Mr. Big Stuff

It's 11PM on a week night. We're on Fall Break, so there's no school tomorrow. Ajay's out for guy's night. Jaideep's sleeping. I'm, well, I'm regretting coffee at 3PM, but being thankful for some productivity.

Baby's keeping us busy -- he's not that into being a baby, you see, so he's working on being more like a big kid all the time. No, we're not toilet trained yet, but we are watching our little friend do his own version of crawling, standing up when given something to hold onto, and teething up a storm.

There are newer pictures on Picassa:
http://picasaweb.google.com/britta.watters/JRCMonths4And502?authkey=Gv1sRgCMT-waalmMzJugE#
but the real highlights are in the everyday world. We get a few things on video from time to time, but most of the excitement takes place out of view of the lens.

Some memorable moments... well, there are my continued attempts at nursing peppered with his continual attempts to 'help' by grabbing at the non-feeding breast ... with his hand closing into a tight fist that has a lobster grip I can't loosen around the feeding part. That's always fun. Or, let's see, there's his new language that falls somewhere between what I imagine coming from an excited screech owl and an angry lion. It's not unhappy, it's just screechy and at a volume of somewhere around 11 on the dial. Yes, 11. But, overall, it's all good. He loves being outside, so I'm hoping we can stretch some more Fall out of TN this year. He loves bathtime, likes being up on his dad's shoulders, enjoys being around people. He travels well and is starting to eat various very soupy foods.

I'm hoping that teething gets better or goes faster -- still no teeth, just a lot of drool, desperate screaming at random times, and gnawing on anything that's near the mouth. I'm also hoping he'll be able to get the sitting thing figured out (he goes from tummy to all fours to sitting for a minute, ... then topples over). Until then, we just keep on keeping on.

And childproofing.

Going Cold Pork

Cold turkey, cold pork... whatever. let me just begin by saying that leftover, 2-day old pulled pork BBQ never tasted as good as it did during lunch today. I was on Day 4 of soup lunch (more on the weekly menu later) and the Title 1 ladies downstairs announced that there was leftover BBQ from the Open House we had Tuesday night. The same Tuesday night that I didn't get home until after 8 and the same Tuesday night that I only got to see the baby briefly when he woke up to eat. The same Tuesday that I realized that I do miss him if I don't get to play with him at least a little everyday. So, thanks long day at school!

Now that I'm becoming an efficiency expert, I'm taking lunches for the whole week to school on Monday. The easiest way to do this is to make something durable on Sunday and take it in daily portions. This was going well until I had a few days last week that I was starving by 1:00 and needed something extra... like the next day's lunch. (For anyone working in a 'real job,' teaching is NOT the kind of career where you can just take a break, head to a break room -- we don't even have a lounge, get a vending maching treat - no vending here, and stroll on back to the desk when you please -- that's why it's an issue.) So, I figured that bringing a bigger container of soup would be great -- hot, cold, however -- it's fast & easy. I can essentially drink it in front of kids. Perfect!

Well, until you're on Day 4 of the same soup. This is where the deliciousness of pulled pork entered today's picture. Right. On. Time. I'll be a much better adjusted person for it, too.

On the home front, Little Man is quickly becoming just that: a fully functional small man. He's started doing some very man-type things. Ogling breasts. becoming very protective of his food. Laughing when he poops. Laughing at my disappointed face when he spits up. Moving himself backward on all fours.

Wait a minute...

Moving. Yes, at four-and-a-half months out little friend has decided to become mobile. He was sort of mobile before -- rolling here and there, pivoting on his tummy, ooching forward. But, when I picked him up from 'school' yesterday the aftercare teacher said, "Well, you know he's crawling backward." "No, I didn't know he was crawling backward." (Insert awkward I-don't-know-my-own-child look here.) "Oh, maybe he just started that today." Apparently he did. This weekend he managed to get up on all fours and rock / lunge forward and backward -- getting the tummy off the ground was the last thing keeping him more or less in one place -- so I knew that the end was near. I just didn't calculate HOW near.

So, last night I get him home, we get our evening things taken care of, and playtime begins. I put his favorite toy in front of him and lay him on his tummy in front of it. He looks at it with utter delight (which changes to a maniacal grin) as he draws himself up onto all fours -- he's going to come get it. Or not. This is where he starts to move legs and arms, but they propel him further backward with each motion. He starts to talk to the offending toy, to me, to the four walls... I'm sure that it was something that would translate loosely as, "Why are you moving away from me! I want to put you in my mouth and gum you to death!" Then I started laughing, then the talking changed to squawking. I moved the toy closer. He got excited again -- looked at it with renewed concentration, started moving again. Backward.

So, for the time being we're stuck in reverse. Some people spend their whole life 'bass ackwards', from what I can tell. However, I believe this to be temporary. For now, I'll add to the weekend efficiency plan some lunch variety and childproofing, and we'll see how long it takes this man to get turned around without stopping and asking for directions.

And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Ajay and I went out Saturday night for a super dorky date night. The NPR show "Says You" was taping in Nashville for the upcoming season and, wouldn't you know it, a show that advertises itself as one of "wit and whimsy, bluff and bluster" was just what I needed to feel grow up and human again. So human, in fact, that we went to Sunset Grill afterward to dine off the late night menu (it was about 10PM, but... hey, they're the ones who put the night menu out at that time).

It was there that we learned out waiter is a first year social studies (U.S. History) teacher in a Metro middle school. Oh, how I feel for our server. This is the school where the students literally stampeded the principal last year when she tripped and fell -- then kicked her while she was down. I'm not kidding. Poor waiter. Poor principal, but at least she's been in the system for years and gets paid 3x what poor waiter makes. So, our new friend --after I assure him the kids DO need him and that he CAN survive, just wear sturdy shoes-- says he knows he's got miles to go before he sleeps.

Indeed. I couldn't have said it better, so I won't bother trying. I do have miles to go before I sleep. I'm back to school, Little Man's started his Montessori adventure, Ajay's still trucking with his business, and I'm pulling two other jobs while all this is happening. How I'm doing this, I don't know. I just know that we're going to keep on keeping on, and it could always be worse.

For the time being, we're glad that Jaideep's getting bigger everyday and adjusting well to private school. He's the youngest in his class, but he's by far the best looking and smartest (or, so I will tell you). He's busy making friends with the ladies, all older, and there's one in particular -- a 10 month old-- we're attempting to steer him away from. Not only is the age difference too much, but she's very high need. Cries all the time about little things -- like when she's bored. Jaideep's not that type of guy. He's down to crying when there is a need. Other than that, he's generally all about smiling and laughing -- mostly because he knows that HE is TOO funny! We're all just along for the ride.

So, ride we will. There may be miles to go before we sleep, but at least we're all three in this together.

And... pictures! 1st Day of School (Where are we going? What's that? People to entertain? Hooray!)

