Unexpectedly Expecting

Optimism

I slept fitfully last night, mainly because I was too hot, but also because my mind was playing all sorts of tricks on me. Somehow, in a very sleepy state, I began wondering whether I was having contractions although a) I wasn't in any kind of pain at all and b) Um, no, I wasn't. I don't know if it was wishful thinking or crazy sleepy delusions or what, but once I started thinking about contractions, I could not fall asleep. I tossed and turned until about 2:30, until I realize Jimmy was up shutting windows. "What are you doing?" I mumbled when he returned. "Trying to make you comfortable," he said. "You've made it pretty clear that you're not what with your thrashing around and sighing."

He turned on the air conditioning for me. He really knows how to speak my love language.

I slept better after that, but my mind really never shut down all night it seemed. One thing it came back to a few times was something a woman said to us yesterday at the veterinarian's office. The woman behind the desk had asked when I was due, and another woman had crowded into our conversation as she checked her dog in. "That's very optimistic of you," she said, meaning having the baby. Jimmy and I looked at each other, puzzled, as she repeated herself. "You're assuming we planned this," I joked. The women laughed, but then the one said, "Well, it's optimistic of you to keep it then."

Now... is that a weird thing to say or what?

What did she mean? That these are such bad, dark days that procreating is the ultimate sign of optimism? That our world is going to such hell that no one but a true optimist could ever see it fit to bring a child to life? I guess that's the way I took her comment. And that strikes me as a pretty sad outlook. I realize times are tough, especially here in Michigan, where jobs are being cut, where young, talented people keep fleeing, where housing prices continue to drop and homes sit on the market for years, where foreclosures are a way of life, and where there is little sign of anything changing soon. I have to admit, though, that even in my skeptical first few months of pregnancy, never once did I think that the world was in such bad shape that I ought not even considering having children.

As a Christian, my viewpoint is a little different. I see the beauty of God everywhere -- in nature, in kindness, in love, in family and friends. I see a future that is by no means going to come without suffering, but one that will be worth it because God will be there for it. And I see an eternity that has nothing to do with the current economic status or climbing gas prices. To think of living my life out of fear of the future or fear of the present situation, without any trust that there is something bigger at work and someone much, much greater than me and the government in charge, that's just sad, sad, sad to imagine. I know the world Luke's coming into isn't perfect. And his life won't be either. I still think it's a life worth living.

I guess if that makes me an optimist, so be it.

Out of touch with reality

At my weekly non-stress test yesterday, Luke's heart rate suddenly dropped way, way down. His typical baseline is somewhere in the high 130s, and the point of the test is to watch for two accelerations into the 150s or 160s. But yesterday, just after I'd adjusted myself more onto my side in the reclining chair, his heart rate fell into the 80s. I heard the change right away -- they keep the volume up, so you can hear the swooshing of his heart -- and stared up at the monitor next to me, thinking, "This seems a little odd -- I wonder if the nurses are noticing." Sure enough, seven seconds later, four women suddenly surrounded my chair. They had noticed all right. They wore matching looks of measured concern. And they wanted to move to to triage to monitor me for a "few hours."

"It's probably just an isolated incident," said the woman wearing the I'm-in-charge-here-blue-scrubs. "We just want to make sure, so we'll keep you for monitoring. And if it happens again, well, then we'll just have you have the baby today."

Have me have the baby. Today. Those words echoed in my brain as they disconnected me from the monitor and led me over to a bed in the connected triage area.

Have the baby today? Really?

It's funny, because I say I am ready to have the baby, that I'm all set and just waiting. Then something like that happens and my heart freaks out. Because even though this is so close -- nine days from my due date, folks -- it still, on some level, does not seem like it is ever going to happen. Does that make sense? My life as I know it does not seem like it is going to really change. Sure, one room in my house looks totally different, and there are a bunch of bottles in my kitchen, and I've changed my wardrobe pretty drastically, and I can't eat sushi or drink wine, and my belly is the size of a small watermelon... But somehow, the reality that a real, live baby will be living here, under our care, in the span of the next two weeks just seems crazy. And I feel a little crazy for saying that. I know it's going to happen. And yet, it seems downright impossible to truly imagine.

My brain dealt with the bombshell that they might ask me to have the baby right away by thinking things like, "Oh crap, I haven't trimmed the bushes out front yet!" and "Darn it, I really need to clean the tub!" Jimmy dealt with the drama by quickly showering and then sitting down to read a bunch of links I've sent him about being a good birth partner.  These are the assanine actions of two people about to become parents who have no idea what they're getting themselves into.

