Going to the airport, picking up my bestie tonight. She’s flying in from CO to be my personal assistant/masseuse/antistick-in-the-mud chill on her spring break.
The next day we’re going to a happy hour, and the day after that, voodoo donuts, and the day after that, studying still. But I always get out and do more things that I want to do when she’s around. There’ll be pedicures and massages, and probably some nesting.
Finishing up stab lab this morning. Then there will only be 4.
Finishing up all of the physical exams for clinical/physical diagnosis- then I’ll only have that final left.
Next week, 3 nonfinal exams. The week after that, 2 finals, and the monday after that, 1 final. We’ll see how far we make it- I’m due before the second final
well, I’m still pretty mentally not here. However, after 20 hours, we have fizzled. No bigs, I was worried about finishing up stab lab and doing the gyn exam this week anyway. If he wanted to wait until those two things were over, that’d make my life way, way easier.
On the upside, I used the motivation of possibly not having any time left to:
Buy a nursing bra
Talk to the registrar and get my tuesday 8 am lab (commuting time causing child care problems) switched to monday afternoon, which consolidates my labs (the only classes R can’t go to) onto one day, which will be much easier for J to take care of him, and is also the grandparents day off in case we need backup.
Finished all of my business class homework and turned it in
Trimmed the cats claws
packed birth center bags (though I’m not sure what we really need, and we have friends and family that can run to our apartment and get stuff, so they’re pretty light bags.)
and I started seriously looking for recommendations for pediatricians. (Are we bad parents, that we don’t have the ped’s angle covered? Oh well, we’re on it now.)
So, good day over all. I’m very, very tired, so I’m going to take a bath and watch TV for the rest of the night.
So not even mentally here. The irregular contractions are, though, so I’m ditching lecture right now to finish all of the assignments for another class. I also acquired a nursing bra. Which I immediately put on. This is the most comfortable non-underwire bra I’ve ever worn.
It’s amazing how much more motivated I am with an undetermined time frame comprised entirely of an active muscle…
“Every infant should begin life with six months of exclusive breastfeeding, followed by another six months or longer with other foods gradually added to the child’s diet, according to an updated policy statement from the American Academy of Pediatrics.
burst into tears, then tried to explain to my husband that I wasn’t sad and had no idea why I was crying.
felt a total 180 flip from “what a beautiful morning, I’m going to have such a productive day” to “I hate everyone and I just want to stay in my house and watch tv” over something so innocuous as a classmate failing to say hello before asking me my due date for the third time.
generally have been angry at the world, and frustrated that the only thing that people will talk to me about is “How that is coming along” and “what [my] time frame looks like” and how close to bursting I appear to be.
been confused a lot, to the point of not being able to follow an entire conversation because I just keep getting lost in the fog. Which is also incredibly frustrating.
felt totally overwhelmed by the lack of control I have over my own body. I’ve been incredibly dizzy (hang on to the walls because I don’t know which direction is up), unable to lay flat, unable to stand for long periods of time, unable to get up without help, unable to put on my own false eyelashes for whatever reason, and unable to stomach more than five or six bites at a time.
Due lab finals week (3 weeks from now.) It’s a boy. Yes, we have a name picked out. The number of times I’ve been told I’m “About to pop/bust/stand and deliver” today is currently 10 and rising. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I’m huge (which, btdubs, you should never tell anyone. Who taught you manners?) No, I have no peripheral edema. Yes, I’m still going to school. Yes, I’m going to keep going to school. No, I’m not taking any time off, other than the 2 week excused absence that I get and maybe spring break if those don’t overlap.
Someday, I have this grandiose plan to write a historical novel. I’ll start with how my great great grandmother ice skated (illegally) across the Canadian border to marry my great great grandfather in a brothel, since that’s where the closest judge was, and then work my way down through the amazing family love stories, generation by generation.
Tonight is not that night, but I’m still a little too up from the events of earlier this evening to go to sleep. I thought I’d cool my jets a little and put together a tiny story of how J & I came to be.
