Archive for the ‘My Big Uterus’ Category

We have achieved Baby

born Wed. the 24th at 9:06pm.  8 lbs, 2.8oz

y’all won’t even believe my labor story but right now I’m too freaking tired to type it in (I did write it whilst at hospital.)

I make a mighty cute baby if I do say so myself.  Now I have to go feed him and myself.  More when my eyes focus properly.

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me 4 weeks agoThis is 4 weeks ago

This is last week.

I don’t think I’ve gotten any bigger, but will take another picture tomorrow before my appointment.  Next post will address one of the things that cheered me up, but didn’t want to inundate with photos.  Oh, and I made a labor mix that is gawth and cheesy and my husband will mostly hate it.  I’ll post it tomorrow, probably.  Still no sign of Francis feeling the need to grace us with his presence.  It’s like waiting to be killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts.

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Of course on the one day in months that I’ve not felt foul does my child finally (despite repeated warnings that this would happen) pull the towel bar, complete with wall anchors, out of the wall leaving a hole on one side.  Yes, this is the only place on said wall where a towel bar will fit.  So don’t expect to wash your hands in my main bathroom, ok?  Because it ain’t happening.  This, also of course, during the one hour she was *supposed* to lie down on the bed.  For one hour?  She didn’t have to sleep, just stay on the bed for an hour.  Because, you know, home sick from school?  Needs to rest.  Again, didn’t have to sleep, just needed to physically park ass in bed until I came to get her.  And why, you ask, was she hanging on the towel bar?  Because leaning over and moving her step stool so that she could reach the light would simply have taken too much energy.

Fucking four year olds, man.  I swear they’re worse than teenagers.

So here I am, with a hole in my bathroom wall where the towel bar used to be, a towel bar in my foyer, due to have a baby any day now, with a four year old who has a cold but refuses to accept that this means  having any physical limitations.  I have stacks of laundry to put away, a house to get ready for a new baby plus a house guest, and oh, guess what?

My husband lets me know right before he leaves for class that this particular one is held in a room in a sub-basement so he gets no cell phone service.  Which means that I cannot go into labor between the hours of 6 and 9 this evening unless I can truck down to Washington Square and start knocking on doors.  Which, ironically, I kind of found funny until the towel bar incident.  Because, remarkably, I was still in that good mood of this morning until the hole happened.  Now?  I think I’m going to have a good cry because I’m never going to be ready and I know that someone is going to come to see the baby and walk into my house and make a comment about the state of the apartment and I’m going to absolutely fucking lose it.

And so, let’s all repeat after me:

It is not my fault that the humidity won’t clear up, making the place smell like a barnyard.  It is not my fault our walls are shit and splinter so easily.  It is not my fault that the cats drop litter on the floor leaving a perma-grit no matter how much I sweep.  It is not my fault that I simply do not feel like running around picking up all of the little pieces of junk that collect in every corner of the place.  It is not my fault that my cats shed and that I can’t be arsed to vacuum 7 times a day to get rid of all of the hair.  And, mostly?  The first person to set foot in this apartment and make a comment on its cleanliness is going to get smacked with the fucking towel bar.

I was really looking forward to relaxing today, enjoying the fact that I was finally sort of at peace with the whole end of pregnancy thing.  I think that is what sucks the most–I don’t even get one day without bullshit to just enjoy myself.  I give up.

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And this despite a sick 4 year old (Day 2), a mopy cat (The Bean, and he’s a big baby), and a cat who somehow caught a claw and made her paw bleed on the glider but who somehow has no contact pain and no sign of injury (Pickle, who really would be the one to get the Kitty Stigmata).

I woke up this morning, extricated my feet from Bean’s warm, gooshy belly not once, not twice, but thrice and got myself to the kitchen wherein I made Lucy’s breakfast and lunch simultaneously, nuked coffee from yesterday while making a fresh pot, and even managed to shove some apple in my mouth before heading over to the computer. When, of course, my child came bearing a tissue caked in Exorcist-esque nose spew. And so, we’re home again from school despite my best intentions to get her back in today. She’s feeling better for sure, but I’m damned tired of this revolving cold bullcrap that comes along with school so we’re having one more Take It Easy Day and then it will be back to the grind tomorrow. I would really hate for her to be sick through the Halloween festivities and Grandma visit (assuming her brother decides to show up one of these days.)