Time Flies When You're Changing Diapers

So, 10 weeks down. If we were a factory, I'd say we'd had no lost time accidents so far. You know, no trips to the ED, no hours spent awake watching for evidence of a concussion, no calls to Poison Control... you get the picture.

We have had our fair share of mostly sleepless nights, miserable days full of screaming, poop that knows no bounds, and puke that means changing big and little outfits for a third or fourth time in a given day. But, I hear that's pretty standard. Note: "I hear" ... not "I heard."

Somehow, in the PK (Pre-Kid) times, our friends neglected to mention that new babies are gross, largely unrewarding, have a high cost to low benefit ratio, and suck one's will to live... even as they breastfeed themselves off to LaLaLand. Now, before anyone dares send me some indignant email about how precious these little miracles are, keep in mind that --apparently-- time distorts memory and hormones alter it. While you might think I'm being overly critical now, I maintain this is a more honest and true to fact assessment of early stage parenting than most people would dare give. Sure, I love this baby, but I'm also very convinced there's a not-so-niche market out there for substitute parents.

Just like we have substitute teachers in schools.... imagine if you could call in a sub to parent through the gross times. Parents for 2-12 week olds, parents for 2 year olds, parents for teens. Parents to order. Sure, this would cost a family a fortune, but I think people would be willing to find the cash. Especially after about the 15th straight night of no more than 3 hours' sleep. Three hours total--throughout the whole night. No, I don't mean all at once. That's adding up the minutes slept from 8PM to 8AM. Three hours cobbled together from 10 to 30 minute stretches. That sort of three hours. People would pay to retain their sanity. Now, to find these substitute parents...

Until I track down or groom some substitutes, we'll keep doing this ourselves. Fortunately, it's improving. 6-7 weeks was crummy. I'd have considered leaving Jaideep with, well, a substitute family of wolves? That might be a stretch, but barely. Since then, he's gotten to be more pleasant. He's started to interact with me, not just my breasts. He'll smile and coo in addition to crying and frowning. This implies that he might continue to improve to the point that we'll eventually forget the first weeks.

It seems that's what happens to everyone else, after all. I can't imagine that all these people who didn't tell us about the rough start are part of a global conspiracy to bring others into the cult of parenthood. That this 'not knowing' phase is like parental hazing and those who've been down this road sit back and laugh that we're in the thick of it. ... ... ... Or, maybe I can. Maybe this is how people who are parents conspire to keep their childless friends as friends: "I know, let's tell them it's great and then they'll have to suffer, too!" [Sinister laughter.]

More likely though, the hormones and time are the conspirators in this one. Erasing bad memories, replacing them with good, etc. So, until those kick in and I start saying things about babies being amazing little baskets of joy, I'll be dreaming up recruiting materials for some star substitute parents and enjoying the little rewards (3 consecutive hours of sleep, smiles and coos) as they come.

Pregnancy Bloopers and Life's Practical Jokes

As of today, we're starting Week 3 as a family of three. So far, so good. Jaideep eats every three to four hours most of the time, and sometimes thrills me with a five hour stretch of sleep at night. When not eating or sleeping, he continues to practice mixed martial arts by punching and kicking in the air or at whatever part of a grown up body is nearby. As I'd noted based on the kicks and jabs from the inside out, he's strong. This is now very apparent to others.

Being above average, he's already figured out how to roll from back to side to front by swinging his swaddled legs in the desired direction until the rest of his body follows. While the nurse at the pediatrician's office says this is just reflexes, I'm sufficiently sure it's skill that he is laid down with rolled blankets to prevent movement.

We'll go for a 3-week well baby check up on Friday, so until then there's not a lot of new baby news. That being the case, I thought I'd go ahead an fess up to some embarrassments from the past nine months -- then, when the new weight and length numbers come on Friday, those will be read and these little 'oops moments' will be forgotten.

Top Three "Are You Serious?" Moments
3) The Milk Comes from WHERE?
We've all heard that public education is failing our children, but I thought my public education had been the exception to the rule. Our school was good -- we had small classes before they were good policy, certified teachers with what we were sure must have been eons of experience, and parents that we were sure were far TOO involved. Well, I think that my sophomore spring semester of Health or the senior semester of Parenting (taken when I decided Physics wasn't for me and I didn't care if I would need it in college--which I didn't) might have needed some tweaking.
Oh, poor Pete. (Mrs. Peterson to some, I'm sure, but we all called her Pete.) She got saddled with teaching us about all the things that the other teachers didn't want to get involved with (well, not on school time)--Health was mostly about drugs and sex. I remember a June calendar being used to explain 'natural family planning' and about half the class being able to draw the conclusion that no one should have sex on Flag Day without understanding why. I remember watching a classic 80's comedy that we argued (somehow) dealt with depression after our mental health unit. (Yes, I now realize it was the end of the semester and she wanted to teach almost as much as we wanted to learn.)
I do NOT remember being told anything about breastfeeding. One would think that either in Health or the semester of Parenting I took from Mrs. McNeil this might have come up. Parenting, as it turned out, was more about NOT getting into a condition that would require one to do any parenting. The miracle of life, as AlWood High School would have it, was something none of us should be thinking about for a long time to come.
That being the extent of my education about the topic for the next 15 years, it was a shock when I learned from a fellow teacher in my current public school that apparently girls are NOT constructed like bottles. You could have knocked me over with a feather when she explained to me in detail how the "milk comes from everywhere" and that it doesn't only exit at feeding times. Why didn't someone tell me that girls are more like fire sprinklers than baby bottles? She followed up her description with, "Oh, didn't you KNOW that already?" No, I didn't... but, this would probably have a pretty positive impact on reducing teen pregnancy in Illinois were it included in the curriculum.

2) It's Not Working, Maybe I Should Try It Somewhere Else...
I got a breast pump as a gift. Once I got over the idea of milk coming from "everywhere" it seemed practical to get ready to save up some of this wonderful stuff in the freezer for those times when it's needed and I'm nowhere to be found.
So, I hook up this milker (as I affectionately call it). Pretty simple. A bottle twists onto a tube that attaches to a pump, and this hooks onto a funnel-shaped plastic thing that goes on the udder, er... breast. I turn it on and stick it against my stomach. Nothing happens. How odd-- it's got new batteries, it's making a milking noise. So, I turn up the suction to medium and still nothing. I figure that maybe it's defective and turn it up to maximum. This is when it dawns on me that, maybe, it needs to be attached to the correct body part to work. I hold it up to an udder and, come to find out, it's working GREAT. So great, in fact, that the milker starts to make a straining sound and I feel a sucking pressure that makes me think it's going to either do damage to its motor or me.
Lesson learned: Do not milk on max unless cosmetic surgery is in your future.

