...a little bit of this, and a little bit of that...
...a journey through my ups and downs...
28 Weeks.
Today I got to see LB! He’s beautiful (to me) and I’m smitten even more. He seems to have an abundance of personality.
He smiles. (He frowns too.)
He’s peaceful. (He’s grouchy too.)
He sucks his thumb. I hope this means he’ll take to the breast.
He looks like he’s a sweetie-pie.
He poses. (And puts up with the paparazzi.)
I’m so in love. I can’t wait to meet him face to face.
What a wonder technology is. Truly amazing.
The continuing saga of my lack of graciousness as a human being…
So this morning, the most annoying presence in the household, we’ll call him Bubba, came downstairs where I was preparing the all-American breakfast of hashed browns, eggs, and bacon.
Good breakfast! He exclaimed heartily.
My little one and I were the only others up, and I prepared a small plate for my boy, and told Bubba he’s welcome to have as much as he likes, because Gadget doesn’t particularly like that kind of bacon.
What’s wrong with it?
Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s actually the expensive gourmet super thick sliced kind, but it seemed very salty, the last time we had it.
So. He takes a tiny portion of everything, and proceeds to pick away at it and inspect it and look quizzical at each laborious bite. As if it’s the most disgusting thing he’s been expected to endure.
Had I not mentioned anything, and had the others been awake, he’d probably have wolfed down loads of it with gusto. As is, he wore a pained expression on his face and took ages to finish.
I know, it sounds petty, and it is petty, but it’s just one more addition to things that annoy me.
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Yesterday, Gadget took Bubba to work with him. Oh, the dramatic expressions at the end of the day. One would think that the kid had been subjected to slave labor. All he did was help install some appliances, for maybe half of a day, but I suppose it was the longest working day he’s ever had in his life (a deplorable shame, if you ask me). He’s in for an adjustment, when he will have to work a full day every day, and with his skill set, he’s in for long days of manual labor. Or another burden on society and the welfare system.
When he got home, he stretched out on the couch and moaned and sighed every once in a while about how exhausted he was. I ignored it completely. I think he wanted me to say something, but what am I going to say? At the dinner table, he picked away at his food, again groaning and sighing. Poor, overworked, exhausted boy.
As is quite obvious, I’ve got little patience and respect for the non-hard-working. I don’t think it matters so much what one does, or how much one makes, but to do it with ambition and dedication.
Meanwhile, I had the girl, we’ll call her Sissy, clean the carpets. She did a right fine job. I did the loading and emptying of the water and soap reservoir, but she ran the machine. I think we went through at least 12 changes of water over the course of a few hours. I let her stop after two carpets, and when I had my work break, I did my office, then after my work day was over, I did the kitchen stools.
We had an ice cream treat when it was finished, and took a small outing to the store, which in itself was a treat. Oh, Bubba was jealous that Sissy got to go to the store!
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I’ve been having trouble with charlie horse cramps in my legs at night, and finally got a magnesium supplement to try and help. I don’t care if it’s just a placebo effect — I got through a night without cramps. However, I spent the full next day on the verge of cramps and could barely walk, so I don’t know what was up with that. I still took some magnesium before bed last night, and thankfully, no cramps in the night and I can walk today. My tailbone is very sore though. This little wonder inside of me feels like he’s kicking and punching all limbs simultaneously! I feel jabs in all quadrants of my belly. He’s a little gymnast, just like his brother, who twists and turns in all directions in the night. Little tyke tried to crawl into my bed twice last night — he’s on strict restrictions, having wet the night previously. Stinker boy. Mister Pee-body.
*The average 3-1/3rd year old is not over 50lbs, does not wear size 5 –not 5T–, going on size 6, and does not wear size 12 shoes.
**Of course, it seldom helps that MIL somehow ALWAYS manages to make a comment about him being ‘left’ in the care of others. Without fail. I ignore it as though I don’t hear it, but I do hear it. Every. Single. Time. Loud. And. Clear. And now I wonder if he happened to hear it to. Thank you so much, dear MIL.
***NOT COMPLAINING!!! In the greater context of life and thankfulness, I’m embracing all there is to being pregnant, and endeavoring to enjoy and savor every moment of the journey. All of it!
