caffeinated prego

The other day on Facebook, a friend said something about drinking her morning coffee. (Actually, as I write this, I'm surprised it wasn't my friend Tony that said that--his status usually has to do with drinking coffee or how many more days he has to work, or has til he has to go back to work. No imagination, that one. :) ) I responded, "I can't wait until I crave coffee again." Her response to my comment--"It's a good thing you don't now!"--made me think that she may have the same misconception I had about pregnancy and caffeine when I first got pregnant. Thank God I was wrong (and I really do mean that).

I used to think that pregnant women couldn't have caffeine. Period. Just like alcohol, caffeine was bad, bad, bad and off limit to the pregnant. Which was bad news for me, since I'll openly admit that I'm addicted to this legal drug and tend to get massive withdrawal migraines without it (I get migraines with it, too, but thankfully those haven't been much of a problem during my pregnancy). And since the only "cure" (read: the only thing that turns my migraines into slightly less painful, okay I can live with this headaches) for my migraines has proven to be ibuprofen, which I tend to take in large (over the RDA) doses for migraines that can last several days at a time. My doctor said one or two ibuprofen every once in a while wouldn't hurt, but acetaminophen is much more acceptable. Unfortunately, acetaminophen doesn't touch my migraines.

Anyway. I got off on a tangent there. The good news is that many sources agree that pregnant women can safely consume up to 300 mg of caffeine a day--the equivalent of two cups of regular coffee (not those espresso-laden venti blah blah blah drinks from Starbucks). You'll see different numbers pop up, of course, because experts rarely all agree on everything (I've seen 150 mg, 200 mg, etc.), but I've stuck with what I heard/read first, in Your Pregnancy, Week by Week. And since I haven't wanted coffee (which I only started drinking on a daily basis the year before I got pregnant, anyway), I'm in luck: soda typically has much less caffeine than coffee, and even with my normal (non-pregnant) daily intake of soda, I never reach 300 mg in one day.

There was one drawback for me: I typically drink diet soda loaded with aspartame. Now (and you can Google this for yourself), many sources say aspartame in limited quantities is okay for pregos, just like caffeine. But many other sources (and doctors) say that since we're not even quite sure what it does to our own bodies (look at the former cancer-causing calorie-free sweeteners they thought were fine for years) it's best not to overload our unborn children with it. And since I'm trying to be a good mommy, I've been choking down the full sugar version of different sodas instead of drinking my Diet Pepsi (although I will admit to having snuck a few sporadically during my pregnancy). And I'll still have to limit my intake when the baby's born since I'll be breastfeeding (at least, that's the plan). The main point is that the soda I do drink is caffeinated. Fewer headaches, taste satisfaction, etc. This, of course, is in addition to the water, orange juice, and skim milk that I've been consuming in large amounts. Don't want to dehydrate myself or my baby completely!

Oh, and for those of you from my area of the midwest, I started saying "soda" instead of "pop" when I moved out of state for my doctorate. It just seems slightly more universal. But don't worry--I still refer to it as "pop" quite often. :)

thirty-eight weeks

...or, "It could be anyday now." (Alternate blog title.)

As of Wednesday, thirty-eight weeks. Doctor's laughing comment when he showed me the results of the ultrasound: "The baby's off-the-charts big." Confirmed again when, measuring my belly, he measured it at forty centimeters this week--two more than last week, making it the first time since he's been telling me how big it is that it has grown two centimeters rather than one in one week. Weight gain: an additional pound, making the total poundage forty-four so far. It doesn't make me feel so bad to know that I've gained that much since I've got a big baby (they advise twenty-five to thirty-five pounds total weight gain). Who am I kidding? I could care less how much I've gained. I might care later trying to take it back off, but now it doesn't phase me one bit.

And at thirty-eight weeks, a more, um, invasive exam. Cervix: softening, opening "maybe a fingertip width," he said, demonstrating with his finger. (Please, what is a fingertip width in centimeters? Probably one, if that, but I'm not a metric girl; I grew up in the U.S.) And then the kicker: "Okay, Rhonda, we'll see you next week--unless we get lucky. It could be any time now, you know." Any time now? I mean, I knew this, logically. I just don't think I really believed it until my doctor said it. This morning when I woke up, I had gone back and forth between shopping when I went out for my doctor's visit and waiting til Monday to shop when Al could come with me (not that it would go any faster, just putting it off, I guess). But that comment made me head to Target after my appointment just in case, even though I spent three hours on my feet this morning staining the changing table. (It, by the way, needs multiple layers and I'm praying it turns out decent looking.) Speaking of which, I should probably go stain the flip side since it's just past the mandatory six-hour waiting period and I won't ruin what I worked on this morning. You know, just in case.

I'm almost glad I'm going to be a hockey widow tonight. I can crawl in bed early, start watching Dollhouse, and record it on the DVR just in case I fall asleep...

nesting

If you're pregnant or become pregnant at any time in your life, you may find that a new question pops up in your third trimester: "Are you nesting yet?" Or, it may take the form of a comment: "Oh, you're nesting." I've had such remarks made to me so many times recently--one by a friend who just had a baby in January--that I finally asked what people are talking about.

"It's when you have to have everything clean and organized and nothing can stop you," my friend replied. Basically, the idea is you're preparing your "nest" for your child to arrive. To which I must say: I'm not a bird, people. I'm a human being and I live in a house, not a nest. And this craziness about having a place for everything (still haven't figured out where to put the vacuum, since this ranch house was built without a closet in which to put one) was going on long before I got pregnant. It's just more visible now because (a) I wasn't blogging about it, and (b) it's reached a new height now that I know that I probably won't have time to do it after the baby comes and I know we'll be having company, something that rarely happens around here. (We go out more than people come in.)

A better question (but still annoying) that people ask this time of the pregnancy (less than two weeks from the due date now) is, "You're probably ready to have it now, huh? Uncomfortable, just wanting it over with?" My inner irk isn't as pronounced when I get asked this question, although my answer typically is, "I don't want the baby to come before the house is ready." For the reasons listed above. Although sometimes at night when I try to sleep I rethink that. It wouldn't be so bad to hold the baby in my arms, to have this swelling go away, to be able to lay on my back, to be able (maybe) to sleep for at least two hours without interruption (still about forty-five minutes in between wake-up times), to let Al take the baby for twenty minutes and slip into the hot tub and ease my aching back (it's now aching when I sleep in addition to my hips), to... well, you get the picture.

