Wee Willy Winky

I've been meaning to do a post on Rosalind for 6 months, and now she's almost 7, so...whatever. Nobody cares anyway.

Things of note:

She's starting to interact with us! This is hilarious and adorable to me. Once or twice, she's initiated a game of peekaboo with me in the mirror, and I *thiiiink* she's waved "hello" to me once or twice (can it be???). She also finds enjoyment in rocking back and forth and trying to rip my flesh off with her grabby hands.

She loves animals. Well, she's really only met cats and dogs, but she loves them both. She gets super excited when they come near and always tries to pet them (read: unintentionally pull their fur out). Maybe a hairless animal would be a good investment.

She looooves mealtimes! Sometimes if we decide to eat without her, she gets mad. We're introducing solids by the method linked to below (which I kind of hate the name of, by the way). It makes for very entertaining meals. It's fun to watch her fine motor skills develop so quickly. She's also finally learning to chew and is therefore actually starting to swallow food. She loves eating, it's one of her favorite "play" activities. Bonus for the way we're doing things: aside from watching her closely, I don't have to worry about feeding her, so eating is pleasant and hands-off for everyone.

It's so fun to watch her play and explore everything. She's still pretty immobile, only rolls over by accident and very rarely. She can rotate slowly in circles on the floor but that's about it. Right now her methods of getting around consist of falling over when she's trying to turn around and launching herself forward, face first, onto the floor in order to reach something. It's dangerous, but funny.

She's starting to taper off on the fat gain...I think. She was only (ha!) 18.5lbs at her 6mo appointment, a mere 2lb gain from her 4mo appointment. This is all totally fine with me because she is GROWING OUT of her 12mo shirts and is now in 18-24mo pants!! Why does this continue to surprise me? I don't know, but the only thing she has in the next size is a couple if dresses, so... If you have extra little girl clothes, give them to me kthxbai.

We have finally, *finally* got her cloth diaper thing figured out. By that I mean the horrible ammoniacal stench that has accompanied her diapers for the past couple of months. It was getting embarrassing. People would comment and say things like "ugh, if that's what cloth diapers smell like, I am NEVER using them!" But it was only since we started using my parents' "HE" washer, so I knew it could be fixed. And we finally did. It wasn't even that hard to do. Anyway, so after a couple of weeks off in 'sposies to let Ros recover from an ammonia burn (yeah) and give me time to buy the stuff we needed, everything is back to a stink-free zone (except for poop...thank you solid food).

Anyway. I can't let you leave with the last thought being something about poop, so here's some more pictures.

Oh! And she still has no teeth! I can't say I'm happy or sad, it's kind of whatever. I feel like she's falling behind somehow, but at the same time, I don't want to deal with all that crank. So take your time, babeh.

Ok so apparently creating a hyperlink is impossible in the blogger app (ARGH), so here's the link I mentioned above. It's a NY Times article.

http://nytimes.com/blogs/parenting/2014/01/27/trusting-a-baby-to-know-how-to-eat/

Letters from the Front Line

Probably the only thing worth noting that's changed around here lately is that somehow we've agreed to be nursery leaders at church. Little kids are very much not my thing. It's an understatement to say I felt scared and overwhelmed going in on our first day this past weekend, but we've come out the other side with only a few bleeding scratches to speak of on our legs (of unknown origin).

We have 15, soon to be 16 kids on the roster, all between the ages of 18 months to 3 years. We were lucky in that only 11 of them were there on Sunday (only).

Most of them magically appeared in the room, so I never saw their parents, and spent the first half hour hoping they wouldn't all need a diaper change at the same time because I had no idea who or where their parents were. A couple of people came and went, bringing supplies or condolences, and all left with a hearty "good luck!" And a look of relief that it wasn't them.

It turns out, aside from the FIFA-inspired meltdowns (most from one kid), the first hour was pretty easy. We had Rosalind with us for the first hour, and she started to meltdown too (nap time), but fortunately my mom came and relieved me of her after that.

All in all, we had 11 tantrums, two potty breaks needed, no diaper changes, two crayons removed from mouths, several crackers dipped in water, no spills, one tiny 18 month old smaller than Rosalind who had to be taken out for all the crying, four songs sung by tiny voices, three bonked heads, and, as mentioned, only a couple scratches on my ankles (Sam wears pants, the lucky dog).

It was crazy. I wanted to cry sometimes. 11 toddlers is too many-- not even Michelle Duggar could argue with that. But! The hardest part besides keeping them from attacking each other when a toy was snatched was teaching the 45-second "lesson", and even that wasn't too bad (although it is reeeeeally hard for me to over-simplify topics). I tried to get Sam to do the lesson "you're the teacher here, after all!" but he pointed out that I'm really the ringmaster in this situation (am I though?), so me it is!

Yikes. The most surprising part though? I didn't die. And I didn't cry. 

I WILL SURVIVE.

An irrelevant picture placed here just to take up more space.

I'm Sorry I Called You Fat Fat Fat

It's all been dry bones over here for the last couple of months.  But here's a totes interesting update if you please:

Sam will be starting a teaching license and certification program this autumn semester!  It's sort of a shorter, quicker (and bonus, it's cheaper) route to licensure, and it's pretty exciting.  He will be taking a couple of classes each semester (it's a full calendar year program) in addition to working and then doing student teaching at one point.  It'll be a busy year, but we are all very excited to get the wheels turning!

