Brenda currently lives in Stoneham MA, but grew up in Mineral WA. She is surrounded by men, with two sons, one husband and two boy cats. She plays trumpet at church, cans farmshare produce and works in software.
Thane wakes up at about 9 pm. He’s five days old, so it’s hard to say “every night” but this has been true for the last three nights — or more than half his life. He then proceeds to spend the next 10 or so hours awake and *fussy*. Awake is not bad. But last night, I couldn’t get him to be happy unless my boobs were in his mouth.
The first night was miserable. The second night wasn’t fun at all. Last night we planned for him not to sleep, and acted accordingly. Instead of trying to lay him in his crib and sneak back to bed, only the be pulled back out of it just as I was snuggling under the covers, I took him downstairs and watched Dirty Jobs and Black Adder. I took a double shift — from 10 – 2. My MIL took the next shift (2 until about 4 — which last night was three hours). A. took the final shift. Of course, I nursed Thane at every “shift change”. I thought it worked well. I think I’ll watch Stardust tonight.
My boobs are terribly sore — the left one in particular is rather cracked and bleedy. I think Thane is latching fine now, but they took damage early on. And let’s be honest, nursing for basically four hours straight isn’t going to do them any favors.
Thane sleeps through the day. Sub-optimal. It will be fine as long as they’re three of us who can pull these shifts, but if I don’t get him at least partially diurnal before my inlaws leave and my husband goes back to work, I’m in deep doo-doo.
Other than that, things are going well! Grey is still having trouble, but he is often a joy. The other times he’s a fit-throwing melty-boy. A. and Grey went to church this morning. My inlaws are a big help. (I really do have a great relationship with them — I know how lucky I am!) I’m feeling almost completely healed. It’s amazing how much better, stronger, more flexible I feel than I did a week ago!
I was less ruthless than normal in my weeding out process, in part because I’m short on time and in part because… well, what the heck. He’s a beautiful kid and so is his big brother!
(Note that you can click on the image to see a higher resolution/larger version of the picture.)
Where to start? My keyboard decided to suddenly have three letters not work. I’m 10 months pregnant. My hormones…. OMG my hormones. I’m not sleeping. I have a three year old who is a great kid but, let’s face it, three. And I am kinda at least a little sick.
None of these are dire, drastic, horrible things. These are what we like to call “annoyances”.
So I went in to my midwife appointment. I spent my usual 5 – 10 minutes HATING the daytime tv they have on with strict notes that we patients are not to touch it. I am subjected to a woman who hates her facial hair and a serious discussion of which kind of nose job is better.
Then I go into the room and don’t really like what the scale says and the nurse-person has trouble taking my blood pressure, as usual. I wait the standard 5 more minutes with a piece of paper across my legs, reading an article in a parenting magazine. It is about a problem I do not have and will never have.
My midwife comes in. I like her, I do. But she has HAD IT. She was in an accident on Friday and no one in the office even asked how she was doing and she came in and the phone calls were stacked high and instead of concern they just told her that people were waiting for her already and when she asked for time off they talked about how it would affect her numbers for the month… in the course of our 15 minute exam, she broke into tears three times. Dammit, I’m the hormonal pregnant woman here! Her staff really do probably not give her much support or nurturing. They’re the sort of “It’s 5 so I’m leaving” types who are all about just meeting their obligations and not noticing what other people need. (In fairness, they’re also pretty efficient.) Her corporate structure (she’s part of a huge organization) is totally failing, because someone in her chain of command should have noticed that she’s really struggling with what’s being asked of her and taken some steps to find ways to address it — just as a good management technique. And she really needs to do a better job of managing her own stress. Maybe she should have the conversation with her staff about how they’re not being supportive — or her boss. Not her 40 week and one day patient who happens to be a good listener.
Oh, and do you remember when she did the pelvic exam at 36 weeks and I was 1 cm dilated and 90% effaced and I told all y’all not to get excited? According to today’s pelvic exam, all the contractions I’ve been having have accomplished…. absolutely nothing. In fact, she said I was 1 cm dilated and 80% effaced. (I suspect the effacement numbers are rather subjective.) So yeah. They haven’t done anything. I’m at exactly the same spot I was a month ago and there is no sign that I’m going to give birth any time soon. I think she didn’t strip my membranes because I wasn’t “ripe” enough. (Although I am having the fun of crampiness and discomfort, so maybe she did strip ’em and it just hurt less than last time.)