Freshman year of collage, orientation stage, is when he says that it started. Fred Meyer had a midnight extravaganza where they gave out all of these free samples and discounted most of the things that we had all forgotten to bring with us. I don’t remember buying much, other than a shirt. J says he saw me there with my shopping cart, hair all done up in pin curls, social butterflying the heck out of everyone in sight. He says we talked- we probably did. I don’t remember meeting him that night, but I met a lot of people, laughed at a thousand terrible jokes, and helped people whose names I now don’t remember pick up shower caddies and toaster ovens, or whatever it was that we were all there for.
I remember meeting him three or four weeks later. There was a laptop just sitting on a table in the common room, and I thought that was weird. I knew that I wouldn’t steal it, but that someone else might. I sat down at the laptop table, figuring I could waste time there as well as anywhere else, and prevent the robbery of some trusting soul’s laptop. A couple of minutes later, this super nerdy kid with so much gel in his hair that I thought it might actually be a helmet came back and sat with the laptop. He reminded me that we’d met in Fred Meyer, but repeated introductions like a gentleman. We talked of many things, fools and kings, and this he said to me: “Wait, you don’t know how to pump your own gas? I can show you. Let’s go.”
As a native Oregonian, I attended college in a state that did not have full service gas stations with no idea what happened after I pulled up at a gas station and handed my debit card to the attendant. J didn’t remedy this. I mean, he technically showed me what to do- but mostly he did it for me. So I learned that if I flirted with this guy a little, he’d fill up my gas tank for me, which is almost like being able to gas up a car. (No worries, I lived there for four years, and I did eventually learn how to pump my own gas. Now I’m irritated by full service gas stations (except when it’s cold) because I could do it so much faster.)
He faded out of the picture until a couple weeks later- the week of September 22. That week was pledge week for our somewhat ridiculous, small, and not allowed on campus greek society. By chance, we managed to pledge to brother/sister greek systems, and suddenly we were exhausted and hanging out in the common room at the same time every day. I recognized him by his alpha gear- full dress suit- and he recognized me by my ratty lambda headband and silly basket that I carried around that whole week.
He was actually a commuter student, and was sleeping awkwardly in a chair one afternoon, as I was on my way to class. I asked him why he wasn’t chillin’ in a bed, and he explained the whole commuter student thing. When I found out that his bed was 6 miles away, and he didn’t want to drive home before his next class, I offered him my bed. I was going to class anyway, so why not let all the sleepy people get their 40 winks in?
I did not consult my roommate about this. I just left her a note saying “Shh, there’s a nice boy asleep in my bed.” on the door, where she’d see it after her class.
I maybe should have thought about the connotations of that particular note.
Anyway, we relied on each other to get through pledge week. He found out that the mandatory sorority study sessions were making it impossible for me to eat dinner, so he made me sandwiches. He continued to nap in my bed. When I had to go dance up on the boys during alpha night, I picked him because I knew him, and when he had to get a pair of panties and a phone number for his scavenger hunt, I hooked him up. He carried my books up to my Uni 101 class on Wednesday, and as natural as breathing he kissed me before handing me my books.
By Friday September 22nd, people were asking us if we were together together, and I wasn’t sure. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss- but then J broke in and said “Yeah, I think we’re dating.” (Possibly because the questioner at the time was an upperclassman frat brother that had just handed me my first alcoholic beverage, and J didn’t want any funny business going around.)
Saturday pledge week ended, and I had a ticket to a John Mayer concert on Sunday that I’d planned on attending with friends from high school. I’d bought the ticket even before I’d graduated high school, and the plan was for me to go down on Saturday night, stay with my friends, and then drive up to the concert with them on Sunday. I’d drive back to school after the concert. Except- the alternator in my car fizzled out, and I couldn’t get it fixed by Saturday afternoon when I’d planned on leaving. I was stuck, almost 2 hours away from where I needed to be.
A couple text messages later, J said he’d drive me down, but that it’d have to be late. I asked him if he’d be ok meeting my dad on the way, because I was homesick and my dad works nights at about the halfway point from our alma mater to my parent’s old house.
We started driving in his old ford truck around 1 am, listening to his favorite band- motion city soundtrack. At 2 am, this adorable kid pulls into the truck yard that my dad is a diesel mechanic in. My grease covered, incredibly-large-wrench-wielding dad met the man who was going to be my husband in a notoriously bad part of town, at two o’clock in the morning. (That’s love, right there. That’s crazy, and that’s love. I have no idea why I thought that would be a reasonable setting for a first meeting, other than the fact that I was homesick, but J pretended that the setting wasn’t the beginning of a really bad horror movie and met my dad anyway, so that I could have 5 minutes and a hug.)
