Planning ahead...or not

Merriam Webster says the future is: 1: that is to be, 2: of or relating to a time yet to come, 3: existing or occurring at a later time. Well, I agree—how can you argue the dictionary—but I am having trouble picturing the future of me and my Nugget. I’m enjoying the diaper shopping, don’t get me wrong, but it’s still a foreign idea that some little person is going to get to use said diapers. I don’t really think I took pregnancy for granted last time, but I sure didn’t think I would spend 7 months pregnant and not get a kid out of it. Geez. So my near-sightedness makes sense, it’s just not cool. People allow pregnant ladies to complain, so I am.

At the same time, I feel that familiar curiosity about what the heck is going on in my body; what kind of thing is nature going to throw our way? I know it’s human, since we’ve seen it on ultrasound. I know it’s okay, so far, so that’s good. But what kind of person will it be? Who will it look like? Will it have all its parts? What kind of private parts? What’s its name going to be? Will it even make it out alive? Is it then going to have colic? Is it going to slack off in school? The worry is never going to end. So maybe, for the sake of not stressing out,  it’s better to accept some of my inability to look ahead and enjoy the ignorance. 

Plenty of dumdums have successfully raised children, right? Eek!

Oy, my back

Complaint: lower back pain. Ick, it is bad. I don’t recall this intensity last time, so maybe that’s why I’m such a baby about it. Haha, baby. But really, it only makes sense. This creature is starting to grow at a staggering rate (it has 19 weeks to get 10 inches taller) and I just read in some baby book that after 20 weeks is when they start to really pack on the pounds.  (I also just read that baby bears are 10 inches tall when they are born, FYI). In turn, I should start really packing on the pounds and my poor lower back will pay the price. The uterus has outgrown its little pelvic home and is apparently throwing off my center of gravity which makes me unwittingly arch my back at all times. Additionally, all that relaxin hormone is making my joints all wiggly which means less support from them. Oh, and the abs are beginning their four month stretch of stretchiness which also puts pressure, literally and figuratively, on the old back muscles. I fear there is no way to win. Sigh. 

It likes to move it, move it...

Baby kicks are ridiculously weird and incredible awesome. Wyatt wasn’t a big kicker, but I guess that’s because his placenta was in the front. Instead of kicking, elbowing, and otherwise prodding me, he was railing on the placenta I guess. Suck it placenta! This little one, however, has been making its presence known for the past several weeks—maybe a month. I love it. It is magical. It is like an alien is in there pushing against my skin “toward the light”. It is like a muscle spasm is just about to happen, you know that tightening feeling, but instead it is a baby saying hi. It is like a sign that things are working! Because Wyatt couldn’t get through to me that much, I really appreciate this one that much more. I mean, I know pregnant ladies ooh and ahh about how crazy-cool it is to feel their baby moving…but really, this is awesome. I get to be special in this case. It’s more awesomer for me bitches!

There’s not much I can do with this baby movement except appreciate it. In a while, when the baby is “viable” and they could actually do something to save it if it was born early or had problems, I am supposed to start taking note of what “normal” movement is. Oh, the pressures we put our children under—in the womb and already being judged about normalcy. Ridiculous. 

Kidneys? Check.

We went in for the “anatomy scan” which most people consider the “what kind of pee-pee? scan” but really is used for much more important things, such as making sure the baby is growing right and that it has fused it’s little spinal pieces together, has a brain, etc., etc. If you’re like me, you don’t want to know about the privates anyway so the whole thing is just a crazy, unbelievable science experiment. Really, it’s all x-ray vision and skeletal-outline and intense-close-up on stuff like the four (hopefully) heart chambers, two (hopefully) brain hemispheres, ten fingers, ten toes, and anything else structural you might need to know about. They look up the baby’s nostrils for cripe’s sake. How do they do it? Half the time I found myself getting emotional and excited about something cute only to hear it was the…placenta. Seriously. They check for the major organs and look for “markers” of genetic and chromosomal abnormalities. Naturally they can’t check for everything that could possibly go wrong, but I’m feeling pretty good after they said everything looked normal and on target. Whatever happened to Wyatt sure wasn’t visible on any ultrasound, so it doesn’t make me feel totally secure, but for now it’s all I have and I’ll take it.

This is not the Nugget but shows how
 intense the ribs look!

I definitely had to squeeze Hubby’s hand a few times when I got nervous. For example, the tech lady would say “Ok, now we’re going to check the baby’s spine is complete” and I would instantly panic and have flashbacks about that time I was just barely pregnant and went in a hot tub which of course I have read can possibly raise my temperature high enough to maybe cause spina bifida which causes defects of the spine. Or “now we’re measuring the size of some body parts which will give us some ratios that tell us about potential chromosomal defects” so I imagine the head being twelve times larger than the stomach which probably means the baby will die tomorrow or turn into a hippo or something ridiculous. But Hubby’s hand withstood my crunching and our dear new Nugget passed the tests for now. 

