thirty-four weeks

At thirty-four and a half weeks, I honestly don't know how I will survive the next five and a half plus or minus two weeks. At least, both survive them and be seen in public. (And by the way, this is baby Noah, not mine...I'm still obviously very pregnant.)

It's not that I'm worried about how large I am; I really don't mind that. It's that my maternity pants don't fit quite right any more. You wouldn't know it by looking at me. When I'm standing, they fit just fine. But sitting--well, that's a different story.

I wear the type of maternity pants (jeans) that look like normal pants but have an extra panel that come up, over, and hug part of my belly. Other women prefer to wear different styles that sit lower, beneath their bellies, but even before I got pregnant I was uncomfortable with low-cut jeans and pants. For one thing, you have to be extremely careful that you don't look like a plumber when you sit down or bend over. For another, I have an unrelenting tendency to want to hitch them up over my hips. Low-cut pants just feel like they're falling down to me, and I really don't want to be wearing pants that end up with the crotch half-way between my hips and knees, no matter what some men think is fashionable (it just looks dumb, guys--give it up). But I've gotten off on a tangent, because no matter which type of pants I wore, I'd have the same problem. See, baby has (1) grown bigger; (2) dropped lower; or (3) both grown and dropped a bit (not all the way, though; still having trouble breathing). But there's a problem where that panel meets the denim: when I sit, it usually feels as if I'm wearing pants that are two sizes too small because the pants cut into territory the baby has claimed as his/her own.

So what are my options? Standing all the time is out of the question. Not only do I tire very easily these days, but the bigger baby/lower position presents another problem: more pressure on my bladder. I've gotten to that point where every time I stand I feel like I should head to the bathroom, only to have next to nothing come out. And it's a strange sensation, too; more like the pain sensors in my bladder are working than the I-gotta-go sensors. So no standing all the time. Buying different pants at this point wouldn't be worth it. My husband's already worried about money and maternity pants are expensive; we don't have that long to go; and--let's be honest--my thighs, which have always been large and present problems when I'm not pregnant, already have had me in a rather large maternity size and would make it pretty hard to find another (larger) pair of pants that would be more comfortable. My pajama pants aren't bad, but I can't really go around wearing those all the time; for one thing, there are people out there in public, and for another, my husband thinks it's the height of indecency to wear pajama pants in public, even plaid cotton ones that are perfectly fine (yet he wears those nylon things he calls "sweats"--which to my mind, are not sweats because sweats are made of fleece--and work pants cut off like capris that make him look like Gilligan in public. Go figure. Anyone is welcome to nominate him for What Not to Wear if you so desire. Unfortunately, it seems as if they've quit styling men altogether). Honestly? I've been wishing that moomoos (or muumuus, however you spell them) were back in style. But then I'd have my large, pasty-white legs exposed, so you can't win. Oh, well.

I may not know how I will survive, but I'm sure I will. I'm just not sure that (if she's there) I want to meet, speak to, or become friends with Eve (of Adam and Eve) in heaven. If only she wouldn't have eaten that dang fruit...

noah

Some of you know this, some of you don't, but mine isn't the only grandchild expected in the family over the next three months. Both of my brothers' wives were/are expecting, too. Noah Warren's is Erik and Meaghan's child. His due date was February 5, but the doctors decided to make him an early arrival (read on). Ours is due March 12, and little Lily Rae, Ryan and Rachel's second child, is due sometime in April. I was on baby-watch all day today!

3:22 am
Took Tylenol PM last night (my doc says it's okay) and it certainly helps my aches and pains from sitting at the computer editing all day, but doesn't really help much on the sleeping end. I just woke up and needed to get up to go to the bathroom (common these days) and started thinking, "Erik and Meaghan are probably packing the car and getting ready to leave right now." They're anticipating the birth of their first child, a boy, by c-section this morning around 6:00 am. They have to be at the hospital at 4:00 am. I'm sure they probably didn't get much sleep during the night!

6:08 am
If they're on time (and when are doctors and hospitals ever on time?), Meaghan's having her c-section right now. In our birthing class, they said the entire thing takes about an hour/hour and a half from start to finish and that the baby comes out fairly early in the process. I wonder what my nephew's birth minute will be? I'm also praying that everything goes alright and that he's healthy and happy. I can't imagine what Erik and Meaghan are feeling and going through right now. Oh, yeah--Erik is my brother and Meaghan is his wife. I'm the oldest of four, in case you weren't sure, and Erik and Meaghan are in their late twenties.