After meeting with my dad, we continued on south until we got to my friend’s house, and slept like the dead on her couches until noon the next day. The next flaw in my plan? Getting back to college. None of my friends were going there, and it didn’t make sense for J to go to the concert, because he didn’t have a ticket. His knight-in-shining-if-nerdy-with-silly-hair-armor stepped in again, and he said that he’d just nap in his truck during the concert and take me home. And that’s exactly what he did, for all four hours of the concert. His phone died first, because he was playing tetris on it, and then he fell asleep.
Probably from pure boredom and goodheartedness.
After the concert, I called him many, many times. I left so many voice mails on his phone. I’d forgotten where he parked, and I was nearly in tears and convinced that he’d (done the very reasonable thing and) left me at the concert center.
My friends and I decided to look down one more row of cars.
There was his truck, with him sleeping against the window, shining like the last desperate hope that it was for making my Monday 8 am class. I knocked on the window, and he gave me this smile like he’d just seen the sun rise and a birthday cake and a basket full of kittens all at the same time. He unlocked the cab, opened the door for me, and said “I love you” to which I replied, natural as breathing “I love you too.”
(Of course, things were more complicated than that. But we went on our first actual date the morning of my 19th birthday, and then a little less than a year later he proposed, and then a little less than a year after that, we got married. But it’s late, and I’ll write it all out another time.)
The worst case of heartburn I’ve ever had and a panic attack, right before I’d normally go to bed.
Sneezing so hard during said panic attack that my bladder exceeded the capacity of my dri-liner.
Now entertaining thoughts of sleeping in the bathroom so that if the heartburn comes back, I can just throw up and have done with it.
Also, sharing TMI with the internet because I wanted to tell someone how ridiculous being pregnant is right now, and if I tell my husband he might think he needs to come home from work and take care of me. But I’m just whining. Underneath, I know that I can do this. Even during the panic attacks and the heartburn. This is normal. I am ok. I can do this.
My son is officially full term now, and even though I’m really fed up with being the size of a small planet and having all of my organs smooshed into places I never thought they could fit into, I’m still asking him to wait until I finish at least my lab finals. Better yet, it would be great if he’d wait until after my last final.
I have this crazy notion that if early labor could just start during my clinical/physical diagnosis final (which is my last final, since I’m taking everything else early), I could probably finish it and walk to the birth center before I hit active labor. That’s what I’m visualizing.
Besides, then I could tell all of my friends that I took a final while I was in labor. That’s pretty much major dedication points.
Last winter quarter, I passed all of my finals in a wheel chair and on vicodin, just a couple days post major surgery.
Tuesday afternoon, after the moxa and the pulsatilla, he flipped over to vertex presentation, ROA. I was doing my best to not get my hopes up, but post ultrasound confirmation, Jer and I are over the moon!
I know this doesn’t mean that there won’t be complications, interventions, or hospital transfers, but it does mean that we at least get to try.
Baby seems to be really stuck. We’re sticking with the moxa treatments, which make him really active, and adding Pulsatilla 30c three times a day. Again, with the homeopathy we feel an immediate increase in Roland’s activity level. It really feels like he’s trying his best to get head down.
About an hour or two after treatment, he makes one big move and ends up right back where he started, and then settles down to a more normal movement pattern for him. It feels like he’s just getting tired and going cozy again.
This makes me wonder if the cord around his neck just doesn’t have enough space to move with him. 1 in 4 babies have a nuchal cord- I’m not worried about that. What concerns me is that even when he’s trying, he eventually ends up with his head back in home base- my right upper quadrant. My placenta is also RUQ.This suggests a fairly short umbilical cord that is entangled around him too much to allow large movements.
Something like slightly less than 15% of babies are breech at this point of pregnancy, and babies can flip all the way up to birth. We’ll certainly keep trying all of the baby spinning techniques that we can up until Roland decides he’s done baking.
If he flips; hurray! Vagina-town! Birth centers and as few interventions as possible!
