Corben's Birth

I've been trying to sit down and write about Corben's birth ALL DAY for THREE days now, before it gets away from me, as these things tend to do, but this kid hasn't stopped eating all day. Which, I am in no way complaining about, especially since last night he slept most of the night. Eat all day, sleep all night? Hell, I can get on board with that. Why, it's exactly what I've been doing for the past 9 months!

So I guess the last you heard from us was on the Tuesday before the birth. On Wednesday we went in to see the midwives, who after a little check, informed me that I was 1 cm dilated, with some other good things happening down there. Now 1cm at nearly 41 weeks is nothing to write home about, but it was PROGRESS! Progress that made me feel like we actually may have this baby before it was time to register him for preschool.

On Friday we had a BPP (biophysical profile) test scheduled, which includes an ultrasound and a non-stress test, where they basically check all of baby's stats and make sure everything is still OK. They look for baby's movement, breathing, fluid levels and muscle tone, and then hook you up to a monitor to make sure baby's heartrate is increasing with movement, yada yada yada.

Annnd....we kind of failed the test.

Kinda.

See, baby was in the middle of a nice long nap during the ultrasound, and was NOT interested in coming out to play. Thus he got a big fat ZERO in the movement box, and a big fat ZERO in the breathing box, because that was also way down.

Luckily he came out to play for the non stress test, and they recorded lots of movement there.

However, since we technically failed the test, the midwives asked me to come back the next morning to repeat the whole shenanigan all over again.

Goodie.

My midwife assured me it was nothing to get concerned about, since they saw lots of movement eventually, and that lower breathing rates can actually be a sign of a baby getting ready to head on out, but it was another day of waiting, and another drive to the hospital the next morning.

Or not...

We went home, I promptly got on the elliptical and went for a nice long (but slow!) walk. Ate 1/2 a pineapple. Then got up to some shenanigans of our own later that night.

Something seems to have worked!

At 3:30 am, I woke up feeling those telltale cramps. By 4am, my contractions started. They were regular from the get-go, coming about 5 minutes apart, but only lasting about 30 seconds or so. I stayed in bed for the next two hours, determined to rest and let the family keep sleeping, and knowing darn well that Griffin would be up at 6:01, and there was no chance in hell of anyone sleeping in. I started to make lists in my head...lists of all the things I had to do when I got up - strip the good sheets off the bed, blow up the pool a bit more, pack the last of Griffin's things, oh and muffins...wouldn't it be nice to have fresh muffins this morning?

Just before 6am I woke Steve up to share the news.

The first few hours of the morning flew by in a haze. We called Grandma and Grandpa to come pick up Griffin, called my mom, called Gretel, and finally, called the midwives, all while my contractions sped up to about 3 minutes apart. Oh, and muffins....I made muffins!

At 8:30am, everyone seemed to converge all at once. Grandma and Grandpa arrived, just in the nick of time, because we were about to toss Griffin in the snow to go play by himself (OK, not really, but we were starting to loose patience with Captain Full O'Beans.) The midwives arrived. The dog went ape-shit. Gretel arrived. The midwives checked me and declared me 4 cm dilated, and in active labour, all while Dudley barked madly in the background.

And then suddenly, it was quiet again, and I had the go-ahead to get in the birthing tub.

Ah the tub! It was warm, I was buoyant, it was all good. And those stories you read, about waterbirthing, and how getting in the birthing tub just makes the pain of the contractions "melt away?"

Lies. All lies.

Don't get me wrong, it was relaxing as stink to hang out in the water all day. It was easy to change positions, it was soothing and warm, but there was nothing melting about my contractions!

The midwives encouraged me to get out of the tub fairly regularly, as walking around sped things way the heck up. I got out for the first time around noon I think, just around the time that my Mom arrived. Another check found me at 6cms, and we decided to break my water just to keep things moving along. (I'm kind of with the "lets just get this over with" school, that says bring on the pain, if it means it's over quicker!)

I think it was shortly after one that I got out of the tub again. The contractions had seriously intensified, and I could no longer get comfortable in the tub. Buoyancy was suddenly unwanted, I wanted something solid and supporting under me that I could lean on, and I knew push against when the time came.