7:47 am
No word from Erik yet, but he said he may not call since everyone knew what time the c-section was scheduled. I realized in between my delirious dreams that I hadn't said why they were getting a c-section. Well, the baby's breech (that means sitting up instead of head-down) and they didn't want to risk a natural birth. Painful for baby and mommy, and potentially dangerous. I think I'll be going to the hospital with dad and Beth around 11:30 (Erik didn't want visitors before noon) since Al went to work today. Oh, and in my dream, I was having a c-section but for some reason they still wanted me to deliver the afterbirth vaginally, so they left it in and stitched me up and let me have the extra contractions and all while I was holding my gender-neutral baby. Then Batman and Robin showed up, and Batman told Robin to "get with the 4-1-1," which apparently meant put on his uniform (which I told him sarcastically as I tossed his tightie-whities at him). This could possibly have been a separate dream. :)

8:18 am
Thought my next timed post would be if/when Erik called, but I just noticed on Facebook that Meaghan said she was on her way to the hospital at 1:38 am. Why so early? They weren't scheduled to be there until 4:00 am. Now I'm wondering if I should worry...

8:32 am
I got the call from Erik! Noah Warren was born at 6:52 am and he and mommy both did just fine. He's 6 pounds 13 ounces, 18 1/2 inches long, has Meaghan's nose and short brown hair. Daddy sounded excited and I am heading up to the hospital with my own dad and Beth around 11:30 to meet him.

5:48 pm
Just got home about twenty minutes ago from a two and a half hour visit at the hospital. Noah is so cute! He slept almost the entire time we were there and really only cried once. They keep joking that he's either holding it all in for nighttime or for when they arrive home--we'll see! He's quite photogenic, too, as these pictures prove (no, Auntie Rhonda isn't biased at all!). And I discovered that even a baby as small as Noah can make my weak arms tired, so I think my arms will probably be in better shape than they've been all my life after my little one arrives! Mommy and Daddy are both doing well and incredibly happy. The only sad part for me--and I didn't say anything to the others in my family--was that my mother couldn't be there to hold him, too. I'm sure when it comes to my turn I'll cry about that a little, but I managed to hold it in for my brother's sake. Congratulations, Erik and Meaghan! And welcome to the world, little Noah. We love you already.

dreams

One thing I didn't know before becoming pregnant was that pregnant women tend to have vivid, and sometimes crazy, dreams. I'm not claiming this as scientific fact or anything. But during my first trimester when I started having racy dreams of all sorts involving all sorts of people (but usually not my husband), I mentioned it to my cousin and found out I was not alone. "I woke up each morning feeling like I had to pray and ask for forgiveness!" she said. I didn't go that far--while I've always had a bit of control over my dreams and been able to either remain asleep or wake up during the dream if I desired, it's not like I can tell myself what to dream and then do it (at least not all of the time). I just accepted the dreams, got through the first trimester, and moved on.

My second trimester was a bit different, looking back. I don't remember having any dreams other than the ordinary, and I really don't remember having any of those. But by then, mom was at home in hospice care and I had moved back in with my parents temporarily to help care for her. (For those of you that don't know, my mother passed away in late November from an unknown type of cancer. She had been bedridden since early July. My old blog gives that story.) That was the same time that my hips started bothering me to the point where I couldn't sleep, and I didn't sleep much anyway listening for my mom to call me over the baby monitor I had purchased early and used to make sure I heard her if she needed anything at night. Dreams were rare and fleeting at that point in my life.