Accomplished today: Big boxes and baby stuff removed from living room. We can actually navigate in there now. It's almost ready for a carpet cleaner and/or company. Big boxes are emptied, broken down, and items that were in said boxes are put together (that was a several day process, the last of which I put together this morning). And Mya and I went to puppy training all by ourselves (Al had to work) and learned that the Lion's daughter has the same name as our dog. I felt horrible when she arrived with her mom to help with training, although she didn't seem to mind (I think she's about four). But her mom doesn't know that Mya's full name is Myarrow. But how do you apologize for that? Oh, well. Off to bed.

raw sewage

Talk about days not going as planned.

Al and I went to the movies yesterday even though today had been a better option in my mind. Get as much stuff done as possible on Tuesday, go to movies Wednesday. When he was trying to talk me into Tuesday, he had said, "In case there ends up being something we have to do and can't make it." Since when did I marry a psychic?

Yesterday morning was...stressful, to say the least. Al just does not get along with Mya most of the time (she thinks they get along just fine, but I know what his reactions and words to her really mean). The situation is really wearing on me, and I'm a person that seems to run on stress like cars run on gasoline. I just don't really get much done unless I'm stressed (not the best way to live, I know). But in my current condition, it's getting to be too much and I ended up in the basement (as planned). But instead of starting to stain the finally-sanded changing table, I sobbed hysterically and prayed for a while. I didn't think I could take it anymore and was asking God to do something. Apparently, he thought I could take some more, because an hour and a half later I was in the same situation, only in the shower. Anyway. If you're a praying person and read this blog, I'd appreciate prayer in that situation; you could just pray that Al and Mya learn to react appropriately to each other. I think that's the most diplomatic way to put it.

Eventually, though, I started staining the changing table. My goal: get the "top" half (one side) of each piece that I hadn't stained yet stained so I could work on the other half tomorrow. If I had time, I could tackle preparing the pieces that I had started with steel wool and give them a second coat. In the midst of this, I remembered a load of laundry I had left in the washing machine too long and decided to run it through again so it wouldn't smell (or get) mildewy. I flipped the washing machine on and continued staining. Al took Mya for a walk (they do tend to get along on these now, thanks to her new harness) and I went back to put the laundry in the dryer. I took two steps into the laundry room and saw standing water (about a ten-foot radius) and toilet paper above the drain. Ugh. We thought this was taken care of.

When Al and Mya got home, I gave him the bad news. He said he'd call somebody and I told him when they couldn't come (tomorrow during Mya's training; Friday during my doc's appointment), and the next thing I knew he was at the top of the stairs asking how long I was going to be since he wanted to go out and rent the snake again. I didn't see the point in that. He had already snaked the drain between 75 and 100 feet out, and it had only worked temporarily. What would make a difference this time? Besides, him leaving would mean I couldn't finish my staining because I'd have to go upstairs to watch the dog (either that or put her in her crate; she's afraid to walk up and down the stairs herself and too heavy for me to carry anymore). I had been itching to get this done for weeks, months. He went away from the top of the stairs upset and a few minutes later I was saying, "Put Mya in her crate." Instead, he came back and told me that RotoRooter would be at the house within half an hour.

Half an hour? That meant I had to quit staining anyway. I was in the basement, right where this guy would need to be, in my pjs and robe and not likely to stay down there with a stranger working on the drain. I probably shouldn't even be showering what with our drainage problems, but I needed to since I had plans to visit a friend I hadn't seen in four years and greasy hair. Thus my second crying bout of the day in the bathroom I rarely (err, never) shower in, and the unfinished staining still lying in the basement. It actually worked out, because by the time I got out of the shower my legs were so tired that I could barely stand long enough to do my makeup, brush and floss my teeth, and do my hair (about a half hour process; as I get older, fatter, and my hair gets longer, the minutes it takes me to get ready in the morning start to add up). But still, plans laid to waste...

The rest of our day went...okay. I had a wonderful time at my friends' house and got to see their new son, and on the way home discovered that Al hadn't returned from lunch yet, either. He had detoured to a local bar to meet some people from work. Um, baby's room? But I felt bad because I wasn't working, either. He got home close to an hour after I did, ran out to get us dinner (Taco Bell), came home and started working. I sat in my recliner for a while because I typically get exhausted by that time of night, but then I was able to help him (err, give advice to him? I did help a little bit) put up the curtain rod later on. He finished everything he could for now in the baby's room (trim is up; closet shelves installed; curtains hung; floor swept; what furniture we have ready is in the room). And although I'm going to bed, he's giving the dog a bath since she hasn't had one in about two weeks and that's a hard thing for me to do right now. I guess, in the end, all's well that ends well--and tomorrow's a new day.

dates just ain't what they used to be

I've been waiting for it for weeks. Months. (Well, about one and a half.) My next trip to the movies, one of my favorite things to do. And today, I did it.

One thing I love about having plans is the anticipation that I can build up looking forward to them. Dana and I have talked about this before, and she's even mentioned it in her blog before. I love, love, love having something to look forward to and get excited about. Half the fun (at least) is in the anticipation of the thing. Al's the opposite. He refuses to anticipate anything, for fear that he'll be disappointed. So those of you who ask me if he's excited about the baby, well, have you ever seen Al excited? Really? About anything? It's because he won't let himself anticipate. Anyway.

When I was thinking about the movie thing late last week, I was thinking of it in my head as a "date" with my husband. Ooo, I thought, we can do a movie/dinner thing (in that order, so I have room for buttery movie theater popcorn). Maybe use that restaurant gift certificate he got for his birthday. Have one last fun, relaxing time (evening), just the two of us, one last time before the baby comes. Won't this be fun? Maybe even a little romantic (although I'm not looking for any physical action here, definitely not in my state). Problem is, if I want an evening/date like that, I better be very explicit with my husband about what it is that I want. Because I know by now that (a) he likes to go to the very earliest show in the day to both save money and avoid crowds; (b) if I want a restaurant other than Kerby's, I better ask for it or we're heading straight there (and we didn't actually make it there until six hours after the movie today); and (c) my husband doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. Or thought in his head. And probably really hasn't, ever. What was I thinking, he'd all of the sudden get into my head and figure everything out? As if that's ever worked.

I'm not complaining, just saying that I need to be a bit more practical when it comes to "dates" with my husband. We headed out to see New in Town (it was good, Harry Connick Jr. better than Rene Zellweger) around 12:20pm. (Told you, early show.) Al immediately turns National Public Radio down so it is barely audible (even though we're in my car and I have a thing with him fiddling with my radio) and starts patting all of his pockets for his phone. "Why are you looking for your phone?" I ask, thinking, Some date.

"I need to call Rick and Todd so they don't call during the movie," Al replies.

"Oh, yes," I say a bit sarcastically, "because they both call you on a daily basis." (They do. Practically. And one of them--Todd--has a habit of calling during my alone time with Al, when I've been especially craving it. I don't know how he does it, but he has this sixth sense--to which he's absolutely oblivious--about calling exactly when it will tick Rhonda off the most. And wanting to talk for twenty minutes.) Al tries to call Todd. No answer.