Rosalind just turned 5 months old.  Her hair is getting longer and is definitely the same color as mine.  Her eyes are also basically brown.  She is unbelievably chunky, especially in her legs.  As in, if it wasn't too hot for pants, I'd have to go out and buy either 18mos or 2T size pants for her.  This should not be so.  And that's not even entirely because of her fluffbum, it's because her thighs are the size of a Renaissance Fair turkey leg.

Overhanging knee fat, what

She's still on an all-formula and donated breast milk (when we get lucky) diet, and she'll start solid food next month, but right now she loves having tastes of things every now and then.  So far she seems to love melon and guacamole (how can she not, with that Fallbrook blood in her), and isn't too sure about hummus or lemonade.

She can sit up mostly on her own, but the process has involved a lot of hilarious tumbles.  She's also rolled over both directions, but never does it because she is too fat and lazy.  It was just a fad for a few days.

For some reason this is the funniest thing I've ever seen

I think she's getting a tooth, too, but let's not get too excited here.

Anyway, not much else goes on here.  We're looking for ways to make lots of money so we can move back in to our own place again, but for now, we're grateful to be here in a house with air conditioning and free friends.

I'm also trying to get back into actual photography again.  It's been a while because I got insanely tired when I was pregnant, and then we moved to a place without internet so I couldn't keep up my website, and now I've grown attached to my iPhone camera... excuses mostly.  Help me out and ask me to take pictures of you plzkthxbai.

Here are some more BABYPIX (TM):

We all have Baby Einstein songs in our head now.

At the Scottish Festival last weekend

Dem eyelashes

Documentation of an almost-disaster

...and one of her most favorite toys

In the Scuppers With a Hosepipe

We have really loved our neighborhood here. We love the friends we've made and the Webelos we've had the opportunity to lead/teach. But, I'm sad/happy to say, we are moving. Soon. Like this week. I feel like even though we haven't been in this place long, it's where we needed to be for the time we were here, and now it's ok to move on.

This house hasn't been my favorite place. We've had some trouble with it. And I need to be closer to people so I can have more readily available help with the baby.  For that and a few other reasons, we will be moving in with my parents in Springville for a few months. It's not ideal, but we need to save up money because...

Sam is going to grad school! Well, not officially. But we are pretty confident he will get positive responses (meaning "come to our school please") from at least one school. So we're banking on it. We will hopefully hear the results in July, and then we will reevaluate the living sitch.

In the mean time, also exciting news, Sam also got new jobs! He quit Vivint (finally) and has started working as a substitute teacher at Heritage School in Provo. It's kind of awesome because this is basically what he wants to be doing (teaching special needs kids). And they were pretty excited to have him. He will be filling in gaps by subbing at other schools in the valley through Kelly services. He will still be working Domino's some evenings for a little while, but down in Springville instead.

I am very very excited that Sam is going to be able to start teaching, because he loves it, and it will give him good experience before he starts grad school (which is for Special Education). 

My life is not quite so interesting I suppose. I still work my various jobs here and there, but I'm focusing on learning how to take care of the baby and myself full time. I'm bad at doing both.

I'm planning on taking some kind of community center exercise class soon... This is a HUGE deal for me guys. I'm so awkward and unathletic. And the choices available are really random...Tahitian Dance anyone? This could make for a hilarious future post, so stay tuned, folks!

Ps...I have no idea what I'm doing with the titles for these posts most of the time...

And Pepper When He Pleases

I've rather avoided posting lately because not much happens around here, and most of the people who care about how Rosalind is progressing (ie grandparents) live nearby. Also, I'm lazy. But some things are actually happening now! So I'll get the baby stuff out of the way and then bore you with updates.

Bonus: this post contains many NEVER-BEFORE-SEEN BABYPIX (TM)!!!

Alors. Ros will be 3 months old in a couple of weeks (can you believe it? I hardly can). I'm finally getting used to waking up in the middle of the night. Not that it makes me happy, but at least I no longer want to punch sleeping Sam in the face every time the baby wakes up.

Ros had her 2 month immunizations last week. I was naturally more nervous than I ought to have been (I was shaky after it was all over). When the time came, the nurse had me hold her legs still, and I focused on The Democratic Republic of the Congo on a map on the wall. Ros obviously didn't like the actual shots, but she calmed down pretty quickly, and was pretty happy until a few hours later when her world ended. She had been sleeping in the car, and when I went to take her out she was sporting the most tragic baby frown and had tears in her eyes. I felt so bad for her. The poor baby developed a reaction to the oral rotavirus vaccine (this is quite common actually, but having the full-blown virus is much worse). So she spent many hours screaming (not fussing, screaming), and generally felt sick to her stomach until Monday morning. Poor chicky.

Other than the past few days, Ros has sort of developed a nighttime schedule FINALLY. She usually only wakes up to eat once at night, between 4am and 6am. We're still working on getting her to bed at a decent hour-- being sick sort of caused a setback on that. She was actually on kind of an awesome schedule for a while where she would wake up at 3:41 (exactly) to poop and then went right back to sleep, and then woke up at 5:05 to eat. It was wonderfully predictable, and I only had to actually get up once! Don't judge me for letting my baby sleep in a dirty diaper for an hour. She doesn't care. Alas, thanks to sicky babe, no more schedule.