During my third trimester, the "crazy" in my dreams has ratcheted up to a new level. I've already described the night with the most vivid--and humorous--dreams here (including one with my husband attempting to breastfeed our dog, which I hear our friend Will thought was hilarious). Last week (or possibly early this week) there was one that involved practically my entire high school class gathered for who-knows-what (but our current ages) and three of them having a basket-shooting contest (taking place in a ballroom or fancy hall of some sort) full of pomp and hype. I didn't pay much attention to the contest since I don't like basketball and was too busy learning about my friend Rob's life in the intervening years since I'd seen him. He had a several-yearbook (meaning a yearbook that covered several years) detailing all of it. I credit that one to Facebook and all of the recent contact with my old classmates. And last night was one that I can't even begin to explain since I'm quite fuzzy on the details myself. I do know, though, that it involved my distant cousin Jennifer and some horny high school boys who were in love with her; a group of about four (including Jennifer and myself) who could turn into wolves and back at will (not werewolves, though; just ordinary wolves); Hugh Hefner (I watched an episode of True Hollywood Story about him last night, so that explains that one); and a pain-during-labor-and-delivery contest, in which women in labor were on a live feed television show. Whomever suffered the most pain while giving birth without giving in and getting painkillers or an epidural won. Thankfully, I wasn't in that contest; they were all of Hef's girlfriends or wives. And yes, this was all one dream, at least as I remember it.

But now dream time has ended and real life has begun (ha! clever transition :)). So I'm off to editing a book and taking care of the puppy while my husband sleeps. They asked him to work overtime today or tomorrow, but it seems as if he really is sick rather than having allergies or a sinus infection: he almost stayed home from hockey last night (which is saying a lot for him since he pays so much to play and hates to waste the money), only had one beer after the game (also saying a lot; he usually heads to the bar with the others), and was running a slight fever before he left. I told him to rest all day and work Friday if he feels better (he hates passing up overtime; I'm not trying to be a slavedriver!). I feel so bad for him that I told him not even to work on the baby's room or the basement or anything else that I have on his honey-do list today. I guess it's just my turn to earn the big bucks today, but I would like to know: any crazy pregnant dreams of your own? Do share!

exhaustion

Day one of my thirty-fourth week of pregnancy and I'm only feeling one thing: exhaustion. And I thought I was tired a month ago.

The pregnancy's taking a lot out of me at this point. I got out of bed this morning after about nine and a half hours (granted, I wake up every hour or so and get up at least once every two hours, so it's not uninterrupted sleep), ate breakfast (white grapefruit, a glass of orange juice, a glass of skim milk and two pieces of toast), threw in a load of laundry, and showered. Also in there was letting the dog in and out a couple of times. When I got out of the shower I was so tired I thought I might fall over if I stood in the bathroom doing my hair and makeup. I had to take about a twenty-minute break before even attempting to do so. Then cleaning the snow off the car and driving thirty miles an hour to my doctor's appointment and back took two hours and fifteen minutes. Guess how I felt when I got home? Exhausted. I had just settled myself in the recliner my dad loaned me (quite a process, since it's not the easiest thing to get into and out of for someone carrying thirty-six extra pounds in and around her belly) and turned on my computer to do a freelance editing job when--scratch, scratch--my puppy was scratching at the back door to be let out. I didn't even bother sitting back down again until she was back in. I worked on the editing job for an hour and a half (the original plan was three hours, but between the snow and my dog that didn't work) and had to get up again, this time to go to physical therapy. I just got back, and guess how I feel? Exhausted. (Sense a theme here?) Before I was pregnant those prenatal vitamins gave me energy bursts; now I know they must be working, because I'm getting none of the energy. I think it's all leaking out into baby, who is quiet at the moment but, overall, moves a lot more frequently than he/she did in previous months.

I'm looking for a clever transition here, but prego brain can't come up with one, so I'll just move on abruptly. The doctor I saw this morning was the doc I've been seeing for my hips and carpal tunnel, not my ob-gyn. (In case you're catching up, I've talked about my hips and carpal tunnel before here, and also in my old blog several times.) And she's one doctor I can knock off the list for now. Ten days ago, the steroid shots she gave me for my carpal tunnel started kicking in. My right hand barely bothers me, and my left is good for about half a day before it starts getting annoyingly sore and tingly. She said that we're good on that unless I get another painful flareup, at least until April, after the baby's born. Since I do have some muscle damage, she wants to see me again post-delivery to make sure we don't have to do anything else (surgery, etc.). And since physical therapy is taking care of my hips, we're good on that, too. My physical therapist has cut down my sessions to two per week (from three) because he can tell that I am getting exhausted by all of the exercise, so I've got fewer appointments on that front, too. (By the way, my physical therapist thinks I'll have a boy based on the foods that I crave. He's five for five so far. We'll see.)