I’ve been giving much thought to the forthcoming events of late August or early September. Before I had the wild child, who entered this world weighing 10lbs 7oz, I was all set (in my mind, anyway) to do the whole natural mother thing. Embrace every moment of the pregnancy, have a natural birth with no epidural or other interventions. Just me, my sturdy frame, and my strong will. I was a bit terrified of the potential for rippage and/or slicing to circumvent such rippage. But I was hopeful that I’d be able to get through it, dilating and stretching at just the right rate so that the little man would come gracefully into the world without his mother’s bits being sliced or torn. But along came gestational diabetes, and with it the possibility of a too-large-for-a-safe-delivery-through-the-birth-canal baby. I remained hopeful for some time, but being a mother of advanced maternal age, I was subject to many diagnostics during that run, and quite early in the third trimester his weight was estimated at 9 lbs. Of course, they say there is much latitude in those ultrasound estimations, but even so. It did look like I was growing a very large boy.
With mixed emotions, I opted to schedule his birth at 39 weeks. So I skipped water breakage, labor, and all that good stuff. As it turned out, he WAS a giant baby. But not Michelin-man, marshmallow, Pillsbury Dough Boy fat, the way some GD babies are. I was relieved at that, and actually thankful that I chose the C-section route in which he wouldn’t be battered and broken trying to get his huge self out of me. I think that those super squishy GD babies have suffered from the poor sugar control, too much sugar and not enough insulin, and who knows what the ultimate ramifications are. I had GD, but carefully controlled my sugars and injected two kinds of insulin twice each day. I think this helped him, because he was muscular and sturdy, and not overly fatty. Just a very, very big boy.
Fast forward to now. While under the assumption that this little love was a girl, I was wondering about the possibility of VBAC. Gadget thought I was nuts to even consider it. In his mind, pain is bad. Labor is pain. Why would anybody want to go through that? Men are such wusses. It never ceases to astound me.
My doctor said that, generally, boy babies are larger than girl babies, and second babies are larger than first babies. This is all wild generalization, of course, but the thought of a baby that is bigger than my cyclone boy… …is daunting, to say the least.
Time will tell. He may end up being a normal 6-8 pounder. However. I’m already huge, whereas I wasn’t this big at this stage before.
And so the thought of whether to hold on to the notion of VBAC or accept the notion of another C-section. Which is where I stumbled across the phrase, “too posh to push.” As in the tendency for some celebrity moms to forego labor for the inconvenience and strain it may pose to their deluxe physical forms. Or something like that.
Now, I don’t truly consider myself too posh to push, but the thought of a rupture, however remote, terrifies me. Terrifies me! I don’t want to rupture, hemorrhage, and possibly die, all because I want to be earth mother. I have children to live for. I have to ask myself whether my motive for going through VBAC is merely for my own selfish fulfillment, because I am woman, hear me roar, and millions of women have been doing it since the dawn of time. I don’t want pride to be my driving factor. The thought of a controlled incision in a very carefully controlled environment is so much less terrifying. And rational.
I’ve read so many pros and cons for repeat C-section vs. VBAC, and it seems to me that the cons for surgery are mainly due to the fact that it’s surgery. Surgery, anesthesia, and all the risks that accompany surgery. Any surgery. I’ve had several surgeries under general anesthesia, with little or no hemming and hawing as to whether I should be going forward, and survived them all with flying colors. So why the stigma when it comes to C-section? If (hopefully when) I lose the extra hundred pounds that I carry around, and my ancient un-elastic skin is flapping and flopping in the wind like a sad deflated balloon, I imagine I might opt for some surgery to tighten it all up ship shape, given the financial resources. Why is there less or no stigma in that kind of surgery? Or bariatric surgery. I’ve considered it in moments of darkness (but won’t ever do that).
The engineer in me asks why I would expose myself and my child to the risk of rupture, however remote. The risk is real, and unpredictable. The engineer in me sees the predictable risks with a controlled incision in a controlled environment as the better choice, given the luxury of choice. And in this day and age, I have this luxury of choice. Plus, my hospital is excellent.