If he has not flipped by point of labor, we’ll need to do an emergency C-section. With how placenta tied he is, he would strangle during a vaginal attempt. The lowest morbidity for breech babies is a C-section post beginning of labor. However, knowing that it may be necessary, I can prepare my body and have way fewer interventions. I can ask for a waist block, instead of general anesthesia. I can ask that one of my arms remain free so that I can have some skin to skin with him immediately. He can breastfeed immediately with the waist block, so we won’t have to worry about nipple confusion and milk donations. Jer can still cut the cord, and we can still request that Roland stay with at least one of us at all times.
In the end, the only thing that matters is taking home the most handsome boy to ever grace the earth.
"something something transition point of kidney channel something something yang energy something tell me if it gets hot. "
Explanations aside, it was really cool. He’s not vertex, but he did move further into transverse than he’s ever moved before. The moxa point is on the outside edge of the pinky toe, both sides. It was really pleasant, just a little warm on the toes and feeling this baby go sideways all by himself. He’s still sideways, which is a unique bit of uncomfortable. Hopefully he’ll decide to finish turning on his own.
Roland’s heartbeat stayed high the whole time, unlike with the incredibly uncomfortable external version attempt.
The acupuncturist blamed my shortwaistedness. I believe it. My midwife has been blaming a lot of things on my stature too.
Yoga tomorrow, midwife on Wednesday, ultrasound on Thursday. Once we know how much turning he’s done, I may or may not have another moxa appt on Thursday as well. Then Sunday I have a prenatal massage set up with one of the students who chills on my acupuncturists teaching shifts. My life is covered in appointment reminders.
Fun Fact: external cephalic version has between a 32% and 63% success rate, dependent on practitioner experience and method/ environment. (BMC Pregnancy and Childbirth)
Moxabustion has between 75.3% and 87% success rate dependent on practitioner experience.(JAMA)
is simple. Don’t go grocery shopping while you’re hungry. My mom always told me this growing up, and I know it saves money and time. The second biggest rule of grocery shopping is write a list. All of this is presuming that you’ve put together a menu.
I put together a menu, four meals a day for the next week with space to push it out over a ten or twelve day span if needed.
I wrote a list. (but then again, I tried to throw my dirty clothes into the bathtub instead of the hamper, I forgot what my otoscope was called for three days, and I’ve had to bump my pulse counting up to the full minute because I’ve forgotten how to multiply. Maybe I’m not the ideal list maker in this household.)
And I went grocery shopping hungry.
In rough terms, this means that I spent 250% of our weekly food allowance. We’d be in trouble if we didn’t have a little emergency fund set aside. The delicious bags of freeze dried organic strawberries, the multiple bricks of cheese, the tiny logs of italian sausage, the extra container of hummus, the new, extra antioxidant organic acai berry pomegranate juice…All of them were inexplicably necessary.
And then there were girlscouts by the door. They used pathetic stare, and it was SUPER EFFECTIVE. I have tagalogs and thin mints, now. I don’t know if it’s even possible for a normal pregnant woman to walk past a girlscout cookie stand, let alone a hungry one.
All of this because I didn’t fulfill the cardinal rule.
That’ll teach me to let the cupboards run bare before I hit the stores..
knocked over a table today with my increasing girth
Emailed all appropriate school officials to jump start the accommodation for birth/baby process. (Am I crazy? I asked 5 teachers if I could take their finals early.) Actually, let me answer that. Yes, I am crazy. Even on my reduced credit load for these next two quarters, I’m still a little bit amazed by the fact that not only am I going to med school, I’m going to give birth and keep going to med school with a baby in tow.
Cleaned up my bathroom counter and the couch
Put all of the unwashed baby things in the laundry.
Made a To do list of all of the things I wanted to get done before Rory shows up, a la whenrobotsreproduce’s style. Somehow it is totally easier to get one thing done off of the list than to mope around thinking about how much there is left to do. I’m looking forward to making it a to-done list also.
People are starting to ask what the plan is, though, and whether or not we’re ready.
The honest answer?
I have no idea.