1) I'm Your Demo Model
Finally, knowing where milk comes from and how to extract it, we go to the hospital to have this baby via induction and, after tons of paperwork, we're told to get comfortable and take a walk -- the IV will be coming soon and that will be the end of walking outside the room.
I put on a cute little terrycloth nightie I'd picked out at Target in the NOT maternity section (so, it's a little snug, but terrycloth stretches and I'm not going to be pregnant for much longer), throw on a hospital gown as a robe, and get the flip flops back on (since they still fit the fluid-fattened feet) for a spin around the L&D floor.
Ajay and I head out on the trek, and as I waddle toward the doors to the outside world in my delivery best--sans make up or good hair-- they swing open to reveal a heard of pregnant women and their husbands along with our former birth class instructor!
Yes, we'd ended up in the middle of her tour of the Labor and Delivery unit, we become the evening's sideshow for these people-- rather like the poor woman who was screaming "Carter!" and her husband, who we assumed was named Carter. And, of course, the instructor not only recognizes us but presents us in all our glory to the 20 people following her. "This is Ajay and Britta. They were in my last class. How are you?"
Well, that was a dumb question to ask because the woman in labor waiting to be hooked to machines for the foreseeable future will tell you the truth. I tell them about the amniotic fluid leaking, having to get induced, and about not being able to use the pool or shower. After telling them that they'll all get to be here just like me someday, I invite anyone who'd like to watch to come on down to our room.
We had no takers.
What? Was it something I said?
When we sent an email to the birth class people to let them know we'd delivered, she wrote back to say that she was 'excited' we'd always have her class as a part of our L&D memories. I bet 'excited' might not be the first word that came to mind, but that it probably seemed nicer in an email than some other words she could have used.

So, more baby news to come. For the time being, check out the pictures I'm uploading to Picassa at: http://picasaweb.google.com/britta.watters/LittleJaideepTheFirstMonth#

He's Here (...or, Why I Loved the Epidural)

Jaideep Reed Chawan is here and he's now a day old. He's managed to do a lot in the past day -- he's got the eating thing down, he's busy making us little (and not so little) gifts in his diapers, he sneezes, and makes a lot of interesting faces. And, after the initial self-abuse, he's had his hands covered and he's stopped scratching his face. So much progress! Clearly, he's something special.

While the journey is important, his arrival reminded me that getting there isn't always half the fun. Granted, this journey didn't involve taking off my shoes for security checks and making sure all my liquids were in 3oz containers, but there were some hassles and delays. We got to the hospital a little after 5PM and filled out a ton of paperwork. They put us into a room and the nurse took a bunch more information -- all things that should already be in my charts, but... maybe this is the secret double-check? By this time, we were almost at the 7PM shift change, and one of the nurses delivered the bad news to me that having had Pitocin ordered meant 1) it would be delivered via IV along with fluids and I'd be tied to an IV tree for the duration, and 2) there would be no happy pain relieving showers because Pitocin also means continuous monitoring of baby's vitals and mom's contractions. Delightful.

Once they got this monitoring going, the checked me over again and found that we were 80% effaced and 3cm dilated. Surely this Pitocin would help things along quickly. Or not. Five hours later, it's midnight and I'm checked again. Everything's the same on the inside. On the outside, I'm feeling some mighty pains. How was it possible this had been for nothing? Grrrr. So, the midwife tells us that we'll give things another hour or so and then we might need to make some decisions about what to do (read: how to intervene and get the kid out).

As nature / Pitocin drips would have it, by 1AM I'm standing and squatting next to the bed, miserable with pain that is apparently doing nothing. I tell Ajay to call the nurse -- I need some drugs of the dangerous sort. Whatever you have, I'll take two and pronto! Fortunately, because I was out of my designated location, the nurse came to me and we didn't even need to call. She called the anesthesiology people and we waited for them to come for what seemed like hours when, all of a sudden, there was a giant popping sound and a giant movie-style gush of water and other mess splats to the floor. I thought I'd been in pain before, but I'd been wrong. This event brought me to tears and started me shaking with pain. Not exactly something I'd expected.

When the bearers of good drugs appeared, they couldn't find some oxygen monitoring sensor and I was forced to wait -- sitting upright on the edge of the bed, curled over, clutching a pillow and the nurse, while not moving -- though another 3 or 4 miserable contractions. They gave me something in the drip that was supposed to feel like a 'couple glasses of wine' and --having had a couple glasses once upon a time, I can say with certitude that this was more like a bottle and a couple glasses. It didn't help the pain, but I didn't care as much -- call me a cab, it's time to go home! Finally they get the right equipment, hook me up to more things, and proceed with stabbing me in the spine. Comfortable it was not, but when she offered to do a second stab to put in some combination spinal something that would make things take effect faster, Ajay reports that I said, "Faster is good." Things were bad enough that speaking like a 2-year-old was the best I could do.

Another jab later, and my legs started feeling tingly and heavy, and relief was on the way. For the first time since getting hitched to my little IV wagon at 7, I was able to do what they'd been telling us to do: relax and be comfortable (never mind the beeping, constant blood pressure checks, people in and out, ...). Forget that I was shaking like a leaf from the effects of the epidural, I wasn't feeling like the pain was going to kill me anymore! Hooray! Finally, things started to change--when they checked where I was after I stopped shaking, we had a head locked in place, 90% effacement, and 6cm of room to work with.

Not even an hour later, at about 3:45, I asked the nurse to have the midwife come back and check me at 4AM because I was feeling something that wasn't pain but that was absolutely a pressure. She came in, told me we were ready to go and to give her a couple trial pushes to see what I could do. The results: I'm apparently good at pushing, so Ajay was made to get out of bed... where he'd just gotten comfortable after my little ordeal. We, and by that I mean "I", started pushing with the next contraction at 4:00, and 6 contractions later we had a baby at 4:07. If Pitocin is evil, the epidural is God's gift to a laboring Britta. Seriously, with a first baby, who has 7 minutes of pushing? It's unheard of for a reason.

Maybe it wasn't crossing the backbone of the Andes on foot, or taking a mule train with food into a jungle camp after the roads flood and the supplies have run out. It's not solving the mystery of why a kid can't read or how to finally make something make sense when it never has before. It's not the kind of physical or mental adventure I've had before, but it was by far the biggest. No mountains, or floods, or mysteries compare to this. And, that's how two became three with a little help from a lot of people and, in the end, with a little modern medicine applied to something as old as time itself. Pretty amazing stuff.

The Baby Cometh!

Well, maybe... We're heading to the hospital later today to see if the miracles of modern medicine can jump start the labor process. It would seem that my body's on the fence today.

At 1 in the morning, I thought that I'd either 1) decided to channel my deceased cat and urinate outside the designated location (so one of his favorite things toward the end, but... I digress) or 2) experienced some sort of baby housing fluid leak. Since it was one in the morning, I did what any non-thinking very pregnant person would do. I got up, went to the bathroom, came back to bed, gave the sheets a smell test... nope, didn't smell like I'd had a loss of control... then I laid back down for a minute (because it wasn't so much a puddle as a spot and changing the sheets would mean needing to wake a sleeping husband, maybe for nothing).