And the time came sooner than I anticipated. I moved to our bed, and after a few quick contractions I was ready to push.

Anyone who's given birth will tell you that that desire to push is something that you could never ever fight. Women that are told "don't push yet" are like, "yeah, right." It's akin to stopping a fricking freight train. So I was glad to hear that we were good to go, everything was dilated and effaced and all the other things they needed to be. So suddenly we were pushing. And just as suddenly, it was over. I think maybe a grand total of 5 pushes and a few tribal howls later, I was holding my beautiful new son in my arms.

Now, aside from all the "technical elements" of the story, I want to tell you a bit about what I remember about the beauty of being able to have this experience in my own home. Our house, which is full of windows facing in all directions, was flooded with the most beautiful sun light all day long...I'm not sure I've seen a more beautiful day so far this winter. Despite the fact that there were 6 people in the house plus me, it was silent, almost reverent, all day long. It was an amazing feeling to be surrounded by familiar things, familiar people, all of whom obviously held a deep respect for what they were witnessing. I hardly felt worthy of the respect as I lounged in the water and later howled on the bed...hell, most of what I was doing was breathing. However, here in the afterglow, holding this stunning little human being in my arms as I type, I fully understand the importance of the event. It's life giving...it's giving life.

I really don't know where everyone was or what everyone did all day long, but the one thing I do know is that Steve never left my side - he was amazing, strong, and I couldn't have done it without him. Gretel too - she did leave my side, to make sandwiches and take pictures and do all kinds of other stuff that I'm certain I have no idea of the breadth of, but every time a contraction hit she was right back there at my side, pushing on my back, or not, depending on my mood at the time. I love both of you guys, and I'm so glad you were a part of the day.

I'm also so glad that my Mom was able to be there. My Mom arrived on time for Griffin's birth, but ended up going back to our house to grab a bit of rest, as we thought it was going to be hours before Griffin arrived. Griffin surprised us all (including the second midwife who arrived in barely enough time to catch him!) and my mom missed the big moment. I'm glad you didn't miss it this time Ma!

Corben is, in a word, perfect. He is a totally chilled out baby...very little phases him. Even when he's hungry he gets a bit worked up, but it's nothing like the end of the world cries that Griffin had when he was a baby. The only thing he hates is being cold, and thus, being naked or anywhere even close to partially undressed. Other than that he's eating all day, waking only once or twice in the night to feed, and generally being adorable.

I have more to say about this whole second baby thing, but I think this post is quite long enough, so I'll just leave you with some pictures of the day, courtesy of Gretel.

Griffin "meets" Corben from Grandma and Grandpa's via Skype.

(If you came here via the Birth Story Blog Hop, you'll find the MckLinky here. Thanks for stopping by!)

Wordless Wednesday - The view from here

Last week:This week: Heck of an improvement!

(I'm actually hoping today won't be wordless at all, and I'll actually have time to get the birth story posted...stay tuned!)

Still waiting...

Well I'm not going to rant, but I'm also not going to make any birth announcements either.

We (mostly I) am STILL. PREGNANT.

Tomorrow I'm heading in for a little poking and prodding, in the hopes of getting something moving. It was supposed to be today, but another client at the practice beat me to labour. Our midwives have a fairly large catchment area, part of the fun of living in the sticks. They have hospital privileges at 2 hospitals, one which is a respectable 25 minutes away (where Griffin was born) and another which is a less respectable (especially in labour!) 75 minutes away. They were headed off to the 75 minute away one this evening, and had the scheduled poking and prodding been successful, I also would have had to head to said hospital if I wanted them to deliver my baby, or to the closer one where an OB would deliver the baby.

Neither of these options involve a $150.00 birthing tub (that we've already purchased) in my living room, which is where I am planning (hoping!) to eventually pop this kid out.

So we decided to reschedule.

And in the mean time, we wait. And watch The Hangover. I haven't got around to watching my weepy movie, but thought it may be more fun to try and laugh the baby out instead!

