Thursday's Child

It's a big week of anticipation here:

• Will the bathroom be finally, completely finished after a bit of light caulking?  

• Will I get a ballpark date for the nursery painting?  

• Will we be able to set up the crib and deck the walls, hang the curtains/fun stuff in the next 2-3 weeks?

• Most importantly, what will we learn at Wednesday's appointment?  Will all my talk of C-sections and accepting my "complications" have the intended opposite effect when it turns out the placenta has moved and the baby has turned? (ha!  wouldn't that be nice...)  

After what feels like two weeks of just waiting around things are finally picking up speed.  I'm pretty sure I have midterms this week, too, but thank goodness summer classes are a bit more relaxed than core courses, even if I have two massive projects due in 5 weeks that I haven't even looked at yet.

Oh yeah, and there's my birthday.  28.  That just feels like a regular number to me and I think that's a good thing.  It will be the best birthday in what amounts to two years of fairly crappy birthdays for various reasons, mostly having to do with the emotional ups and downs of trying and failing to conceive and then being incapacitated for an entire summer due to several medical procedures and an undiagnosed infection that nearly killed me.  You know the story. 

Life after my 26th celebration was fraught with heartache but things improved drastically by the second half of 27.  27 felt like I had traveled at warp speed through a worm hold and suddenly found myself in the galaxy called "adulthood."  It was as jolting and sudden a transition as could be, as if a part of my former self had gotten spliced in the process and I had to figure out who I was all over again.  My friends gave me the space I needed while my ever-supportive husband and family helped me negotiate this new territory and this new identity on the other side.  I have changed and I am changing still but I have to believe it has made me stronger.  I am Sarah 2.0 and the new appreciation for my life and the tiny life I will soon bring into this world comes at a cost: I know things now that I cannot  unknow about myself, about human nature and about the precarious line between trusting your gut and putting all your trust in medical professionals.  I have so much more respect for basic biological processes and for my own body, though it was absolutely a confederation of experts and good fortune that gave me the most precious gift of all.

I know, I know...writers get all sentimental and reflective around their birthdays but I haven't really thought so much about my special day as I have thought about what significance the actual day of birth holds, in a general cosmic sense.  Obviously I've been thinking about birth.  A lot.  Aside from the truly hilarious "15-minute Cesarian Clinic" dream I had two nights ago where you roll up to a counter that resembles and old-school bank teller's window and sign in for your procedure before being wheeled out with your baby within the hour, I have thought seriously about dates and choice v. chance.  If we are asked to choose a C-section date, how late can we wait?  What day of the week is best?  Does it really matter if she's born under Virgo or Libra? 

I'm reminded of the old English nursery rhyme:

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

This week my birthday falls on the actual day I was born: Thursday.  And heaven knows, I've had - and still have - far to go.  I've always loved Thursday as a day, in particular,  because it isn't "hump day" and you're more than halfway through the week with the promise of wonderful things to come for the weekend before you realize, oh, it's just another weekend and I haven't made grand plans to do anything.  I prefer the poetic nature of Thursday's modest, hopeful expectation.  Originally, the day was known as "Thorsday" for the Norse god of thunder and later Latinized to symbolize a day honoring Jupiter, who was also a pretty big deal.  According to Genesis, the fifth day was when God created the insects, fish, reptiles and birds and though I don't much care for birds, my favorite animals fall into the other three categories.  Can you imagine a world without Narwhals and Amazonian River Dolphins?!

Obviously, if I had to choose a day for my daughter's birth it would be a Thursday for no good reason other than it feels cozy and optimistic.  Rhett, however, was born on a Monday and he certainly is as "fair of face" as he is judicious of character.  Monday gets an unfair reputation because of its association with the end of something fun and the return to something decidedly not fun.  I wouldn't mind a Monday, though.  Clearly the poem is skewed towards happy, Christian God-abiding babies born on Sundays but I think Sunday would be my absolute last pick for a scheduled birth because hello?  Who wants to work L&D on the final day of the weekend? 

As for astrological signs, we've got two Leos in the house and a dog who is a Gemini (no shortage of personalities here!) so the addition of an analytical Virgo or a social Libra should be interesting.  Most likely, she'll be born after the September 22 cusp, making her a Libra.  If she does make her entrance in September, she'll have the best birthstone ever: Sapphire.  Not that I'm biased or anything in my love of the stone...