While it’s nice that Roland is out of the danger zone for basically everything, and that if he decided to come now, no one would stop him, I really haven’t thought past my plans for helping him turn head down (vertex presentation). I even told him that if he made it to vertex, he could show up as fast as he wanted to. There are no more threats of being grounded ‘till he’s 18. Honestly, I’m kinda done with the whole pregnancy thing- I was miscarrying this time last year, and then I had a few short weeks to recover, but I’ve basically been pregnancy and postpartum for more than a year now. I wake up with charlie horses. My legs feel like they’ll split open from the edema, even though I wouldn’t grade it as anything more than moderate. My ribs are going out, one by one. I’m nauseous and exhausted nearly all the time. My general assessment on the state of being pregnant is that 1) it has been a terrible strain on my body, 2) it somehow gives strangers the right to comment on my body in a way that I find completely unacceptable, but have a hard time preventing or heading off, and 3) it will hopefully result in the most adorable baby thus far known to humankind.
My midwife asked if we had a birth plan
and while she thought that my plan of “just rolling with it?” was a great plan, she still asked me to type something up. This is becoming increasingly more important as a hospital birth is becoming a larger option in our world. I just don’t know. Pitocin? No, I don’t want any. Unless my labor is delayed and it becomes medically advisable. Who do I want in the room? Jer, but what if I decide later that I want everyone? Every question, from simple preferences to medical options, has a distinctly wavery answer. “No, unless…” “Absolutely, but in the case of…”
How does one plan the future?
Right now I’m not even planning my days that much. We’ve been more extravagant than normal, since we know that those 3 course meals and uninterrupted movies won’t be the flow of life for a while. I took two naps today, and I’m going to read a fun book for a bit before bed. I’m studying a little bit more, so that I won’t have to later. I got all of this year’s clinic shifts done, I finished everything but the paperwork tonight.
What few plans I did have -vertex baby, birth center birth- haven’t been coming together as well as I’d hoped. I didn’t really have a backup plan for the breech option. I could still have a homebirth, but I can’t do it here. I just know that it would be too stressful here. My midwife asked if there was somewhere else I could go for a homebirth. I don’t know. The only home I know of is my parents, and it’s 30 minutes from the hospital. And potentially weird. But, if I end up in the hospital, I’ll have to transfer care and I really don’t want to transfer care. I guess if it came down to it, we could stay here and irritate the neighbors.
I finished the nursery mobile, and sorted some clothes. We need to buy the replacement parts for the breast pump, and some bottles/storage stuff. We need to put the car seat in a car- right now it mostly seems like an impossible task. The instructions sucked. I need to schedule something like three more appointments with three different docs.
All the time, I’m hearing in my head the question “What’s the plan?”
How can you plan for something that can happen at any time? With unknown outcomes? Something so seriously life changing?
I don’t know. So I’m going to go read a book, maybe take a bath, and pretend it’s a plan.
My midwife said something to the effect of “Well, your belly looks really big- but just in comparison to the rest of you. This baby is just dwarfing you” which was actually reassuring when she said it.
I refused the weigh in this week. When I surpassed 170 last time, I decided it was more detrimental to me to know the weight than it was helpful for the charting. I’m pretty vain.
Last valentine’s day without a baby sitter for quite some time! We didn’t celebrate last year, as I’d just started miscarrying 2 days before. This year, I got flowers and chocolates and a card that included the post script “I love you more than you would love a good night’s sleep” and we’re going out to a fancy Italian restaurant for dinner after CPD lab.
I made that man tiny heart shaped meatloaves. Men love tiny heart shaped meatloaves. It’s like candy, but made out of meat and not sweet and all. I’d take a bragging rights picture, but it turns out that meatloaf isn’t very photogenic.
Also, lest people think that the commercialness of this holiday is winning, I’d like to point out that it’s certainly not the only day in the last 12 months that I’ve gotten flowers and chocolates and made adorably delicious food for my husband. I simply think that all holidays should be celebrated. Jer and I had a tiny groundhogs day party, too.
I get checkups every week, now. They’ll run a UA on me and take my blood pressure later, but I’m sure that nothing will turn up. I just don’t feel amazing. I guess that’s probably par for the course around 35 weeks.
I’m always irritated when the apprentice does the UA and then tells me the glucose, bilirubin, blood, and nitrates are fine. I take more than 1000mg of vitamin C every night, which totally invalidates that part of the test- the vitamin C would give those a false negative even if they were positive. That false negative thing came up on my IV shift, too. Yeah, it’s a cheap screening test- but I wouldn’t rely on it if I was trying to look for a specific problem…like gestational diabetes. I’d do a finger stick on the glucometer.