I also decreed last evening that from here on out, we are no longer on Baby Watch. Quite frankly, I don’t know how I turned into one of those ‘Is He Here Yet?’ people but clearly it doesn’t make anything happen any more quickly so I’m going to try my hardest to get back to ‘He’ll be here as soon as he’s ready.’ Speaking of which…the other night at bedtime, Lucy looked up at me and said, ‘Mommy, I think The Baby Brother is ready to come out of the tiny tunnel (birth canal) now.’ Now if this isn’t a brilliant reminder that babies are born when they are good and ready, I don’t know what is. I assured her that as soon as he was ready to come through the tiny tunnel, he would.

What else, what else. I gotta milk this mood while it lasts because I could very well end up a Little Black Raincloud by midmorning…

Um…in reduction stuff, I’ve been (slowly) going through and changing all of our train mileage from gas to electric usage, which is actually far easier than I expected.  Still haven’t plugged all of the numbers into the spreadsheet though.  This has reminded me that I need to look at our regular electric usage, though.  We should be pretty much on track for the year since we have green power (we get 4x more than with non-green), but I’ve still been counting it as regular power.  Turns out that we’ll have 2 electric figures because of transit–one coal and one wind/water (household) so I’ll have to alter my percentages accordingly.  I may not bother with this until the 6-month mark though.  We’ve been reevaluating household electric since it bothers me that we use so much, and are now trying out an every-other-day dishwasher program along with being far more vigilant about turning lights out/not turning lights on.  We’ll have to see what our kWh totals are for the past month and figure out what else we can do going forward.  At this point, we’re sort of nickel-and-diming it anyway since our usage is between 7-10 kWh per day.

Consumer goods have indeed evened out this past month, and I set up a spreadsheet to track the categories of my spending.  The bulk over the summer was spent on clothes and furniture.  Furniture was all one-time expenditure stuff, and clothing mostly the same (at least clothing for me–Lucy will keep growing, although Xmas will take a lot of the edge off since everyone loves to buy her outfits).

Garbage is still way higher than I’d like, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to get it down much lower.  Big culprits are Pull-ups from overnight and cat litter, and we’re not ready to do without either.  I’m going to start tracking what I throw out, I think.

And that’s all I got.  I’m off to putter and snack and hang out with my poor, not-quite-well baby girl.  Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be one of those Liveblogging Labor folks, so no news means I’m not at the computer 😉

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39 weeks and counting…

One week to my due date.  I am alternating between wanting to be left completely alone and freaking out about all of the stuff I have to do NOW or NEVER.  Like all of the cleaning I’ve been not doing for the past few days because I’m too damn tired and can’t bend over.  I figure I’ll have like one chill day and then the baby will come.  Or, rather, I’m hoping for one chill day.  Today is not it.

Otherwise it’s status quo–I am huge, I am achy, I have a tension headache, I am hungry and I am not in labor.  My feet are swollen because of the humidity.  I literally cannot continue a train of thought without getting bored or losing track of what I’m saying.

Mostly, I am trying not to get all wrapped up in when it’s going to happen or what is going to happen after the baby is born.  This is not working as well as I’d like.  So, yeah, at this point no news means I am probably driving myself and everyone else crazy because it’s what I do best.

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I am in a rather cranky mood.  Between politics, sports and massive attempts to both keep myself busy and *not* overdo it, I’m afraid I’m not much fun today.

We got the co-sleeper set up and about half of the veggies washed and prepped for soup/salad tomorrow, and I finally sent off the proofed document at around 11 last night so all that’s left is to chill on the couch and watch the ALCS while poking around at 90% reduction numbers and plans for the rest of the first half of the year.  I’ll try to get together a proper post in the morning when, hopefully, I will be less crankified.

And, yes, I did damn near cry when I heard Torre wouldn’t be back, and no, I really don’t blame him.  I think this whole deal was passive-aggressive bullshit (c’mon, 5 million with a 1 million bonus for making it to the first round of the playoffs when his prior salary was 7 million?  This was clearly a slap in the face for only making it to the first round on the 7 mil salary.  And, seriously, 7 years without a championship?  There are plenty of folks who are lined up to cry y’all a fucking river.)  But I’m not talking about this anymore because I’m having a calm night 😉

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No Baby Yet

As I said in the comments of the prior post, the newest estimation from my midwife is early next week.  50% effaced, 1 cm dilated, and the baby is really low (unusually low for a 2nd)  which is probably why I’m feeling so much pressure and discomfort.