Do our birthdays really have any sway over our personalities?  Who can say for sure?  I do enjoy looking for signs of accuracy in birth prophesies, retrospectively, though divining astrology is about as accurate as reading tea leaves to predict the future.  It is wildly entertaining, though.  

29 weeks and waiting

I'm officially 29 weeks today but 28 weeks is when they make the official call if it's going to be a C-section.  We will have to wait another week to find out, unfortunately. 

Our ultrasound originally scheduled for today was pushed to next Wednesday.  I got a call two days ago saying my doctor wants the tech to do the actual ultrasound (she's the best) but the tech only works Tues-Thurs so we got bumped.  It happens, though I do wish they had caught the error earlier since you schedule these appointments three weeks out and it's more of a pain for Rhett to rework his schedule.  The day before my birthday, we will find out what exactly is going on in there with PB.  Hopefully everything looks healthy and normal, aside from the placenta and her precarious placement with insert foot-here.  Honestly, kiddo...could you have picked a less comfortable spot for both of us?  You can't be very well cushioned with your head poking out my side and your feet kicking the placenta.  

I also realize that the day after my birthday I hit 30 weeks which conceivably leaves us only 7-8 weeks until delivery (TBD.)  Yikes!  That happened fast.  The nursery isn't ready- heck it isn't even painted! - but at this stage, I'm not all that worried.  She has her cradle for the first 6 weeks so things will happen when they happen.  Worst case scenario, I text my C-section date to our contractor and maybe that will get him here faster.  

Among other things I'm either enjoying this late in the game:

• Let's be honest: I had a super long awkward stage of pregnancy whereby it was unclear if I was expecting or just significantly more zaftig.  That was annoying as hell.  Yes, it's my first baby, I get it but everyone kept saying how I'd simply "explode" by 6 months and...yeah, not so much.  It didn't happen by the books for me.  I now know I can chalk it up to an extra-long torso and well-conditioned abs, not to mention many, many layers of scar tissue from all of my surgeries.  Fast forward to the start of Month 7 and finally I had a discernible baby bump.  I was admittedly a little overly self-conscious and none too comfortable in that in-between stage before the third trimester.  Meh.  Now I'm loud and proud and will walk around in spandex all day because yup, I'm preggers. 

• Now I am (albeit vainly) pleased to hear all sorts of unsolicited comments from friends and strangers and my new favorite yoga instructor expressing shock that I'm nearly 8 months and don't look it at all.  So maybe there is a bright side to having such a extended is-she-or-isn't-she phase, after all?  I had to walk around my own reunion telling people I was expecting because, for some reason, the cut of my dress wasn't a tip off.  ha!  No, seriously - I did not get a boob job.  Come on now.  Haven't changed that much in ten years...

• Other than not sleeping, these bullshit leg cramps, and intermittent sciatica, I feel great!  Some days I still forget that I'm actually pregnant and no, I'm not kidding.  Obviously the minute this karate kid starts her exercises, it's a whiplash back to reality and I'm like, "oh yeah, there's a small human in there."  Overall, though, my life hasn't changed all that much during my waking hours and now that I've filled my Zantac script, I expect it to be smoother sailing on the heartburn express.  

•  Bending and stretching is fantastic temporary relief!  Maybe when I'm unable to do even the most basic forward fold in yoga, I'll feel differently but for now I keep my schedule of 4 days a week and walking Oscar.  I certainly don't feel like doing anything more strenuous and that's fine.  I gauge fitness in flexibility and strength and knowing that I'm not breathing like a heifer when I walk up the stairs so what I've got going seems to be working.  It may be a bit ambitious to keep up this schedule once we're into September but until my doctor tells me otherwise, I'll enjoy my zen and lack of cankles.  

•  I am SO glad we took that entirely-too-long birthing class in the second trimester because I'd last about 10 minutes sitting in those chairs these days.  I was on the floor even then and I was only just shy of 6 months!  Why torture pregnant women with two-day, 5 hour sessions?  Give me a packet and a power point I can watch at home, thanks.  I learned more or less nothing and all of the scary pregnancy symptoms we discussed in class have yet to materialize so maybe I'm just lucky.  Pssshhh a massage is NOT going to send me into premature labor and I can't wait for my prenatal birthday treat next week.  I'd rather YouTube a bunch of current C-section videos during second breakfast than sit through one more baby class.  Oh wait - I already do that.  Fascinating.  