"So now he'll call during the movie anyway," I say. "He'll see your missed call. Be sure to silence your phone." Al calls Rick. Although he woke up crabby and has been yelling at the dog and short with me all morning, Al sounds like the happiest guy in the world when Rick answers. Sure, save your happy voice for your buddies, I think. Not mad, exactly. Just jealous. And maybe a bit hurt. And wondering how he can fake it so well (or else change his attitude so fast depending on who he's talking to). But the phone cuts out, and he doesn't get through again--or get a return call--before we reach the theater.

Despite this, I'm in a good mood. We're going to the movies! We go, eat popcorn, sit in the dark, watch the movie, and then head home, no mention of lunch or anything else fun. I say, "We never go on dates anymore," realizing that I didn't set this day up like one in his head, thus shouldn't expect it to be like one.

"This is a date," he said.

"No it's not," I replied. "Not when you spend the entire way here trying to call and talk to your friends on the phone and then we sit in the dark without talking and then head home. A date's supposed to be about me--and you--and not involve phone conversations with Rick and Todd. I think we better have some better dates after the baby comes along, is all."

(Argh--this is the third time I've had to get up for the dog during the writing of this post. First, she was way too quiet--and eating a spare piece of trim from the baby's room. Second, she was way too quiet--and eating a plastic shelving hook that had fallen to floor in the baby's room. Third, she was whining--one of her signs that she wants to go out, although Al let her out only fifteen minutes ago and has now left me alone [again], this time to go measure his parents' attic for the spare insulation they've decided they need and he's volunteered to install even though he has a ton of stuff to do around here and a baby on the way. Knowing him, he'll probably do it in the time he takes off to be at home with me and baby. But argh. Can't wait until Mya's out of the puppy stage. Puppies are not cuter than grown dogs. Not in the least.)

Anyway, enough of the interruption. Sorry about that. Where were we? Oh, yes. Well, I guess my dates with Al were never actually romantic; they usually involved some club or bar, dancing, a few drinks and a few friends (or at least Dennis). Many times we didn't even leave the house until 10:00pm, and now I'm in bed by then. And although our dates aren't what they used to be--and I definitely wouldn't want them to be now, since I'm too old for that now--I still would like some good old fashioned alone time in which we can have fun, talk, maybe hang out with friends (although not all the time, because that would not be "alone" time), maybe even make out a little (these days I have to ask for a "real kiss" if I want anything more than a peck at bedtime). This would be after the baby arrives, of course, and would involve a sitter. But before these dates occur--which I'll be happily anticipating--I'll have to remind myself to tell Al what I have in mind. Otherwise, well, his idea of a date just ain't what I have in mind--or even what it used to be. :)

Ahh. Mya calls again, jumping against the glass door to be let in. And with that I'll leave you...

dentists and death

Today's post: One pregnant woman, two different subjects. One subject pertains to me (dentists), the other only does indirectly (death). Just in case you were worried by the post title.

Let's deal with dentists first. Like most people, I don't particularly enjoy going to the dentist. I do, however, have a good one and have been going to the same dentist's office my entire life. My parents didn't leave me the best dental genes in the world, so for the past several years I've been dealing with cavity after crown after root canal after cavity, along with gum decay. (I know, ew.) It's actually been better toothwise in recent years (perhaps because I don't have many major ones left to get cavities), but going down in the gum area. And by the time I got pregnant, they wanted to do a deep cleaning--that means under the loose, flappy gums that are supposed to be tighter around your teeth. Because one thing's for sure: pregnant women, and even women that are nursing, tend to have a higher presence of bacteria in their mouths, leading to more tender/swollen gums than at other times. While they couldn't do xrays to verify that the deep cleaning was absolutely necessary (pregnant women shouldn't be getting xrays since they could harm the baby), they still wanted to do the cleaning.

I had my cleaning done in two steps, and at each had a special numbing process done in which they squirt stuff between the teeth and gums instead of giving the usual injections. This was a bit more expensive, but again was for the baby's protection. Then I went back in for an evaluation, and today, after three more months, I went in for a normal cleaning. Thanks to the deep cleaning and my improved dental hygiene habits since then (using a Sonicare toothbrush, flossing daily, and using two types of mouthwash for two different purposes--Crest ProHealth for my gums and Act Restoring Mouthwash for cavity prevention), my gums are vastly improved and they're only watching one tooth for a potential cavity in the future. The next cleaning (back to the six month schedule again! Yay!) is when they'll finally do xrays and determine exactly how much improvement (or lack thereof) I have had since before I got pregnant. My dentists and hygenists are very good at being careful when working on pregnant women, but I would advise any pregnant woman to find out what is/is not okay from her doctor before going to the dentist, and then talk it over again with the dentist when you're there. I did have to remind one hygenist not to give me the injection for the deep cleaning, so be careful--remind them that you're pregnant if you have to! Nobody's perfect, and it's your baby, so you're probably going to be more aware/concerned than anyone else. Enough preaching. Stepping off the soapbox.

Breaking News Alert: I just got a call from Babies R Us--the dressers have arrived at the warehouse! They took my credit card, meaning they'll order the dresser in to the store and it should be there in five to seven days (the crib took only three or four days). And I asked if people have had trouble with the dressers coming through their distributor/warehouse/store since there were a few people online stating that they got the dresser and couldn't get the drawers open and closed due to shoddy craftsmanship. She said she's never had anyone complain about this line at the store, other than the amount of time it takes to get in and a few nicks and scratches in the wood (which is understandable with shipping). She also said they check every dresser at the store before sending it home with customers, so I'm 90% sure we'll be good to go! And if baby holds off long enough, the room will be done by the time it's here! Relief.

Now, sadly (and I do mean that), it's time to deal with death once again. It's hard to believe that there's been so much of illness, dying, and death either directly or indirectly touching my life over the past several months. First mom, then Sarah (you'll have to search my old blog if you don't know those stories). Then my friend can't make it to my baby shower because one of her best friends died of cancer. My cat was diagnosed with probable cancer (she's eating a bit more, by the way, and not throwing up as much), and now, on Saturday, another friend's father died suddenly of a heart attack at 64. My husband's on his way up north right now, racing the clock to try to make the wake tonight. Then he'll turn around and make the almost five hour trip back home when it's over (I would have gone, but it's ill advised for a pregnant woman to spend ten hours in a car in one day when I'm this close to giving birth). And then, just a couple of hours ago, another friend whose father was diagnosed with cancer even before my mother was sent us a message that both of her parents were taken to the hospital over the weekend. While her mother is fine now, her father was told that the cancer has grown, he has internal bleeding, and probably just a week to live. She's on her way to spend time with him.