At least the baby is at -1. (That means his head really is in the birth canal — ready to go. See also: I have to spread my legs in order to bend down.)
She decides not to send me in for an NST because the heart rate is fine and I’m not looking imminent and there’s no reason to think there’s anything wrong. There really isn’t.
So I decide on some retail therapy. There’s a Linens ‘N Things going out of business right across the street. Surely I can find something I need on sale. Or at least can find a roundabout way of justifying purchasing.
The sale sucks. The prices are all way more than I’m willing to spend. 10% off is not a great sale.
Then I go to Staples. At least I can get a new keyboard.
They don’t sell the split keyboards I use anymore — they only have these weird humpy very expensive keyboards now. While I probably could expense it, why pay more for something I like less? I notice they have also stopped making/selling the mouse I like.
I fail retail therapy. FAIL.
I should probably focus on the bit where everything looks fine with my baby and even in a worst case I only have to work for another 4 days and maybe one of these days I actually will give birth and my husband and I are both gainfully employed and we have no risk of losing the house and my son is adorable and healthy. These are all true and good things.
In the Bible, whenever they want to express “a really long time” they use the number 40. 40 days for Noah’s flood. 40 years (I think) the Israelites wandered in the desert. 40 days Jesus spent being tempted by the devil.
And 40 weeks shall a woman be with child.
In this case, a child who has the hiccups again.
So here I am at 40 weeks and a day. I’ve spent the last, oh, three or four weeks knowing that I could give birth at ANY TIME. Having constant contractions hasn’t helped me forget that either. The room is ready. The laundry is mostly done. The projects at work that I needed to do are done. I have plans in place. My social calendar is notably bare.
OK, Grey’s Halloween costume isn’t done yet, but did you really think it would be?
We’re ready to go here! Any time! Yup! Ready! Still ready! We’re at the point where everywhere I go people ask me, “Are you still here?” I suppose my only saving grace is that I really don’t look TEN PLUS MONTHS pregnant. No, I only look about 7 or 8 months gravid. Lies, damn lies and statistics.
It’s hard to stay ready this long.
For me, too, it’s hard knowing that while I’m OVERDUE, based on the family history I’ve been nattering on about for the last 7 or so months, I’m still not as likely to have the baby, say, today as I am say, Sunday. Or a week Sunday, if this baby follows his brother’s lead. It may not seem like a long time to stay ready and waiting, but it is.
It’s especially hard because I’m not feeling really well any more. I’m not sleeping well. I have trouble falling asleep and I have trouble staying asleep. This is NOT NORMAL for me. Yesterday I got my hopes up because I was nauseous and crampy. Turns out I was just nauseous and crampy. I’m having these very odd pains in my back, as though the muscles up and branching out from my spine periodically catch on fire. It takes my breath away with pain. I am an old hand at back pain, but I’ve never experienced this particular kind of back pain before.
I find myself fantasizing about Ibuprofen.
In the very near future I will, once again, present myself at my midwife’s office. She will strip my membranes this time around (probably). She will likely send me to the hospital for a non-stress test. There will likely be at least one misunderstanding with a hospital staff person where they assume I’m there to be induced, being post due and all. I will at some point tonight get my hopes up that THIS IS IT. And it probably won’t be it.
I wonder how many more times I can write about being READY ALREADY. I was going to say, how many more times I could write about it and be entertaining, but I suddenly realize that it’s possibly too late to accomplish the goal of “not annoying all four of my readers”.
It’s rather mentally all-encompassing, this 40 weeks pregnant thing — especially as most of my other interests have been shelved for the time being. The state of mental readiness is tiring to maintain. I notice this morning, for example, that I seem to have forgotten that there will be a BABY as a result of the eventually-coming labor. I’m so focused on when when when that the what is obscured.
I digress back to pregnancy. See how hard this is?
We have two cats: Magic and Justice. They’re both about 8 – 9 years old. (They’re rescues, so we’re not sure of their age.) Magic is a fat, lazy, happy cat whose favorite things involve sleeping, eating, and sleeping. She’s an indoor-only cat because she’s perfectly happy being an indoor-only cat.
Justice is the friendliest dog you’ve ever met, trapped in a cat’s body. He LOVES people. He LOVES adventure. He loves attention. He will walk up to complete strangers and demand scritches. He will purr at the drop of a hat. Everyone loves Justice. He’s in the middle of every party, making friends.