Reunion

Tomorrow is my 10 year high school reunion...at the Jersey Shore.  Didn't see that one coming!  It's an odd choice of location, though I suspect the organizers chose it as a party destination for the out-of-state crowd coming in for the occasion.  (I just realized I used three internal rhymes in that sentence.  Glad someone is feeling poetic today.)

I had some whacked dreams about the big 1-0 last night, which is strange because I haven't really given it much thought other than, "Great, I'm 7 months pregnant and won't be able to socially lubricate."   Helena Bonham Carter showed up in my dream, as did the glorious maze of Polly Pocket's mall compact which Rhett and I promptly became lost, then separated in.  Metaphor for conflicted feelings much?  Maybe I'm just nervous I won't know anyone's name and will promptly feel like a major assclown.  That's the pitfall of attending a massive high school when you're tracked with the AP crowd: you are the minority and life for everyone else goes on without your involvement.  It stands to reason that many people in attendance will be as blissfully unaware of my existence as I am of theirs and that's a direct byproduct of suburban sprawl.  Seriously, 600 kids in a class?  I think 300-400 is a good size. 

So back to Reunion:  It doesn't really bother me that the event will take place at a bar, per se, but once I looked up the venue I quickly learned that this is the meatiest of meat head bars famous for their signature wet t-shirt contests and all other manner of good old Dirty Jerz summertime traditions.  Google Bar Anticipation in Belmar.  I'm not making this up.  Fab-u-lous.  A certain segment of the population who graduated from Hillsborough High School is probably quite used to this type of entertainment but I probably couldn't name names even if I tried! 

From the RSVP list, I recognize perhaps 20 names of people I came into daily or at least weekly contact with during high school.  There are others who sound vaguely familiar either via sports announcements of Peer Mentor or some other club but my orbit of contacts has decreased with every year, it seems.  Thanks to my Facebook rule of "Would I invite you to my home?", I tend not to friend anyone I genuinely couldn't see myself hosting overnight.  Is that weird? 

Then there's the online stalking that unearthed the fact that many of my classmates are on their second or third kid - so my hard-won first at almost 28 is hardly news.  I'm practically AMA to these gals.  I never pegged Central NJ to be so Midwestern in its values but it looks like many of these matches are, in fact, high school sweethearts.  And some are on their second marriage - like a former theater pal of mine who was a lesbian, then married a high school boyfriend after becoming pregnant freshman year of college.  They went on to have one or two more children together (saw them in Lowe's once...cute girls) but now it seems she's remarried to another man?  I can't keep up!  Fast times at Suburban High...how do you even open that conversation?  "Congratulations on your remarriage?" 

Though I'm not feeling particularly nostalgic, possibly because most of my "brainy" AP friends don't go in for spirited communal events like this and won't be attending, I am looking forward to seeing the transformations or lack thereof.  Can't wait to see who has grown up the most and who has regressed in a big way.  Having lived away quite literally since graduation week when we moved to PA, I don't see a lot of Boro folk.  I have my three main contacts and maybe a handful of peripherals but only two of those folks will be going tomorrow.  My crowd was a bit "too cool for school" meaning that they are socially awkward masquerading as anti-establishment -- and I love them for it!  Just wish they could be there so I'd have someone to snicker with in a dark corner...

There's a lot of First Name, Middle Name use going around the facebook pages of female classmates which is confusing as hell when you don't even remember someone's last name to begin with so I don't know what to make of that anthropological discovery other than, yeah, you're from New Jersey.  I will get to see approximately three exes and I'm secretly delighted that my husband is ONE MILLION TIMES hotter, among other things.  Well, one is a commercial airline pilot which I admit is pretty cool but he was never a serious contender because Exhibit A: Senior Prom.  NOPE.  Not that I'm judging, or shallow, or bragging, but come on - who wouldn't love to Scarlett it up among former beaux if she can't at least have a glass of wine.  I'm also looking forward to seeing the spouses/SO's because that says a lot about someone.   

So here's to a new experience, baby on board and all.  When PB graduates from high school, I'll be 45...which makes me 55 at her 10 year reunion.  I wonder what wonderful things the future has in store for her and hope that Facebook is a moldy relic and that she never decides to go by her first and middle name in any official capacity. 