Good times, people, good times!

Over. Due.

I know, I know, I've heard it all.

"Baby will come when he's ready."

"It's only an ESTIMATED due date."

"I know how you feel."

"Just relax and rest, and before you know it, he'll be here."

Yup, heard it all. And I know it's all true. However, this is MY blog, and my place to rant, vent, post naked pictures of myself (HA! Had you scared there!) and do anything else I want. And since that's what I'm about to do, if you don't want to hear it, you best go now.

So. Now that half of you have left the room, for the other half, I have the current running tally of things we've tried, unsuccessfully obviously, to help convince baby to come out (even though I'm only 3 days overdue):

Homeopathic remedies (x3)
Acupuncture
Acupressure
Spicy foods (tonight at dinner, which I am currently paying for...heavily)
Pineapple
Basil
Oregano
Sex
Nipple stimulation
Evening Primrose Oil
Walking
Tractor riding
Eating copious amounts of chocolate (oh wait, that's just part of my daily routine)
Raspberry Leaf Tea
Sitting on the birthing ball for hours at a time
Deep relaxation

Obviously, none of these have worked, and friends, I am tired of being pregnant. I am tired of Tums, tired of peeing 7 times a night and the effort that it takes to haul myself out of bed each time, tired of my boobs hurting for no good reason (I might as well be breastfeeding 18 times a day if my boobs are going to hurt this much) and tired of shirts that only cover the top 3/4 of my abdomen.

Here's the list of things I have not tried, that are still in my arsenal, all of which I plan on busting out tomorrow:

Sending the kid back to daycare
Watching a weepy movie and having a good cry (am now taking suggestions...please know that it takes a damn sad movie to make me cry!)
Wear my fanciest underwear Buy some new fancy underwear that actually fits, cause sure as hell the moment I put them on, my water will break.

I KNOW baby will come when he's ready and 100% cooked. I KNOW every day he spends in there is good for him. I KNOW that he has to come eventually, and I won't be toting a preschooler around in my belly 3 years from now. But anyone who's done this before will hear me when I say IT DOESN'T MATTER!

Mama is ready, and 100% cooked too!

If you have anything helpful to say (like "I've heard that Baileys induces labour") please feel free to comment. If you have something not so helpful to say (like "maybe you'll be pregnant forever - just think of all the use you'll get out of your maternity clothes") then please refrain from opening your mouth, lest you wish to have my foot shoved in it.

And thus concludes my rant.

I love you all...thanks for listening! Cross your fingers that the next time you hear from us, it will be with a birth announcement, and not a crankier, even more overdue rant!

Peace out dudes.

Today's Update

Last night, after hauling ass up to Griffin's bedroom for the umpteenth time, I headed back down the stairs only to miss (or something) and went butt first down about 1/2 a dozen stairs. After Steve's heart rate returned to normal, the dog settled back down again, and I determined that I was OK, I got a little bit excited thinking that maybe this would kick start baby's arrival.

No such luck.

In fact, we just returned from the midwife who said that things are still "closed for business" down there.

Great.

However, the episode did result in a very adorable little chat with Griffin this morning:

G: Mommy, what happened with you and the stairs last night?

M: Mommy fell down a few of the stairs.

G: Where did you get hurt?

M: It hurt a little bit all over, but Mommy didn't hurt anything specific.

G: (Slightly confused) But I need to give you a kiss...where can I kiss you better??

My kid is too damn cute!

And since I've been slightly slack on picture sharing, here's a few shots from our toboggan and torch adventure!

Griffin and I get our paws on the Olympic Spliff Torch!

Slap that smug smile right off your face!

We woke up this morning feeling very smug. It was 7:15 and Griffin was still asleep. My smugness was directly related to this:
In an attempt to quash the 5:30 wakeups, we got Griffin his own clock. I covered up the last 2 numbers, and put that little sign on it, and told him that if he wakes up and the clock says 1,2,3,4 or 5, that it's still night, and time to go back to sleep. However, if he wakes up and the clock says 6,7,8, or 9(ha!) he can get up. The first night we tried it, he woke up at 5:30, cried for a few minutes, and then went back to sleep till 6:30....a huge improvement! Then last night, he woke up again at 5:30, and went right back to sleep.

