it.
I always feel guilty for not doing the things I used to do early on. Things like make homemade cards and poems and make special meals and plot cool gifts. I have total stage fright about it now... it's never as perfect as I think it should be, so I freeze up and don't get anything done. Okay, that's not always true, but it's one area that my perfectionism is still creating unnecessary havoc in my life. Yes, it sucks. I try to be nice to myself and do stuff instead of indulging in guilt. My husband is also sometimes lax in this department, but he doesn't usually suffer the same amount of guilt that I do. I take that back. We both tend toward social neglect.
In any case, there are things we appreciate about each other more than the ability to choose the perfect gift at the perfect time. We used to eat out at the fancy organic Italian restaurant we ate at for our rehearsal dinner, but they have been not that great in recent years (hard to find enough things on the menu that we are really enthused about for that price), and in addition, I have been feeling a little wonky in the evenings due to that *other* situation. Yes, it does make it hard to eat food. Okay, enough of that little guilt-ridden interlude.
What I like about us, though, is that we have a mutual sense of what makes for a good time, so gifts are optional. He always successfully surprises and delights me, regardless. This year, it was a cute necklace. I ordered him a "Scratch Fury" T-shirt that has been back-ordered for a while since a certain person was at a comics con and hasn't got his orders out... hellooooo, Scott? *ahem*
(Edited to add that while telling DH about this post, he started cackling out loud at the mention of the T-shirt. Apparently, this is the first time I have slipped up and actually said what I had ordered rather than merely hinting at it. Yeah, he's psyched.)
So what constitutes a fun anniversary for us? Lots of fun, boring-to-everyone-else stuff.
Went to the library. I found parenting books and recent fiction and he found a new stash of science fiction. We both run off to our respective sections and reconnoiter to share what we've found. We are both big readers, so yeah, this is fun for us. Ditto on cruising used bookstores, but this time it was the library.
We also did a little clothes shopping to find some new work shirts and pants for him. Sometimes I find the perfect shirt for him, and other times, I need his input as to which color he'd prefer. We zig-zagged through the store and collected some things to try on, then I got to join the small crowd of wives outside the dressing room to give advice and opinions to the men inside. First time I recall doing that in a crowd! Myself and another woman were amused by how some guys needed that extra opinion of confidence in their choices. I watched an older woman hand her husband shirt after shirt, and I mused both about how sometimes men don't like to shop for clothes, and how they sometimes need a nudge to get stuff that actually looks good on them.
Mr. Sweetie ended up with three shirts that looked especially great on him, but no pants. It looked as if all similarly sized men had already picked the selection clean.
Then, although we hadn't planned on any kind of grand dinner out, we decided to go by a little deli in our area for a late lunch. The meal itself was not exceptional, but it gave me the opportunity to audition quiche as a food I can tolerate, and discovered melon again -- melon! Oo, that I can eat, too. It also gave him an opportunity to be gallant and give me the rest of *his* melon. As he likes to say, I have "Food Priority." He is surprisingly non-resentful of this, and in fact came up with the term.
And then we made a little grocery shopping run on the way home.
In between, we had some quality conversation reflecting on how we and our relationship have solidified over the last several years.
Over the years, we've gone from thinking of "me" to "us," then edging back to "me," then refinding the "us." Somehow we've helped each other be more solid, mature adults, who can then be more effective in the relationship. It's as in dancing: we hold ourselves up, connected but not dragging, so that our overall frame is stronger. Pretty darn cool, I say.
For me, the best part of the day was simply being together. It sounds so simple. I love our doing things together, even if it's as mundane as reading together on the couch or running to the hardware store. See? Old married people. No glitz required.
Then the rest of the week, oh my gosh. It was one medical appointment after another, with dancing (play) and calling (work) around the edges, and lots of targeted sharing. And I asked myself last night... and this was all in one week?
Herein starts the pregnancy-heavy part of the post.
So the nurse appointment was lots of paperwork and an interview wherein we discussed the paperwork. We had some questions answered as well. For instance, yes, it is possible to be feeling round-ligament pain this early. Ow. So I still get the occasional pain, but at least I know it's nothing dire.