Week 27

It's been a pretty uneventful week, which - when you're expecting to have a finished bathroom over a month after your "minor" project is started - is not necessarily a positive thing!  The nursery remains on-deck as I attempt to pin my dear contractor down to a date but with this horrendous weather, he's scrambling to rearrange his schedule.

I realize he isn't Prospero and can't quell storms at will but this is getting ridiculous.  I call it The Bathroom Reno: A Farce in Three Acts.  Once I finally get him on the phone and we work it out, I suggest he hire me to be his PR person/scheduler to avoid alienating current and potential clients when he gets overwhelmed.  Heck, I could make calls for him from bed rest and even through my 5 month maternity leave from Drexel.  It's not the getting behind that bugs me as much as the radio silence in a pinch and general lack of communication skills.  Shocking, as he's from Belfast and can talk your ear off when he's standing in front of you...

I have the word of my Irishman that he will absolutely connect the plumbing and finish the bathroom by this time next week.    

Other educational moments this week:

• I've learned that PB does not enjoy riding in cars for long stretches of time and therefore, neither do I.  In fact, I would rather walk five miles in this humidity than subject myself to another trip over 90 min long.  Not kidding.  There are only so many positions a 7-months-pregnant woman can contort herself into safely and not attract stares from passersby.  If I had filmed the trip home from Pittsburgh, I probably could have used it as an audition tape for Cirque du Soleil. 

• Oh, yep - that stabbing pain that feels like someone has cranked open a speculum inside my vagina is, in fact, dear little PB kicking down under.  Sometimes I think she gets her feet wedged so deep in my cervix that it's a struggle for her to get out and I have to help her on her way to a new position.  I can typically move her with yoga positions, massage, or just general pressure.  If I find her head and gently press on it, she gets the message to move it.  I feel a little guilty that she is probably not enjoying being wedged in such a tight spot but there's really nothing either of us can do.  She's what is called "footling breech" and unless this pesky placenta moves, she's going to stay that way. 

Here's a handy visual.

 

Oh, hey, Mama!  I'm just trying to get into half lotus pose.

• Speaking of placentas, I'm trying not to obsess about mine.  We have over a week until our 29 week ultrasound and official diagnosis but I'm trying to educate myself as much as I can so I know what questions to ask when I'm there.  Today I came across this NYT article about placentas and unlocking medical mysteries through research.  It was a humbling read.  It's a shame that more emphasis isn't given to the role of the placenta in medical books or pregnancy literature.  Just like a blastocyst beating incredible odds to implant, the trophoblasts also have a huge role to play in early pregnancy and can sometimes be solely responsible for the viability of an embryo.  *There's a helpful little diagram of what a "normal" pregnancy looks like regarding the position of the fetus and the placenta.  Not my reality but there's always room for variation in nature, I suppose.

• We're in the toddler-sized portions of food every 2-3 hours stage of the third trimester.  My almost two pound baby has compressed my stomach (hey, free gastric bypass?) so there's not much real estate to fill.  Not complaining.  I think I did all my eating between 20-25 weeks so I got a good month of gorging in there. 

Supermarket Sweep

I used to adore that classic show of the early 90s.  Watching people race around a supermarket set, hoarding the expensive items like entire wheels of cheese and rack of lamb, stuffing them into their cart and rushing to the checkout gave me an insane amount of pleasure.  In fact, this is how I still like to shop today, particularly at establishments like H-Mart so I can avoid the Korean grandmothers who hog an entire aisle of produce with their carts.  I am in like flint and out like a trout, as if I'm starring in my own personal gameshow.

However, Wegman's is another class of shopping entirely.  At Wegman's my ADHD takes over and I can't control myself.  I MUST go up and down every single aisle, placing at least one totally unnecessary item in my cart before exclaiming, "oh look, cocoa dusted marcona almonds and shaved manchego.  Just what I've been looking for!"   

