thirty-six weeks

Thirty-six weeks, thirty-seven centimeters (my belly size). It's hard to breathe, but that's both because of the baby's size and position (although he/she has dropped some) and because of my stuffed up nose. Last night I had to wake myself up from two or three dreams because I knew--somehow--that I had stopped breathing (I have always been able to wake myself up from dreams, and am often able to control them to a degree. I don't know how. I just do.).

On Wednesday, the doctor said that the swelling in my feet and ankles are normal. As the baby grows bigger, it puts more strain on my circulatory system, and the feet often take the brunt of it. He said to lay on my side with my feet up as much as I can, or, since that is hard for me, to just be off my feet and have them elevated when possible. That I can do. The worry, he said, comes in when your legs and calves start to swell and edema sets in. A quick examination of my shins ruled that out for him. So far, so good! No bad signs yet in this pregnancy.

Our last (I think) ultrasound was this morning, and they are now estimating the baby to be about 7 lbs, 10 oz. It was hard drinking those three glasses of fluids and holding it for an hour since the baby's so big and pressing on my bladder constantly now. The ultrasound tech said that if I do have another ultrasound, I just shouldn't bother with the fluids. There's no need, because there's barely any room in there as it is. The size, although big, sounds about right if I'm supposed to be on track with my mother's birthing history (which is what the doctors and the ultrasound techs tell me). I was 9 lbs 10 oz. at birth, and if our baby gains 1/2 lb a week until it's born, it would be approximately 9 lbs. We'll see what my ob/gyn says Wednesday, though. He might think their measurements are way off again--who knows?

On the agenda for today? Stay off my feet as much as possible. Breathe. Forget about finishing the trim for now (it still needs two more coats of the poly-stuff--not polyurethane, but a water-based kind) and let Al work on the flooding in the basement, which we discovered yesterday is actually the sewage drain backing up into the basement (disgusting, probably a health hazard, hopefully not another huge expense). Go to church. That's about it! Until tomorrow...

serena

I'm dedicating this post to another member of our family, one I haven't mentioned much lately--my (almost) fifteen-year-old cat Serena (Sena for short). She hasn't eaten more than a few bites in the past two weeks, but has been throwing up darker-than-normal vomit (no hairballs). She's also lost weight. Since both Al and I are concerned about this, I took her to the vet today. Not good news.

While doing his exam, our vet felt a mass in Sena's abdominal region. He did xrays, and while he couldn't give us a definitive answer, it looks like she has a mass on or near her spleen. This is quite common in dogs, unusual in cats, but not unheard of. He gave me three options: one, go to a specialist that could do an ultrasound and might be able to tell a little more. Price: $250ish. The answer still won't be definitive. Two, exploratory surgery. He'd open her up, see what it was, and if possible, remove it. Expensive, and sounding a bit too familiar. The last time we did exploratory surgery on one of my animals--Sadie--he ended up having to close her right back up and put her to sleep before the anesthetic wore off completely. She had a tumor the size of his fist and several smaller tumors--too many to count--all over her colon. That was one of the worst days of my life. (Not exaggerating--I loved that dog more than a lot of people I know.) Third option, start Sena on a chemo regiment and see if it helps. This would mean assuming she had some type of cancer and hoping we were guessing at the right medication. Price: $80 for an IV treatment and more for pills.

I trust our vet, so I asked what he would do. Option three won out; for one, Sena has a heart condition that killed her brother (but we caught hers early, and it isn't as severe) and might not be able to take the anesthetic. Ultrasound may not give us answers. He's had cats Serena's age that have done very well on chemo regiments without having definitive diagonses, so we're trying that route first.

I'm trying not to think too much about Serena's possible cancer at this point. Cancer took my dog when she was only five; cancer took my mom when she was only fifty-nine. I have an intense hatred of the word and disease in its many forms now, and when I think about cancer taking my cat, too, it's not easy. She was my only company when I was away at school for three years, and she's such a good companion: loud, opinionated, quirky, loving. And now five pounds lighter than she was nine months ago. Sena doesn't act like she's in pain, so I'm just trying to love on her as much as possible and praying that this medication works. I probably won't ever have another cat (Al's allergic to them), and I'm not ready to let go of her yet.

"i'm crushing your head!"

Sometimes, some people just have a knack of making you feel small. (And warning, in this post I'm doing what I tell my students not to do, substituting the word "you" for "me.") They may have no intention of doing so; they may even love you. But by either belittling or discounting your ideas or something that's important to you, they seem to make a habit of doing just that: making you feel small. Unreasonable. Stupid.