After that, we had an hour of genetic counseling, which was quite interesting and informative. One friend asked me why we were having that done, and I said, duh, I'm over 40! Also, it's available. Mainly, we're doing screening to rule out certain things now so that (hopefully) I can avoid more invasive procedures later such as amnio. A friend had wisely pointed out to me that if they were able to screen for certain conditions and drop one's risk level to *below* the added miscarriage risk from amnio, the odds became pretty clear. I can't explain that well, but I am all for the early screening for any scrap of information we can gain.
As part of the screening, I had several vials of blood drawn and an ultrasound to measure this and that. This was an unexpected pleasure. I am far enough along that they went straight for the belly instead of approaching vaginally.
"Aw, the baby is all curled up in there," the technician cooed. "This may take a while, though," she added. She couldn't get a good angle to get the measurements she needed at first. I was confused.... "Can you make the baby move, you mean?" I asked. "I wish! We'll just wait for the baby to change positions." Change positions??!!! You mean... Oh my god, it's flipping onto it's back! We were totally unprepared to see the kidlet arch its back and wiggle around. Wiggle! It was magical. I was enchanted. Afterwards, they told us that although we wouldn't get the blood test results for another week that the measurements alone looked very good thus far, so whoo-hoo! for that.
You know I had to send my mother some jpgs. She was also charmed. Gosh, the technology certainly allowed for a lot more detail than in her day, she said.
Then we drove drove drove so I could call a dance for a huge, happy crowd that night. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, being nervous about the medical appointments, so I was a leetle more tired than usual, fortified by a big brownie, protein snacks and lots of hydrating fluids. When I got there, I discovered a big-name caller was in attendance, just to add to the stress level. But the band was great to work with and the dancers were enthusiastic. I worked hard, everyone had a good time, and then I conked out in exhaustion. They are already trying to rebook me to come back, which I will be happy to do as long as it's before the new year when the schedule becomes a little chancy.
A couple days later, we came in again to see an actual doctor this time, the first of several. The practice we've chosen has a whole slew of doctors with every kind of maternal-fetal-medicine specialty you could imagine, so if something *were* to go wrong with my pregnancy, they'd be all over it. Luckily for me, I am considered "low-risk" (crossing fingers) despite my "advanced maternal age." The doctor apologized for even having to put it that way, because obviously, a healthy 40-something like not especially old. She herself had her children in that age range.
We had a fun time talking things over with her, and we felt good about the information and advice received. She anticipates I will have a "normal" pregnancy, although of course, they check frequently for any potential problems that might develop. I'm still at higher risk for gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia, etc.
The highlight of that visit was hearing the whoosh-whoosh of baby-heartbeat on the doppler stethoscope. "Yup, I agree with the ultrasound that you've got a baby in there!" the doctor remarked.
The low point was the rather brusque pelvic exam. Um, a little more lubrication and a little less haste would make it sooo much easier for me to cooperate. I'm just going to have to be upfront with all the doctors about that from now on. That and about the use of the automatic blood pressure cuff which I find extremely painful. It's kind of hard to get an accurate BP reading when I'm in pain and my fingers are going numb, yes?
Another thing I've done this week is go new clothes shopping, as I've started growing out of my jeans and camisoles, and the need was becoming dire. As best I can tell, I've gone up a full cup size already and and am getting ready to spill up one further. My favorite find was a "body slimming" garment that hugs both breasts and belly so there is less uncomfortable jiggling going on while dancing or walking.
So you can tell how the week has been going... relentless. Kinda like this post. (heehee) Have I worn you out yet? And that's not including a dance and a birthday party and a collegial gathering and ....
But OH my gosh, so much good stuff!! Heartbeat! And wiggling! And time spent with my Sweetie, even if much of it is spent sitting in waiting rooms.
Now we'll breathe a little easier for a while and try to plot what I'll eat when I can eat. The nausea is supposed to go away soon, right? I said, Riiight?!
First, we had our wedding anniversary, or at least saw it go by. We have already reached that "old" married state where we don't need to make a huge deal out of it.