Note to self: do not go shopping at Wegman's solo while pregnant.  Just don't.  If you're anything like me, without your regulatory spouse you will end up with:

crab stuffed mushrooms
five Friendly's sundae cups (a true believer that two child-sized portions does not equal cheating)
an "organic" frozen pizza, - what the hell isn't organic about pizza? 
a mini apple pie
a pound of olives from the olive bar
prosciutto (which you will swear you will cook first but please, that sucker's not making it out of the package without going into your mouth...)
goat cheese - for Oscar!  Really.
a family-sized bowl of fruit salad
protein bars for that car ride to Pittsburgh (haha!)
ground bison
two muffins (when you don't even really like muffins but pumpkin flax sounds so healthy)

My God, what have I done?! 

I even ate before sweeping but clearly that was not an effective prophylactic.  Maybe I should try it blindfolded sometime and see how well I know my way around that store.  I'd bet money I could make it to the doughnuts with little to no assistance...

Pump it

  Gee, thanks, Cigna!  

In two weeks, I send in my script for a double electric breast pump, courtesy of Obamacare.  Nice to know there are insurance perks that don't involve hedge jumping/steeple chasing on the back of a wild emu.  :)

The Cadillac of electric pumps is offered with all the trimmings: the Nimbus 2000.  (Just kidding - it's the Medela Pump In Style.)  A brand new pump is shipped out 10 days later and it's yours to keep with a one year warranty.  How's that for convenience? 

So that's taken care of.  Next stop is finishing this nursery so a little person can inhabit it.  Trying to pin my contractor down to a day is basically like starring in your own West End farce but he's so good at what he does, I almost - almost - can't get too bent out of shape.  Plus, he's besties with Liam Neeson and who doesn't love Liam Neeson?  

Right now we're looking at starting on the nursery early next week once the vanity top arrives to finish off the bathroom.  I'd love to have everything completed by the end of the month and remain hopeful that this will happen in my perfectly structured home improvement fantasy.  ha!  I had no idea plain white molding was so expensive but add it to the list price of this house, I guess?  We will certainly make money from this sale with all the work we've put into it.  The hardwood floors really finish off the upstairs and the bathroom, once it's fully assembled, will be such an improvement over the old dorm shelf situation.  What's not to love?

I feel like a little kid waiting for Santa to show up.  Christmas needs to get here NOW.

 

Month 7

We've arrived at the 7 month mark!  In four days, I'll be in my third trimester.  It's about time, too.  It feels like I've been pregnant for ages - no seriously, IVF will do that.  By that time I give birth it will amount to over 15 months of prep, not to count the year before that of living cautiously, JIC one of the many home tests was positive.  I understand why people refer to it as the 10 months of pregnancy because 42 weeks is a long-ass time that feels almost as interminable as an elephant's gestation.  I would just about die if I were an elephant.  Two years?!  You've got to be kidding...

I'm really looking forward to the 1/2 pound a week growth spurt that starts this week so people can finally see this little girl thriving in there.  I'd also love some reassurance that she's growing properly, even if I can't see much progress from the exterior.  She's supposed to be almost 2 lbs by now and about 14 inches long by next week.  The length I believe but my uterus doesn't feel all that heavy and my balance is still spot on.  Maybe it's just all the yoga paying off? 

The constant movements are reassuring and I do believe she's wedged herself in a favorite position with her feet down at the juncture of my right pelvic bone and round ligaments.  I get about 50+ kicks down there each day and then the punches and hiccups happen close to the left side of my navel.  One such punch was so strong that it woke me up at 4:00 AM.  Anytime Oscar or Rhett lays his head on my belly, she goes nuts.  She hasn't changed positions much, probably because she can't at this point, but I look forward to our next ultrasound at the end of the month that will tell us the exact location of the placenta and her actual size percentile.  Maybe I'll get an actual fundal measurement soon, too.  They are supposed to start at 20 weeks but I have yet to experience this.  One of Rhett's favorite new phrases is "fundus of the bumpus."  I'm counting my lucky stars that I can still breath relatively normally for being so far along but I know this will change once PB's head gets wedged under my ribcage. 

I will probably look into a breastfeeding class and order my free state mandated hospital-grade pump by the end of the month.  Those things look like old-fashioned tape recorders and come with their own suitcases.  I bet they're loud, too.  Oscar's going to love this almost as much as the vacuum.

I'm hoping the summer flies by because now there is an end in sight.  We could realistically be looking at a c-section date any time after September 7 which is NUTS.  We'll find out more about what's best for our baby girl by the end of July.  Until then, I'm hanging in there, armed with my upright sleeping position and Pepcid.