I had to think it over. So, laying next to my spot, I spend some time contracting and listing a bit from one side to the other -- like a large ship -- decide it's the bed that's making me uncomfortable (this is the sleepy, non-thinking part), and that IF my spot IS evidence of bigger things to come, I'd better get some sleep (logic spills in). So, about 2:30 I give up on our bed, go take a couple Tylenol, and move with a towel to the baby room's twin bed so that Ajay can keep sleeping.

I get up a few times to check on the leaking, decide that I either have 1) a very uncooperative bladder all of a sudden or 2) there probably IS something going on, and sleep on and off until about 8. When I do wake up for good, though, I decide I'd better call the doctor to see what they want me to do since I don't like slow leaks of any type.

Our midwife, Nurse Linda, gets me in to be seen and... sure enough, I'm not like the deceased cat... just leaking all willy nilly outside my litter box. It really is a case of the baby's house starting to come apart at the seams. However, since we live in these modern times, apparently the medical community likes to give a girl 24 hours from this business starting to full blown labor, and if you're not doing it on your own they're willing to help you out. Hence, we're heading to the hospital later today for a little IV help. No sense ending up with infections or prolapsed umbilical cords, etc. because I'm wanting to wait things out and be all natural. Better healthy than according to my plan.

The true bummer of this all is that I won't get to use The Tub. Once you've gotten to this point, you're not allowed to sit in water, much less labor there for hours. So much for my fantasy of mixing spa time with labor. I have been assured that I do get a consolation prize instead: Hot Shower. Rather like The Price Is Right when they play PLINKO and you don't get the car, but get a blender with some lame attachments instead.

So, off to Labor & Delivery we'll go and... maybe... sometime in the next day or so... there will be pictures of the Chickpea to post.

39 is NOT "Just a Number"

Granted, I haven't turned 39 yet, but if anyone else tells me that 39 weeks is 'fine' or 'not even overdue'... I'm not sure, but whatever bits of Irish I have might come out.

We're 39 weeks and I'm still pregnant. For anyone on a 'day' counter, that's 273 days. It's 6552 hours or 393,120 minutes. I think that's about what it feels like, too. Basically, over the past week, I've continued to do nothing (following orders is not my forte--this alone would have been bad enough), had two doctor appointments at both of which I begged a woman to strip me (it's clinical, I swear), I've had a pretty bad sinus infection that no one wanted to treat with drugs (and steamy showers aren't worth much), I've had a few days that even walking has been nearly impossible -- more on this later), and I've resorted to cross-stitching tropical fish onto a baby towel to occupy my hands and mind. This has not been a week to remember.

I did find out that my extreme pelvic pain is not just of the normal variety. Come to find out, those of us fortunate enough to be super flexible in normal, non-pregnant life find our bodies totally out of control in pregnancy because the hormone called relaxin the body produces to help get things loosened up for delivery creates an overload of relaxed ligaments. We become super floppy and start coming apart at the seams. This, for me, has meant that my pelvis literally feels like it's coming undone in the middle every time I step or try to left one leg without the other because the ligaments the hold the pelvis together in the front are separating further than normal. Think walking, climbing stairs, getting in or out of bed, rolling over, getting in or out of a car, the bathtub, ... we do a lot with one leg then the other. This means that NOT everyone puts on her pants one leg at a time. I do that two feet and two legs at a time from a seated position, tray table up.

This has a name that's long. If you look up "Pregnancy SPD" you'll see things about this wonderful 'dysfunction' that can even result in the pelvis actually separating during delivery. A medically interesting possibility, but not one I'm hoping to experience. The good news is, it's NOT my imagination or me just being whiney. Bad news, it might not resolve immediately after birth and I'd be prone to having it again and earlier with subsequent adventures in baby making. (Shake fists, yell: Chickpea!!!)

So, until this baby decides to vacate this property, I'll probably just keep on keeping on. If things get really bad, I may take my things and waddle up to the waiting room of Labor and Delivery. Live off vending machines and 4 channels of TV until he decides to get a move on.

Photo highlights this week: I think he really IS moving down toward the exit, although still positioned off to one side a bit--whatever, upside down is upside down. We're told that we 70% effaced and 2+cm dilated, so I'll take that as progress. And, thanks to my superhuman flexibility combined with pregnancy hormones, I can still palm the floor. Apparently the sympathy hormones haven't kicked in for Ajay... he still can't touch his toes.

S t i l l Pregnant

Starting the third week of no work and all rest, I've decided to give up or give in and assume that eventually I will have this baby. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but sometime before the month of May is over.

I suppose that aside from the selfishness of having children because people want to, maybe they're meant to teach us things. I think this one is trying to teach me some patience. Anyone who knows me is probably laughing already -- I'm not a naturally patient person. Waiting on someone else frustrates me. I like having a schedule (mine), and then sticking to it.

This is nothing new. One of the reasons that teaching is great is because there's a schedule and within that schedule there's a plan for each hour -- a plan that I get to make. So, I've been spoiled with the teaching. Even when I was little, I hated working on other people's schedules and couldn't understand waiting for things.

Well, my brother was a little different. I remember him taking two hours to eat dinner. He used to be slow at everything. We were constantly waiting on him. Mom would say that he'd never have ulcers, but that she'd end up with ulcers from waiting on him. Deja vu all over again.

I think this baby is going to teach me some patience. Clearly, we're already at the mercy of his schedule. Soon, there will be nothing that's on my schedule so I might as well start getting used to this non-schedule / schedule that's not mine. Maybe I'll set aside some time for that today.

Not SO Big? OR Week of the Doctors

Who knew that modified bed rest could involve so much travel? Monday we went back to the midwives practice (after a trip to school to pick up, put away, and take out things for the kids for the rest of the year... just in case) and got our first set of marching orders: Don't go back to work (ha! done!), stay resting as much as possible, call with any increase in symptoms of pretty much anything, keep eating a low sodium, low refined carb, and high protein diet, and come back Wednesday after an ultrasound Tuesday.

Right-O!

Tuesday we went for the ultrasound, and everything looked great. They think he's 6lbs 9oz +/- 15oz. (For anyone who hasn't gotten in on the www.expectnet.com/ChickpeaChawan date/time/size game.... that might help you out!) and that he's measuring right in the 50% percentile for everything... except for his femurs. Those are 'long for dates.' This is potentially wonderful news for me. In further good news, it looks like his toes are normal -- as opposed to being like mine where the second toe is actually shorter than the third. (It's congenital, so if someone knows whose side this comes from, I'd be glad to hear who is at the root of the damage.) Bottom line: All this baby that they keep feeling might just be length. I think that exiting someone long would be easier than exiting someone, ummm, well, fat. Maybe I won't have a 9lb giant after all!