So like I said, when I woke up at 7:15, I was feeling pretty smug about my clever idea and my soundly sleeping child.

My happy proud parent self got a hearty smack in the face when I stepped into the kitchen to make coffee and walked into a lake. In the kitchen.

Turns out the tap that was "leaking" last night when we went to bed was doing a little bit more than leaking. It was flowing heartily. There was water all over the kitchen counter, behind the stove, in the back hallway, and as I later discovered, in the basement where it had leaked through the floor to puddle around the furnace. Awesome!

So now my kitchen looks like this:


After an hour on the phone, customer service is sending the replacement part we need. It'll be here in 3-7 business days. Awesome. The water in the whole house is off, because I can't get the hot water right at the tap to turn off. Super awesome. I've spent the morning under the sink (Steve is away today) trying to take the old tap out, because damned if we're waiting 3-7 days for a kitchen sink. Despite the body pillow, lying under the sink it hardly comfortable at 39 weeks pregnant. I also had to pull the stove out from the wall...the stove which hasn't been pulled out from the wall since we moved in....NOT awesome! More like nasty, nasty, NASTY! Good thing I could go into LABOUR any minute now...might be hard to have a home birth if there's no WATER in the house!

GAH!

And that concludes my rant. Now that I've had my say (not to mention a cold cup of tea and the rest of the peppermint bark that my friend dropped off yesterday) I'm going back under the sink to see if I can't deal get the old tap out, so I can go buy a new one, install it, and turn the water back on sometime before bath time tonight. I've already decided we're going out for dinner. And I may just leave the mess behind the stove for the cleaning lady tomorrow. I AM 39 weeks pregnant after all, and can only do so much!

(P.S. Griffin slept till the clock turned 8, so I still rock!)

Incoming...

Well, we're battening down the hatches and preparing for the first "decent" storm of the season. I have my doubts that it will be anything too hefty, but everyone always gets so excited about the first big snow. The fact that we've made it till December 8th without a snow storm is a bit of a minor miracle. But now the tractor is tuned up, the gas tank is full, all the snow tires are on, the snow fence is up, and I'm crossing my fingers for enough of a deluge to warrant a snow day!

In other news, we're down to 23 days to go till the Cheese (supposedly) makes his first appearance. The midwives come this week to check out our digs and make sure we have all the necessary stuff for the home birth. I have 6 days of work left. The only thing we have left to do is to stock the freezer a bit (how did I forget that part?) and take the comfortable sheets off the bed and put the nasty ones on with the layer of plastic underneath. I'm leaving that till the last minute, because I have enough trouble getting in and out of bed, and rolling over in the night without a layer of plastic underneath me to slip-slide me around.

I'm still kicking myself on a daily basis for not buying stock in Tums when I found out I was pregnant.

The three year old of the house is being remarkably well behaved these days (or my tolerance level is higher because I figure at least he can express in full sentences what the issue is that's causing him to FREAK OUT and sob uncontrollably...and even if those issues are something as trivial as me sitting on his Spiderman, at least he can tell me what the trouble is, which is more than his little brother will be able to do.)

I'm treasuring every last morsel of sleep I can get, especially the morsels that come in 6 or 7 hour chunks, because we can soon kiss those goodbye. I'm enjoying my last days as a mother of one, and looking forward (with only slight trepidation) to being a mother of two.

And while I'm trying to enjoy these last few weeks, I'm also taking every available opportunity to milk my pregnant status, including going so far as taking a Starbucks card that was up for grabs in a family gift swap this weekend, and placing it atop my protruding belly, and then looking at my Starbucks-hungry cousin with sad, pregnant doe eyes, and pleading with him "don't take it away from the baby." Heck if it didn't work too!

So...that's about all that's occupying our brains these days, incoming snow and incoming babies.

Stay tuned...

Wordless Wednesday

It's just Wednesday. No wordless. I have no decent pictures to share, because I'm lame like that.