Why am I posting all of this? Honestly, I don't know. Partially because (like I said) I'm in stunned disbelief that this much death and illness is touching my family and friends. Partially because I know that many of you will pray for the families and for those that are ill. Partially because as I get ready--so close--to celebrate a new life, I am constantly mourning or reminded that others are mourning. And it's hard to know what to say. I just ache for friends that I see going through this pain, because even though our situations are never exactly the same, I know how it feels to lose someone so close and then have to keep going afterwards. And to those of you that are going through this, just know that even though my words don't seem to convey much, my heart is aching for you. I'm so sorry.

I'll change the mood for the final note since I can't bear to leave the post like this. I'll say two things: one, my last physical therapy session for my hips was today because I'm so swollen and tire so easily that I just said I'm not going to do it anymore. My therapist agreed and wants me to call when I have the baby to tell him whether his unblemished record on guessing the gender based on the mother's cravings remains unblemished (he's guessing boy for me). Two, sometimes I'm amazed that there's not a little hand or arm sticking out of my crotch because that's what it feels like: the baby is right there. Sorry for that visual, but this kid's got to learn how to keep his/her hand in his/her mouth! :)

insomniac randomness

Can't sleep. Figured I might as well write.

Earlier this evening, I was tired. Sleepy. I went to sleep figuring I'd catch up on blogging in the morning. Then I woke up for the second or third time in an hour and a half, my husband got home from hockey wanting to talk, and my brain was once again stimulated. Now he's sleeping and I'm in here blogging. I just don't have patience to lie around in bed for more than an hour (the hour was my limit tonight) trying to make my brain stop working long enough to sleep. Did I mention that I'm also having a Braxton Hicks contraction right now?

Lately I feel like my posts have been a broken record. "This is what I did/did not get done today..." An incredibly boring, broken record. So instead of telling you that Al got the trim up in the baby's room and it looks gorgeous and that I finished the back of my soon-to-be-niece's quilt and am now ready to hand it over to my sister for quilting and binding, I'll talk about a new pregnancy symptom that I knew nothing about before becoming near-term pregnant and that's been mystifying me for the past three or four days. Not only can you get stretch marks--and I have quite a few remarkably colorful ones--but they can swell (just like my feet, ankles, hands, and I swear my face, but not any more than it does when my sinuses are aggravated by allergies). Not only can they swell, but they can itch. I know I'm not the only pregnant woman who has experienced this, just because there are quite a few entries in a Google search for the symptom. But I find it strangely bizarre. And itchy.

Another thing that's been mystifying me? How anyone--anyone--could actually go full term and have a baby in a toilet (or elsewhere--you've all heard these stories) without knowing she's pregnant. I'm sorry, but how can you be so unobservant not to notice all the changes to your body--or health--for nine full months? Even if you're carrying it in a way that it (somehow) doesn't show? That just mystifies me, and frankly, makes me question those women's intellect. But I'm not actually trying to be mean here, so I'll drop it.

And since I'm still not in the least bit sleepy, I think I'll round out this blog with a list of things I won't miss about being pregnant (I'm not as in love with the experience as my friend Tracy was):

1. Sleeping on my sides.
2. Waking up every half hour to forty-five minutes to roll over because I'm so uncomfortable from sleeping on my sides.
   
3. The difficulty I have rolling over with an extra forty-three pounds (mostly in the belly area), sore hips, and sore ligaments or muscles or whatever they are on my inner thighs.
   
4. Getting out of bed every hour to go to the bathroom.
   
5. The feeling that I have to go to the bathroom every time I stand up.
   
6. The tired feeling I've been getting in my swollen legs from standing more than two minutes at a time.
   
7. The discomfort I have sitting down.
   
8. The effort it takes to get in and out of the recliner, which is currently the only semi-comfortable seating in the house for me.
9. The fatigue.
   
10. The heartburn.
    
11. The difficulties in digestion that occur from both pregnancy and taking antacids to combat the heartburn.
    
12. The full feeling I get after eating one-third of a meal.
    
13. The questions, comments, and speculations that every stranger has an undeniable urge to ask/make every time they see me.
    
14. The difficulty I have letting the dog out or feeding the dog and cat (getting up and down from the floor, bending over, etc.).
    
15. Waddling.
    

My husband would say I'm complaining right now. Despite all of the "complaints" (and I really don't see them as such, but since that's how other people interpret half of what I say, I guess they might be), I love the little kid (alien) growing inside me and think it's surreal that it'll be another little human being that I can hold in just a few short weeks. I have no idea what he/she will look like, act like, be like, but I'm excited to meet him/her and share this precious parenting experience with Al. So much so that I'm going to try not to be too much of a monster--err, complainer--during labor and delivery. But baby, if you hear your mommy saying things that I don't want you to hear during that time, just remember that I love you and you're not allowed to talk like that, ever. Well, unless you go through labor and delivery yourself someday.

Ugh. Try to go back to sleep now? Maybe...

lazy day

Today turned out much differently than I first anticipated: for the most part, it was a lazy day. I just felt kind-of "blah" and a little nauseous every time I stood up, so I just...didn't. Stand up much, that is. Of course, that excludes the five hundred times I had to climb in and out of that recliner--a d@&! hard thing to do these days--to let Mya in and out. She's so young still that it's hard to differentiate between a "Mommy, I really need to go out and pee" and a "Mommy, I want to play in the snow." And even an "I have to go out and pee" can turn into "Yipee! Play time" so that when she comes back in, she's back at the door saying, "Mommy, I forgot to pee and if I can't go out again I'll have to go on the carpet." I may have exaggerated with the five hundred times, but that's what it feels like--so much so that I've been wishing Al could have the next few weeks off of work in addition to the few weeks after the baby comes. (Well, technically he could; he has enough vacation time, but he doesn't want to lose the money. Vacation days only pay eight hours, and he works twelve hour shifts.)

So, yes. One of my first few days within the it-could-be-anytime-now mark was spent lounging in the recliner, and even trying to lie on my side on the couch (didn't help my swollen feet, though). I didn't go to the one-year-old's birthday party since the weather forecasts said we'd get the most snow fast and heavy between 3pm and 5pm, right around the time I'd be trying to get home--and may have ended up stuck in the neighborhoods (my friend's or mine) with my little Vibe and an inability to dig myself out. It was the first time that I remember actually opting not to go somewhere because I could get stuck in the snow. We get so much of it (and have all my life) that I usually don't think twice about leaving the house. Snow is snow, and there is (usually) a way through or around it. But the blah feeling plus the possibility of having to exert myself in the snow made me stay home. Turns out that I would have been fine, of course. That's okay. Instead I got to recline all day.