I always feel guilty for not doing the things I used to do early on. Things like make homemade cards and poems and make special meals and plot cool gifts. I have total stage fright about it now... it's never as perfect as I think it should be, so I freeze up and don't get anything done. Okay, that's not always true, but it's one area that my perfectionism is still creating unnecessary havoc in my life. Yes, it sucks. I try to be nice to myself and do stuff instead of indulging in guilt. My husband is also sometimes lax in this department, but he doesn't usually suffer the same amount of guilt that I do. I take that back. We both tend toward social neglect.
In any case, there are things we appreciate about each other more than the ability to choose the perfect gift at the perfect time. We used to eat out at the fancy organic Italian restaurant we ate at for our rehearsal dinner, but they have been not that great in recent years (hard to find enough things on the menu that we are really enthused about for that price), and in addition, I have been feeling a little wonky in the evenings due to that *other* situation. Yes, it does make it hard to eat food. Okay, enough of that little guilt-ridden interlude.
What I like about us, though, is that we have a mutual sense of what makes for a good time, so gifts are optional. He always successfully surprises and delights me, regardless. This year, it was a cute necklace. I ordered him a "Scratch Fury" T-shirt that has been back-ordered for a while since a certain person was at a comics con and hasn't got his orders out... hellooooo, Scott? *ahem*
(Edited to add that while telling DH about this post, he started cackling out loud at the mention of the T-shirt. Apparently, this is the first time I have slipped up and actually said what I had ordered rather than merely hinting at it. Yeah, he's psyched.)
So what constitutes a fun anniversary for us? Lots of fun, boring-to-everyone-else stuff.
Went to the library. I found parenting books and recent fiction and he found a new stash of science fiction. We both run off to our respective sections and reconnoiter to share what we've found. We are both big readers, so yeah, this is fun for us. Ditto on cruising used bookstores, but this time it was the library.
We also did a little clothes shopping to find some new work shirts and pants for him. Sometimes I find the perfect shirt for him, and other times, I need his input as to which color he'd prefer. We zig-zagged through the store and collected some things to try on, then I got to join the small crowd of wives outside the dressing room to give advice and opinions to the men inside. First time I recall doing that in a crowd! Myself and another woman were amused by how some guys needed that extra opinion of confidence in their choices. I watched an older woman hand her husband shirt after shirt, and I mused both about how sometimes men don't like to shop for clothes, and how they sometimes need a nudge to get stuff that actually looks good on them.
Mr. Sweetie ended up with three shirts that looked especially great on him, but no pants. It looked as if all similarly sized men had already picked the selection clean.
Then, although we hadn't planned on any kind of grand dinner out, we decided to go by a little deli in our area for a late lunch. The meal itself was not exceptional, but it gave me the opportunity to audition quiche as a food I can tolerate, and discovered melon again -- melon! Oo, that I can eat, too. It also gave him an opportunity to be gallant and give me the rest of *his* melon. As he likes to say, I have "Food Priority." He is surprisingly non-resentful of this, and in fact came up with the term.
And then we made a little grocery shopping run on the way home.
In between, we had some quality conversation reflecting on how we and our relationship have solidified over the last several years.
Over the years, we've gone from thinking of "me" to "us," then edging back to "me," then refinding the "us." Somehow we've helped each other be more solid, mature adults, who can then be more effective in the relationship. It's as in dancing: we hold ourselves up, connected but not dragging, so that our overall frame is stronger. Pretty darn cool, I say.
For me, the best part of the day was simply being together. It sounds so simple. I love our doing things together, even if it's as mundane as reading together on the couch or running to the hardware store. See? Old married people. No glitz required.
Then the rest of the week, oh my gosh. It was one medical appointment after another, with dancing (play) and calling (work) around the edges, and lots of targeted sharing. And I asked myself last night... and this was all in one week?
Herein starts the pregnancy-heavy part of the post.
So the nurse appointment was lots of paperwork and an interview wherein we discussed the paperwork. We had some questions answered as well. For instance, yes, it is possible to be feeling round-ligament pain this early. Ow. So I still get the occasional pain, but at least I know it's nothing dire.