Anyway, otherwise she's doing pretty stellar. I finally just started her on the cloth diapers because she grew out of her size 1 sposies (don't make fun of me, that's what people call them and I think it's funny). I also really like them, which is the important part, really. Washing them is super easy since we have a standard washer. The 12 diapers I got cost as much as 2.5 boxes of regulars, so they have basically almost paid for themselves. And contrary to popular belief, they are not much more difficult to put on, I only do one extra load of laundry every other day, and I'm not constantly covered from head to toe in baby poop. I don't even really touch it more than usual (and anyway if you are afraid to touch gross things every now and then, you probably shouldn't have children...or pets...or plants). And we almost never have leaks (when we do it's usually "user error").  So I'm pretty pleased. Although it did take a few days to get used to her new gigantobum.

Ros never really did learn to nurse well. I'm still able to nurse her at night & early in the AM because she's too sleepy to be uncooperative, but I've been pumping as much as I can to feed her during the day. She's kind of a ravenous wolf, so I had to start supplementing with formula since I couldn't produce enough for her. So she gets formula for her last bottle of the day, and right now, while I'm focusing on building a supply in the freezer and in myself, she gets about half and half via bottle during the day. Hopefully soon I will be able to pump enough to nurse the first 2 feedings like I'm doing, give all breastmilk via bottle in the day, then a formula bottle right before bed. I have such lofty goals! Things may yet change, but for now I'm doing my best.

Anywho, she can also support her weight for a while on her legs and she can sit assisted (we're trying to get her used to the Bumbo we borrowed from my aunt, but she still lists to starboard). She also has the neck strength of a wildebeast (guys I'm trying to make this interesting) and loves to coo all. the. time. It's my favorite.

She thinks it's hilarious when I try to dance to entertain her, and she loves it when I sing. Her favorite song is "Skye Boat Song," possibly because I used to sing it a lot while I was pregnant. 

Also, this baby is seriously a chunk. She's so heavy (I don't know exactly how much, but I would guess 14-15lbs). And she has rolls like a sumo wrestler.

She's slower at grabbing things and bringing things to her mouth deliberately, but she's working on it. She likes to hold her Oball and her toothbrush for short periods of time. I think we are going to make her a little bell rattle soon, because how on earth is she going to learn cause and effect without a rattle?? Seriously.

And she's still cute. I'd venture to say she gets cuter every day. I can't wait to see her get really interesting.

Ok that was really long. At risk of boring you all to death, I'm going to put our life updates into a separate post. Rah!

It's Better to Feel Pain Than Nothing At All

If you're not into gritty deets, redirect your attention elsewhere for a while, like maybe to this.  Otherwise, read on for le birth story de moi.

So my due date came and went with still nary a sign of anything going on other than my pelvis feeling more and more like it would snap in half before long.  That day (January 11th), I went to a breastfeeding class at the Birth Center and sat through it on a yoga ball, hoping to bounce the baby out.  It didn't work.  The next few days I was rather miserable, to say the least, if only because I was certain that my absolute lack of apparent progression meant that either:

1. I wasn't really pregnant, it was all a big, elaborate joke played on me by someone (hello, yes, this can happen, did nobody watch Smallville?)

2. I would literally be pregnant forever (as in literally, literally.  See link above.)

3. I would have to be referred to a doctor, admitted to the hospital, and induced.  The induction would then inevitably fail, and I would need a C-Section to safely deliver my baby.  This has happened to a couple people I know lately, so it was rather at the forefront of my mind.  My fear was worsened by the fact that I still don't have health insurance, so paying for all that would be a nightmare.

Anyway, for some reason, though rather desperate and disconsolate (thank you church songs for widening my vocab), Tuesday I was finally able to relax some.  I had lunch out with family, and got reassuring answers from a health insurance rep.  We had a good Webelos activity that night, and then went to bed.

At 1:43 in the morning (ish...but who's keeping track), I woke up feeling what I was certain were pretty bad contractions.  They felt like period cramps on steroids, for those wondering.  But they were pretty manageable.  I lay there for a while wondering if I should bother timing them since there was no way they could be real the very first time I felt them (at four days overdue, no less...ha...).  After a few contractions, I decided to time them.  They were still rather painful, requiring concentration on my breath to get through them, but not horrible.  They were about 6 minutes apart and lasting about a minute.  Eventually I started to wonder if there was something else I could do, at least so that I wasn't thinking about it.  I went through the list of things-to-do-in-early-labor: Eat, Drink, Walk, Shower, Nap.  Well...I didn't think any of those activities (besides drinking some water) would be justifiable at 2 in the morning, except the sleeping part.  So I tried to go back to sleep.  My body had other plans, however.  Pretty soon I got too uncomfortable to be lying down, and anyway, I felt like I needed at least to get up and go to the bathroom.  Nobody likes contractions on a full bladder.

They were pretty uncomfortable sitting down too, it turned out, so I decided to pace the halls of our freezing cold apartment.  I wandered around ("putsy-putsy" the books call it) and paused in random places for the contractions, breathing and swaying my hips through them.  After about an hour and a half of them being regular, they suddenly switched to being anywhere from 30 seconds to 7 minutes apart (those coupling ones are the worst, lemme tell you), and lasting anywhere from 30 seconds to 2 minutes.  Basically, they were all over the place.  But at the same time, they were getting more intense.  Even though I swore to myself "that won't be me" when we talked in class about getting through contractions by humming and/or moaning, I pretty much needed to at least hum to get through them, while concentrating on breathing.

