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.