After that, we had an hour of genetic counseling, which was quite interesting and informative. One friend asked me why we were having that done, and I said, duh, I'm over 40! Also, it's available. Mainly, we're doing screening to rule out certain things now so that (hopefully) I can avoid more invasive procedures later such as amnio. A friend had wisely pointed out to me that if they were able to screen for certain conditions and drop one's risk level to *below* the added miscarriage risk from amnio, the odds became pretty clear. I can't explain that well, but I am all for the early screening for any scrap of information we can gain.
As part of the screening, I had several vials of blood drawn and an ultrasound to measure this and that. This was an unexpected pleasure. I am far enough along that they went straight for the belly instead of approaching vaginally.
"Aw, the baby is all curled up in there," the technician cooed. "This may take a while, though," she added. She couldn't get a good angle to get the measurements she needed at first. I was confused.... "Can you make the baby move, you mean?" I asked. "I wish! We'll just wait for the baby to change positions." Change positions??!!! You mean... Oh my god, it's flipping onto it's back! We were totally unprepared to see the kidlet arch its back and wiggle around. Wiggle! It was magical. I was enchanted. Afterwards, they told us that although we wouldn't get the blood test results for another week that the measurements alone looked very good thus far, so whoo-hoo! for that.
You know I had to send my mother some jpgs. She was also charmed. Gosh, the technology certainly allowed for a lot more detail than in her day, she said.
Then we drove drove drove so I could call a dance for a huge, happy crowd that night. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, being nervous about the medical appointments, so I was a leetle more tired than usual, fortified by a big brownie, protein snacks and lots of hydrating fluids. When I got there, I discovered a big-name caller was in attendance, just to add to the stress level. But the band was great to work with and the dancers were enthusiastic. I worked hard, everyone had a good time, and then I conked out in exhaustion. They are already trying to rebook me to come back, which I will be happy to do as long as it's before the new year when the schedule becomes a little chancy.
A couple days later, we came in again to see an actual doctor this time, the first of several. The practice we've chosen has a whole slew of doctors with every kind of maternal-fetal-medicine specialty you could imagine, so if something *were* to go wrong with my pregnancy, they'd be all over it. Luckily for me, I am considered "low-risk" (crossing fingers) despite my "advanced maternal age." The doctor apologized for even having to put it that way, because obviously, a healthy 40-something like not especially old. She herself had her children in that age range.
We had a fun time talking things over with her, and we felt good about the information and advice received. She anticipates I will have a "normal" pregnancy, although of course, they check frequently for any potential problems that might develop. I'm still at higher risk for gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia, etc.
The highlight of that visit was hearing the whoosh-whoosh of baby-heartbeat on the doppler stethoscope. "Yup, I agree with the ultrasound that you've got a baby in there!" the doctor remarked.
The low point was the rather brusque pelvic exam. Um, a little more lubrication and a little less haste would make it sooo much easier for me to cooperate. I'm just going to have to be upfront with all the doctors about that from now on. That and about the use of the automatic blood pressure cuff which I find extremely painful. It's kind of hard to get an accurate BP reading when I'm in pain and my fingers are going numb, yes?
Another thing I've done this week is go new clothes shopping, as I've started growing out of my jeans and camisoles, and the need was becoming dire. As best I can tell, I've gone up a full cup size already and and am getting ready to spill up one further. My favorite find was a "body slimming" garment that hugs both breasts and belly so there is less uncomfortable jiggling going on while dancing or walking.
So you can tell how the week has been going... relentless. Kinda like this post. (heehee) Have I worn you out yet? And that's not including a dance and a birthday party and a collegial gathering and ....
But OH my gosh, so much good stuff!! Heartbeat! And wiggling! And time spent with my Sweetie, even if much of it is spent sitting in waiting rooms.
Now we'll breathe a little easier for a while and try to plot what I'll eat when I can eat. The nausea is supposed to go away soon, right? I said, Riiight?!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
I'll Take the Awesome
I've been writing this post in my head for weeks, and each time, I ramble, I start over.