The final thing I have to write about today? My husband called me around noon telling me I better take echinacea because he thinks he's getting sick. He knows that my former primary physician, an M.D. as well an anthroposophical doctor always had me take three times the daily intake of vitamin C and twice the daily intake of echinacea when I thought I was coming down with a cold, sore throat, or other ailment of that nature. I told him that I wasn't sure I could take it; there are all sorts of herbs and herbal remedies that pregnant women should stay away from. So I looked it up, and it turns out that experts just don't know, and thus disagree, about using echinacea. If they don't know, I'd rather stay away from it just in case. Even vitamin C can be tricky; Your Pregnancy Week by Week* states, "Don't take more than the recommended dose...; too much may cause stomach cramps and diarrhea. It can also negatively affect your baby's metabolism" (149). Of course, you can look up other sites that will tell you differently, so I tend to just go with what I crave on this one (thus the white grapefruit and oj this morning) as well as taking my prenatal. So what do I do about my husband's potential illness? Nothing--and hope he just has an allergy/sinus flareup like about three other people I've talked to today.

Signing off with a hope that I won't be so exhausted that I fall asleep trying to edit...

*Curtis, G.B. and J.S. Schuler. 2008. Your Pregnancy Week by Week, 6th ed. Philadelphia, PA: Da Capo Press.

so much to do!

When I was nineteen, my grandfather was ninety-two. (Bear with me here; you'll see the connection with baby in a moment.) He had dementia so bad that he would leave his house and get lost, and he'd lived in the neighborhood since the 1940s. He drove his car into a ditch one day and that was the end of his driving days. My parents had him move into an assisted living home, but they didn't lock the doors or force residents to stay, and he'd wander away from that, too. Finally, my parents decided they had no other option: he'd have to move into our house and mom would take care of him. The only problem was that there wasn't room for mom, dad, grandpa, and four kids in a small ranch. I was the oldest, so I had to move out.

My parents and I searched for a place for me to live. I think I was working at a local photography studio at the time making minimum wage, and that's not much when you're thinking of renting an apartment. The apartments in our area don't allow cosigners that aren't planning on being residents, either. There was only one place left: my grandfather's house, which my father had grown up in. It was (is) in a low-income neighborhood that had once been quite decent; it was built during World War II as temporary housing for army veterans--white army veterans (so strange to me, since I've grown up in a segregation-is-illegal world my entire life). The problem with it when I moved in was that it was still standing. Most of the original residents were either dead, dying, or had been moved to a safer residence by their offspring long before I got there. In their place were very low-income renters who didn't give a damn about the condition of the houses or neighborhood. The type who hear a couple fighting down the block and come out on their front porches or lean out of their windows to watch (no one had air conditioning and the walls to these houses and duplexes were quite thin). The type that would get drunk and stand in their backyards (which just happened to adjoin to mine) at three a.m. yelling and crying, disturbing my peace enough on a worknight that I'd call the cops. It was (is) the type of neighborhood where hearing the occasional gunshot was not uncommon, and definitely not a car backfiring. Despite all of this, I was excited: I was living on my own for fairly cheap (for free, at first) and had been familiar with this house and neighborhood all of my life. Except for the noise and nosy neighbors, it didn't really bother me. (I'm almost to my point now.)

One day I locked myself out of my house and my car. I have a really, really bad habit of losing or forgetting my keys, even if they've been in my hand in the past thirty seconds. I just walked out of the house without them. I went to my next-door neighbor's house and knocked on the door, asking if I could borrow a phone (I had also walked out without my entire purse, including my cell phone). At first he offered to have his son break into the house for me instead. I immediately became suspicious, seeing as how my house had just been broken into two weeks prior and a laptop had been stolen. The perpetrator needed a cinder block to get in through the window, meaning he/she had been fairly short. I must have had a look on my face because the neighbor immediately said, "Not that he's ever been in your house before." Uh huh. How much money did you get for that computer at the pawn shop? I wondered. Or is it still in your house?