My plan, when this all started, was to get through the early labor by myself, then let Sam go to work at 6:30 like he normally does, then call him home when things progressed further.  But by 4:30 or so, I decided I needed help getting through the contractions, and who better to turn to but the card-carrying labor coach sleeping in my bed?  So I woke him up, trying to play it cool.

"I think I'm in labor.  But the contractions are all over the place and I'm not sure what that means.  They're pretty intense though, like it hurts too much to be sitting here talking to you...HMMMMMMM..."

He called the midwife.  I was worried about crying wolf, and I kept thinking about how they had told us that normally they can tell if a woman is really in labor by the way she sounds in the background on the phone.  I was thinking I might have to fake it, but oh boy nope, it was all real.  She recommended I take a shower to take the edge off the pain, and call her in a few hours.

So I got in the shower and told Sam to go back to bed.  At first the shower felt really nice, and I even washed my hair between contractions, pausing to breathe and sway during them.  But after a few minutes, the contractions started getting more and more intense, and what the? I felt like I had to push soon.

"How is this possible?  I'm just being dramatic.  I can ignore it and breathe through it.  Or, you know, hum.  Or...yell?  What..."

Sam came back in and asked if he should call the midwife again.  I told him no, go back to sleep.  ("Ahhhh!")  He called the midwife and told her I felt like I had to push and that I had started bleeding some.  She said to come in, especially considering we were about 40 minutes away.

It took forever for me to dry off and get dressed since the contractions were coming more frequently and were obviously pretty intense, and I was having to be rather vocal to get through them.  Eventually we got out to the car ("Hurry up I don't want to have a contraction out here and wake up the neighborhood!") and took off.

You know how they say that the overly-dramatic mad-dash-to-the-hospital labors you see in movies and TV shows are basically fiction, or else really rare?  Well, that's how it was for us.  Sam was going at least 100mph whenever he could.  We only ran one red light, and didn't get pulled over, so that was lucky.  There were a couple of jerks who went slow in front of us on purpose, but I think once we got around them and they could see me screaming through the window, they went home and repented.

Shortly before we got there, I had a horrible feeling of dread that I really might not be able to make it, since it was requiring all my effort and concentration not to push at this point, and it hurt quite a bit to do so, but I told myself we were almost there and that I could get through it because it wouldn't last forever, etc etc.  As we were pulling into the parking lot, a rib or something popped in my chest from the exertion of not pushing.  Ouch.  It scared me a little.  And made it hard to blow my nose for a couple of days.

We got out of the car (it was about 6am at this point) and Adrienne, the midwife, was standing there waiting at the door.  I had to lean on the bed through a contraction, then stood there and said "Okay...what do I do?"  Adrienne said she wanted to check my dilation first, so I managed to make myself available in that way, somehow.

"Okay, the baby's right there and you're fully dilated, so push whenever you want."

"Really?  Okay..."  I had this thought that I didn't really know what I was about to do, since it had all been so fast.  I'd anticipated it would take hours and hours to get to this point, and here I was, 4 hours later and ready to push.  Adrienne asked if I wanted to fill the tub, and I said sure, though I wasn't sure I'd end up using it.  She started filling it, Sam called my mom and told her to make tracks (or maybe he did this when we left the house), texted his mom to give her the heads up, and I pushed a couple times on my own.

I was sort of on my hands and knees on the bed at this point, though it was almost more like Child's Pose.  They did some vitals on the baby with the Doppler and apparently she "didn't like that position," so Adrienne suggested lying on my side.  I pushed a couple times in that position, and then Adrianna, our Bradley teacher, who is also the group prenatal teacher and a birth assistant at the Birth Center, showed up.  I felt pretty lucky that she had been on call that night.

After that, things get a little hazy for me.  They gave me oxygen, I think because I was a little worn out from the yelling/breathing through the contractions (my throat felt sore and I remember thinking I was going to regret it later).  My mom showed up.  The pushing was hard, and it hurt quite a bit, and I kept thinking of Elvis dying on his throne, and hoping I wouldn't have a heart attack, but then I reminded myself that millions of women do this everyday and everything turns out just fine, so I went with it and pushed through the burning.

After a bit, everyone started talking about how they could see the head, and how it looked like she had hair, and then oh-my-gosh she's en caul how cool!  At this point, they were encouraging me to push pretty much continuously, which was difficult, and I didn't feel like I had the energy, but I reminded myself that it was SO CLOSE to being over, so if I could just forget Elvis and push through to the end, I'd feel better, so that's what I did.  I also kind of got the feeling there was some urgency, like the baby really wanted to come out, like now, and holding back would be cruel, and I didn't want to start off my career as a parent by being selfish and neglectful.

Apparently the baby's cord was wrapped around her neck, but with one of her arms in there too, so once her shoulders were out, Adrienne broke the membrane and ruined the en caul experience (just kidding) so she could free her.  One more push after that (I think) and she was out, at 6:36, less than 5 hours from when I felt the first contraction.  I guess they had to give her a few puffs of oxygen, although I'm not sure why (in fact, I didn't know they gave her oxygen until yesterday, and I'm kind of glad, because it would've worried me a lot)  They handed her to me, all wet and wiggly and soft, and toweled off her face.  She started to cry some, and that was that.

I held her while the cord finished its thang.  I can't remember if they cut the cord before or after the placenta was delivered, because it took a while to come out.  That part might've been my fault, Adrienne told me I'd need to push it out when I felt cramping, and I was thinking, "No way, I'm never pushing anything anywhere ever again."  But I did it anyway.  Story of my life.