What I do have, however, is heartburn. Heartburn that is so very less cooler than nice pictures. Heartburn that may very well be the death of me. Yesterday, a glass of water gave me some of the most intense heartburn I've had yet. WATER, people!!

This has GOT. TO. STOP.

29 days to go....

Lovin' every minute of it....

Because I know with 99.97% certainty that this is the last child I will ever grow in my belly, I am trying with all my might to enjoy these last few weeks of my pregnancy.

However, anyone who's ever grown a baby inside them knows that "enjoy" and "last month of pregnancy" are words that are rarely seen together in the same sentence.

Still, I'm trying. Trying to think of it less like a knee to the bladder, and more like the "tiny flutters of the miracle inside me." Resigning myself to not filling my lungs when I breathe anymore, because there's just no room for that, and my little munchkin obviously needs the space. Telling myself when I get up to pee for the 5th time in a night, that it really isn't that bad, especially when in a few weeks I'll be getting up every 2 hours and NOT going straight back to bed! And heck, what's a little continuious, going on 3 weeks in a row heartburn, when it's all in the name of the miracle of life.

Riiiiiight.

And so, we soldier on. At 35 weeks, with 5 weeks to go, I can now start counting days. (That'd be 34 days.) In the grand old scheme of things, 34 days is nothing. I have 12 days of work left....and THAT I can get on board with! And then a few weeks of rest, with a 1/2 a dozen appointments and, oh, Christmas thrown in there too, and before you know it, our kicking, poking, rib jabbing little miracle will be here!

Sad state of affairs.

Dudes.

It's official.

I am officially uncomfortable. Like the majority of the time.

And holy hell am I exhausted!

I feel like I'm missing stuff here. Last time around I was all fresh and chipper, had a weekly countdown to baby for the last 10 weeks. We're nearly at 7 weeks now, not a single countdown post in sight. These days, I'm lucky if I can get my pants on in the morning.

Saturday was the 4th anniversary of my Dad's passing. I traditionally do a remembrance post, complete with photographs and all. However, that requires figuring out the new scanner, which is all the way downstairs, and I can hardly bear the thought of that much brainpower combined with that many stairs. I miss you Dad...you were in my thoughts all day.

Today is also Remembrance Day. I can't even muster up the brain strength to write something touching and remembery. I can't even come up with a word better than "remembery," which I'm quite sure isn't even a word.

Pathetic.

In baby news, baby had a growth spurt these past 2 weeks (tell me about it) and is riding LOOOOOOOW. Like head way down in the pelvis low. Like it's not a wonder I'm in pain and waddling around like a duck.

Considering baby's position, I'm glad we're mostly ready.

Home birthing supplies? Mostly check. Baby clothes? Mostly check. Diapers? Check. Car seat? In the spare bedroom, which is one step better than the basement. I'll take care of the food for the kid, and I think we're about ready. Really that's about it, right? (Please someone tell me that's about it!)

Oh, jury is still out on a name. We're starting to think "The Cheese" might be a good permanent name after all, or just T.C. for short.

5 more weeks of work (at 4 days a week...phewf.)

6 weeks till Christmas.

7 more weeks till baby? Seriously?

Please gawd, make it fly by!

Well that changes things...

So I learned something today.

I learned that when you talk about length of labour, specifically with the midwives, and you say "my first labour was X hours long" that when they do that math, they don't count the first part. Hanging out at home, having contractions all day long? Doesn't count. They count the "active labour" time.

So, here I was thinking that we had a nice long labour last time around, and had nothing to worry about. Except those 10 hours that I spent labouring at home? Nope, we're not counting those. What we count is the time when things really picked up, till pop goes the baby.

The whole event is a little blurry for me, but the part that the midwife pointed out to me is the part where I went from 6cm to fully dilated to pushing to pop goes the baby in about, oh, 90 minutes. The part where we sent my mom home to get some rest, and she ended up missing the whole thing. The part where the second midwife arrived JUST in the nick of time to catch the baby.