As a bonus, the tech and doctor said that the baby was very modest and was not about to show its private parts even if we had wanted to know. So somehow I got someone who cares about being naked, hmm. 

And it’s a whopping 9 inches tall. You go, baby. 

sisters and brothers going baby crazy

My mother in law just told me a super story involving her other, non-Hubby son. Apparently he recently told her the best years of his life are over because his wife wants to have a baby. Now that is hilarious on so many levels. First of all, he can’t really think that. I know he is scared of babies and I can’t imagine him even holding one (let alone changing one at 2:30am), but he thinks children are funny and, honestly, we all have to start somewhere. Second of all, he knew this day was coming. Since she’s been in grad school and planning to have a baby as soon as she is done, he’s had a few years to plan for the assault he is going to undergo—aka he’s known it’s been coming for a long time and should, after three years, be prepared by now. Thirdly, why would you say that to your mother? I’m sorry, but when people tell me they want to make babies I immediately have to force myself not to envision what that entails. I’m not talking pornographic videos playing in my mind or anything, but you know what I mean: I do know where babies come from. So telling that to your mom? No thank you. And lastly, although I am sure there are many other reasons I find this funny and awful at the same time, he makes it sound as if he has no say in the situation. Let’s hope he actually does. He must, right? I mean, they’re not getting any younger, and he definitely doesn’t wear the pants in the family, 

but he does have to consent to play some very important roles, 

including dominant family breadwinner and sperm donor, 

among others. Although they are in their mid-thirties, it wouldn’t

 kill her to give him another few months.  I guess he just won’t 

be ready no matter when it happens and he’s just sharing his 

angst with his mama. (And actually, it would kill her to wait 

another few months. By the time she graduates she’ll have 

had a solid six months of prep-work under her belt—and 

lots of sessions asking me questions and telling me things 

I’m really not prepared to hear about). But I love ‘em! 

Rational Thoughts

So we’re taking the team to North Carolina for spring break. We have three games, some practices, and a general good time ahead. It’s so great to get the team off campus, away from schoolwork, and see how much fun they can have and who really comes out of their shells. Nothing in lacrosse season was more fun for me than that warm, sunny spring break away from everything else “college” just trying to kick some ass and only having teammates and lacrosse games to think about. It’s like being a professional athlete, basically. Except we didn’t have ladies throwing themselves at us and we didn’t get paid. But still. I’m psyched for it.

Except the flying part. I’m not afraid of flying (that’s the other coach, who said she developed this fear after having her first baby-great). I don’t think about crashing, I don’t get motion sickness (well, sometimes on boats), and I don’t get antsy sitting around for a few hours. But I now have this irrational fear of blood clots. I don’t think there’s any reason I am more likely to have a blood clot sitting on an airplane than on my couch (which I do all the time), it’s just that everyone always says “make sure you get up and walk around every hour because of blood clots.” So, naturally, I’m going to be tired 

from waking up at 3am to get my ass in the school van by 4am 

and on the airplane by 6am but I can’t take a nap because what

 if I sleep for more than an hour and immediately get a blood clot? 

What if I can’t get out of my seat because I’m next to some 

snoring fatty who I can’t climb over and the blood pools at my 

waist and clots in my leg and blocks blood to the placenta or goes 

straight to my heart? Or even just one of those things? Eek! 

Again, I sit on my couch for hours on end (I don’t use a desk, 

but same idea) so why should I worry more about planes? 

I shouldn’t. But should I worry more about the couch? Oh dear. 

it's a new month

I have to admit I extra-enjoy ripping off calendar pages these days. Throwing February in the recycling bin was a fun activity that gave me a puff of courage: one more month down, one less to brave ahead. I have nothing against February of course; it’s just the months between now and my due date in general that I’m not so keen on. Plus, our lacrosse games start in March (tomorrow in fact) and that means I can actually see how I’m doing at my job and how the heck we hold up under pressure and in real competition, so that’s a bonus. Also, it means I will be extra busy and I’m hoping that means the time flies by. We’ll see.

It’s funny how sometimes life seems to go so slowly or so quickly and you can’t even be sure why it changes or what makes the difference. I’d like to see some psychology studies on that. Since November I’ve definitely felt the days dragging, yet turned around and suddenly found it three weeks later than I thought it was. While I’m not rushing through the days, I highly enjoy when they’ve passed and
I’ve still got a baby on board (obviously). As hard as I try to avoid the
morbid thoughts, they sometimes hit me. It’s usually when I’m tired,

p.s. check out this crazy pillow for the knocked-up

which makes me cranky and hormonal anyway, and I just can’t help but wonder if everything’s okay at the same time as wishing I wasn’t in this situation. I had a baby 7 months ago…but I don’t have a 7 month old baby. It’s so unfair! I just want to punch stuff. 

But mostly I’m good at remaining positive—

as long as I get enough sleep I’m fairly optimistic. 

Note to potential dads out there: let your woman sleep!