Anyway, so after separating the placenta from the baby, Sam got to cut the cord in grand ceremonious style, with large golden shears (or rather, scissors that apparently needed sharpening).  I held the baby a while longer, we decided to name her Rosalind, tried some nursing, and then we both needed to get checked out, so the party was over.

Again, I don't remember the order things went in, but I know that they weighed the baby and that she was 9lbs 4.5oz, making me feel proud and accomplished for making a baby over 8lbs.  All her reflexes were good and her color was great, and yada yada my baby is amazing.  And then they checked me out while other people held the baby.

I had only one little tear, and nowhere near my perineum at that (go me!), but it was sort of a funky shape, and rather high, probably caused by the baby's fist near her face.  So for that I needed a few stitches.  But I kept bleeding, which apparently makes it hard to see anything, so Adrienne checked me, and lo and behold, I'd retained a bunch of junk that really hurt like the dickens when she pushed it out.  I was still bleeding a little, so they gave me a shot in my thigh (and subsequent pills every few hours) to make my uterus contract more and stop the bleeding.  Then I got my stitches (yikes, ow, etc).

Sam's mom then showed up (after a phone call that went something like "Why didn't you tell me?!" "I did" "Oh wow, that was fast, I just got your text") and everybody oohed and ahhed over the baby, and I had a yummy French toast breakfast from a diner down the street.

Eventually, the moms left, Adrienne went to attend to clinic, Adrianna went to a class she had to go to, another birth assistant showed up to help me get a little cleaned up, and then Sam and I were alone with the baby, so naturally we took a nap.

Around 12pm or 1pm, the birth assistant came in again to give us a little discharge education, and Adrienne came in to chat with us for a bit.  Final vitals were taken on everybody, we all got dressed, changed our first diaper and cleaned up our first spit up (of wonderful mucus, thank you, dear en caul baby).  Then we went home.

Sigh.  All missions accomplished.

Now Rosalind is two weeks old.  I've been trying to simultaneously adjust to and process everything that's happened.  It all went so fast and contrary to how I expected that now that it's over, I wonder if it was really real.  And taking care of a new baby is hard anyway, especially when you realize you basically know nothing you thought you did, and you look like a sleepy deflated balloon and feel like a sad and angry empty box, and oh the baby is starting to fuss, so you should feed her and change her diaper, but didn't you just do that?  Also it's 2am and you haven't slept in 16 hours and the last time you ate was when?  And between your crying and struggling to stay awake, the baby laughs in her sleep or you count her tiny eyelashes while she's feeding and it's heart-meltingly adorable, and even though sometimes everything feels like a horrible joke (man, apparently I have issues with reality), there are the times that make it feel worth it, or at least make you forget about everything else for a little while.

You know how they say that when you reach two weeks, you look back and say "Man, that was hard, how did I get through it?  Things are a little better now." I think that's true.  And then when that happens again at 6 weeks, and 3 months, and 6 months, and forever... I think everything's going to be okay.  Eventually the baby will learn to nurse and so it will stop hurting, and if she doesn't, we will come up with a Plan B, and it will be okay.

And it's okay to take every bit of advice people throw out there and put it through the sifter.  It's okay to be scared and unsure, as long as it doesn't consume you.  And it's okay to feel uncertain about your birth, because it was kind of a big deal, and writing it down does actually help.  And the baby sure is cute.

Oh, and my wedding ring still doesn't fit.  Suck a moose.

----

Side note: I absolutely loved my experience with the Birth Center.  I also am really glad that I decided to have a drug-free birth.  It caused me to seek out a ton of education, which I think is extremely important for a life-changing event as big as pregnancy and birth.  Even if I had decided to do a hospital birth, I would probably not have had time for an epidural or any of that because it was so fast, and so because I knew what to expect, I was able to get through the pain, and I wasn't afraid, so it wasn't so bad.  I actually imagine it would be scarier to have an epidural birth, but that's just me.  I also have really appreciated how willing to help and understanding my midwife has been through the postpartum stuff.  It really has been a great experience, and if you're even considering ever doing a natural birth or using a midwife or whatever, I would absolutely and annoyingly recommend it, if it's a safe option for you.

Still.

It's possible I am actually an elephant, or maybe a blue whale. That might explain what's happening to me. 

I know I'm "only" 40 weeks and 2 days pregnant, and like I think I mentioned before, the real average human gestation is something like 41 weeks and 1 day, but at this point, every day feels something close to eternity. In two days I will have surpassed the longest time my mom was pregnant (which, even though it will make me feel accomplished for some reason, I still want to avoid).

In case you're wondering, they will check me on Thursday to make sure the placenta is still functioning up to snuff, and if it is, they will wait another 5 days or so before we start talking about induction options, starting with non-medical stuff and then go from there. But it's totally and legally safe to leave the baby cooking until 42 weeks and some change so long as the placenta is still working fine and the baby is okay. It's all a matter of patience. 

I've been told by many that as soon as you truly give up and really believe you'll be pregnant forever, that's when the baby comes. But I guess I'm too patient or understanding or whatever, because while I have totally given up and am completely ready to be done and feel like I will never go back to normal, practicality tells me it's not medically possible to stay pregnant forever (aside from stone babies, but that's just sad), which makes me feel like the baby *will* never come, purely because I haven't given up 100%. Which is totally unfair.