It’s not that I expect there to be any problems, it just seems like oversight for other people who might have higher risk factors.
Overeducated. I would super hate to be an OB/GYN and in this situation- I’m sure they have even more problems trying to not see zebras when they’re hearing hoofbeats.
(When you hear hoofbeats, it could be a zebra- but it’s probably a horse. Just like the cold I had last week could have been a TORCH infection, but was probably just rhinitis and pharyngitis caused by a rhinovirus. Or how my bpm could indicate pre-eclampsia, but is probably because I didn’t sleep last night.)
I think this baby may have flipped. I’m not going to get super excited until confirmation ultrasound, because he’s mapping the same way. The sensations with the kicks are totally different though, and I would say that the feeling that I was used to in my lower pelvis are now in my thorasics.
Additionally, I have some really intense pain in my left shoulder, which could be from a) a rib out. b) all of those dreams about hard manual labor I’ve been having recently. c) Tiny feets irritating my diaphram, which would have a referral pattern to the left shoulder!
Different is good. I wish I had a little office ultrasound machine so that I could see what’s up.
We were all giving out fun facts in childbirth education class last night as an ice breaker, and one of the facts was that “Left handed people are 5 times more likely to die of accidental injuries”. J, who is a southpaw himself, immediately agreed and stated that it was “because everything is designed for right handed people!”
My reply was that he shouldn’t be running with scissors anyway.
(tangent: the rest of the birth class was about the fear cycle and discussing fears, most of which appeared to be around pain and transport. I’m not worried about either of these things. My top two fears weren’t even on the top ten fear list, even though they’re way more medically relevant. We don’t relate to these people at all. Every week we toss the idea around that we should stop going, but we’ve already paid for the whole 6 weeks, so we go anyway. /end tangent)
I was shopping for his valentine’s day present today (and so if you talk to him, don’t tell him what it is! He doesn’t read this.) and found more bias than I was expecting in the right vs left handed equipment. His travel coffee mug broke, and I want to replace it for him with a more durable and usable model. The first three cups I picked up weren’t left hand friendly at all. If held by the handle in the left hand, the lid opening was on the far side. When I investigated to see if the lid could just be screwed on differently, I found zero lefty-flexibility.
I had to compromise a significant amount to find a cup that would work for a southpaw and fit in a cupholder and be dishwasher safe. Ridiculous.
What if Roland’s a lefty? I can’t teach him how to play baseball lefthanded, except batting. He’ll always have trouble with whiteboards and notebooks…and most of the coffee cup market will intentionally exclude him. I think there should be a non-discrimination act put in place for those crazy lefties, just in case.
It’s good stuff, I tell ya. My counselor is really too expensive for our budget, but I have a great rapport with her and I always get really lasting things to work on when I see her. So I see her about two times a year, and supplement the in between times with the school counselors, who are not quite so fabulous for me (but free).
I went in today to discuss my fears about my health and baby and this huge transition that we’re all making so soon.
She mentioned that I might feel better if I offload some of the pressure that other people are putting on me, so here goes an open letter to everyone who has been making life stressful, regardless of whether they’ll see it or even recognize themselves in this list of things that just stress me out.
I think it’s great that you want to have a baby. However, I am not your vicarious pregnancy nor having your vicarious baby. I am not obligated to allow you to watch my child, nor have I asked you what the latest issue of psychology today says about hypothetical future problems, or what your cousin did with her child, or what you thought about while you were caring for a younger sibling.
I appreciate that you are treating me with whatever manners and considerations that you were raised with or have decided you want in your own lives. This often doesn’t match up with my own preferences. While I frequently prefer to be taken care of at home by the man who signed a contract to put up with me for better or worse, I’m often uncomfortable with the advances and space that such caring measures are offered in outside of the home. I am still an independent woman. I can, and do pick things up off of the floor and carry my own bag on a regular basis. I even moved my own dresser, still filled with clothes, across the room today. (though the husband hasn’t realized that and will probably be upset later.) The only real considerations that I feel comfortable with at school are the general size considerations- realizing that I fill more space and need more room to get past the rows of chairs is very helpful. I don’t mind sharing snacks, but I’d rather that be part of a normal act of sharing than a special act of consideration.