About a year ago, we decided to transition Justice from being 100% indoor to being an indoor/outdoor cat. We’re aware that this reduces his life expectancy, but we’re willing to exchange that for quality of life. I think he would make the same choice if he were capable of doign so. He was miserable and making us miserable being indoor all day. Now he smugly waits for us at the front porch when we come home at night, tired from his escapades. He’s much, much happier getting to play outside. He actually loves to go on walks with us and will follow us for blocks and blocks.
We try to be responsible pet owners, though. We got him chipped and signed him up for one of those pet recovery services and he has his vaccinations in order and a bunch of collars and tags.
That darn cat gets called in ALL THE TIME. I tried putting his address on his collar so that people nearby would see his collar and notice that he’s like 2 blocks from home — he doesn’t usually wander far. There are a goodly number of outdoor cats in our neighborhood — I know about 5 by sight — so it’s not like it simply isn’t done or he’s the only one. And our neighborhood is relatively cat-safe. But at least once a month someone reports him lost — usually within 3 blocks of the house. (Our old neighbors actually had toys and treats for him — he used to invite himself in to their houses when he got bored.)
Saturday it happened again. We identified that he was less than two blocks away. We asked them to just let him out. They said they weren’t comfortable with that. After all, he was pregnant and declawed. (Um, no HE’S not pregnant. And no, he’s not declawed. As a matter of fact, he’s an alarmingly efficient hunter as several squirrels in the area have learned the hard way.) So we walk the short way to retrieve him. And the woman just GRILLS us about the cat. Why wouldn’t he eat her shrimp? (Don’t feed him that! He’s on a special, very expensive diet to try to prevent bladder stones. And shrimp? Ew!) He probably wouldn’t eat her shrimp because he WASN’T HUNGRY having already been fed. Were we planning on keeping him? Yes we were? Were we going to put him down? Uh, no. What part of the well-cared-for, slightly fat, double collared, prescription-dieted, microchipped bit indicated that we are unwilling to care for him? Were we sure we wanted to keep him? (This whole time she has a death-grip on him standing behind her screen door.)
I looked at my husband. This was our big chance! But of course we want to keep him.
But light was shed. She was hoping no one would claim him, or she could talk us into giving him up. I do understand — he’s a great cat. But really, she probably doesn’t want him. He’s also a VERY EXPENSIVE cat. Those bladder stones? You don’t want to know.
He followed us home.
This week, both cats had their vet appointments. Justice, our usual money-sink, only required the standard $100 of cat food and $100 of vaccinations. But it turns out that Magic has gingivitis. For which she needs a tooth cleaning. For which they need to sedate her. For which they need to do preparatory blood tests. Do you hear the sound of money exchanging hands? I do.
Ah, the joys of pet ownership!
Justice investigates a strange interloper about 3 years ago
A popular definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.
According to this definition, I really will be pregnant forever.
I’ve had lots and lots of contractions this pregnancy. I swear the contractions started before I started feeling fetal movement. I get contractions nearly every time I stand up. Walking up or down stairs (and I live in a 3 stairway house) is almost guaranteed to initiate contractions. Pretty much every afternoon I start getting contractions, and they are worst while I’m getting dinner on the table. By the time I sit down for dinner (nearly every day this week) I’m mentally packing my hospital bag.
Then they go away. I go to sleep. I wake up the next morning, still very very pregnant and feeling slightly foolish about the night before.
You see where I’m going with this?
SOMETIME in the next, uh, 18 days those contractions will actually be for real. And they will be going somewhere. And I just know that by then I’ll have subconsciously learned my lesson and completely stopped paying attention to the damn things. By the time labor pains get truly unambiguous, it’s really pretty late in the process. With Grey, labor was only for-darn-sure maybe 3 – 4 hours before he was actually born. And second babies come sooner. And this time around, we have to get someone to be with Grey while we’re gallavanting off to the hospital, so we NEED the time more.
So every night, when I get the contractions, I think of saying, “Oh, here we go again.” And then I think, “But what if this IS the night?”
Insanity.
In other pressing, important, critically interesting news, I decided yesterday that something had to give. Something simply HAD to change.
My hair was pregnancy-thick and just past shoulder length. It was heavy enough to laugh off most barrettes and hair bands, but too short to braid.
Now, it is much shorter and rather more layered. I don’t think this is my Platonic Ideal of a haircut. I dare say it looks a touch too mommyish. (What? Just because I have a 3 year old and am 18 months pregnant doesn’t mean I have to THINK of myself as mommyish.) But it is also a vast improvement over what came before.