I've wanted to talk about this, but I've been shy. To put it bluntly, I find myself wholly unexpectedly, happily and nauseatingly pregnant. Yeah. I know! It's big.
To put this in the proper context, I should tell you that we started trying to conceive less than a year into our marriage, spent what felt like several years being repeatedly, heartbreakingly disappointed (2 years of medical assistance did zilch), another year of adoption paperwork, and another couple years of waiting. And waiting. Which is all to say that when my period didn't come and didn't come, I thought, "Yeah, RIGHT." I wasn't about to get suckered into thinking it was anything special.
After a number of weeks and a few leading symptoms (*ahem* ravenous appetite, expanding bosoms), I thought, okay, let's see what the hell is going on, because this is looking a little too suspicious. I dug into the back of the closet where my stash of pregnancy tests had been waiting to be thrown out, and peed on a stick.
Hot damn, there was an extra line. Unconvinced, I waited all afternoon to work up enough liquid to pee on another stick. Different brand, unexpired. Another double line, immediately. Followed by a blood serum test that the nurse announced to me as,"Yes. You. Are!"
Okaaay.
Since then, we have been working our heads around the idea that somehow we managed to beat our miserable odds. Or as my husband frequently puts it, "Yea! We're pregnant!"
Things I did in the weeks before I knew I was pregnant:
Ate lots of tuna salad
Ate extremely fresh goat cheese (yummm!)
Lifted heavy rocks
Did daily abdominal crunches
Had my feet X-rayed at the podiatrist's
Moved freshly composted manure with my bare hands
Changed the litter box
Drank water out of my plastic bottle every day
Threw out all my old pregnancy books
Things I've done since I discovered I was pregnant:
Eaten an egg or two a day
Felt miserably sick
Gotten up in the middle of the night to pee and eat a snack
Had very vivid and emotional dreams
Been choking down monster-sized multivitamins
Bought/borrowed several new pregnancy books
Wondered how a formerly-known-as-infertile should share this news (Could I be more of a cliche?)
Of course, I feel gleeful, grateful, ill, and extremely lucky. I'm also wary of both the capricious whims of the universe and of all the idiotic and hurtful things that can come out of people's mouths. (As an IFer, I've already experienced both. A lot.) I get stressed just thinking about it. I am en garde to fend off the inevitable.
But when one of my friends very early on guessed what was going on and was so happy for me, I realized that I did not have to hold myself back from all the positive energy that comes with good wishes. It's very warm and nurturing. I bask in it.
My main concerns are keeping a good personal space for myself and M, nurturing myself, and not trampling on any IFer feelings. Again, I have been there myself. It's so odd to be on the other side of the situation. We are slowly sharing the news.
Yes, it's a fluke. Yes, it's marvelous. It does not mean I suddenly did the right thing that you (the imaginary you) were convinced I should have done. It's simply that we've fallen into favor with the fertility gods. It's another "yellow iris," the gift that appears when you least expect it.
Surprisingly, I haven't felt all that anxious, perhaps because I am extremely well read, and hey, information is power! On the other hand, there are still a lot of unknowns. I've been fatalistic about my chances of miscarriage and/or birth defects and genetic abnormalities. I figure that like my period, it would happen or not. But now that we have an upcoming appointment to see how myself and the little kiddlet are doing, my superstitious self is kicking up bloody hell. I want to see, but I'm afraid of bad news. I've been enjoying my little bubble of contentment (despite the nausea), and it may be in danger of bursting. "I'm sure you'll be fine" does nothing for me. I want concrete information. I want to see the heartbeat. August can't come soon enough.
I know I sound wary. I can hear people now: "just relax and enjoy it!" It is not a matter of relaxing; I am pretty damn gleeful and content when I am not feeling ill. It's a matter of not wanting this gift yanked away from me, and how the unknown stirs up all kinds of emotional muck from the depths. The universe is capricious. All the advice in the world does not begin to address both the awesomeness and the sorrow that is all mixed together out there.
But for now, I'll take the awesome. It's: Yea! I'm pregnant!
