Unexpectedly Expecting

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?

Ten centimeters is how big again?

On Sunday, at my second baby shower, a friend asked me a few questions. As I answered her, something dawned on me.

She asked casually, Have I taken birthing classes?

No, I answered. I couldn't fit them in my schedule because of work. But I'm reading up on childbirth and labor and breathing and all of that. Women have done this for eons, including many without learning the correct way to use a cleansing breath or how to focus on a focal point. I'll be OK, right?

Have you packed a bag?

No, I said. I know I need to do that. Hey, I made a list! It's right next to my laptop, labeled, "Hospital list." I've done reading on what other people think is important to take to the hospital. I quizzed my next-door neighbor, who gave birth a month ago. I know above all else I need chapstick. I'll be OK, right?

Have you at least seen a video about giving birth?

Um, no, I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I mean, I've seen Discovery Health. I saw the movie Knocked Up. I've seen several babies being born on my favorite sitcoms. I'll be OK, right?

Have you had a tour of the hospital?

Finally! Yes, I said! I have! I went to the hospital about two weeks ago, saw the labor and delivery wing, went up to the recovery floor. I know to go to the South tower and what elevator to wait for. I even saw a woman being wheeled into triage herself. She was leaned way, way over on her side and yelling. It was quite scary. So yeah! I've done that! I'm totally prepared, right!

So what has dawned on me?

Um, that I think maybe I need to be pregnant for about three more months, just so I can figure a few more things out. (And that would also give me time to put away all the onesies. I'm up to my ears in onesies. Really, how many onesies does one baby need? I wish I knew. I also wish I knew where to put them all...)

And I wish I knew a little more about just what to expect when my body starts itself down a very painful path in a few weeks.  For the first time, instead of being scared about the aftermath -- you know, the whole becoming a parent angle -- it has dawned on me what it will take to get the baby home in the first place. I suddenly really want to know the correct way to breath and just how magically a tennis ball can help ease back pain. I am dying to hear about transition and how to survive it. I wonder what women mean when they talk about labor and say things like, "circle of fire" and "oh, it burns!" and "arffffgggashitadfjalkdjf!."

Somehow, my natural tendency to absorb as much information about a new situation applied only to being pregnant and then bringing home a newborn. I seem to have conveniently left out learning about the actual act of birth itself.

So, I think I'm sure. I'll wait three more months, give myself some time to sign up for a class and really figure things out. Luke seems to like it in there. He can swim around and entertain himself for a good while longer.

And I'll be OK... right?

You know it's almost time to give birth when...

My dreams these days revolve heavily around giving birth. Considering that I'm due in less than four weeks, I guess that's not surprising.

Two nights ago, I was in the middle of one of those dreams. I can't remember the details of where I was or what was happening. All I remember was this: all of the sudden, I could see a television news show complete with two perky looking anchors. And one of them said in her perky, fake, television news reporter voice, "Welcome! This is news from your vagina!"

Snort.

Little kitty, change is a-coming

My kitty is in for a rude awakening. She's only got about a month left of being the proverbial baby around here. And believe me, she gets babied. Every morning, after she sits with me while I eat breakfast (read: lounges on top of my newspaper on the table, trying to drink the milk out of my cereal bowl) she follows me into my office, where she meows at me until I pick her up and hold her. She purrs her little head off as I rock her and smooch the top of her head for about 10 minutes or so. Then she begins her nagging period, where she asks me over and over whether we can go sit outside. Usually, I oblige.

She loves it out there.

Whether it's just sitting and enjoying the view...

Or rolling around blissfully on the sun-scorched pavement...

Or hiding in the bushes, pretending she's a fierce jungle kitty, ready to spring on her unsuspecting prey...

She just loves it. And I love those morning times outside together. too. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I sip a cup of coffee (a guilt-inducing dose of caffeine). Sometimes I just watch her. It's so peaceful in my backyard, my little corner of suburban bliss. Quiet and lush and quaint. I love watching Robert explore, the way she is endlessly curious about the world, the brave face she puts on when she stalks butterflies and squirrels, the defiance she sometimes displays when she doesn't want to go back inside quite yet. And she's always so thankful to be outside -- she routinely stops by my chair to rub her head against my leg in gratitude.

Those are lovely, serene moments for the two of us.

I know when Luke comes, the love I feel for him will obliterate the love I have for my little kitty Robert. I know that what I feel as Robert's "mother" won't compare to the ache of what I'll feel for a son. I admit, though, it's hard to imagine. I love that little cat so much. I worry about she'll take to the baby as a pregnant mother with one child probably worries about how the first child would feel.  In a way, it's scary to think how wide and deep my heart will open, how much it will grow and change, how vulnerable it will become as it wraps itself around a tiny infant.  I hope I'm ready for it. And I hope Robert  and I still get to enjoy our mornings outside together, even if in the future I'm holding a little baby in my arms as I sit. 

36 weeks

Luke, surprise surprise, failed his non-stress test today. That makes four non-reactive tests. Google would lead me to believe this is likely not something to get my panties in a bunch about -- it could be that he's sleepy and non-stress tests have a high number of false-positive results. And he passed his subsequent biophysical profile with flying colors. The midwife swabbing my stomach said he was the best "breather" she's ever seen. So we have that going for us. Still... I wish he'd pass one of these times.