I promise you are not as disappointed by this as I am. (I’d forgotten that about this stage of pregnancy not only do people get *really excited* when you call them, but if you — heaven forfend — do NOT contact them they get all excited.) But no. Still pregnant.
I do, however, have significantly less hair than I did this morning. I just washed it, and I’ll let you know tomorrow if I like it. But it needed to be done — I couldn’t do anything with it but put it back and it failed to please me. To the headsman! Or the stylist! Pictures will be forthcoming.
One of my cats has gingivitis. Let me tell you how excited I am about paying for full anesthesia for appropriate dental care. I increasingly suspect these two felines are the last freeloaders I’m going to have for quite some time.
These and other FASCINATING events are the substance of my life. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some terribly exciting things to do. Like pay bills.
I once again got through an exam ungroped. Next exam will make up for it.
My belly has apparently gotten smaller — I measure 34 cm. So basically, I look 7 months pregnant, not nearly 10. This seems true — I really don’t look nearly as pregnant as I am, and not as pregnant as I did a few weeks ago. I think this is because my son is SO LOW that he’s not actually all the way IN my belly. I would be more worried if we didn’t have a recent ultrasound pointing to a very reasonable size.
His heartbeat was 160. This is high for him (he likes 144) and the high end of normal. I would be more worried if I hadn’t eaten 3 cookies on my way to the doctor’s office.
He’s moving less than he used to. I’m pretty sure this is because he’s so low/engaged (his head is stuck, so he can’t do the wild gyrations he was doing a few weeks ago). Also, moving LESS than he used to still more than meets the criteria for moving several times an hour. It’s just less vigorous. And he still loves his 11 pm workout.
As far as future planning goes, at my next appointment on Monday I’ll be officially post-due. We’re planning on having her strip my membranes then. (No, still not going to explain what that is. You can look it up.) She is operating on the assumption that it’s likely to work. I’m operating on the assumption that I’ll be going nuts and happy to try relatively non-interventionist methods of inducing labor. (See also: lobster bisque, chocolate, marital relations, raspberry tea). I’ll probably go in for a non-stress test on Monday too, just to make sure everything’s ok.
Turns out she’s going on vacation November 4th. ARGH! NO PRESSURE!
I also negotiated ahead of time for getting to wait until the 10th before being induced (instead of the 7th). She says that as long as the non-stress tests are ok, and given the family history I’ve harped on constantly (she complains about their computer systems, I never pass up an opportunity to point out how late I’m likely to go), that should be ok. (But she won’t be here so I’ll have to argue with her OB.)
Yeah, so I guess I should actually write out my birth preferences.
What the heck, you’re all fascinated, right?
I would like:
To have as few interventions as possible
To labor in the tub as long as possible
To retain my mobility during labor, and possibly use alternate birthing positions (squatting, etc.)
To eat and drink during labor if I feel like it
To push when I feel I am ready to push
The umbilical cord to stay intact for as long as blood is being transferred
To try to nurse right away
To exclusively breastfeed my baby, and have him in the room with me as much as possible
For any tears to be stitched using a crown stitch, if possible
My husband to speak for me in the case that I am not able to communicate my wishes
I would not like:
To be offered pain medication — I will ask if I think I need it
To have an episiotomy unless medically indicated
To have labor-intensifying/inducing drugs unless medically required
A C-section except when medically required
To be constantly monitored
To have an IV
To force my husband to cut the umbilical cord
I am ok with:
Trainees or students being present during the labor/birth
Participating in very low risk studies regarding birth/post birth care
Standard newborn treatments (vitamins in the eyes, blood test from the heel)
Every time I have a midwife/medical appointment this late in pregnancy, I always feel like I should be ready to report to the hospital, do not pass go, do not collect $200. It takes so little to get them worried, and there’s no medical reason for me to stay pregnant at this point, other than the baby isn’t ready to come out. I’m always wondering, “Should I take my work laptop?” (I’ll want it at home with me.) Should I clean out the perishables in the ‘fridge before I go?
Then again, I pretty much go through the same checklist every night, too.
I figure my “Ready or Not” date is no later than November 10th. (That puts me 15 days after my due date and assumes that I successfully negotiate induction AFTER the weekend that marks the 2 week mark and not BEFORE.) That’s 20 days away. My due date is 5 days away. My best-guess date is 10 days away.
My Truant Pen 