I’m not quite to the point of walking around the neighborhood whilst stimulating my nipples but talk to me again on Sunday night and I may have a different answer (or else avoid being out in my neighborhood if you’re offended by nipple-stimulating, muttering-to-self pregnant women).

While the ultrasound tech the other week estimated his weight at around 7.5 lbs if I go to 40 weeks, I was asked today if I feel like this one is significantly larger than Lucy.  I would be freaked out by this except my gut tells me that as long as he’s within 1-2 lbs of Luce (6 lbs 7 oz), I’ll be ok.  How’s that for a shift in perspective?

Anywho, I have to finish proofing the shorter document, find something vegetable-related to eat to counteract the bacon cheeseburger I ate for lunch*, figure out what to buy Lucy’s cousin for his birthday, get a package ready to go out, and have a staring contest with the Bean before Lucy gets home from her Very!First!Field Trip!  Thankfully I made it to pick up the farm share last night and therefore have enough veggies to feed a small army of veggie-eating folks.  I dunno, that seemed funnier in my head somehow.  Still haven’t made the soup.  Tomorrow, I swear.  I may even take pictures.  Speaking of which, I’ll put up the latest big ol’ preggo belly pic whenever I can con my husband into plugging in the camera USB cord.  I’m really big, man.  Like ‘my maternity pants are tight’ big.

*I went here for lunch and while I did not witness any plates flying around, the basement (where the bathroom is located) does have a rather creepy feel to it. 

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If you had asked me at noon yesterday, I would’ve told you that I was virtually certain I’d have the baby by now.  I was having contractions that started gravitating to my back a little bit, and the most eerie feeling of calm that turned quickly into pure excitement.  C and I went out to lunch since I knew I wasn’t in labor *yet* when…

I had to leave the pub.  For the toilet.  Which, honestly, was one of the things I was keeping an eye on since a change in bowel movement was one of the first signs last time.  I rushed home leaving him to get our food wrapped for take-out, and…I’ll save you the details, but it was not the sort of poop I was looking for.

I’m still pretty sure the baby is coming this week but I’ll be a little more cautious when it comes to suggesting to others that it might be sooner rather than later.  Frankly, I wasn’t sure when I went to bed last night that labor wasn’t imminent, and I’m not entirely sure this morning either.  I sure am tired as all hell, and stuff is achy.  The nice part, though, was finally feeling calm about labor.  Hell, it’s going to happen whether or not I freak out about it so I might as well let myself get excited about meeting my baby.

My husband, on the other hand, spent the better part of the day asking me if I was alright every time I made a noise.  Poor guy.  As hard as it is to try and gauge what’s going on with my body, it has to be 80 times harder to have to rely on your partner’s vague-ass descriptions of what seems to be going on.  I think I’ll feel much better after I’ve had my appointment tomorrow and have some idea of how things are progressing internally.

I think the cats think it’ll be soon too, though.  Pickle spent most of last night curled up on top of my stomach and Bean has barely left my side since I got up this morning.  Then again, I’ve gotten so caught up in impatience with waiting that I could be entirely full of shit.

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I hate when I look up how much I’ve walked and it comes out to a fraction of what it felt like. I hoofed it from 8th St. up to Union Square yesterday, and it felt like I walked ten miles. In actuality? It was only 6/10 of a mile. Happily, my hips seem to not ache quite as much now that it’s cooled down so I’m going to not be so chicken about walking anymore. I do, however, walk at the most insanely slow pace which I find completely infuriating. I’m used to being a seriously fast walker. Anyway, the plan this week is to forgo the cart for the farm share since it makes me nervous to cross the Boulevard of Death at rush hour pushing a cart and trying to hold onto a 4 y/o.

I decided that perhaps I should hit the Greenmarket yesterday to avoid some of the Saturday crowd but it appears that Friday *is* the new Saturday ’round NYC so I was still caught in the throngs of wanderers and meanderers (not to mention rush-hour train conditions at 2pm). I loaded up my backpack with what felt like 20 lbs of food but was probably only 10 lbs–a big jar of honey, pancake mix, apples to get us through the weekend and make up some applesauce, and fixings for a pot o veggie soup which I need to make today before I lose my nerve. Grapes, cheddar, and a cute little plastic jack-o-lantern planted with wheatgrass for Lucy, who alternates between nagging about planting the wheatgrass and effusing about what we’ll do for Halloween. It was a hit. I feel like I got more, but I’ll be darned if I can remember what. Unfortunately, the meat vendors we love aren’t there on Friday but honestly, we barely eat meat anymore so I’m sure we’ll be ok. I’m just a little concerned about the baby coming and ending up spending a fortune on crap foods because we haven’t frozen stuff. Hell, all of the sauce C made is already gone and I keep forgetting to buy more tomatoes to make him make more. But I’m going to stop this train of thought because it only takes me to that place where I end up panicked and up at midnight checking items off of a ten-page list.