On Tuesday, when he had another BPP, we learned he's up from the 10th percentile into the 15th, so his growing seems to be improving. That's great news. And for whatever reason, I have this hunch that he's going to stay in there for a good while longer. At one point, I felt he'd be early, that all these growth issues and heart problems would lead me to an early induction. Now, maybe it's wishful thinking, but I feel like I have a good while longer to go.

And if so, it's a good thing, because I'm still working on numerous home projects that I'd like to finish before he arrives. Although since I last wrote about my deep need for nesting, I have made some steady progress.

We bought a dining room set. And I must brag and share that we got it for $2,200 less than the originally marked price. Closeout, baby!

We painted my office. It is now a smashing shade of purple called Delicious Berry on one wall and a smooth and warm beige-y color called Toasted Oat on the other three. All pulled together nicely with my new IKEA rug. Loves.

And the dresser for Luke's room is long since painted. It was a dingy beige color and has been around since at least the 1970s, when it served as a dressed in the maid's quarters of a big mansion in Grosse Pointe. But look at how snappy it cleans up!

We've also made a small dent into our basement project, pilfering out a bunch of junk and boxes and organizing the messiest corner. Jimmy's office is now down there, too, and out of the baby room. Now, we just need to haul out all the schtuff down there and put in carpet. I still want to hold a yard sale, but nailing down a date hasn't been easy.

But whether that happens or not, I feel much better about things. My nesting urge has subsided a little, mainly, I think, because I can see progress being made. Progress makes my soul happy.

Surrendering to the system

I'm a big planner. I like to prepare for things, to know what to expect, and to go into things with a good idea of how to be successful. One of the worst feelings, to me, is the feeling of being unprepared. I still have dreams, more than 10 years later, of not knowing my lines for the high school play. One of my most vivid classroom-related college memories is when I waltzed into a blow-off class one day not knowing we had a scheduled quiz. I was completely unprepared, and although it wasn't a class I really cared about, I felt mortified. I just hate not being ready.

That's why I find myself surprised at my lack of preparation for labor. I am four weeks, give or take, from giving birth, and I'd say I've given the actual birth process much less thought than, say, what stuff I want to take with me to the hospital.

First of all, I never really considered giving birth anywhere but a hospital. Maybe it's naive of me, but I trust that my doctors and the hospital staff want to take good care of me, that they're not simply out to make money off me and get me out of their hair.  I can see why a home birth would appeal to some women, and that's fine for them. For me, the idea is scary. I like knowing  I can get an epidural at the hospital. And since we've found out about Luke's heart problems, I can't imagine having him anywhere else -- I want doctors there to immediately monitor his condition. 

So a hospital birth it is. I read early on about writing out a birth plan, but from the beginning, the idea of that has seemed a little backward to me. I look at it like this -- you can't write a plan for something so unpredictable. If I've learned anything in this pregnancy, it's that I can't control everything. This has been unpredictable from the start, from the shocking news that I'd be becoming a mother to the heart problems to his growth issues -- who knew a year ago what my life would look like today? Certainly not me. I imagine birth will be much the same. I can't predict how it's going to go, what I'm going to feel, what my preferences will be in the moment, or what the safest course of action will wind up being.

I worry that if I was to write out a list of my dos and don'ts for the birth, I'd be setting myself up for failure. I can write that I don't want any interventions besides an epidural -- no Pitocin to speed things up, no episiotomy, and by all means, no C-section. But then... what if in the situation, I realize one of those things really is the best thing for me and the baby? Would acknowledging that fact mean I'm also disappointing myself, going against my feelings in the heat of the moment?  If I go in wanting the lights low and soft music playing, and then my iPod breaks down and the lights have no dimmers, am I going to then be focusing on the birth not being exactly the way I planned rather than just focusing on the moment?

That's why I've chosen to go into this fairly open-minded. I know that I don't expect myself to be a martyr and that I'm open having an epidural. I know I'd rather not be induced, simply because I'd like the baby and my body to be naturally ready. But I also know that there are probably reasons to induce, when it is the safest, most reasonable route. I go in believing that the doctors and nurses want the best for me and the baby, not what is most convenient for them. I believe they'll listen to me if, in the moment, I have questions or concerns about what is happening. I believe I'll be the one signing off on most decisions.

I think no matter what, whatever I chose and whatever happens will be the right thing for me and Luke. I don't want to walk away feeling any disappointment or failure, and I think going in with this kind of mindset -- that I and the doctors will do the best we can and make the best decisions we can in the heat of the moment -- will be key for that.

No matter what, I'm bringing new life into the world, and that's a sacred thing. I don't want to waste too much energy feeling bad about the particulars of how I get there.  Sometimes I read articles that make me question my  lack of planning -- this blog post today for instance -- and the way I'm just going along with the medical establishment. I realize it's a big business that is churning out births all day, every day, that my and my baby's needs could get lost in the shuffle. But I chose to be optimistic for this first birthing experience. If things don't go well, well, maybe I'll feel differently in a few years when it's time to make Luke a little sister.

That's right, a sister. Maybe I can't really control that either, but in this case, I'll willing to pretend.