All day, that is, until this evening, when I did get ready and venture out into the snow. This was to meet up with several people from (of all times in my life) junior high and high school. I had seen a few of them since graduation--those that came to the five-year reunion--but some I hadn't seen since high school (or junior high, depending on when--and if--they left our tiny little private school for public school before graduating). I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I found it quite relaxing. And enjoyable. I love how those cliquie (is that a word? I'm going for clicky with clique) walls that seemed so important (or such barriers to a shy girl like I was) just sort-of go away when you're older and don't really care what people think of you any more. With us, it made for easy conversation and a good congeniality among everyone. Of course, the conversations that I ended up getting into all seemed to center on babies, labor and delivery, and children, as they all do these days. That's okay. Eventually people will find other things to talk to me about. And I did receive two predictions: "It's a boy. I can tell by the way you're carrying it," and "It's a girl. I can tell by the way you're carrying it." Hmm. Not sure that method of telling what gender my kid is is a very accurate one.

Tomorrow is another day closer, and perhaps a day in which I accomplish at least one task. But for now, I'm content with my lazy day. And since my swollen fingers can't take much more, I'll be signing off.

thirty-seven weeks

Thirty-seven weeks as of Wednesday. That means less than three weeks away from the official due date, but I refuse to count days instead of weeks--due dates are rarely accurate and I know I could go past the due date by as many as two weeks. And since doctors say that in the thirty-seventh week babies are full term, meaning they won't try to stop the labor if you start it, this also means that I could have the baby any time from here to five weeks from now. It's quite an overwhelming thought!

I had another routine doctor's appointment today, and I've gained another three pounds (in one week! and I feel like I'm barely eating since I get full so quickly) and another centimeter in my belly, putting me at thirty-eight centimeters, still one week ahead of "normal" measurements. He located the baby's heartbeat slightly to the left of my non-existent (or slightly outie, whichever you prefer) belly button this time, and nearly every other visit it's been on the right side. The doctor said that, plus the less frequent movements I'm feeling from the child, just means it's basically going to roll over (I think of it more as breakdancing, spinning on its head) from now until birth since its head is basically stuck (okay, resting) in my pelvis. And my swollen ankles, which were hurting me a little for the first time today? Still okay since my blood pressure's still great (114/70), and the only real relief I might have in the swelling will come from laying on my side as much as possible. I've already ruled that out during the day since my sides (hips) get sore enough during the night. My ankles aren't really painful, anyway. Just really big and a little bothersome. My next appointment will be next week Friday. That exam will be a little more invasive, from what I gather. Fun, fun, fun!

As you know, I'm spending my last few weeks/days as a mommy-to-be doing tasks that I don't want to have waiting around for me when baby is here. Today I took a break from tasks for my own baby and worked on the quilt top for the upcoming April addition to our family, my soon-to-be niece Lily Rae. It's turning out quite gorgeous--the top is done--but I won't picture it here since my sister Beth and I (she'll be doing the quilting and binding) don't want to spoil the "surprise" for Ryan (my brother) and Rachel (my sister-in-law). I will say that it's smaller than our other niece's and nephew's quilts since that's what Ryan requested. And that's all you're getting on that!

Tomorrow's activities won't involve much work on my end (at least for my baby) either. At least, I don't think they will. I want to do the back of Lily's quilt so I can hand it over to Beth either Saturday or Sunday. I'm supposed to go to my friend's child's first birthday party, but we're also supposed to be bombarded with snow tomorrow, so whether or not I actually show at the party will depend on if I can make it out of the driveway and neighborhood without getting my little Vibe stuck in the snow. I'm also going to a gathering of high school friends, some of whom I haven't seen since high school, tomorrow night. I'll make it there regardless of the snow; I'll just have Al drive me in the truck if I can't make it in my Vibe. Then Sunday through Wednesday Al should be home, so we'll get a lot of work done on the house then--but I'm going to reserve time for a movie date with him on Tuesday or Wednesday if it kills us! We've been trying to go to the movies forever (and I don't care what I see, as long as I can sit in the dark, watch a huge screen, drink soda and eat movie theater popcorn soaked in butter) and I'd like to get one in before baby comes. It could be months before my next chance if I don't!

And now to wind down for the night...if only I could have a Bailey's...or even a beer...

me tired

I am so tired and sore tonight. Perhaps I should have gone to bed earlier (I'll end up in bed around 10:45ish), but I wanted to finish the curtains for the baby's room. They're modeled after our bedroom curtains, which I bought from Pottery Barn. I'm not sure how my curtains turned out yet. I'll know better how I feel about them when they're hung, but Al still has to put up the curtain rod. Guess I'll know next week!

I didn't think making curtains--which, besides puppy training, was all I did today--would (a) take so long; (b) take so much out of me; or (c) make my back so sore. But it did. Thus my bad grammar in the title.

Puppy training was interesting, and probably the highlight of Al's day. One of the puppies in our class belongs to Detroit Lion Dwight Smith, but his wife's been bringing the puppy in every week. Smith showed up to class today, though. Of course, no one let on that they knew he was one of the Lions; the most Al did was ask our trainer his name. And the most we heard out of him was "Hush!" every few seconds (their dog has a serious barking problem). But still, a brush with Detroit sports fame, just like it used to be when Nick Lidstrom would show up to eat where we went to breakfast. The only people that would make a big deal then were the owners, who wouldn't charge him for breakfast (like he, out of anyone, needed a free breakfast).

What else? Mya's doing very good at training (except those psycho moments at night or in the backyard); Serena's been eating a little again; I'm hoping to see Noah tomorrow. That's all. Going to bed.

unexpected reprieve

Today, the first day of my thirty-seventh week of pregnancy (eek! That means today's the last day I can say that I still have three weeks til the baby's due!), has turned out a bit differently than expected. First of all, I got out of the shower to hear my phone ringing. It was my doctor's office calling to tell me the doctor wouldn't be in this morning and asking me to reschedule. I did (for Friday), and it was both a relief and a letdown all at once. A relief since it meant I didn't have to leave the house today (two days in a row! that never happens anymore), but a letdown because I wanted to know what the doc thought about the results of Saturday's ultrasound, among other things. Now I'll have to wait (we all know I'm not good at that!).

Moving the doctor's appointment to Friday meant that I had to cancel my physical therapy for that day. I called up to tell them and got some great news: the therapist that was pregnant had her baby yesterday! It was a girl. It was fun to hear since she was only three weeks ahead of me, didn't know what she was having, and we ended up swapping stories and comparing experiences for all of December and January. It also reminded me that my other friends, Christan and Jason (they live in Tennessee), were being induced today in hopes that their first girl would be born. It's just babies all around in my world!