It all amounted to nothing, of course. An hour on the monitor passed, and a nurse came and told me my strip looked "beautiful" and that after a quick swap of my belly, I could go. One round of cold goo and quick looksie at Luke later, I was out of there. Apparently, heart rates can drop if the baby rolls onto his cord, and they assume that's all that happened. No biggie.

And now, one day later, I feel once again like this is never going to happen. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. Intellectually, I realize of course that I'm going to have a baby. A son. Luke. But somehow, unless there is a nurse next to me telling me, "Today's the day!" I just can't quite believe it.

What organ is located in the middle of the abdominal area, about halfway down on the right? Maybe a kidney? A spleen? Whatever's over there has become little Luke's kicking/punching bag. All weekend, he decided to take out his aggression, discomfort, boredom or whatever it is he's feeling in there on that poor organ. I could see his little feet repeatedly pounding away, making my side bulge and ripple over and over. Kind of entertaining to watch, but not exactly comfortable for me. I'm trying to convince him he'd have much more fun if he sprung himself out of there, freeing his feet to kick anything his little heart desires. So far, he's not listening.

Sometimes I think I'm having a contraction, but I'm never in any real amount of pain. I just sense him moving around a lot, and sometimes it's uncomfortable, so I think, maybe that's one! But I don't think so. I also get occasional... sensations? Twinges? I don't know what to call them. But they are coming from my crotch. Maybe that's the feeling of your cervix effacing... or maybe I'm dilating, just a wee little bit. It's so hard to know what is going on when you've never been through any of this, and it doesn't help to be on heightened alert, waiting and wondering, trying to read every little bodily twitch and twitter as if they're something significant.

I've scratched out about half the stuff on my to-do list, including setting up an appointment to take Robert to the vet. It's been two years. I know that's going to be a real ordeal, because she hates HATES getting in her little carrier. I've also got my three doctor's visits to look forward to this week, a small group meeting tonight, dinner out with my in-laws tomorrow, a church meeting Wednesday, dinner out with friends on Thursday, and a going-away happy hour for a friend on Friday. Maybe a baseball game on Sunday. I'm in the middle of two books and have two more to start. I could go see a few movies that are on my list. I still have the second half of that to-do list.

So I'm keeping busy.

But I won't mind if Luke throws a big, ol' pooping, crying, nursing, baby-sized wrench in all of those plans.

I know I'm not blessed with a high readership, but for those of you who do pop in, I'd love to hear your suggestions for movies or books to help me pass the time. What would you read or watch or go do if you had oodles of free time and no real responsibilities?

Ready when you are

On Thursday, I found out at my 38-week checkup that my cervix is 70 percent effaced. For those of you who might not know exactly what that means (a population I myself was a part of not long ago), it means the cervix has thinned itself out. This is what happens before it dilates, although at times the two can happen simultaneously. I hear for first-time pregnancies, typically you thin and then you dilate.

What does this mean in terms of when I might go into labor? Apparently, not a whole lot. It just means things are happening down there, which is a good thing, but I could go back next week and learn that I'm right at the same point. Or I could have the baby before then. It is somewhat maddening, the not knowing. My doctor said the contractions I had last week were just Braxton Hicks, but those aren't pointless -- they're the reason why I'm 70 percent effaced. I haven't felt anything like that, though, since last Friday, so I'm wondering whether my system has slowed itself to a halt.

Now that I'm done working, I have little to do but sit around and wonder when this whole shebang is going to happen. I'm trying to keep busy with stuff around the house that needs to be taken care of. I spent all day Wednesday at my parent's house, tending to my poor mother, who broke her ankle and tore her Achilles tendon and needed surgery. She's not so good with the crutches, and her spirits are down, so I went up and hung out. We watched the underrated movie In her Shoes and played cards and ate dinner. Thursday I went to two doctor's appointments, made myself blueberry pancakes for dinner and went out for ice cream with my friend Marianne and her husband. And yesterday, I did some much needed laundry and had a lovely BBQ and fireworks outing with my friend Jen and her main squeeze Nick. I'm filling the hours the best I can, but with maybe as much as three weeks to go, I bet that's going to get harder and harder.

I realize this is a time unlike any other I'll have in my life -- so little to do, anticipation hanging in the air, a huge life change just around the corner, sunny days, no one needing me to do anything in particular. I'm trying to enjoy it, to relish the little time I have left to myself and my husband alone.  But it's hard. I'm too eager for what comes next. I would be lying if I said I am not wondering many times a day whether I'm a little more effaced, whether that pain I just felt was a contraction, whether going for a walk might speed things up, whether the spicy food thing is just a myth, whether there's anything I can do to get this little bug outta my belly quicker. It's not out of discomfort; don't hate me, but I'm really not uncomfortable in any way. It's simple anticipation, like a kid who knows Christmas is 12 days away and can't wait to open that first present and find out what's inside.