I will most likely have a repeat Cesarean. And it’s not without its benefits! I will get 8 weeks of paid leave, as opposed to 6, and my insurance plan entitles me to 96 hours in hospital as opposed to 48. I want those 96 hours, every single one of them, because I want much much much more help with the breastfeeding and I want to be there when my milk comes in, if possible. I don’t want a repeat visit to emergency because my giant hungry child isn’t latched, won’t latch, isn’t getting fed, is turning yellow and dropping alarming amounts of weight because of my oversized underproductive misshapen mammaries. I have great hopes that this child and I will be able to successfully breastfeed. Great hopes!
Insomnia. Check.
Heartburn. Check.
Fatigue. Check.
Aching legs. Check.
Swelling. Check.
Lightheaded. Check.
Am I complaining? No!!
Am I happy am I mad? Happy!!
Could use a little more sleep, though.
My head is swimming. Or spinning. Or both. I feel sort of on the verge of dizzy all day every day. Maybe I’m just tired. It’s so hard to tell.
I thought I’d consider looking into dietary adjustments, to see if that might help. But now my head is spinning even more. It would be nice to be an average person with average weight, average blood sugar, average blood pressure, average energy levels, average everything.
I’ve read that poor blood sugar control can harm the developing baby, so it’s vitally important to keep the blood sugar stable and in control. To do this, it’s important to limit the amount of carbohydrates ingested at any given time. But if the balance slips the other way, and I don’t get enough carbohydrates, it looks like the results can be equally as damning to the developing child. Or more so. Now I’ve read horror stories of stunted brain development , lower IQ, and mental retardation with the presence of too many ketones, a potential byproduct of a very low carbohydrate diet.
I only started reading because I felt somewhat alarmed at how quickly my belly has ballooned, and as well, the corresponding increase in the numbers on the scale. I don’t want to obsess. And I’m so good at obsessing.
I feel like throwing my hands up in the air, and just not worrying about what I eat and how much I gain. There is a plethora of healthy foods that I like to eat, so I should be okay. And just relax, alright already, for crying out loud.
But gosh, I feel awful and guilty if and when I gain. Especially after hearing and reading that women who start out significantly overweight shouldn’t be gaining much during pregnancy. And here it is, Cinco de Mayo, and I’m thinking of making rice and beans to accompany the tacos tonight.
I love colors. All colors. Especially jewel tones. But I seem to always come back to blue.
For instance. I’ve had cobalt blue forever, and was trying to change it up in the last few years by adding some striking red items in my kitchen, and some chartreuse as well. Glorious. But I found this, and couldn’t resist. At least I only got one. And even though it’s a bowl, I got it to use as a cup. I love it!
Not only is it gorgeous for tea, it works for lattes as well. (I have a thing for swirls.)
I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that I have an addiction to jammies the way some women have an addiction to shoes.
My new all time faves, and the latest acquisition. See? More swirls. In blue.
So I asked Gadget what he thought of my gorgeous new jammies.
“You look like a teapot.”
Oh, the love. He went on to explain. “You’re little at the top, round in the middle, and flat on the bottom.”
“Just like a teapot!”*
My cup overfloweth. At least I knew (this time) that he was being silly in his own special way, and I accepted his comments graciously. Even without Zoloft! To be true, I am feeling as though I look like a teapot, and am constantly marveling at how my belly could possibly be protruding SO MUCH so soon. I am a woman of size, regardless of gestational state, but this… …this seems a bit extreme. (But it is what it is. And I’m beyond grateful to be carrying a lively little boy, no matter how big he and I become!)
*Showcased here is my little English teapot, purchased at a Safeway supermarket (of all places) in the London area. Note the apple green accent wall with the gorgeous Australian tiles. I spy some gum nut gnomes as well. The apple green transition took place last weekend with all the other spring freshening. It’s very happy, and looks great for the most part, but it doesn’t quite fit with that sandy beachy oatmealy color that has become the main color downstairs. So I may re-do it after a bit. Or not. I might have gotten my spring painting bent out of my system.
The thing about counting chickens before they hatch is… …things may not turn out as expected…
…so…
It’s a BOY!!! Absolutely, undeniably, a boy. B.O.Y.
!!!!
I’m still wrapping my head around this. Of course I’m delighted no matter what. All seems to be healthy and on schedule, except, as has been true for every single ultrasound so far, the little wiggler is a rocker and roller and won’t hold still enough for them to see everything they need to see (except his undeniable boyness). This time and last time they couldn’t get a clear look at the heart, so we’ve got a fetal echo with a specialist next week.