So, if my first labour was any indication, we may be looking at a rather SPEEDY labour this time around. (Hopefully not as speedy as some people, granted, but still speedy!) A speedy labour at home, where the midwives are all travelling from at least a 1/2 hour away, in the dead of winter, and knowing our luck, likely in the middle of the night.

Good times.

So we get to have the "emergency chat." (I think they do it for all home births, but the midwife I saw today stressed it's importance this time around.) This is the chat where they sit down with the husband and say, "so if you're wife goes into labour, and we don't think we're going to make it on time, this is how to deliver a baby."

You should have seen Steve's face when I told him he had to have "the chat."

That being said, they also advise that if things aren't looking good for their arrival, you get your butt on the phone with 911, and hope that at least the paramedics arrive in time to catch the baby. And luckily, there is an ambulance depot here in town. And you may be thinking (as Steve was,) is it terribly wise to be planning a home birth under such conditions? The midwife assured me today that indeed it was, as having a baby at home with paramedics in your living room is much preferable to having a baby in the back seat of your car on the side of the highway, on the way to the hospital.

So. Speedy labour. Right. I think I can get on board with that.

Then again, I don't think I'll have much choice!

Caution: Floor Unstable

I never had this feeling the first time around. But now, in this second pregnancy, some days I feel like all those muscles hanging around my pelvic floor just aren't up for the challenge this time around. Some days I'm walking around and feel like if I'm not careful, a baby just may fall out of me. My lower parts feel rickety - picture walking in an old barn with an old barnboard floor - you just never know when one of those suckers may give in. Yep, that's how things feel down there these days. Do they make fall arrest systems for uteruses? (And what the heck is the plural of uterus anyway? Uteri?) Anyway, they should.

The midwife who poked and prodded me the other day thinks Cheeseball is head down. And I would tend to agree, because it kind of feels like I'm walking around with a small watermelon between my legs. A watermelon that just may come crashing to the floor any second, which is why I sit as much as possible. Or stand with my legs crossed. Or even better, lay down. With pie.

11 more weeks, eh? I'm too certain how I feel about that. Considering that just about EVERYTHING, from mac and cheese to organic Green and Blacks chocolate is giving me heartburn now, I really don't see why we should carry on this charade that much longer. Well, except for the baby's sake...I suppose it really is about the baby now, isn't it. Damn...when did it stop being all about me?

Humph.

Out of my control

When I sat down to write yesterdays post, what I really wanted to write about is the fact that I'm a stressbucket. And then I thought to myself: "Get over it. You just had a lovely long (sort of) weekend with a cute kid, and it's Thanksgiving, so be thankful for a few minutes and post some happy pictures." And then I actually listened.

But now?

It's not Thanksgiving anymore, and I'm still a stressbucket, so tonight I'm going to tell you about it.

The major cause of stress in my life?

In approximately 11 weeks, give or take, I am having a baby. That's not the stressful part. Babies I can do. I've done it before. However, we are planning a homebirth, and I have NO IDEA where that home is going to be! It could be this home. It could be the one we've mostly purchased, conditional on the sale of this house, which, as you can guess, still belongs to us!

Friends, I am a planner. I am a WAAAY ahead planner. If I knew we were staying put for the next few months, I'd be digging out the newborn clothes and the change table and the cloth diapers and all the other stuff that babies need. I'd be washing, I'd be sorting, I'd be quelling all the stuff we don't need and looking for stuff to fill the holes in our stock. But as it stands, I am terrified to even go near our basement storage area. It's like Pandora's Box down there, except Pandora's Box is buried under mountains of other shit that has been removed from other parts of our house - the stuff real estate agents refer to as "clutter."

However, I DON'T actually know that we're staying put. In fact, if this house sells, which it still certainly could, and which is really the desired outcome of all this, we could be MOVING sometime in the next 10 weeks. (Which, of course, would be entirely it's own bucket of stress, but at least then there would be a goal, an end in sight.)