Anyway, since I've had enough of feeling like a boulder or an elephant seal and crying because my shoes won't go on and I have to wear the same thing I wore two days ago because literally nothing fits anymore and I can't walk because my pelvis hurts so bad and I can't sleep for 500 reasons (including that I'm really sweaty even though it's probably 40 degrees in the room) and blah blah blah...I am trying to come up with a list of things to look forward to once all of this is FINALLY over! So here is what I've come up with so far:

Lying on my stomach

Lying on my back for longer than a couple of minutes

Bending over

Wearing clothes that fit, pants that button up, shirts that cover me, etc!

Walking and rolling over without pain

Going to the bathroom and having it be more than like a tablespoon even though it felt like Niagara Falls

Running and jumping!

Kissing chubby baby cheeks

Holding, dressing, playing with, singing to, watching an ACTUAL BABY instead of an amorphous alien lump

Being able to let Sam actually interact with and take care of the baby

Etc

Well. There you go. I'm sure there's a lot more I just can't think of right now. For those with morbid curiosity, I tell you the following stats:

They are estimating the baby will be between 8 and 8 1/2 pounds (at my last appointment 4 days ago) and is "quite long".

I weigh more than I ever imagined I would. Fortunately no stretch marks though. Maybe that's my consolation prize for gaining more than average.

If I make it to my 41-week appointment on Thursday they will start checking dilation/effacement, but up til now I can only guess.

Aaaaand... I have had approximately ZERO signs that labor is near. Well, nothing solid anyway. So I will continue to hang in there and hope beyond hope that the baby comes before it's too late to give birth in the Birth Center and I have to go to the hospital *anyway*, even though I wanted to avoid that more than anything :(

COME ON.

No pictures 4 u this time of basketball-smuggling-me, it's kind of embarrassing at this point, really. Instead, let's look at these poor-quality pictures of us as youngins and try to speculate what the Unborn One might look like.

Cat Daddy

We don't do much around here these days. Sam works two jobs and is gone before the sun rises (actually not hard to do in Utah, since the sun doesn't rise til like 9am) until it sets in the frozen western sky. I work a few jobs, but all periodically. I can barely move so I don't go places all that often. And when we get to do things together, they are usually boring and involve staying home.

But! This past week we had our second anniversary, so we actually did get out of the house!

We went up to the Humane Society to look at and play with all the animals, then came home and had a frozen pizza (see? boring), then went out for dessert.

The HS was really fun. By the time we left, Sam wanted to adopt 2-3 dogs, 5 or so cats, and a ferret. And possibly some birds and a rabbit named "Biggie Smallz". We spent the most time with the cats, partly because there are the most of them, partly because they have awesome new interactive facilities, and partly because they were a lot calmer than the other animals (except the one that made a jail break and Sam had to chase through the hallways).

Random: apparently you can adopt mice at the shelter. Who would pay $5 for a "used" mouse??

Here are a couple of pictures of some of our favorite cats:

Oh, and I guess we got out one other time this month. I had my first ever legit office Christmas party a couple weeks ago! Fortunately, there are really only 4 or so of us at the company, so even with our spouses, it was an "intimate affair" (pinky up). We met at the Nickelcade and had a ton of greasy pizza, chatted for a while, then were each given two big bags of nickels and released onto the game floor with the direction to get the highest score of some game, or as many tickets as you could (for people like me, who won only at Fruit Ninja, and only because no one else played it). There were prizes for everyone (of course). I won a $25 Visa gift card, and Sam won a $25 Fandango gift card. When I asked him why he didn't pick a gift card for a restaurant, he said he forgot we were about to have a newborn. Go figure. Oh well, he is still the Hero of Guitar Hero.

There was also unlimited laser tag, but by the time we got to it, it was 10pm, and we are all adults with bedtimes after all, plus I didn't fancy getting knocked down by a crazy pre-teen in the name of lasers, so we went home. Deadbeats.

We had a really good time though, even if I didn't get any pictures.

Aside from those things, nothing really interesting has happened around here lately. Sam is currently searching avenues for a different/better job, and there have been a few prospects, but so far nothing has come of it. Oh well.

Maybe next time I will have all kinds of awesome news! (Baby? New job? Lottery winnings??)

The End is Near

The part that comforts me at this point is that I know that within 5 weeks and 3 days, I will have an ACTUAL BABY. Although I'm hoping it's way sooner (because who wants to go to 42 weeks 3 days?). Ahem. Knock on wood.

It has become difficult to do basically everything. Like even typing this is hard because my hands are all tingly and numb and my wrists hurt (pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel...so cool). Putting on my shoes takes about 1,000,005 years because my feet are swollen and I have to wear thick socks because it's cold and I can't bend over to tie my shoes. Moving in general is a Herculean task because at this point whatever SPD I had is like a bazillion times worse. Although I read yesterday that it goes away almost immediately after birth and I am so very much looking forward to not feeling like I'm 85 years old. Until I'm 85. Actually not even then.

Anyway. If you add in pregnancy rhinitis, hormones upon hormones, being kicked internally by a small (but huge?) human who is apparently wearing pointy shoes (even when the baby has hiccups now it's a big deal), and the ever-increasing BH contractions (will I ever get the real thing?), along with every other awesome symptom, I make for one big party animal. Seriously, if they talked a little more about what *really* happens to you when you get pregnant, we might have fewer teen moms.

But aside from all that, I am very ready to be done because everything is ready! Well, mostly. But they are things that can wait. 