Today is officially 20 weeks. Half there! Now we have to start through the boy names lists.
I’m feeling excited about the prospect of a snuggly little tiny baby to add to my family. I’m not even half-way there yet (but close!) and I find myself fast-forwarding my life. I spent far too much time looking at baby wrap styles again. I even ordered 10 yards of bamboo french terry material today. It’s supposed to be great for diapers, but I’m thinking of making towels and wraps. We’re not quite cut out for the cloth diapering experience.
As Two of Nine, I’ve cleaned many a nasty diaper in years gone by. I can hardly fathom Gadget sharing in such a task. It’s a stretch to get him to show enthusiasm for diaper patrol at all. So we will be doing our share of adding to the local landfill. Again.
Now, I don’t need any wraps! I made MANY in BamBam’s early days. I will be getting them back from my sister, soon. I might make one native type pouch. I made a couple for my sister, but they might not fit me, so we’ll see. It’s just… …I’m so easily addicted to making baby things!
The house rearranging is coming along. The sleeping room now sports a king sized bed. HUGE! The queen consumes most of the guest room. We had two queen memory foam toppers. I left one on the guest bed, and cut the other into a twin and added it to BamBam’s bed. As if he’ll ever sleep in it. It’s comfy, though. I’m thinking of using the extra foam to make some specialty pillows, or perhaps a small comfy sleeping mat for BamBam to use in our room. He’s using a toddler mattress now, and it’s heavy and hard. Considering how often I have to dissemble and launder the bedding, the sleeping mat might be a good thing.
I boxed up the entire VHS video collection to donate somewhere, except my 4-minute wedding video and my 4-d ultrasound. I don’t even know if our VCR is hooked up or works. I think it does, but it’s been so long. I need to move the old taped stuff to DVD. Future project. Tedious. It can wait.
I sure would like to paint and get some fresh new colors going on in here, but will have to wait until Baby is several months old, and by then, will probably be far too exhausted to consider anything on the lines of home improvement. Maybe I can tackle one or two rooms, when we can open up the windows and get plenty of ventilation. Of course, ventilation is only part of the equation. I need to enlist the efforts of one Mister Gadget, and that is the more daunting task, I’m afraid.
Once I have things settled and arranged on the home front, I think I will start into a little sewing. It’s been a long time! I have a gorgeous felt dragon kit that I brought home from Winterwood. I also copied several of Suse’s fabulous felt animal patterns, and hope to make some of them too.
Happy Anniversary, Baby, Got You on My Mind….
Does anybody remember LRB? I used to love them. Well, I still like them, but haven’t heard them in years and years.
Five years ago, today. Las Vegas. Fools for Love. April Fool’s Day! (There is method to my madness. It’s a date that’s easily remembered.)
A Vegas wedding would have been the last thing on my mind, had I married in my twenties or early thirties. By the time I reached my late thirties, all those youthful fantasies of fairytale weddings had long since dissipated.
But enough about weddings and youthful fantasies. Today I heard the heartbeat again!! The doctor put the doppler to my belly and in all of two seconds, there was that beautiful whoosh! whoosh! whoosh! pow! whoosh! pow! that I love so much. (The pow is when the little peanut kicks. Such an active little thing!)
The results from the last screen came back with nothing out of the ordinary. The fetal medicine folks still recommend the detailed echo, and that’s fine. My doctor said that women of age with diabetes sometimes have higher rates of infants with cardiac abnormalities, but not to be alarmed. There’s nothing so far to suspect anything of the sort. The detailed echo would just provide a little more information. It seems that all is well on the baby front, even in the face of statistics, so I am VERY thankful!!
I gained two pounds. That part is a disappointment. But after the recent food frenzy, it shouldn’t be a major surprise. And yes, the frenzy continued, because we dined out tonight to celebrate our marital bliss. Mexican food. Gadget’s favorite. (Next to pasta.) The wild boy even behaved himself, for the most part. I think he had about three bites. Next time I won’t order him his own plate. Once we were back in the car, he immediately started snacking on his Cheerios. Some people’s kids.