I’ve responded to this pregnancy with an extreme amount of introversion, which I think is fair. I’ve had multiple losses, and the one loss that I had within the walls of school was really painful in that many of the people I thought I could rely on for support simply vanished. I hadn’t realized up to that point how very important it was for me to have support that could show up to my house. Many of the people I was closest to pulled away at the critical moments, only to reappear weeks and months later. In this time of quiet, nervous joy I prefer to rely more on the people who I know are stable and constant factors in my life than the myriad of changing faces that school often offers. I appreciate that you want to be involved now that things are more convenient, less awkward, and more likely to have a happy ending. I’m glad for all of your support. This isn’t going to change my plan of who I’m going to have near during the labor, nor who I’ll call first after the birth.
And as far as childsitting- I know I’ll need it. I have a wonderful husband and lots of close family and family friends who are going to be my first outreach for babywatching. After that, I can think of two people in the school that I’m comfortable enough with their previous nannying experience to leave my kid with. “You’ll never have to watch your kid” isn’t my ideal situation, nor is having my kid swooped away for all of the times that he’s not crying, just because you find babies amusing. Some of you I wouldn’t even let watch my cats, let alone my kid. I appreciate the offers to “steal him away”, but it really makes you seem more like a kidnapping threat.
On top of that, I’d like you to know that I’m more likely to keep a private album on the internet of the pictures we take. While there’s always a little bit of crossover to facebook, I don’t intend to increase the amount. Of the 96 baby and baby shower related pictures that I have password/link protected on a private album, only 8 of those photos have ended up on facebook. It’s not that I’m not taking pictures every week, sometimes multiple times a week- it’s that I think the process of facebook stalking a pregnancy and baby photos is insanely creepy. I’m not going to make your creepy stalking/vicarious experience easier by the overshare.
I’m volatile at best. Things that work one day may not work the next, and that’s totally ok for me, in the space that I’m holding for me and my baby. I’m trying to be rational and nice, and I’m mostly succeeding from the feedback that I’ve solicited. I know that sometimes I can get snappy, and I’m sorry for that. I have a vested interest in someday being part of a network of colleagues, and to that end, I hope I’ve offended no one. More importantly, I also have a vested interest in being a good mother and setting clear boundaries. My next step is to try to be explicitly clear what I am finding stressful at the moment of it becoming stressful, rather than my current plan of just staying in my house when I can.
Pregnancy is hard enough, especially with multiple losses and a precariously positioned baby. Thanks for reading and understanding why I am setting these boundaries. Should you wish to discuss these points at a later time, I’d be happy to meet with you.
I was kinda shocked, since there’s two whole drawers of clothes that people have given us or handed down to us in my husband’s dresser. Most of those are 3-6 month sizes, so he’ll be set if he’s a little big. Somehow, I think that he might need at least more socks,though. And maybe a couple more onesies.
My mom told me that the one thing we wouldn’t need to buy for the first year was clothes, so I’ve been remarkably restrained in not buying any tiny lumberjack suits. I think I’ll have to look at the budget and maybe go to the mall today.
Have I mentioned recently how wonderful my husband is?
Cuz seriously, this morning I rolled out of bed after not having brushed my hair for two days. I have the worst red, crusty nose and watery eyes. None of my pajamas fit anymore, so I was wearing his pajamas with a makeshift sports bra made out of a belly band. I shuffled my +40something pounds butt to the office, where he hangs out on the nights he has off. I opened the door- he quit playing his game, said “Good morning, gorgeous” and then offered to make me breakfast. And hot chocolate.
And for the rest of the day, has totally treated me like a rational, pretty human being that hadn’t spent the last few days alternately unexpectedly vomiting on the floor and whining really loudly about how miserable sick I am.
I was doing some homework, like a boss. Then someone asked me “Hey, what’s your due date again?” and without even thinking I replied “Lab finals week.”
But guess what?
Next week is Midterms. Which means this quarter is half over. Which means this baby is going to show up in less than 2 months. Holy crap. I’m going to finish my pathology study guide (since that test is friday, as opposed to week 11) and then I’m going to write myself a list of all of the things that I should seriously consider getting done before we have an actual tiny human being.