Yesterday, it was back to the midwives. I told the front desk lady that she was going to get tired of seeing us, and she gave me that look -- that look that says 'not me.' And, then I said, "Right, why lie, I'm going to get tired of coming here." They were okay with my blood pressure and I'd lost another pound since Monday (-5 lbs of puffiness, thanks, super low sodium blah taste diet), so we were all pleased. Good news / bad news: since all is well enough if left alone, we're leaving alone. This minimal intervention business sounded so good before I was this pregnant.

The good news required a trip to Target to look for a tri-fold chaise lounge for the outdoors. If I'm required to be resting and it's 80 and sunny outside, you can bet that all of me (in some sort of attractive granny pantie and sports bra get up) is going to lounge in the backyard. If I get really fat & sassy feeling , I might move to the front and make a sign that says something about honking if you want to save the whales.

I'll go back on Monday and at that point they'll be willing to do something called membrane stripping. I think it was the birth class lady who described this as "a really rough internal exam" where the midwife encourages labor by separating any little attachments holding baby's comfy, but temporary aquatic home to my more permanent features. There are some interesting articles and descriptions of this online, but I'll spare the faint of stomach or those who've not yet had the pleasure of being tired of being pregnant. Why spoil the fun?

Today, though, I get to have doctor visit no. 4 for the week. A trip to the eye doc is in order just to check out the visual disturbances I've been having since this blood pressure thing started. This is for mom's sake. I put mom on worry rest--not allowed to worry unless it's worry that can be acted upon (she's doing well at not verbalizing the other worries, but I'm sure I've not broken her worry habit). She found something I could act on, so we're going to the eye doctor. While it will be nice to know whether there's anything wrong with my eyes, I'm especially looking forward to the expedition to Bed Bath & Beyond afterward--come to find out, Target, WalMart, KMart... none of them carry tri-fold chaises. Apparently my low-end taste can only be met at BBB, and for $30 at that! Oh well, a small price to pay for memories of what bed rest CAN be.

Eviction Notice Forthcoming

Since Baby is now officially cramping my style, I'm planning to ask him to vacate my property by month's end. He's made modifications that are unlikely to be able to be fixed with a fresh coat of paint, and I can't say that I'll be taking another tenant any time soon. At the very least, he's not getting back the damages deposit. At most, I may have to call in the authorities to help him get on his way should he refuse to leave of his own accord.

We go back to the doctor tomorrow to see whether I'll be able to go back to work, and to see what more we need to do to either retain the tenant longer or aid him in leaving the property. Now that we're officially over 37 weeks, he's officially 'full term' by any measure and that means time in the NICU is highly unlikely. Hopefully, the numbers will be right on target, I'll be able to go back to doing what I do best, and he'll be able to hang out another 10 days so that I can be right with my guess about his birthday.

I have a sinking feeling, though, that I'll be told to stay mostly horizontal until he either exits or until an assisted exit is scheduled.

Sigh. Big Sigh.

So, a girl walks into her doctor's office and they say, put your feet up... for 3 days! Parum-pum.

Not much of a punchline, I know. Yesterday's little visit was much less exciting that the previous week's. In addition to being told I was 'looking a little puffy' (if toes that look like Vienna sausages are 'puffy,' I'm Father Christmas) I was sent home for a few days of bed rest. Nothing to be worried about at present, but something they're labeling 'possible preeclampsia.' Basically, a few numbers were out of line, and they're being cautious ... since they know that telling me to stay off my feet at work would be a waste of breath. Although bringing a couch to the classroom did cross my mind.

The good news is that, as of tomorrow, we're officially 'full term' and this baby can appear whenever he wishes. He's already more than big enough, so I don't mind if he just turns up a little sooner rather than later. Especially if that shortens this mandatory bed rest. (Don't get me wrong -- were it MY idea, it might be great. It's the medically necessary part that has me riled up.)

Since I've got some time on my hands, I'm currently planning to take over the world. So far, the plan involves getting off bed rest by Monday ... somehow. I know, it's an excellent strategy. In the meantime, I'll be here. Horizontal. In the house. Doing not much. Sigh. Big sigh.

Might As Well...

I found a site that turns having a baby into an even bigger gamble than it already is, at less of a cost: http://www.expectnet.com/games/ChickpeaChawan

For free, you, too, can join in the fun of guessing when we'll trade in couplehood for family fun. I'm the site manager, so if you decide to bet on me going OVER 40 weeks and find your post deleted... well, you can guess who might have made that happen. :)

Mr. Big

We went for our 35-week appointment last week, and there were a of "hummm" and "uh-huh" kinds of noises coming out of Nurse Linda's mouth. Most of that was followed by, "that's baby there, too."

Yes, apparently it's not just my imagination that he's heading toward the exit. His "head's way down there" and the rest of him is taking up so much room that he's measuring a full two weeks ahead of schedule. Ajay backed Nurse Linda into a corner and asked her, if she were a betting woman in Vegas, where we'd be weight-wise now, and she thought that he'd already tip the scaled at 7 lbs. Um... and with a month to go times half a pound a week... that makes a BIG BABY!

Wondering how likely the chances are that we'll go all the way to 40 weeks, Nurse Linda also did some checking and found that things feel favorable and we're already dilated a centimeter. So, given the size plus the environmental conditions, it's looking like an earlier exit may be possible. To make that possibility more likely, we were given a 'to do' and a 'to take' list. She thinks that we'll see big changes in a couple weeks, and I'd be very okay with that.

As soon as I find a site that lets me set up some friendly wagering on things like arrival date and data, I'll open the betting to the public. Until then, I'm just hoping really hard that Nurse Linda's right.

I Know a Lot of Good Tricks

Well, so said the Cat in the Hat. This baby also apparently knows a good trick or two when he finds it. Today he has managed to repeatedly perform a new trick that involves 1) a foot, 2) my ribs, and 3) the muscles and skin right under my ribs.
For the past couple hours, our little friend has repeatedly stuck a foot up under my ribs--right against them, so that I can feel it while he slowly drags -- it -- down -- across -- each -- one, until POP! he gets to a soft place where the foot meets less resistance and it can stick our right under my ribs. Ta-da!
So, there's been this sort of drag - bump, drag-bump, drag-kick dance happening inside today. I think that he has officially proven the sort of intelligence that merits an early exit from the womb. He is obviously bored and now making up his own games. I'd be happier to play were they not uncomfortable, and I think that's more likely to happen on the outside of this body. Only a month to go...

Ummm... Are We There Yet?