I am amazed.
I've wanted to talk about this, but I've been shy. To put it bluntly, I find myself wholly unexpectedly, happily and nauseatingly pregnant. Yeah. I know! It's big.
To put this in the proper context, I should tell you that we started trying to conceive less than a year into our marriage, spent what felt like several years being repeatedly, heartbreakingly disappointed (2 years of medical assistance did zilch), another year of adoption paperwork, and another couple years of waiting. And waiting. Which is all to say that when my period didn't come and didn't come, I thought, "Yeah, RIGHT." I wasn't about to get suckered into thinking it was anything special.
After a number of weeks and a few leading symptoms (*ahem* ravenous appetite, expanding bosoms), I thought, okay, let's see what the hell is going on, because this is looking a little too suspicious. I dug into the back of the closet where my stash of pregnancy tests had been waiting to be thrown out, and peed on a stick.
Hot damn, there was an extra line. Unconvinced, I waited all afternoon to work up enough liquid to pee on another stick. Different brand, unexpired. Another double line, immediately. Followed by a blood serum test that the nurse announced to me as,"Yes. You. Are!"
Okaaay.
Since then, we have been working our heads around the idea that somehow we managed to beat our miserable odds. Or as my husband frequently puts it, "Yea! We're pregnant!"
Things I did in the weeks before I knew I was pregnant:
Ate lots of tuna salad
Ate extremely fresh goat cheese (yummm!)
Lifted heavy rocks
Did daily abdominal crunches
Had my feet X-rayed at the podiatrist's
Moved freshly composted manure with my bare hands
Changed the litter box
Drank water out of my plastic bottle every day
Threw out all my old pregnancy books
Things I've done since I discovered I was pregnant:
Eaten an egg or two a day
Felt miserably sick
Gotten up in the middle of the night to pee and eat a snack
Had very vivid and emotional dreams
Been choking down monster-sized multivitamins
Bought/borrowed several new pregnancy books
Wondered how a formerly-known-as-infertile should share this news (Could I be more of a cliche?)
Of course, I feel gleeful, grateful, ill, and extremely lucky. I'm also wary of both the capricious whims of the universe and of all the idiotic and hurtful things that can come out of people's mouths. (As an IFer, I've already experienced both. A lot.) I get stressed just thinking about it. I am en garde to fend off the inevitable.
But when one of my friends very early on guessed what was going on and was so happy for me, I realized that I did not have to hold myself back from all the positive energy that comes with good wishes. It's very warm and nurturing. I bask in it.
My main concerns are keeping a good personal space for myself and M, nurturing myself, and not trampling on any IFer feelings. Again, I have been there myself. It's so odd to be on the other side of the situation. We are slowly sharing the news.
Yes, it's a fluke. Yes, it's marvelous. It does not mean I suddenly did the right thing that you (the imaginary you) were convinced I should have done. It's simply that we've fallen into favor with the fertility gods. It's another "yellow iris," the gift that appears when you least expect it.
Surprisingly, I haven't felt all that anxious, perhaps because I am extremely well read, and hey, information is power! On the other hand, there are still a lot of unknowns. I've been fatalistic about my chances of miscarriage and/or birth defects and genetic abnormalities. I figure that like my period, it would happen or not. But now that we have an upcoming appointment to see how myself and the little kiddlet are doing, my superstitious self is kicking up bloody hell. I want to see, but I'm afraid of bad news. I've been enjoying my little bubble of contentment (despite the nausea), and it may be in danger of bursting. "I'm sure you'll be fine" does nothing for me. I want concrete information. I want to see the heartbeat. August can't come soon enough.
I know I sound wary. I can hear people now: "just relax and enjoy it!" It is not a matter of relaxing; I am pretty damn gleeful and content when I am not feeling ill. It's a matter of not wanting this gift yanked away from me, and how the unknown stirs up all kinds of emotional muck from the depths. The universe is capricious. All the advice in the world does not begin to address both the awesomeness and the sorrow that is all mixed together out there.
But for now, I'll take the awesome. It's: Yea! I'm pregnant!
I am amazed.
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