It's funny, whenever I have taken the time to envision this birth, it happens in the new house. But as the time draws nearer, and the house still isn't ours, it gets harder and harder to do that. I've been doing some hypno-birthing research, but I just can not commit to it in my head until I can set the scene that goes along with all the other visualizations. Its REALLY hard to make plans, to see this come to fruition in my mind when I don't know where it all will take place.

Aside from the baby, there's all the other shit that comes with this. If we're going to be here for the winter, we should start thinking about putting up the snow fence, and the driveway markers, and getting the snowblower put onto the tractor and the tractor tuned up. We should put the door on the greenhouse. Swap out the storm windows. Blah blah blah. Except all that? Can't do it by my fat pregnant self, and since the husband it out of town at the moment, my only choice is to sit here and stress about it.

In life, there are things we can control, and things we can't. I can control what I eat for dinner, and today I chose popcorn. I LIKE being in control. I don't deal well, at all, with the things that are out of my control, and this my friends?

This is one of them.

Doing a Happy Dance

Steve is home! Wahoo!

And the smart man that he is, he brought me chocolates....from Paris! (OK, from the airport in Paris, but they're still from Paris, and in a fancy little tin no less.)

I posted on Facebook this week about my chocolate issues....my status read:

My name is Jenn and I have a problem. My problem is that I have resorted to eating semi-sweet bakers chocolate, because it's the only chocolate I can find in the house. My bigger problem is that I just ate the last piece.

One of my (very smart) friends asked why the heck I wasn't sending my husband out to get some for me, as is a pregnant woman's prerogative. I explained that it would be tough, as he was in Russia. However, chocolates from Paris? That redeems him.

Out of curiosity, how many Mamas out there actually sent their men out into the night to fetch something to curb a craving during their pregnancies? It seems like more of an urban myth that actual truth. But if it's indeed truth, and a popular thing to do, I might just take advantage of it for the next 12 weeks!

12 weeks....holy shit!

“I hope that someday we will be able to put away our fears and prejudices and just laugh at people.” Jack Handy

Here's a little tidbit of information that I can pretty much guarantee that you didn't know about me.

I have a very deep uterus.

I found this out three years ago when Griffin was born, when the midwife was jamming the heels of her hands into my abdomen gently palpitating my uterus to help it go back to...wherever it is that a uterus belongs, and she exclaimed "Wow! You have a very deep uterus!"

Um...thanks? I guess?

Days later, yet another midwife who was grinding my belly into my mattress gently palpitating my uterus exclaimed "Wow, your uterus is VERY deep....it's practically hugging your spine!"

Excellent. Deep uterus. Check. I filed this away under "useless information about myself," right next to "my second toe is freakishly longer than my big toe" and "I can't do that rolly sausage thingy with my tongue that everyone else in my family can do."

Until, low and behold, I find myself pregnant again, and think, "Hey...I have a deep uterus!! Well that explains a lot!!"

It explains why I have heard "wow, you're x months along? You don't LOOK that pregnant!" more times than I care to count. The story usually goes on to compare me to the story teller's sister in law, or their best friend's brother's girlfriend, who is "due around the same time you are, and is as big as a house!"

Yes, well, I'm guessing that your best friend's brother's girlfriend doesn't have a VERY DEEP UTERUS, does she?

At some point in this pregnancy, I got to wondering - if my very deep uterus is taking up all the space between "practically hugging my spine" and my belly button, where the heck has all the other stuff that usually occupies that space gone.

Like, oh, I dunno, my stomach?

Why, my stomach has been shoved about 12" closer to my throat, that's where! Hello heartburn, I see you've met my VERY DEEP UTERUS!

I think it also may explain my...um...digestive issues. All that space that my very deep uterus is occupying? I think the former tenants may have been about 23 feet of small intestine, followed by 5 feet of large intestine. And now, all the "stuff" trying to make it's way through those 28 odd feet...well, I imagine it's no picnic for that "stuff"...every time it turns a corner, its like SMASH!!! Oops, I seem to have run head on into a VERY DEEP UTERUS!! Now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense that the only thing getting through with any sort of regularity is GAS!