We finished our Bradley class last Monday. It was pretty fun over all, and very educational. On the last day we did a "labor rehearsal" where we simulated labor by holding ice cubes and having very loud drum tracks playing (which actually had the unintended effect of making everybody all giggly). Then we used the time to practice a bunch of different methods of relaxation/comfort (which is how Bradley teaches you to deal with labor, unlike Lamaze, where it's all in your breathing). It was, like I said, rather fun. And Sam is now a card-carrying "person qualified to coach a woman in labor"! 

Because everyone is going to ask for proof if Sam tries to coach me...

Something I find a little funny is that people have started asking me if/when I'm going to be induced. The top two reasons I've gotten for this when I ask "why would I?" Are:

1. It's the holidays

2. Everybody gets induced

People have even thrown around the whole tax-benefit-for-the-year thing. Personally, I'm a little perplexed as to why I would want to be induced (I have a long list of reasons why it sounds like a horrible idea to me), but what confuses me even more is that people seem to be disregarding the baby's actual gestational age here...like shouldn't we only be induced out of medical necessity? My midwife (down to just the one, the second has taken an indeterminately long sabbatical and the new-hire midwife doesn't come on until February, when things slow down at the birth center) doesn't even consider induction until you are over 42 weeks. And I guess "they" (scientists?) are in the process of redefining the length of human gestation, since average is actually 41 weeks and 1 day (kill me now). So...just because a baby is "full term" and it's the holidays...? I am feeling I may be getting some people riled up now, so I'll quit while I'm ahead. But, in any case, I personally will not be inducing unless the baby stays cooking until the aforementioned time, which maybe people think is weird, but I don't. I shall abide myself in patience (meaning complaining but not doing anything other than that).

People also think it's weird that I'm not planning on getting an epidural or giving birth in a hospital, but I think I'll save that rant for post-birth just in case something happens and I need a hospital transfer.

Anywho. Babies. Having babies. Let's have a baby. Soon. (Please)

Here's a picture of my (seemingly...I'm unconvinced if I'm actually as big as I think I am) land mass of a self:

Lemon Squeezy

We've had an eventful-ish week. Not really all *good* events, but if life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Although sometimes you have enough to make lemonade and every other lemon-flavored recipe you have in your books. Woof.

So. Saturday I had my baby shower! It was fun to see and hang out with peeps, especially ones I haven't seen in a while (which, let's be honest, is everyone, because I get out of the house all of never). The food was supah tasty (thank you Megan!) and I was given enough baby shampoo to keep the baby clean til she's in high school. Anyway, I'm so grateful to my family for taking care of putting it on for me. Yay!

Sadly this is the only picture I took at the shower...not even related, but I find it hilarious.

That night I slept basically not at all because I was so worried about being able to afford the baby (sometimes I wonder why these things strike me in the middle of the night...unfair), so Sunday was a very tiring day. We went up to Midway that evening to have dinner with Sam's parents, which was tasty and fun. We watched "His Girl Friday," which I love, and had homemade apple pie. Sam also had a large glass of eggnog (this is relevant). Then we went home and went to bed.

Somewhere between 12:30 and 1am of "Monday" I woke up to Sam being extremely sick to his stomach. Ordinarily, whatever, except that I have never known Sam to be sicker with anything than a cold. We brushed it off for the time being, until it happened again...and again, and again, and again. Etc. Food poisoning, likely from that dang eggnog. I made him call into work when he hit 13 times by 6:45 in the morning. Seriously, stop being tough and just take a sick day. Although I'm glad he's so...dedicated? Anyway, the day proceeded on with Sam throwing up every 10-30 minutes all friggin day. We were able to get him to the doctor in the afternoon and they gave him a shot, which did nothing. Things progressed from bad to worse to worst, and by 12:30am Tuesday he told me he was done and wanted to give up, something that I never want to hear him say again, lemme tell you. It was really hard to see him like that. He literally looked like a carcass, and was having issues every 5-15 minutes. I told him to hang in there and went back to bed. About 30 seconds later some voice or something popped into my head and said very firmly: "Take him to the hospital right now." It was weird. So I got up and we left. Who knows what would've happened if I'd ignored that. Probably nothing. But we are both glad that I didn't. We got to the ER and didn't have to wait at all. They immediately got an IV into him and more nausea meds, and he fell asleep at last. We were there for a few hours while I took care of his insurance stuff and he got a few liters of fluids and some much-needed rest. The doctor told us he had probably ingested staphylococcus bacteria in the eggnog. Then we went home.

The next day was better in that he was no longer throwing up, but he couldn't stay awake long enough to answer a yes-or-no question, let alone drink anything, so it was another (though not nearly as) difficult day. In fact, the whole experience was a little traumatizing for me (see above about him never ever being sick). 

At this point, the dryer broke while I was doing laundry in an attempt to clean up. It just stopped working in the middle of a cycle. Fortunately, Sam's mom was super charitable and came by to take our wet clothes to the laundromat so I didn't have to. She even helped make the bed, which is a challenge when your bed is low and your stomach is huge.

Wednesday Sam had the day off at Vivint, and Dominos told him to go home because he looked "like crap, why did you even come in?" So we went down to the doctor to get an excuse note for Vivint in case there was a problem with his absence, then went to drop it off at the call center.