35 weeks and a few days down, somewhere around a month to go, but... is it asking too much for that to be cut in half? I've started hoping that the power of positive thought will sway Mister into an early exit from Hotel Britta. Maybe 2-3 weeks early? Sure, we've had a great run together, but I know that he'd be much happier if he didn't have to come to work with me everyday, if he could have a little more space to himself, and if he wasn't getting pushed at by me all the time when he roams up under my ribs with his lovely little feet.
I mean, really, what could it hurt? The internet tells me that --as of this point-- 99% of babies born have no trouble breathing on their own, eating, or doing anything else babies are supposed to do. They're just a little smaller. Let me just say, the fact that I am starving every couple hours (to the point where my tummy rumbles audibly) tells me that someone is really just getting bigger. The rest is done. Baked. Formed. Produced.
So, as baby gets bigger, so goes my body. When I say bigger, I mean that I'm considering getting a sign for my butt that says, "This vehicle makes wide turns." Or, maybe the triangular sign that farm implements use when driving on the road -- the slow moving vehicle sign. Basically, bigger = slower. I can't walk at a normal pace--only waddle at a turtle's clip. From the back, this must look something like a kid in a diaper learning to walk. Jerky and halting, a little worrisome (as in: does she need help?!), and painful for me. This normal part of pregnancy doesn't feel like it should be normal. Perhaps this is why someone at school told me, "The last month is hell. Don't let anyone else tell you differently. They'd be lying." I appreciated the brutal honesty, because a lot of people seem to have conveniently forgotten that the feeling of your pelvis splitting apart isn't nice, that your feet swelling like little balloons isn't convenient, and that simple things--like digging in the garden--are anything but simple.
Well, just look at it -- there's nothing to say except, wow--THAT'S gotten bigger!

The Last Supper

Okay, that might be slightly dramatic, but Ajay and I did go out for a fantastic dinner at Cafe Margot this Wednesday night. Margot is one of the few places here in town that does a different menu daily with whatever is fresh and ready for a table. It was so good. The two-and-a-half of us dined on halibut, pork chops, and carrot cake. Yum. And, like clockwork, about 90 minutes into things, someone who will go unnamed decided to get antsy and it was time to get up from the table and head home. Did I mention that 90 minutes later was a little after 7:30? Yes, the romantic nights out are already getting earlier, and there's not even a babysitter to get home to pay yet.

Humm, I wonder what the Magic 8 Ball would say about the future of this...

Harder, Carter!!

This week's highlight--by far--was the long awaited hospital tour that was part of the 6 weeks of childbirth classes that we've been going though. Now that I type this, I don't think that saying the tour was the the highlight is actually correct, though. Sitting in the main lobby of the Vanderbilt Hospital was actually the true highlight.

Our class instructor has us all there -- about eight, visibly pregnant couples all sitting in a section of the lobby -- getting ready to start off, when a really visibly pregnant woman comes in through the main doors. This woman is also visibly in labor. She's walking with a purpose between stops to grab at an inanimate object for some support on her journey to the bank of elevators that none of us will ever forget must be taken to the 4th floor. Well, a couple minutes later, the apparent father of the future child comes into the lobby -- looking confused, like he's lost his very pregnant wife or something. (We think that he must have been getting their things from the car and handing the keys to a valet to get it parked -- he wasn't gone long enough to have parked on his own and he didn't look in much of a condition to be doing any more driving either.) Well, he (unfortunately) found her still waiting by the elevators, and their reunion was marked with a serious onslaught of screaming. Something that was either, "I don't care! Harder!" or "I don't care, Carter!" was the most recognizable part, along with some animal-like cry/moan and the number 4.

So, caring more than his wife did at that point, we named the dad-to-be Carter, since that might be what we heard.

Poor Carter must have eventually secured an elevator for his lovely wife and gotten her up to the 4th floor because by the time that we got up there 20 minutes later, she'd already produced the goods. Our tour group learned that these are called "stop and drop" or "drive by" babies.

Call me crazy, but if I'm getting charged for labor and delivery services, you can bet that I'm going to be at that hospital long enough for there to be some people coming and checking on me a few times and for them to be bringing me things that I think that I need. No sense letting them off that easy if I'm as miserable as Carter's wife.

It was sort of like the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the Wizard is commanding them NOT to look behind the curtain -- this might not be the picture of labor a hospital wants you to see. But, it served as a nice wake up call about the reality of labor: it will come calling, and it will know your name (and your husband's name, too, even if you don't care anymore).

And, if that excitement wasn't enough, after the tour we got to watch a video on circumcision. If the dads had blanched at the first birth videos, this went a step beyond. A whiter shade of pale. I do know how to quiet down the men during NCAA tournament season now, and it only takes a 5 minute video narrated by a medical professional. Well, leaving the highlights for others should they wish to watch one of these gems of medical procedure marketing, I'll just say that even with a little injection of local pain killer (ouch to that, too) it looked like this hurt. The fact that our doctor-narrator kept insisting that the baby was not in pain despite the fact that he was 1) naked on a metal table, 2) in arm, hip, and leg restraints, and 3) covered with some of that creepy surgical drape stuff -- not to mention the actual how-to of the surgery -- seems unlikely at best, and rather Tooth Fairy-esque in terms of believability at worst. Last I checked, most babies aren't actually able to tell you if they're in pain -- except by crying -- and there did seem to be a good deal of that. From the baby, that is. The dads-to-be in the room, well, they looked defeated and pale, but no visible tears were shed.

Winding Down and Gearing Up

Spring Break is winding down -- only hours left to go -- but preparing for Baby is gearing up. This week we went up to Syracuse for a pre-baby blessing at the temple, came back to Nashville for a pre-baby meeting with our pediatrician-to-be and childbirth class, then down to Atlanta for some pre-baby shopping at IKEA. After we got back to Nashville again, there was a lot of moving of furniture and putting together of baby things, a visit from California friends who are moving to Nashville soon, and prepping for the installation of new windows throughout the house tomorrow... no wonder I feel a little tired.

Another reason for the tiredness might be the ever bigger Chickpea. Since the last pictures, he's had a month to grow on me. He's moved or grown enough to get off my sciatic nerve, so that pain seems to be gone for the time being, but he's now enjoying a lot of horiozontal stretching while fattening up. Most of his time is spent head down, with a baby butt sticking out right under my ribs on the right and some knees and feet curled over to my left side.

That's where the majority of my beatings take place. My poor left side... The other night he gave me such a good kick that Ajay let out a yelp. He was sitting next to me on the couch, and Mister managed to kick hard enough that through layers of me and my clothes his power was felt against Ajay's ribs, too. By the time he's out in the world, I expect some very developed leg muscles in addition to an assertive attitude.

Spring has sprung! Or, at the very least, it's trying its best to spring. Our rescued bulbs (saved from being mowed over again and again in a friend's yard last year) have pushed up and started blooming already. I don't think they realize that winter might not be over. They've been duped by the surprisingly nice 60-74 degree weather over the past few days. Being from the Midwest, I know that expecting the worst is always the best answer, so I expect to be out covering the several hundred little plants with a large sheet some night soon. All well worth it because they are so nice to have, and they have worked hard to make it. Somehow, I have developed unusual empathy for the little flowers.