I don't suppose there's much I can do about it, except hope and pray that this baby is turned the right way, so there's no more spine hugging back labour from a kid who arrives sunny side up. Until then, my and my very deep uterus will continue on our merry way, happy in the knowing that my pants fit that little bit better than your best friend's brother's girlfriend, and her shallow, protruding uterus.

And heck, considering what we got out of my very deep uterus the last time around, I really don't suppose there's much to complain about!

A Past my bedtime update

The dress? Done, like dinner. And it fits. And the bride is happy!

Phewf

My kid?

Cute as ever (just in case you were wondering.) Cheeseball?

Fat. (Or is that me?) Whatevs.

Me?

Heartburntastic. I think it may have a direct co relation to the fact that I've run out of ice cream. Seriously. I was eating a ton of ice cream there for a while, and no heartburn. Now, no ice cream, and the heart burn is back. Humph. Must remedy.

Also me?

I seem to have developed a bit of a waddle over the weekend. Hooray.

And me again?

Going to bed.

Dear Cranky Ultrasound Tech

Do you remember why you wanted to be an ultrasound tech? Was it because you wanted to help people? Was it because you wanted to see young women's faces light up when they saw their unborn baby for the first time? Or heck, even if you did it for the money, maybe you could try thinking about all those wonderful things when you wake up to go to work in the morning, instead of being a cranky bee-yotch.

Just because you may not be thrilled that I'm having a baby, maybe you could take a moment to think about the fact that I am. Maybe you could start our 45 minute session with a "hello," or even a "how are you today?" Even if it's not that funny, you could consider laughing at my jokes about how badly I have to pee, because heck, it's a little bit funny to see a pregnant woman waddle down the hall, barely holding her 14 litres of water in. (It's not funny that said pregnant woman was made to wait nearly 45 minutes with her teeth swimming, but we won't get into that.)

You could think about saying "you're welcome" when I thank you profusely for the WARM blue gel stuff that you put on my belly, instead of the normal icy cold version. You might try making a bit of conversation while we sit together in a tiny room for 45 minutes. You could not make me feel afraid to ask questions, or make me feel dumb when I do. You could try smiling once in a while.

I realize that you have a job to do, and you're not there to make friends with me, but please try and consider what this moment of seeing an unborn baby means to a young mother, and try to be a little bit happy about it. I mean heck, if you can't find any joy in a job as cool and potentially wonderful as yours, then maybe it's time to look for another job.

(Try looking on some job sites under "cranky bee-yotch.")

xoxox
Me

P.S. Not only did I not like you, it was obvious that my baby felt the same way, since all s/he would show you was her ASS, and not the parts that would let us tell what colour fabric I should be shopping for. Maybe that's a hint. (Maybe s/he was farting on you!!)

And the conversation went a little something like this:

The conversation that spurned on the post from a few days ago:

My Uncle: "You're 1/2 way there? You don't look that pregnant."

My Brother: "I was going to say that earlier, but I didn't know if that was an insult or not."

My Uncle: "I don't think it's an insult - it just means you're carrying the baby really well."

My Brother: "Or you were really fat to begin with."

Me: Smacks Brother upside the head.

18 weeks

I've been having a few days where I've been getting a lot of "you hardly even look pregnant" comments, and was starting to feel a bit down about it. I mean, heck, I'm 18 1/2 weeks along, nearing the 1/2 way mark, and I hardly look pregnant? C'mon!

Cheeseball must of heard them talking, because I swear she just had a major growth spurt. I've been heading to the kitchen around 11pm every night since I've been home, ravenous, like I haven't eaten all day. Now? Now I look pregnant!

Doing it for the baby

I got told today by the midwife that I wasn't gaining enough weight. I'm not exactly sure of my pre-pregnancy weight on their crazy, WAAAY out of whack (as in 10 lbs heavier than mine!) scale, but it appears that I've gained somewhere in the neighbourhood of 3 lbs in the past 16 weeks.

Apparently, not enough.

And so, for the sake of my unborn child, I am going to go and eat the 1/2 an apple pie that's in my fridge.

Maybe with ice cream.

After all, I'm doing it for the baby!