In this case, I know what's in there, but not who. And I'm more than ready to find that out.

And it was all good...

Our trip to Lexington was absolutely lovely. Relaxing, more than anything. We certainly didn't over exert ourselves. What did we do? Pretty much what I expected... we bummed around the tiny town, ate out, got ice cream, sat on the beach, walked along the pier, took naps in the afternoon, played Scrabble while watching the Tigers, played Trivial Pursuit on the wide porch at the B&B, noshed on the fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and laid in a hammock. We also enjoyed two wonderful breakfasts -- pecan baked French toast and sausage one morning and ham and eggs to order with toast covered in freshly made strawberry freezer jam the second. Some photographic evidence of our good time:

That last one is to prove, seriously, how much fun we had. Seriously. Look at those smiles. Can you not feel the fun?

It was a fantastic getaway, and a great way to celebrate my birthday, too.

That's right. I'm the big 2-8.

If anything defined being 27 for me, it was not just being pregnant but being happy. Yes, I struggled at the beginning of the pregnancy. There's no doubt that the unexpected news sent me spiraling a bit as I struggled to come to terms with the major changes headed my way. But unlike so many other times in my life when sadness has overcome me, that felt justified to me. I wasn't simply sad and listless over more or less nothing, as I'd been so many times in the past, when depression would seem to creep in and take over for no good reason. I was facing a legitimate life stress test, unexpected news of the kind that could rock anyone's world. And you know what? I got through it. I let those emotions run their course, and then I kicked them to the curb, and for the most part, I can say that the past year has been one of the happiest of my life. I give the glory for that straight to God. I feel a peace now, as a practicing Christian, that I can't explain except to know that it isn't coming from me on my own. Even in the midst of my struggle to understand my future, I felt it. I clung to that feeling, knowing it would carry me out to the other side. And it DID.

This last year, to me, was filled with so many good moments. I laughed a lot. I grew in ways I'm still discovering. I feel at peace with my life and with who I am. I think my default outlook on things used to be one of negativity, and now, it's much more hopeful. I can't explain that, except to say I've spent a lot of time asking God to change my heart. I think he's clearly working on it.

I could never have guessed where I'd be at the end of my 27th year a year ago. Especially, I could have never guess how ready I am, somewhere deep within, to be a mother. To meet my son. To hold him close and coo at him and marvel over his tiny feet and hands. It's something totally unexpected, most definitely, but it's something I now can't imagine life without. Aren't those the best kind of surprises?

Time to go find a little peace of mind

Today and tomorrow have great potential to be lovely. I'm jetting over to Lake Huron for two nights, a little mini-getaway before we no longer have the freedom to jet off on mini-getaways for two. We're staying at a B&B, which I generally love, and we're going to laze around on the beach and eat yummy good food and pop in and out of cute little stores and generally be lazy and self-indulgent. This is all assuming I don't go into labor, and I'm back to feeling like it's a ways off. No more of those fun contractions the last two days.

So, two days, a wide beach, blue skies, nothing on the agenda. Doesn't that sound lovely?  It was last year.

I can handle leaving because I know the nursery is finally finished. Knowing that reminds me of the feeling of walking out of a final exam or having just handed a professor a project you worked on for weeks. It's done. Finished. A proverbial weight lifted. My to-do list isn't quite empty, but the nursery looks like a nursery, and for whatever insane hormonal reason, that puts my soul at ease.

Do you likey?

I do.

Someone really enjoys the new carpet in the nursery

She just loves it, I tell ya. And I love it, too!

I'm not in labor, P.S. I did have contractions for most of Thursday and Friday, but they seem to have vanished, and they were never strong. Just false labor, I suppose. But it's nice to know the engine is revving up down there...

The news that I was having contractions at all also served one great purpose -- it jump-started my motivation to tie up a bunch of loose ends. I shopped for some necessary stuff I didn't get from all the gracious folks at my showers, I set up the changing table, I unearthed the car seat from a huge box and thought long and hard about installing it (hey, that's progress!). And I bought some stuff I'll need for my hospital bag, including the only DD nursing bra in stock at Target.