That's how I felt tonight while talking to a certain someone (a family member) about the kid's room. One of the most frequent questions you'll get asked when you're pregnant--especially if you're as far along as I am--is, "Do you have the nursery finished?" (Honestly, I'm getting tired of being asked the same questions over and over, whether the questioners are family members, friends, or strangers. But I'd probably be hurt if people I knew didn't ask, so I suck it up and repeat the answer for the thousandth time for each questioner.) This particular family member happened to ask that question tonight, so Al and I started going through the list of everything that we still have left to do: finish and attach molding; buy and bring in the dresser; sand and stain the changing table. We didn't get through the entire list (there's still the closet shelves, etc., but who's keeping track?) but it was the changing table that became my sore spot tonight. The thing that made me feel small.

See, up until April, my mom worked as a nanny for a wonderful family. After eight years and watching the number of children grow from one to three, mom was so close to this family that she considered them her own, and they felt the same way about her. When they found out I was pregnant, they gave me their changing table since they're not planning on having any more children. Only one small problem: it's made of blond wood, and I was over the blond wood look several years ago: I much prefer the espresso-colored furniture that I chose for our nursery. But it's not a real problem, because I've tackled refinishing projects before. All we need to do is sand off the current finish and re-stain it. Because of my carpal tunnel, Al needs to do the sanding (I feel better, but don't want to cause more muscle damage by overdoing it), and when he's done, I'll do the staining. No big deal.

We were explaining this to Certain Someone and certain someone thought we (meaning me, Rhonda, I) should wait until the summer when we (me, Rhonda, I) can do it outside. Meaning Al shouldn't have to sand this piece of furniture for me. I said no. Certain Someone said, "The baby won't know the difference." I said I would. Certain Someone said, "It doesn't really matter." I said it mattered to me. And then the look on Certain Someone's face and the shrug of Certain Someone's shoulders told me that Certain Someone thought I was being unreasonable to insist that the furniture in my baby's room actually look like it belong there and match the other pieces. I could understand if we were either physically unable to sand and stain the furniture or simply didn't have time, but we are able and we have a month--and plan to start working on it tomorrow. Part of the opinion of Certain Someone, I'm sure, is that I was expecting Al to help me with it instead of doing the entire thing myself. In fact, I get the feeling that several Certain Someones think I expect Al to do too much around the house (floors and trim and a changing table? Never mind that the carpeting that was in the room was shag carpeting that was original to the house and filthy; that the existing trim had to come up since it wouldn't have been the right height for the wood floors; that it's easier to change the baby on the changing table than in the crib or on the floor).

I know that this slight was unintentional. I know that several people, including Al, would say I'm making something out of nothing, a mountain out of a molehill. And if it was just this one thing, I would do my best not to let it bother me. But it seems like a small comment like this is made at least every other time I see Certain Someones. I used to think they didn't like me; now I know that's not the case, but I still feel belittled. And you know what? This is my baby's room, not theirs. Sometimes people just need to think a little before speaking and keep their opinions to themselves.

To anyone I may have made feel belittled, I apologize. Since I was hurt badly close to two years ago, I've been trying my best to think more about other people (and their feelings) and be less self-centered. I probably fail more than I succeed, but I'm trying. And I'm hoping becoming a mother makes me better at this. I know, though, that stupid, thoughtless things come out of my mouth at times (or expressions on my face or shrugs from my shoulders), and if I've done it to you, I'm sorry. Please don't feel like I'm crushing your head.

some days just don't go as planned...

Day one of week thirty-six, and I woke up with high hopes for what I would accomplish. But as we all know, some days just don't go as planned.

On the agenda for the day: breakfast; nap (I don't sleep well at night, so like to doze through the morning news in the recliner, a slightly more comfortable position than in bed and on my sides); finish cleaning out and adding baby stuff to the bathroom; shower; go to the doctor's; go grocery shopping; spend some time with my puppy; and finish up the trim. And straighten the kitchen/dining room/family room; put away the laundry; and make the bed if I had time. I got exactly three and a half things out of that list done: breakfast, doc's, grocery shopping, and (this is the half) spending time with the puppy. Spending time yelling at and getting frustrated with my puppy is more like it.

Things didn't happen as planned today for various reasons, including Mya's incessant need to go outside then come back in. I have a dog with attention deficit disorder, apparently, which makes her forget to actually do her business and play instead--and then ask to go out five minutes or less after I have let her back in and cleaned her up: count four times during my "nap" and three times in the twenty minutes after Al left for hockey tonight. Half the time when she comes back in she feels the need to growl and bark and bite and jump; the other half she asks to come back in and wants to play the "No, I'm just going to sit out here right outside the door and taunt you because I really want you to chase me game." Hence the yelling. I've been trying to work on my patience the past two weeks, and it's not working very well.