Since I had a day at home, I went ahead and did some work but paid more attention to how long I was spending on my feet. (Hence the posting; I'm forcing myself to sit still for a while.) I finished the final poly coat on the trim for the baby's room, so Al will be able to put that up sometime between Saturday and Wednesday, the days (as far as I know) he has off this week. I also worked on clearing off the kitchen counter and table. Doesn't sound like much, but with stuff piled a foot high on the table and almost as high on the counter--stuff that we didn't own before the baby shower and that didn't have its own place yet--it's quite a feat. And more laundry (which led to more flooding--ugh!) and a few phone calls: the pediatrician we hope to get (call after the baby's born and see if she's available since she doesn't do visits at our hospital); American Express (to tell them we updated our Costco membership); Babies R Us (now the dresser's expected in this week--or maybe next, or maybe the week after that--ugh again!). And I downloaded one friend's suggestion for baby hymns, a Praise Baby cd, but am still looking around for the other ones (I'm so dependent on iTunes it's ridiculous...I realized I don't have a cd player to put in the baby's room unless I use my portable dvd player!).

I'm a bit bummed that there's nothing on television tonight that I'm interested in since it means that Al will be flipping through the channels before he goes to hockey (leaving me a hockey widow between the hours of 10 pm and, oh, who knows, 1 am? once again). Flipping drives me insane, especially when he does it because he flips so fast it's impossible to tell what's on anyway. And he always passes things I would stop on and watches things I have no interest in. Or watches America's Funniest Home Videos for the seven-hundredth time. But at least I'll have a couple of hours with him before he leaves, which makes me happy. As I frequently remind him, it's not easy having a husband who works twelve-hour shifts and then goes out to play hockey and hit the bar (usually at least a three to five hour process, depending on how late/early the game is) for the rest of the evening. I'm one of those people who craves my husband's attention. He's one of those people whom, for the first several years I was dating him, would only reserve one night a week (Saturday) for me. And then I was away at school during our engagement and the first several months of our marriage, so he's slow to learn that, for the sake of my emotional well-being, he needs to make a few, er, adjustments. Especially since there's a baby on the way. (Can we cut hockey to one night a week, please?)

Now that I've bored you with the details of my day and gotten carried off on a tangent about various ways my husband drives me crazy (but remember--i love my husband!), I'll let you go. Until tomorrow...

the tortoise and the hare

Yesterday and today I made some progress toward preparing for baby, but I still feel like I'm in a race against time. In this race, I'm the tortoise (slow, prodding, big) and time (and the baby, of course) is the hare. Who will win? Mommy-to-be, who's trying to get the house ready in time for baby, or baby and time, who are supposed to take about three weeks from tomorrow to finish the race but could finish early or late? We'll see!

Yesterday I finally finished cleaning our bigger (and less frequently used) bathroom and making room for baby in it. This sounds like a small task, but with six drawers and two under-the-sink cupboards--half of which hadn't been touched/sorted through in the last twelve years (Al's)--it took a while. Of course, this also had something to do with the forty-some-pound puppy laying down behind my feet and tripping me up every time I turned around and the slow movements my body and brain make these days. But I managed to make room for baby's bathtub and accessories and baby's bathing products with room to spare as supplies grow. I even made room in the linen closet for baby's washcloths (plentiful) and towels (two). And then cleaned the gargantuan mirrors (the walls behind and beside the sinks are covered with them, ceiling to countertop), the counters and sinks, the toilet, and the floors (they were covered with dog hair). The only thing I didn't tackle was the bathtub, since it's a bit hard for me to bend over or sit on my knees these days. It took me all morning, but I felt accomplished. My small goal for the day was done. (Good thing, too, because between that and physical therapy, it wiped me out.)

Today I accomplished a few other small goals: I did some laundry, even carrying the baskets up and down the stairs by myself (it's hard because my belly is in the way; I either have to carry the basket at shoulder level so I fit down the stairs or be very, very uncomfortable and keep my arms extended enough so the basket doesn't bump against my belly, which is becoming more and more sensitive to the touch these days). I also put the second poly coat on the trim (yeah, I'm behind my original goals on this) and the first coat of stain/poly on the few pieces of the changing table that Al has sanded and on the unfinished hamper for which we registered. I started in on the kitchen (cleaning, getting rid of the piles and piles of stuff that are driving me crazy), but realized that I hadn't taken enough small sit down, put my feet up and nap breaks during the day when my back and legs started aching. I ended up sitting in the recliner with a heating pad on my back by the time Al came home and had to instruct him in preparing dinner (tacos). He did pretty good, chopping the lettuce and tomatoes nicely, browning the meat, and only adding one extra cup of water to the meat when he added the taco seasoning (Al: I don't think this water is ever going to go away. Me, knowing he used the glass measure: Did you only put 2/3 cup in, or did you add 1 2/3 cup? Al, looking at the glass measure and laughing: Oops. 1 2/3.)

After dinner, Al got on a cleaning kick too, making me feel bad for sitting around: needing to take out the garbage, he also broke down the big boxes we've managed to accumulate (at least the opened ones) and then got out the vacuum and vacuumed the entire house (nice, since the dog hair was everywhere and has been on my to-do list for days). He got a bit touchy when I asked him to get the sheets down (I can't reach them) and help me make the bed (the mattress rests inside the bedframe, making it difficult for me to put on the fitted sheet since you have to lift the mattress to do so) and I pointed out that he was putting the fitted sheet on inside out. Other than that, it was a fast and pleasant evening. I'm going to bed feeling tired, sore, yet accomplished. Another day gone and--wow--baby is approaching fast.

easter candy

I grew up in what some would consider an odd home--odd for a Christian home, that is. Odd because we didn't celebrate the two biggest Christian holidays--Christmas and Easter--let alone pagan holidays like Halloween (and my parents were serious about the "pagan"--historically). My parents had their reasons: Santa Claus; the Easter Bunny; my uncle and aunt, to whom they were very close (they didn't celebrate either). But one thing my mom always did for me around this time of year, all the way up to last year, was buy me Cadbury creme eggs.

Cadbury creme eggs are my favorite Easter candy. Actually, they're really the only Easter candy I eat. But I easily eat more than a dozen in an Easter season (from the time they start selling them to the time they go on clearance, after Easter). And mom always made sure to buy me at least one four-pack during that time, even after I went away to school--she'd mail them to me. That helped the first year, especially, when I started to panic (alright, maybe panic is a bit too strong, but you get the idea) because I couldn't find them in the grocery stores in that middle-of-nowhere city and state. (I think I eventually found them at Target, but they didn't start carrying them as early as I had hoped.) I don't remember when the tradition started, but I do remember mom buying them every year, just like she bought my sister Peeps. It's a little thing she did that I doubt dad knew anything about.