And I have a crib! Well, almost. My dad is a doll and is going to drop it off today. I bought it last night at Babies R Us and then found there was no way to get the ginormous box into my itty-bitty Saturn. My back seats fold down, and I've fit many a ginormous box in there before, but this box trumped all ginormous boxes of the past. It was what you'd call a little wide. These two boys rolled it out to my car, telling me on the way there that there was no way it would fit. I told them in my most forced cheerful voice, "Let's just try!" I could feel them rolling their eyes at my back. Sure enough, there was no way that box was going to come even close to squeezing into my trunk. So the boys rolled it back inside and all the way into the warehouse. For about five minutes. Because then I had a bright idea. I went back in and had  the poor befuddled Babies R Us employees  bring me back my crib and then asked them to take it out of the box to see if it would fit in as individual pieces. So they rolled that sucker back out, slashed into the box and hoisted the first piece. And... no such luck. The poor lads then had to huff and puff and try to get all the pieces and Styrofoam and packing doo-dads to fit back into the ginormous cardboard box. I tried to help, but fitting it all back together was seemingly impossible.

Am I high-maintenance or what?

So my dad flies in to the rescue today with his sensible SUV. I feel a little bad about being so desperate to get this crib, but I can't explain how much better I feel knowing it is en route and will be set up by the end of the weekend. I just did not want to deal with it after Luke's birth. I am crazy Cribzilla woman. But I'm at least a happy crazy Cribzilla woman at this point.

About what I said earlier

Apparently I am having contractions every five to seven minutes. I know this because I just got back from another non-stress test -- he finally passed! -- and while there, all hooked up to the monitors, there they were. Contractions. I can barely feel them. I was all, those are contractions? The nurse said, Oh honey, trust me, they get worse. Then she told me I better get my bags packed because it could could be this weekend.

Um. Really?

I'm so not ready!

I take back everything I said about being in a hurry and wanting things to happen quickly.

I'm so not ready!

On the other hand... this is better than waiting another four weeks.

But... gah! I'm so not ready!

Must go to the drug store to buy Chapstick and sanitary pads! And to the bra store for a nursing bra! Must assemble crib! Must first ACQUIRE crib!

I bet this isn't it. Right? These measly little pains can't be the start of true labor. I'll probably walk around contracting like this for four more weeks.

But just in case... time to go install the infant car seat!

Full term and the real wait begins

I'm 37 weeks pregnant today, meaning I'm full-term. Meaning the baby could come at any time. Today, tomorrow, this weekend... or maybe not until four weeks from now. I've mentioned it before, but I will say it again -- I don't think I'm going to be very good at this whole waiting thing. It's true I still need a little more time to finish the nursery and get ready and learn how to not die during childbirth. But honestly, I am hoping I don't have to wait all the way to my due date -- or GA! after it -- to meet my little Luke.

I've never been one to exhibit great patience. When I decide I want to do something, I am much like a four-year-old -- I want to do it NOW. I hate it when people dawdle. In college, we would walk sometimes a mile away from our dorm to go to house parties (such a noble pursuit, and in uncomfortable shoes, too!) and I was constantly one step ahead of my girlfriends, speed-walking as if I'd heard the keg was about to run dry. I have always been a fast walker because at some level, I'm always in a hurry. I breeze through airports, weaving in and out of the confused travelers who don't know their way around, tugging my carry-ons behind me in a blur. When I ride with my husband, I have to restrain myself constantly from saying the thoughts running through my mind, witty things like, "Hey, does this car go any slower?" and "Gee, are we up on two wheels on this turn or what?" When something is scheduled to start at 7, I arrive at 6:55. I'm never late. I'm usually a little early. At the very least, right on time. Is it too much to expect my baby to do the same?

The truth is, I have a feeling I have a lot longer to wait. I've had no signs that labor is anywhere close. No pains. No mucus plug, which by the way, I'm pretty excited for. My doctors refuse to even check and see if I'm dilated or effaced because they say it doesn't matter and they can't predict what that would mean. I'm kind of glad, because my guess is I'm still at zero with no effacement. I just feel too comfortable and normal to be about to go into labor. Where is the back pain, the swollen feet, the high blood pressure? Hell, I'd even enjoy a Braxton-Hicks contraction at this point! Besides feeling large and in charge, I just don't feel like someone about to pop out a babe.

And so I'll wait. And try not to go crazy. And try to restrict my mental commentary to happy thoughts on the off chance that Luke can sense he is already starting to driving mama crazy.

Busting a gut

I can't stop watching the video at the top of this blog.

Go. Watch. Laugh.

It involves cats and a treadmill. How can that be anything but hilarious?