When I politely refused a voluntary break-in, he invited me in while he went to get his phone. Immediately, two regrets. One, I couldn't believe his family lived like this. The front room and the kitchen, which were all I could see into, were piled at least five feet high with stuff--stuff everywhere, and only a narrow path to walk through. It was obvious this stuff had been there for quite a while and wasn't going anywhere soon. I thought fire hazard (I had previously dated a firefighter), but also appalled at the living conditions of his family. And when he handed me a pre-paid cell phone my other regret hit me. This family was really in a tight place financially, and here I was using a pre-paid cell phone to make a call because I locked my keys in my house. I made the call, offered to pay for it, and he refused. Some family member arrived a few minutes later with my house keys and found me waiting on my front porch, and off I went.

I told you all of this to put this into context: Right now, my house is driving me crazy. I was trying to think of an appropriate metaphor to describe the state it's in: war zone? No, too perilous. Disaster area? No, because we haven't suffered structural damage like most homes hit with natural disaster. Then I thought of my former neighbor's house, and it hit me that that's what my own house reminds me of now. I'll admit it isn't quite to that degree, but my living room and dining room are filled with boxes of new baby stuff; my kitchen counters, which for some reason I can never keep clear, are piled with various objects; my family room, office, hallway, and bedroom floors are covered with pieces of stuffing, plastic ties from hardwood floor boxes, hangers, and dog toys (all thanks to my puppy, and all of which I just picked up yesterday--where does she find this stuff?); my office still isn't fully moved into and organized; my bed is unmade and dust has appeared everywhere (I just dusted less than a week ago!); and the baby's room has power tools everywhere, and only 90% of a hardwood floor installed (yay! 90% done already!). There's just so much to do before baby comes, including keeping my sanity. The worst part? I can only do so much about it, at least until I'm able to start moving stuff into the baby's room.

I woke up with a plan of action for the day: work on school stuff in the morning (read Rachelle's perspectus and give her comments), go grocery shopping, and then start sewing in the afternoon (an extra crib bumper, baby room curtains and cushions, etc.). But I also woke up to an email telling me I got an editing job that needs to be done within the next couple of days. Here comes some money, there go my plans (funny how plans float so easily out the window when nothing else ever seems to get off the ground). But the money will ease my husband's mind just a bit, so the cleaning, the sewing, the organizing, the sanity can wait. Who needs sanity anyway? As Mark Twain said, "Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination." (Although I can tell you right now that insanity and happiness aren't all that compatible, either.)

Baby, let's hope your mommy can get it together before you arrive...

preparing for a homecoming

I know, I know. Babies have accidents that go beyond their diapers. But I couldn't resist buying a beautiful homecoming outfit for my baby--be it a boy or a girl--just like my parents did for me. Here's a sneak peak:

thirty-three weeks

At thirty-three weeks, I am happy, nervous, excited, and weepy; basically, I'm a big (and I do mean that literally; I've gained thirty-one pounds and counting during this pregnancy) bundle of hormonal emotions. I'm hoping that I really do have only seven weeks to go, because I'd love to sleep on my back again, ease my sore hips in the hot tub, and sip on a glass of Bailey's. Maybe I won't be able to do the latter activities for a while after giving birth, but I'll get there eventually; sleeping on my back--no matter how little sleep it actually is--will be good enough to start. Since it's my first pregnancy, though, I wouldn't be surprised if I was overdue. I know doctors often let natural-birth pregnancies (which I'm planning to try, meaning vaginal and without painkillers) go up to two weeks past the due date.

It's a busy week as far as pregnancy weeks go: three physical therapy appointments for my bursitis (I almost passed out in my most recent one, getting me out of my last two exercises); an eye appointment; the first training class for our rottweiler puppy, Mya; an all-day birthing class followed by dinner with friends; and a myriad of unscheduled activities: doing baby laundry, writing thank-you cards for baby gifts, studying for my comprehensive exams (I'm trying to finish a PhD), and trying to catch my breath in general. The doctor, though, assures me that the last part--catching my breath--will be easier in about a month when the baby drops. It already feels pretty low, making sitting or wearing certain clothes uncomfortable at times, but right now its feet are right in my ribcage and generally crowding everything else--including my lungs, I suppose.