Today I went into a drugstore to buy Twix PB, which I've been craving this last trimester of my pregnancy. They had just about every other candy known to man, but no Twix PB. I almost walked out in disappointment, but then I realized they had the Easter displays up. When I saw the Cadbury creme eggs, I thought of mom. I bought two boxes instead of the usual one I would pick up, thinking of her. I'll eat them, of course; it's just a bit sad that I'll be buying all of my Easter candy for myself this year. I'll have to find something special my kid(s) loves and buy it every year for him/her and keep mom's tradition alive.

i love my husband

On October 21, 1999, I was excited. Practically giddy. I worked for a public company that set goals for its stock prices, and when it hit the goals it threw huge parties for its employees. And I do mean huge. Dancing, drinking (free), cash grabs, raffles (free) for various expensive products, etc. And that night was the night of another stock party. I couldn't wait to leave work early (another perk of the party) to get there.

I was prepared: I had notified my technical editing professor (now a good friend and mentor) that I would be skipping class to attend a party. She didn't approve, but since I hadn't missed any classes yet and assured her I wouldn't go over the absence limit (which I didn't), she couldn't really do anything about it. I was decked out in my favorite black pants and button-down, v-neck cobalt blue shirt (Al remembered this, not me) and ready to party. The funny thing was, at these parties I tended not to hang out with everyone from the accounting department, which I worked in as a collector. Correct that: anyone from the accounting department. I "floated," I guess you could put it, meeting new people and going from group to group, just having fun. In this way I met a lot of people from the plant (it was a printing company) and tended to have more in common--and more fun--with them than I did with my office colleagues. And I was looking forward to it. Really looking forward to it.

I don't remember many specifics about that night (it was almost ten years ago, now). I do remember being slightly disappointed in the party--it wasn't as good as many previous parties, and the venue and theme had a lot to do with it. The venue, a local cultural center at which many people have wedding receptions, just seemed too familiar to be grand enough for a stock party. And the theme--at least, in the dance hall, which is really all I remember--was swing dancing. I was into swing dancing just like almost anyone else at the end of the nineties and could (with the right partner) dance the basic moves fairly well. But I was also going on four months without having heard from my best friend and first true love (and at this point I can't help channeling The Princess Bride--"Love, true love"). The connection? He was a dancer--a professional dancer--and I had learned how to swing dance from him. At this point, I knew the non-communication was deliberate, although not why (later I learned it was because he had decided he needed to choose between me and another girl; he chose her and couldn't be around me for fear of confusion, temptation, etc.). I had given up on trying to keep him in my life, but wasn't too thrilled with the reminder at the party.

Anyway. At one point during the party, I was standing by myself when my friend Bob the maintenance man came up to me. He had a friend with him and introduced him. We chatted a few minutes and then went our separate ways, and I imagine I floated amongst people I knew and strangers until the end of the party, around 11 pm. At that point, I found myself standing near the doors wishing the party wasn't quite over. Then I spied him: Bob's friend.

"What's your name again?" I asked.

"Albert," he replied.

"No it's not. I would have remembered that."

"It's Alan," he said. Then, somehow, invited me to come out to a local bar with him and a bunch of his friends. I happened to know that a friend of mine, Paulie, was going to be there and thought, If this guy's a jerk, I'll just go find Paulie. Then Alan asked me to drive (he'd been drinking a bit too much) and said that his friend would drive his car to the bar. And off we went.

The bar later became a favorite of ours because a local cover band we loved played there weekly. Bob and the friend that drove the car (and their wives, who came along later) became some of our closest friends (well, they were already good friends with Al), and Alan later became my husband (finally, in June 2007). We have been together since that very first night, and many times I'm amazed that he's stayed with me that long (I've had some emotional, er, difficulties that involved many tears, tirades, a therapist, etc.). I somehow managed to find the sweetest, most patient man in the world to marry. The perfect man for me, as I always tell my former professor. She's since forgiven me for skipping her class that night.

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...

the big 4-0

Today was Al's 40th birthday and it ended up being a great day. We started off with breakfast at Kerby's (our usual coney island joint) and I had to laugh as I sat down. We go there at least once a week, and this week I ended up touching. Touching what? My belly touched the table when I sat down in the booth. They are fixed booths and tables, so there was no way I could push the table away from me and towards Al. One of the waitresses came over and said, "I saw that!" It turns out that she and two other waitresses are pregnant too, two months and four months behind me. They're barely showing (I couldn't tell until she told me), but it turns out they've been closely watching my progress every time we come in. By next week, we may need a table--or, the waitress suggested, I could try sitting in the booth sideways! (I don't know if my hips would fit, either, though, since I'm a bit bigger than she is--she said that's what she did when she was pregnant with her first.)

When we arrived home, we both got to work. Well, Al right away, me after a while. He cut the trim for the baseboards in the baby's room and I played on the computer for a while before making the cushions for the momma rocking chair that will go in the baby's room. Since it pretty much looks the same as the baby rocking chair, I'll wait until I have pics of the room before posting those. Al also walked and bathed Mya, two of the many chores he's taken over for me since I became pregnant (including cleaning kitty litter, heavy lifting, etc.). Before we knew it, it was time to superparty! (Sorry, couldn't resist. Common word heard among Al and some of our friends.)

We headed to a favorite local restaurant/bar and arrived about 4:30. I had made reservations for 20-25 people, telling the restaurant that our friends were the type of crowd that would probably not all arrive at once. They gave us two tables for ten way in the back corner, which was perfect since most people (probably closer to 35-40 in the end) ended up standing instead of sitting most of the time. Almost every single one of our in-town friends made it, and between the socialization, the gag gifts, and the food and drinks we all had a blast. There was quite a contrast between our 40th celebration and the one right next to us--seats for at least twenty there, but half of their guests were tweeners and the other half were seniors, and they all sat politely, ate dinner, and watched our group in amazement (perhaps horror?). The noise, the joviality--all just part and parcel for us. And fun. For more pics, click here.

On the way back home, the first song on the radio was "Maybe I'm Amazed" by Paul McCartney. Al, who isn't much for romance or sentiment (that's me), turned up the radio and said, "If I could sing, I would sing this song for you." It was so sweet. He admitted, "I don't know all of the words, just a couple of them--it's not a bad song, is it?" :) I love my husband so much, and he reminded me several times over the next couple of hours that he loves me, too (lucky me!). I'm glad he had a great 40th birthday, and for those of you who helped make it happen, thanks!

floored

Guess what? Al got the floor done today! (That's the baby's room hardwood floor, in case you're wondering.) I can't show you pics just yet, since it's kind-of a mess in there--tools everywhere, some smaller pieces shimmying the final board, which was partially glued, partially nailed down in place--but soon. I promise. I'm so excited!