When we got there, we found out he'd been fired. That's right. Why? Because he didn't show up or call in on Tuesday, and he had called in on Monday. It's a process I could explain, but it's stupid, so I won't. After several minutes of negotiating and waving the hospital discharge papers and the doctor's note in their face, they finally hired him back, with the caveat that if ANYTHING at all happens again in the next three months, he's gone for good. Nice. Especially since I'm having a baby in a month or two. He can't call in, he can't be late for work, he can't be late coming back from a break (we're talking seconds or minutes here), he can't leave early without prior approval, etc etc. It's pretty lame.

So...we are adding job hunting to the to-do list again. Le sigh.

Anyway, on a happier note, Sam is extremely chipper and bouncy now that he's feeling all better, and we are going to be able to go see Catching Fire tonight for free because Vivint gave out tickets to their employees (or rather, one ticket, but Sam's coworker just had a baby so he gave him his unused one). If only they'd be more generous or understanding in dealing with their employees, instead of offering these "perks" to keep them content...

I'm kind of excited for the movie, even though it's really difficult to sit in a chair like that for so long with a melon-sized squirmy alien entity inside me. Ugh.

But! I'm super excited and feeling quite ready for the baby to come. We have basically finished the nursery prep (although she won't be in there for a couple months after she's born, it's something to DO). And I'm collecting the last bits of things that I'll need. I have like 50 lists. I told Sam I need to hurry up and get everything ready so I can sleep since these things keep me up at night. He just raised an eyebrow and said something about "nesting." Pshaw.

There. Proof I have actually been hard at work...sort of.

Anyway, so that about covers what's been happening around here lately. Next week is Thanksgiving, but Sam has to work in the hopes that he will get to have Christmas off. Boo.

And! We are down to a  3-to-9-week-away window for the "safe zone" of the baby being born! Eep!

News: Colonel Meow is very sick! What will the world do if he dies? ]:<

Boo-Radley and the Dreamweaver

I'm now 30.3 weeks. About 3/4 of the way done, or, between 6-12 weeks left! And ready to be done. But I'm also willing to put up with the last of it because I have to and because, as Sam likes to say, "if you take a pizza out of the oven before it's done, you get a gooey pizza, and no one likes a gooey pizza!" (his pizza analogies have increased since he started working at Domino's after work). And I really do hate gooey pizza. So disappointing.

But I take comfort in the fact that we *are* almost done, and that this part of being pregnant has the potential to be the most exciting part, what with the baby room prep, baby shower coming up, birth class in full swing, etc etc.

What birth class you say? Well how kind of you to ask! Sam and I are taking a Bradley Method class that finishes right before Christmas. We are almost halfway through the series, which feels like the apocalypse is right around the corner when I think about it. It's a super interesting class though. We spend most of the time talking about physiological changes, what happens in the different stages of labor, and what we can do with nutrition and "exercise" to make the pregnancies healthy and reduce our need for medically-necessary interventions (ooh yeah, I'm using the jargon)!

We also spend a good portion practicing relaxation techniques (my favorite part, obv). We also occasionally watch birth or birth-related videos. Not the gnarly kind though. Just enough gnarl to be real, but not like quease-inducing.

It's a pretty fun class, and there are a few other couples in it who are also in our prenatal class at the Birth Center, so that's kind of fun (plus our Bradley teacher is also our prenatal class teacher). My only complaint is that while it feels good to tailor-sit (sitting in chairs is so totally taboo in the birthing world), doing it for 2.5 hours with a basketball taped to your front is a wee bit uncomfortable after a while. But apparently so is labor, so I'll pretend it's like practice.

So, besides feeling like I'm channeling a pinniped, I still feel pretty good. Well, ok, I'm tired all the time (sleep for longer than 3-4 hours at a time is almost impossible) and I still have bad pelvic pain, especially after the 5k I walked last weekend...that'll probably be the last 3+ miles I walk this year (time to see the chiropractor I suppose). But overall, I'm not feeling too shabby. 

My dreams have been getting a little freakier and more baby-related too. I've dreamed a couple of times that I looked down and the baby was pressing her face through my skin, à la this poor fellow...

The other night I dreamed I gave birth to a kitten, and I picked it up and snuggled it (and thankfully didn't nurse...what is it with my family and dreaming while pregnant about nursing cats?). Another night I dreamed the baby was kicking so much (and pushing her face through my skin again) that I decided to "take her out" for a while. So I walked around holding her and she got comfortable. I remember she was very pink (but not freaky pink), completely bald, and had a face like an alien. But somehow it was still cute. Then I decided I needed to carry some stuff I was thinking of buying (did I mention this was at a store? Yeah), so I put her back in, by stuffing her under my shirt, after which she dissolved back into the uterus. It was really, really weird. I was relieved to wake up and find it was fake, let me tell you.

Supposedly pregnancy-induced dreams are supposed to be über vivid and realistic. While I've definitely found that to be true, I think I've been getting cheated a little bit. Aside from the freaky baby dreams I mentioned above, I've been having awesomely detailed dreams featuring such mundane topics as shopping at Costco (after which I woke up and wondered why we didn't actually have any food yet), explaining Sam's bizarre pajama-storage habits to my mom, and other scintillating topics. Give me a break. I had more exciting dreams before I was pregnant.

Well, there's not much else to update on, baby-related or not. Nothing interesting ever happens around here, I can tell you that. I'll let you know when it does.

Oh, and in case you never see me in person or have a generally morbid curiosity (or if you're eager to determine for yourself if it really *does* look like I've swallowed a watermelon), here's a picture of me in all my olive-on-a-toothpick glory

(featuring the clown shirt that thankfully I've now outgrown and won't feel obligated to wear for at least 2 months):