What else? The baby's movements have racheted up quite a bit. Pretty much any time I'm sitting still during the day (like right now), I feel little legs and arms squirming around and trying to make more room in my belly. And I can't tell quite how, but the baby has shifted somehow. I'm fairly certain it's still in birthing position (head down, feet in ribcage), but the kid really, really doesn't like it when I lay on my left side now, making the hip situation even harder during the night (staying on one side is virtually impossible; I get too sore). When I do lay on my left side, I need to have better pillow support than I've needed during the rest of the pregnancy and even then the baby starts protesting by kicking and punching--hard--and squirming so much you'd think I was hanging it mid-air by its feet.

What's the oddest thing this week? Probably the fact that I haven't been very hungry. Of course, that could be explained by the fact that the kid isn't leaving me much room in there. And it could explain why I almost passed out Friday during physical therapy. It'll be interesting to see what week thirty-four holds!

birthing class

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." (I Peter 5:7, NIV)

I have a confession to make: In my heart of hearts, I want my husband to be my be-all and end-all. I wish he could be everything I need, everything I want, everything that ever mattered to me. And I've been burdening him with that expectation, that wishful thinking, for a while now. But that's too big a task to ask of any human, and I was reminded of that today. I can't ask him to be that; I can only ask God to be that for me. And I need God to remind me that he, not Al, can fulfill my every need: Al is more like a bonus, one of the ways God is fulfilling my needs and cares.

You may be asking yourself what this has to do with the title of the blog, "birthing class." A lot, actually, at least the way my mind works. If you read my previous blog entry, "racking up the nerves," you'd know that I have a lot of "anxiety," or worries, about getting ready for and actually becoming a mom (both in terms of birth and beyond). Both attending an all-day birthing class and getting a generous offer from a friend to talk, shop, and help me prepare calmed my nerves tremendously. But that doesn't mean there weren't any nerves left, and those that are tend to get taken out on my husband. I expect him to be this super-human, caring, omniscient individual who will understand and give me exactly what I need. When I don't get it, I get all sorts of unreasonable and hormonal: I yell, I cry, I become impatient--generally, I'm a monster. And since I hate that unreasonable side of myself, I do just the wrong thing and take my dissatisfaction with my own actions out on him even more. It's a vicious cycle, and it's got to stop. So I'm trying to remember--daily--to take my anxiety to God instead of my husband. God is strong enough to carry that burden (and it's a heavy one). Al needs the freedom to be human.

Anyway, birthing class. Birthing classes come in many forms and cover many different topics, but Al and I chose to take an all-day seminar through our hospital. I know others who go for an hour or two a week for six to eight weeks, but that just didn't fit in our schedule. I thought our class was very informative and I would highly recommend that anyone who is nervous like I was find a local class and take it. But look into what they discuss, first. My physical therapist, who is three weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy, ended up in one that started talking about the first and second trimesters, which she'd already been through. Our class started with a talk about labor, contractions, responses to and treatments for pain, and relaxation techniques. We went on to discuss several other things throughout the day: medical terms related to giving birth, our anatomy (how is the baby typically positioned in the uterus, and how in the world does it fit through the pelvis in a vaginal birth?), specific signs of being in labor (including the timing and length and strength of contractions), comfort techniques for getting through labor, medications (painkillers and epidurals), and cesarean sections and possible reasons for them. The day was filled with breaks and short videos in which they show everything (and I do mean everything). We had chances to ask questions whenever we wanted, too--the entire thing was led by a qualified nurse who shared her own experiences giving birth to three children as well as giving us the technical details.

I'm not a medical person, so I won't go into the details myself other than to say that a lot of what we talked about is covered here. I will repeat what she said about knowing when to go to the hospital and what to do while you're waiting, since I want to remember these things myself. She said that we should wait until the contractions are five minutes apart and remain so for at least one hour, and then (if you can) wait another hour after that. The reason for this is that early labor usually takes hours for new moms, and you need to give your body time to get effaced and dilate. You could be having contractions five minutes apart but only be dilated one or two centimeters, and you need to get to ten centimeters before you can deliver the baby. So what to do if you think you're in labor, but your contractions aren't close enough together yet? Here are our nurse's suggestions (again, keep in mind that these are just notes and I'm not a medical professional--or any type of medical person--at all):

• Drink every hour (juice, water, etc.)
• Eat if you're hungry, but choose small amounts of carbs and avoid greasy or spicy foods (they may make you feel sick later)
• Rest in between contractions at night
• Move around in between contractions during the day

When contractions become a bit more intense (i.e., between twelve and fifteen minutes apart), get yourself moving. Take a walk around the block if it's nice outside. Don't do anything as extreme as spring cleaning, but do move--it'll help your contractions along. But at this point you probably won't want to talk or walk while you're right in the middle of contraction; just do the activity in between.