Let's see, what else? I decided it was time to not worry about wasting time and spent quite a bit of time on the computer this morning (too many "times" in one sentence, but I'm in a not caring mood right now). Then I spent two hours cleaning out drawers and cupboards in my bathroom trying to make room for baby supplies--shampoos, powders, the bathing center, etc. I only got halfway through since I move quite a bit slower than usual with this thirty-eight pound addition to my belly (that's how much I've gained so far--officially three pounds over the recommended twenty-five to thirty-five weight gain, but I'm not worried about that, either). I took another trip to JoAnn's (this time for cushion padding for my own rocking chair) and the cashier predicted I would give birth early and said she'd be praying for me. Everyone has an opinion when you're pregnant; not everyone offers prayers (especially strangers), so that was nice (even if she forgets to follow up on it). I went to physical therapy where they all laugh at and make fun of me (good-naturedly, of course, so I don't mind--it would be kind of funny to see a prego my size trying to exercise), then I went to Target to pick up a curtain rod for the baby's closet, some snack items, cake mix for Al's birthday cake (his 40th is tomorrow!), and CheezIts for dog training treats. I forgot the CheezIts. By the time I got home, Al was on his way home from a day of overtime.

Al arrived home with CheezIts and a 40. I tried to get him to go to his nephew's basketball game--very generous of me since it would have been the second one this week--but he would have none of it. He wanted to finish the floor (and believe me, I'm glad he did!). The only problem was I wanted to surprise him with a birthday cake, and that's really hard to do when the person you're making it for is in the house. I tried and was unsuccessful. He walked out while I was pouring the batter into the cake pans, something you can't stop mid-activity. Oh, well. We have a cake at the ready for tomorrow, and I told him I won't make him any more cookies until he eats his birthday cake (I'm a meany, but I made a kind that he likes and if I make cookies he'll just eat those instead since they're easier to grab). So that was my day in a nutshell. I didn't get to my goal of making the cushions for the adult rocking chair, but there's always tomorrow! I have several hours before Al's birthday party...

oops...postscript
I almost forgot to update you on Noah's jaundice. I was right; he didn't have low bilirubin counts, they were high. As of earlier this evening, his count was down to 14 (from what, I'm not sure) and that was much better than before. However, the doctors would like to get it down to 12 and stabilized before sending him home, so he'll be spending another night in NICU (unless he does get down that low, and then they'll move him to another ward). Daddy (Erik) says he looks much better, seems to love being under the lights, and should come home either tomorrow or Sunday. Both mom and dad are relieved and have been holding it together (although Erik says both of them have had their moments, too), probably much better than I would have. Thank you for your prayers!

bits and pieces

At thirty-five weeks pregnant, I can expected to have at least one tirade or mental breakdown a day, and I'm assured that's normal. (See? Now anyone reading this blog wondering if it is can have reassurance.) Today I had one of each: a breakdown in the early morning hours due to the fact that I woke up (for probably the fiftieth time that night) with every muscle in my body aching and a raw throat. I've been stuffed up for weeks, but last night it decided to start draining into my throat for some reason. That, combined with the dry air I had to breathe in through my mouth, made me miserable. I got up early and went to the recliner, trying to sleep in a sitting position. This was slightly better and I got to spend time with my cat--a rare occurrence since the puppy chases her every time she comes out--until my husband let the dog out and immediately started getting frustrated with her for all of the puppy love (nipping, jumping, etc.) that she was giving him. So much for resting. My tirade was at the end of the evening and involved strangers at the door asking for money; Al letting them in while I was hiding behind the door (I hate answering the door to strangers, and at the time I wasn't wearing a bra, which is always quite obvious with me); a very embarrassing, messy house; and Al giving away money we really can't afford for some cause that may or may not be legit. Enough said.

Al and I both had high hopes for getting the flooring and more done in the baby's room today, but it just didn't work out. After our eye doctor's appointments (they lasted an hour and a half!), we tried heading to the Secretary of State to get Al's driver's license and tabs renewed. Their computers were down. In every SOS in the state. Beautiful. Next, we headed to city hall to pay our taxes (for some reason, my husband has an aversion to both renewing his license/tabs by mail and paying the taxes by mail). When we finally got home, we had about an hour before we needed to head out again to puppy training. Mya did very good, got very tired, and wouldn't listen to us the minute we walked out the door, of course. We came home again and Al went online, found out that the SOS was up and running again, and went out again. I started sewing and finished the crib bumper I've been making (I also registered for a spare; we have a kind-of interchangeable theme going on for the room). I'll show you pics of that when I can actually put it in the crib, which is still in a box in the living room. Al, in the meantime, went between coming home, running out (nails!), coming home, laying two of the four remaining rows of hardwood, blowing the power, giving away our money, and leaving to play floor hockey.

After I finished the crib bumper, it was becoming quite obvious that Al wasn't going to get the floor done today as I had hoped. I really, really want to start putting the baby's room together and have my moments of Oh my gosh, I'm freaking out, there's so much to do and I can't control any of it and what if the baby comes before it's done because I'm not a normal mom that wants her baby by her side at all times and plan on using the crib right away, because who would want a dog in a crate, a cat, a husband, and a baby in her bed? every once in a while again. So even though I couldn't put the crib together or start hauling stuff from our living room (where I'm afraid it is doomed to remain forever) to the kid's room, I kept working on what I could do even before getting that room back: making cushions for the kid's rocking chair. That's what you see pictured here. The chair was a gift to me when I was a child (from my grandparents, I believe, but I can't be certain; mom didn't write it down in my baby book) and now it's being passed to my own child. The original cushions were long gone and the ones my mom tried to replace them with were icky--crumbling and covered with pillowcases that were pinned on. So I bought new cushions and made the red cushion covers. I'm quite proud of myself since I even sewed zippers into the covers (I've never done that before) and did it all without a pattern. My goal for tomorrow is to start working on matching cushions for the adult rocking chair we bought off of craigslist so that I can be comfy, too.

I've been putting off the bad news until the end. My new nephew, Noah, is back in the hospital all alone tonight getting a blood transfusion. Erik and Meaghan took him to the pediatrician they didn't like yesterday, and she discovered that his bilirubin levels were very low (at least, that's what my dad said; from what I read, they might have been very high). She sent them to the hospital where he spent some time in the NICU under the lights. Since there was only a small, uncomfortable waiting room for parents, Erik and Meaghan decided to come home and get some well-needed rest before heading back after breakfast tomorrow morning. They won't be able to take him home until tomorrow evening at the earliest, but they seem reassured that he should be okay. All we can do is keep praying! I'm proud of my brother and sister-in-law for handling it all so calmly. I think I might be freaking out a bit, even though this is fairly common in newborns.

That's all the bits and pieces for today. But stay tuned...I'll keep you posted!