Other reasons for the failed plans? A very nauseus feeling between about 11 am and 1 pm, and again for the past two hours (7 pm and 9 pm), during which I literally thought I was going to vomit but didn't. I even had the excessive saliva that always warns me before I puke. Don't know what that was about. And besides the nausea, my tendency to move slower, get tired more quickly, and overplan did me in on the rest. But there's always tomorrow, although my time tomorrow is even more crowded since Al's going to be working overtime and Serena (my cat) has a vet's appointment, Mya has training, and then we're going to dinner with Al's family to celebrate his birthday. I don't know that I'll get anything but those things done, other than letting Mya outside and back in about twenty times. (I know I'm harping on this, but it's getting very hard for me to get down on the floor, which is what I have to do to latch her collar to the tie-out and then again to unlatch her and clean her up when she comes back in. On top of that, it's pretty hard for me to get into and out of the recliner--the only semi-comfortable seat in the house--and of course she always wants to go out about thirty seconds after I've settled into it. And with Al working twelve-hour shifts, it's all up to me. Fun.)

If you've stuck with me this long, I apologize for the complaints and the unpleasantness of this blog. I'll leave you with something (somewhat) amusing to try to make up for it. The picture here was taken the other day. Mya was caught trying to help unwrap a baby gift that Bob, Laura, and Robyn got us. By the look on her face, it's obvious she knew she shouldn't have been doing so. But she didn't do any harm and was cute, so I couldn't resist taking a pic. Enjoy.

oh no

When I got pregnant and was finally past the ten weeks my husband and I decided to wait before telling anyone, my mom asked if I had any questions. I came up with a few about pregnancy and child-rearing, and Al spent many nights by mom's side asking for advice on how to raise children (he spent more time with mom than my brothers did since I was living with my parents once we brought her home). One time she wasn't talking much and I was trying to get her to talk again. I asked her a question I had been dreading the answer to: "Mom, am I going to get an outie?"

Mom, probably wondering why I was bothering her with such an unimportant question, shrugged her shoulders and said with exasperation, "I don't know, Rhonda. Probably."

The dreaded outie. I don't know why it bothers me so much to think about having a belly button that pops out instead of dimpling in, but it did and does. And up until today, it's at least been flat, although stretched tight and practically non-existent. But today I noticed that it's popping out of my belly, just slightly. It's also--and this is strange--bruised. It's a yellow-brownish color just like I would have if I had bumped into something with my shins or something. Now, maybe this is because I keep (sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously) trying to push it back in, but I don't think so. I noticed the bruise at the same time I noticed that it was popping out. And to the fact that I now have an outie I silently groan and think, Oh no. It better go back in when this kid is born. I'm fairly certain it will, but the thought that Maybe it won't just lurks there in the back of my mind, taunting me. Along with the thought, Now I really will have to sit at a table at Kerby's. No way I'm fitting into a booth without squishing the kid now.

Ah, the quirks of pregnancy. Never a dull moment... :)

sneak preview

So I kept a little secret from you yesterday. Al put the crib together last night! And although that and the closet curtains are the only things in the baby's room right now, it's a start. In fact, such a start that I think we may even get the room done by next weekend. For now, I'm giving you a sneak preview of the room--but you'll still be surprised at the final outcome, since there's a mix of other patterns and reds coming into play that you don't see in these pictures. Ruthann said she thought it seemed like an olive and pimento theme, and I rather like the sound of that--although I'm sure many people would grimace if they heard it and think it sounded rather hideous. I'm not worried--I know it's going to turn out beautiful!

Depicted here: Our beautiful new hardwood floors (acacia stained to look like bloodwood); my prison-grey walls (joke--my cop sister-in-law said that the kid would grow up in a prison cell since I was painting the walls grey, and I have a long memory when it comes to those things); our sage green sheet and dust ruffle (we also have a red pair that we can change in); the crib bumper that I completed last week; and the quilt that I made for our baby quite a while ago now (mom got to see all but the binding complete, and she passed away just before Thanksgiving).