When they're ten minutes apart, take a nice, warm shower or bath. The warmth can help soothe you. Personally, I wouldn't try a hot tub; there are too many cautions against using them while pregnant and I don't think it's worth the risk. But showering could refresh you after all of that movement and help you to feel better about yourself and the condition in which you arrive at the hospital. And when you have reached contractions five minutes apart (and I should note that these are timed from the start of one contraction, through it, and to the start of another) and waited at home an hour or two to make sure they aren't slowing down, go to the hospital. Nurse Lynne cautions that you should drink juice on the way since you won't be getting anything but ice chips once you get there. But just having this level of detailed advice helps calm me, because it gives me a plan of action: something to do while I wait.

Of course, I can't cover seven and a half hours of material in a few-paragraph blog, so I'll save the rest for your own birthing class, should you choose to take one. But I will tell you this: I'm even more resolved to do my best to make it through without pain medication or an epidural and am praying that I don't have to have an episiotomy or accidentally tear during birth--at least spare me a little bit of the pain of those recoveries! Here's to a prayerful attitude and wishful thinking.

an introduction

Welcome to my new blog, becoming mommy. I've been a blogger for a few years now, but lately my original blog, non fini, just doesn't fit the bill. That blog covers my daily life as a graduate student at the doctoral level. While that is still part of my identity, it's no longer the biggest part of it: Instead, I'm a wife and a soon-to-be mother and my family and my relationship with God (not my studies) are my first priorities. I want this blog to be about the rest of my pregnancy, the birth, and my experiences becoming (learning how to be) a mommy. There are several postings about my pregnancy in non fini, but I'll give you a run-down just in case you need it.

I'm thirty-four years old and thirty-three weeks into my pregnancy. For those of you who are clueless about how they count the weeks in a pregnancy (as I was), that actually means that I'm a little over seven months pregnant. Since many people don't know the exact date they conceive, the doctors add on a couple of weeks to the last day you knew you couldn't possibly have been pregnant. Confusing, I know, but that makes most pregnancies an average of 40 weeks, meaning I've got approximately seven weeks to go.

One of the first questions people ask me is, "Do you know what it is?" The answer to that is no (rare in this day and age, I'm finding!). My husband wanted to be surprised, so that's what we're doing. I'm kind-of hoping for a girl, but that's because I think I may never be able to have one (my husband's family is full of men and boys). If I have a boy I'll be perfectly happy. My husband (Al) doesn't have a preference (so he says). And yes, we do have names picked out: Liam Earl or Bridget Ella. Both first names are Irish (just like my husband) and a take on family names from his side, and both middle names are family names from my side.

If you're pregnant or thinking about becoming pregnant, another question you're frequently asked (or will be) is, "How are you feeling?" Fine, thank you, except pretty uncomfortable, especially at night when I'm trying to sleep (trying is the operative word here). The baby is taking up a lot of room by now and moving quite a bit; it's a wonderful sensation to feel your baby moving, but those kids can hit some delicate spots sometimes! And since doctors recommend that you sleep on your sides as opposed to your back (which can cut off oxygen to the child and make it hard for you to breathe once you're big), my hips (which have developed bursitis) and legs go from okay to downright painful at night. You also might discover that some pregnant women are prone to carpal tunnel flare-ups because of the extra weight and fluid pressing on your nerves, as I am. But just remember: when that little one's here, it'll all be worth it (I'm sure it will be)!

In a nutshell, that's the context for this blog. If you're a mom-to-be, a new mom, someone thinking about becoming a mom, or just one of my friends along for the new blog ride, I hope you enjoy what I post here. I'll be chronicling my journey to and into mommyhood, posting stories, picture, and tidbits about the trip on my way. I'd love for you to join me!