In news of other blossoming, the baby belly continues to expand. I'm still surprised to be able to see inside my belly button when I look down at my stomach -- that used to be something I'd only see in a mirror. It's sticking out further than ever, but I'm still feeling small compared to the other women in the childbirth class. I delight in the small joys.

The new baby talent from this week is the power kick. I was sitting in a training session, wearing my keys, jump drive, and ID on lanyard, when everything started jingling. I wasn't the one moving. Our little friend had kicked so hard that he was making my keys clatter. The people at my table looked at me, as if I was being rude, so I pointed at the offender and mouthed a "sorry" to them. They looked appropriately confused and embarrassed. Again, small joys.

Mr. Busy seems to like to move from one side of me to the other--pivoting, usually, with his head down so that I can see his baby butt move across my stomach, just under my ribs. Once he moves, then he can kick at the side that he was letting rest. So thoughtful. Since he is getting bigger, the big turns remind me of a semi trying to make it into an alley. Apparently unsafe at any speed, but... they seem to somehow make it work. The full flips and stretching out horizontally (in an attempt to pop out my belly button) are obvious to me and anyone who looks at my shirt while these antics go on. The good news is that watching this happen is free entertainment, so I'm really never bored. Not a bad situation at all.

The Strangest Dream

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling for a hole in my chest -- by my growing bump, where my ribs meet. I'd had the strangest dream that the baby had kicked me so hard that his foot had actually come out of my belly right under my ribs, and-- once that was out, a leg emerged, then the rest of a baby. A cute and fat baby, apparently rather normal, despite this extraordinary and mostly painless delivery. How strange.

If only it could be so easy! It reminds me of a cross between Zeus' head being split open to deliver Athena, and Adam being knocked out to give up some rib for the creation of Eve. You'll note that those are stories about men giving birth, for what it's worth. While I doubt that Chickpea will ever kick hard enough to actually make his own way out, I won't be totally surprised if he feels compelled to make an interesting arrival when the time comes.

$200 of Education is Actually Priceless

As of Tuesday we've started down the road of baby having classes. Just like I could train to be about anything else, I now qualify to train for having a baby. As if the 'Childbirth Educator' knew of my cynicism in advance, in the first class we watched a video about childbirth through the ages--with voice over video of art showing birth. Sculptures, paintings, illustrations, video from 1940s AMA ads for twilight sleep deliveries...

That's when things got disturbing. Nothing like seeing a 1940s birth with forceps to wake up a crowd. It was at about this point that they started weaving in more birth video clips and Ajay made some sort of 'Ack' or 'Bleck'-type noise and said something about the babies coming out looking greasy. That's when I realized that this reality check is why they tell you to bring your spouse. Seeing guppies being born as the extent of his qualifications for helping with birth, this class might be even more important for him than me.

"Ms. Watters, Your Tummy's Big Like You're Having A Baby..."

So, apparently 5th graders are a little slower on the uptake than the older middle school crowd (perhaps with good reason they're kept separated in the basement of the building...), but last week one of the kids observantly pointed out that my tummy was big like I was having a baby, not just getting fat. I was glad for the clarification.

Indeed, the belly grows and I keep drinking more water and slathering on more belly butter hoping that the memories will of this will last without leaving a road map of stretch marks. Friend is busy kicking and punching daily, perfecting a mixed martial arts routine fit for The Octagon, and I keep moving more slowly... hefting around this much more weight is tiresome.

I'm starting to get used to sleeping on my side, and I think that I might have found the right combination of Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear-sized pillows to get me through the night. I have a Snoogle (don't ask -- it's a curvy tube of pillow that is about as bad/sad as it sounds), a smooshy bed pillow, and a formerly decorative throw pillow that all work together to make bedtime better. It's still far from perfect, but it's a big improvement over thinking I'd have to sleep in the recliner.

The half-a-pound-a-week growth that baby should be doing these days is getting obvious from the outside -- things have reached their limits vertically (I like to tell myself this even if it's not true), and the man is pushing outward. My pelvis is spreading and that's about as comfortable as it sounds, and I've read that my ribs might be next, so I'm hopeful that he decides moving outward for the next 9 or 10 weeks is best for all involved.

Tiny Fists of Fury

There was a Seinfeld episode where Kramer was taking martial arts classes and when Jerry and Elaine found out he was actually in a children's class he said something about the kids' tiny fists of fury. I think that's what Chickpea is up to--martial arts training.

We went out to Sambuca (great desserts and live jazz) with Ajay's friends from business school last night, I took my preventive TUMS before heading out, got good parking, and we were even seated without a wait. Then... tap, tap, tap. After that, ...TAP, TAP, TAP! Then there was knocking, squirming, kicking, rolling, punching, pushing, and flipping. Because Mister has developed some strong bones and has yet to be fully fattened up, all of this made for some seriously uncomfortable conversation. He'd move right and up, I'd lean left and back. He'd roll forward and jab, I'd curl forward. I gave up at 10 and drove home before the rest of the crowd. Defeated by baby-to-be of under 3#, I crawled into bed and... wouldn't you know it--he stopped.

All signs point to this being what I've heard called a "Challenge Child" -- the type that makes parents wonder why this seemed like a good idea, and actively question whether the universe has it in for them. Or, maybe he simply doesn't like jazz.

The Little Things

Oh, the small delights of pregnancy! As I gimp along like an aged athlete (with the middle to match that of most former greats), I have to delight in the small victories in life. This evening my pleasure comes in the form of some berry TUMS.

Don't get me wrong--TUMS have been great for a number of years. Great enough that I've developed a preference for the mixed berry boxes. There's purple-blue berry chalk, purple-pink berry chalk, and a Pepto pink berry chalk. All of these are FAR superior to the original TUMS non-berry flavored chalk colors.

Anyway, because I am ensuring my future bone strength and that of Little Man, and because foods I love no longer love me (onions, garlic, spicy sausage!! oh, spicy sausage!!), we have invested in the double-wide of TUMS bottles--complete with 200 tablets. With so many chalky little delights to choose from I am able (for the time being) to choose four tablets that ALL MATCH! I can select the flavor of my choice and don't have to mix! Imagine the pleasure that simple choice can bring and you might start to see where I'm coming from.

It's a small thing, but... seriously, with all the random little pains I've been having, matching my TUMS makes for a GREAT end to the day (not to mention that this means I get to have a baked potato with EVERYTHING on top)!

Whoa, Nelly!

As if my body is a step ahead of my brain, on Thursday it knew exactly what time it was: 3rd trimester time! My back started to ache a bit (front goes out and so does the back), my left hand and wrist had some prickly tingling (pregnancy carpal tunnel? Maybe I just sleep on it the wrong way sometimes...), and I thought that I'd pulled a muscle in my bottom (seems almost possible?)... until a sharp pain started to shoot down my left leg. Welcome, 3rd trimester!