What's left? The trim, which Al has already cut (all but the quarter-rounds) and which I conditioned yesterday and stained (round number one) today. I'll finish staining it tomorrow and finish it off with polyurethane Wednesday if all goes as planned, and Al will be able to get it onto the walls later this week. I'll make the curtains this week, too--that should only take a few hours. While I'm not going to complain if Al gets overtime, I'm hoping he has enough time off this weekend to sand the hand-me-down changing table we have so that I can stain it to match the baby's furniture early next week. And according to Babies R Us, our dresser should be in late this week or early next. Oh, and Al has to put the shelves back in the closet sometime soon. But it's coming together, and it's exciting!

thirty-five weeks

It's hard to believe that I'm already in the middle of my thirty-fifth week of pregnancy. I wasn't really able to concentrate on the pregnancy the first two trimesters since mom was ill, but the time since her death has flown by. Now that I'm uncomfortable enough for it to end soon (well, as soon as I finish the house), time will probably stand still.

One funny thing about pregnancy is the multiple ways it changes your body. For example, I haven't been able to see my own feet in quite a while, at least if I'm standing and looking straight down. In order to see my feet, I either have to (a) sit; (b) be standing with my legs wide apart, as I do when I'm doing my squats for physical therapy; or (c) stick my butt out in the air and bend over slightly before looking down. Even putting my socks on is a struggle now, and every once in a while I'll just give up and ask Al to do it for me. I gave up on shoes long ago, realizing that my feet were slightly swollen (my shoes were tight) and substituting shoes for my fuzzy, slip-on slippers from Target--the ones with the good soles that I can wear outside. But this morning I noticed something entirely different about my feet, and it's the increasing infrequency with which I see them that makes me wonder, When did that happen?

This morning as I was sitting struggling to put my jeans on (yes, this has become a struggle too, since the belly makes it quite difficult to lift my legs, bend over, etc., and nowadays the slightest pressure on my bladder, which is almost constant, sends the wrong signal to my brain--run to the bathroom!), I noticed huge cankles where my ankles used to be. Now, I never had tiny, pretty ankles, but they weren't exactly cankles, either. And my feet--my goodness, my feet are huge. Forget size nine-or-ten depending on the shoe make; forget a "wide" foot instead of normal or narrow; they look like balloons shaped like feet and blown almost as tightly as possible. Even my toes seem almost twice as fat as they did yesterday. And yes, I'm thinking that this happened overnight, not gradually. I was slightly swollen before, but now I'm very, very swollen. It's not painful, though, and I'm thinking it's from all of the standing around that I did at Al's party last night. I'm also wondering if this is one of those things on the doctor's "call us right away if this happens" list that I misplaced sometime last month. But since I'm not in pain and they're not discolored or anything (now that would be a sight), I'm not going to worry about it until my doctor's appointment on Wednesday. There's too much to do around the house to risk being put on bedrest or something.

Aside: As a non-pregnant person, I always thought that bedrest would not be a bad thing, particularly if you're working and ordered to stop. Sitting around all day being waited on and reading or watching television or movies--sounds divine! Then mom got sick. She was in bed for nearly twenty weeks and literally could not get up. She had to have everything done for her, ended up getting bed sores, and was an angel through it all. I would have died from boredom long before she did. I don't know how she could stand it. And as a pregnant person, the worst place I have to be in a twenty-four hour period is in bed. Sounds funny, I know, but it's so uncomfortable--not being able to be on my back, having hips that ache, the necessity to turn over like a pig on a spit every half hour to an hour (but not as easily as a pig on a spit)--it's almost torture. Even just sitting around in the recliner or couch all day would be a bad thing since I get uncomfortable after a while and Mya has to go in and out and there are things to be done around the house...but let's just hope that doesn't happen. The one reason I can think of having to be put on bed rest would be toxemia, but I've always had perfect blood pressure--before and during pregnancy, and even up to last Wednesday. Thus the wait til this week's doctor's appointment. Besides, I don't have super-reflexes. :)

Aside being put aside, I just realized that in all this talk about swelling I haven't mentioned my carpal tunnel lately. That's because it feels virtually nonexistant. I haven't had tingling in my fingers in quite a while, even in my left hand (that was worse than my right lately), and my hands and wrists don't feel weak--or even the slightest strain--unless I'm doing something extreme (like washing my car at one of those hand-operated power washes like I did last week). I'm still trying to take it easy on my wrists and hands since I know that the reports show muscle damage and this could all be due to those latent steroids that finally kicked in and keep working better all the time. But the doctor didn't seem to think that was how these steroids work, so it could just be a lot of answered prayer. The swelling in my hands seems to be less, but it's hard to tell since I haven't been wearing my rings lately and there is still a bit of swelling there (but they don't look like balloons!). All I can say is praise God for some relief from pain. I was getting worried that I'd have a hard time holding my baby if the tingling and numbness kept up. I'll still go back to that doctor in April to make sure that, if there is any permanent muscle/nerve damage, we work on getting it fixed, but I'll take the relief I can get for now. It's a blessing, and I'm grateful for it.

Til next time...