C keeps reminding me that we’re ready for the baby so I needn’t worry about anything else, but I’ll be damned if I can calm myself down. I know that as soon as labor hits I won’t give two farts about the shoes lying on the bedroom floor or getting the dresser into my closet* but right now, everywhere I look is like a big neon sign telling me YOU’RE! NOT! READY! It gets so overwhelming and I just don’t know where to start. I’m sure I could self-analyze that I’m nervous about childbirth and transferring my feelings onto everyday tasks (see, I listened in therapy…) but that isn’t any damn fun. What I want is for the perfectionist, Stepford part of me to leap from my brain and get all of this shit done so that the rest of me can make some damn soup, play with my kid and dig in the dirt, and stop being wound up so damn tight.

Unfortunately, I am acutely aware that I’m afraid it was a fluke that I could give birth naturally last time. I still believe very strongly that the pain of childbirth is manageable and that it should be treated as a natural occurrence rather than a medical emergency, but I’m afraid that the difficulty I’ve had this time is telling me that I can’t do it. If my hips and pelvis hurt this badly, how am I going to make it through labor? If I can’t go-go-go up until the time the baby comes out, how am I going to be able to go-go-go through childbirth? What if I’m not as strong as I was last time? I was so proud of myself and of my birth experience with Lucy that I’m really scared that I won’t be able to replicate it and will end up feeling less-than as a result. After all, who purposefully gives birth naturally once and then can’t handle it the second time?

And so I keep putting myself through my paces as though I’m training. If I can walk x distance, I can give birth without drugs. If I can balance 8 projects at once without letting any of them fall, I can balance the pain of labor with the feeling of power that comes from birthing naturally.

If only I could turn my brain off for a little while. I get so frustrated at how not-nice I can be to myself sometimes, and I usually end up taking it out on anyone who dares to insinuate that I’m doing something less-than-perfectly (or can be perceived as such). I’m so not hip to doing that right now.

*I never mentioned that one, did I? Sal Army wouldn’t take my crappy old dresser so we’re keeping it for extra storage. It’s like the poor man’s version of a built-in closet component! I can’t wait to load it up. Yet another thing I have to do before the baby comes but this one I’m actually really psyched about. Thank you, universe!

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It dawned on me this morning that perhaps I should have a bag packed for the hospital at this point?  I don’t remember if we even took one last time since it’s not like I labored at the hospital at all and we knew Lucy was going to be in for a while.  I can’t tell if I really feel like it’s getting close or if I’m just doing my usual ‘let’s not jinx things’ routine.  Like the baby can’t come early if I’m ready for him or something.

The truth is, I spent about 45 minutes last night not entirely sure I wasn’t starting labor.  My BH are getting stronger and more frequent, and my SIL was kind enough to remind me on the phone last night that, despite my exam, anything could happen.  In hindsight, that’s probably what sent me into panic mode, but while it’s happening it’s not exactly easy to rationalize.  Thankfully it passed and everything else has been pretty copacetic since.  I even woke up with less pressure than I had yesterday.

Needless to say, I think perhaps my mental shake-up has contributed ever so slightly to my physical tension, and vice versa, so I’m planning on spending the day alternating between editing and seeing if I have enough soil to plant my wheatgrass and hopefully the catnip as well.  My big bags of potting soil aren’t coming after all (much drama and nasty emails and big angry hard feelings that I don’t even want to deal with  anymore) so I won’t be planting the mesclun until the spring, which does still chap my ass in a huge way.  I may just tuck into the vermicompost harvesting as well since work like that tends to relax me if I can sit comfortably.  I’m beyond tickled the little buggers seem to have thrived!  The harvest seems like a PITA but then again, so did the initial set-up and the whole system has been so darn easy to run.  Knock wood, I have not had a single problem with my bin.  Can you tell how proud I am?  Wish me luck with the rest of the process.

And, best of all, the weather is finally autumnal and I’m not a huge river of sweat.

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