I go in for a glucose test tomorrow and will ask Nurse Linda, the midwife, if I'm right, but my diagnosis is pregnancy sciatica. It now hurts to walk, stand, or sit, so I've taken the weekend lying down and we've called Ajay's friends who are physical therapists and I've got some interesting stretches and massages to do (one includes sitting and gyrating on a tennis ball). The best solution is to have the baby because it's unlikely to completely 'resolve' until then. Ah, the delights. Apparently, because ligaments are loose, the muscles get a little out of sorts. For the percentage of the ppopulation that has the sciatic nerve running through this muscle group, this is a common problem. I know--LUCKY ME!

As further evidence of the root of the 'problems' I present the growing belly. A rather odd, box-like shape at present, but I'm not going to complain. The belly button is still facing IN, so all is well!

Leapin' Lizards!

In the future baby room there are bookcases that cover the better part of a wall. They're the attached to the wall variety--you know, for stability and such--and they're not moving. One of the nice things about them is that, with books removed, they make great storage cubbies.

Having a baby means needing more storage for more stuff, so the books have been moved and I've found some baskets that fit perfectly into the spaces. The baskets, however, needed some minor adjustments to go from decorative to functional. (No one wants a baby getting a sliver from clothing stored in a willow basket.) So, thanks to a fantastic sale at the Jo-Ann Superstore, I picked up six different prints made for quilting for about $2.99 a yard. My favorite by far is the green frog print, but they're all cute and now the baskets are safe for the storage of kid essentials.

Many of these kid essentials will be coming to us from California later this month when Ajay's friends from business school come to Nashville for this year's get together. A very good thing about not being the first of our friends to go down this path is that those who've gone before come with advice and gear to share.

Most importantly...

I realized that I forgot to add another very important piece of information to last night's post: I am now the owner of tickets to the Elton John & Billy Joel "Face2Face" concert coming to Nashville 5/16.

My mom says that being a mom means not always getting to do what you want to do, but I don't think that requesting for divine intervention in this case would be asking too much. I mean, really, I was planning to marry Billy Joel when I was about 9 -- we've had a long relationship, even if the Piano Man doesn't know it. My new plan is for the baby to wait until the concert is ending on the 16th, I can then go into labor and be swept off in an ambulance from the Sommet Center directly to the hospital -- just think how much faster that would be than waiting to get out of a parking garage in post-concert traffic!?

Sadly, there is a "Plan B" that involves selling the tickets if baby BillyJohn EltonJoel's arrival conflicts with concert going, but I hope not to need to put it into place.

The Northern Migration

Measuring over a foot in length apparently means the man needs more room to move and grow, and he's doing this by migrating up into my ribs. It's about as comfortable as it sounds. In the new pictures, I can see how his room has moved out and up. I'm more watermelon than bowling ball in shape at this point, but I'm sure that he'll continue to make himself at home as the weeks go on.

It's Grow Time: A pound and a half with more to go

Measuring right on track and weighing in at a pound and a half, today we got to see the baby again and today, at last, our little friend was willing to show his face. The imaging place was great -- they took a lot of time and gave us prints and a DVD of the images and video. Yes, video--they did the regular black & white ultrasound and taped that, then they pushed a button and the machine did what Ajay assures me are just complicated math algorithms and it produced moving 3D images.


We got to see the kid sucking his thumb, twisting and turning, and trying to eat his umbilical cord (or, so it appeared - there's not much to do in there). The prints that we got were pretty good, so I'll post those. The 3D picture is a composite of 2D images, so it's not perfect -- there's a finger or umbilical cord spot on his face that isn't really part of his cheek, for example -- but it's still MUCH better than the results of the last imaging trip. From here on out, he just needs to get bigger. All the parts and pieces are in place, so now it's grow time.

Round, and Round, and Round We Grow

I think that last week the little man had a growth spurt. I will keep telling myself that, anyway! As predicted the waist disappeared and this week I have a decidedly more, ... what's the word... apple-shaped? citrus-shaped? figure. One of my 7th grade girls came up to me at the end of class yesterday, stuck out her hand and patted my belly while saying. "Ms. Watters, now we see your belly!" Uum, great? I think that I smiled and agreed, but I was a little surprised.

I'm all about giving my kids a hug when they need it or dumping a lesson on reading strategies if there's something happening in the school that needs to be talked about, but I was not ready for the patting of the belly. Surprise! It's apparently that time of year.

So, while we wait to see the little giant next week via ultrasound, this week I think about how and why generations and generations of women--from time immemorial--have decided it would be a good idea to have a kids... with no way of realizing or planning for the changes before you're the one actually doing the baby baking or having. [So, this is the part where everyone who has kids is rolling on the floor laughing since this part is NOTHING compared to what comes later, but...] I knew that I couldn't understand how it would be, but I just went ahead and dove on in. Why would generally sane people do this?

Sure, this might be liberating, creative or generative for some women, but it's a total takeover of the body and mind (so say I today--this could be all wrong according to me tomorrow). Especially now, it's not like I'm having babies to carry on a royal family name or to work a farm that needs labor, we're not living in a place that needs to be more populated, ... it's not something that has to happen, but so women choose this anyway. Choose it even though mind and body are taken over by hormones and the chemistry and physics that turn those into a baby. Even though it completely changes life as you've known it. Maybe we are all really insane?

In Production

So, as the students were coming back to school today, another teacher passed me in the hall and said, "So, I hear you're in production, congratulations!"

Like farmland?

I'd never heard that before, but I suppose it might be about the most accurate description of my current state. This is sort of like farming -- high inputs, a yield that won't be determined for some time to come -- so, "in production" I am.

22 down, 18 (... or so... ) to go!

With the start of 2009, I've become a year older (again) and we've started the downhill half of this pregnancy. Still no news to report on the name front -- we are considering a multitude of options, and have started compiling the possibilities in three lists: A List, B List, and Rejected. Among the rejected are several of my greatest ideas, but... I suppose that naming this child Harrison Ford Chawan might not be the best long term plan.

Since I'm finally starting to look slightly more "pregnant" than "lazy," I think that I can safely add some pictures of the transformation to the blog -- apologies to anyone thinking that this is simply not in good taste. Believe me, if I wasn't transfixed by the transformation of my own body in the way that some people are by reality TV or the overused "train wreck" I wouldn't bother. Since I'm in awe and because it's my blog, there will be some pictures . I won't post them each week, but figure that eventually there will be some, um..., more obvious gains made, and having a comparison point can't hurt. What remains of my waist is disappearing daily and I expect it to be gone within the week, replaced by a much more round than flat middle.

So, I'll go back to school tomorrow and I'm sure that any middle schoolers who didn't hear the rumor confirmed before vacation will be seeing more of a change as they return this week. I'm now officially in all maternity pants -- sizing up simply had to come to an end -- and the shirts are next on the list. If anyone's quick to notice change and question its origins, it's the 10-14 year old crowd. Nothing gets by them for long.