So, this will be a short because the little man in my tummy (that would sound odd in any other circumstance...kind of makes you picture a creepy leprechaun) is wreaking havoc on my thought process today. It all started a couple of weeks ago when he first started to move around and I'd get the occasional flutter or 'gas bubble' feeling everyone tells you about. Word to the wise, if you don't know what gas feels like at age 30 and you can't figure out the difference between your baby and your intestinal by-product, we should chat. I digress, so his movements finally become noticable and then, like everything else he does, he kicks it into supernova for me. It wasn't that bad at first, just a jab here and a head roll there that would make me giggle and daydream about the little bugger. I started feeling this weird rolling sensation and had to ultrasound simultaneously (of course) to prove that yes, he's in there doing front flips and side rolls. It's the most palpable when he's doing the front flip and, as if he heard my silent prayers that this move be banned from inter-utero play, this has become his chosen manuever every two to three minutes or so...all day long. I thought babies were like cats and slept anywhere from 18-22 hours per day, but who am I kidding, all my spawn will be special.
This incessant gymnastics practice wouldn't be an issue if his incubator didn't have the initial attention span of a two month old cockerspaniel, but with all this increased activity, his hyperactive tush can stop me mid-sentence like a sighting of a half-dressed RPattz. Most of the time I can cover and figure out what I was talking about and get back on track. I would not be telling the truth if I said that I haven't had to ask a patient 'what was that you just said?' a few times, but only once, 'what were you saying?' Not 'what were you saying' because I didn't hear you, but 'what were you saying' so you can jog my memory as to the topic we were even discussing before I departed for baby lala land. Having baby on the brain has only brought me close to asking a man how the breastfeeding was going once...so far.
As much as I can cover with my patients, my friends and family know me too well. Apparently when you're already used to me behaving as if I have untreated ADHD and it gets significantly worse, it's your duty to point this out and laugh at every possible instance. I have literally stopped in mid-conversation to gaze away/out the window/basically anywhere that could give the signal 'I couldn't give a rats what your saying' which people tend to notice, take personally, and then the pointing and laughing begin. I mean come on. Pregnancy brain only works when you're cute and pregnant. Not in that in between stage when you just look like you've been sneaking daily trips to McDonalds and the bakery for the past few months. All I can say is hopefully it doesn't get worse over the next 20 weeks. Or at least hopefully my BMI will increase to the point where people feel sorry for me and no one likes to call a fat girl dumb or flighty. It's like kicking a three legged dog. Just not cool.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Hypno-whosiwhats
We'll start this blog with a cute, but dorky funny story courtesy of the big brother to be. So, remember back in the day when I was whining about restless legs at night and had to start taking some medicine? Well, the other night, Will comes out of his room, while we're totally engrossed in Idol (as engrossed as you can be this season) and says, "I'm having a bad night, mama. I just can't go to sleep. My body just won't stop going." Knowing that the little rascal hates going to bed and will come out of his room at least a couple of times a night with one excuse or another to make sure we aren't having fun without him, we sent him back to bed and continued vegging on the couch, adding to our BMI's. The next night, he comes out again and says, 'I'm having another bad night. I just can't go to sleep. My legs just want to keep moving all night (he's been in his room 3 minutes). I think I might need some IRONING pills."
Light bulb moment. This is hilarious to us because he's been feigning restless legs and heard me talking about the iron pills I was taking to combat it and decided to see if this could get him out of bedtime. After Will's request, we, of course, put him back to bed sans ironing pills, but it wasn't a matter of minutes before the hubby mentioned that someone else might benefit from ironing pills, given the fact that I couldn't really tell you what our ironing board looks like or how to turn on the iron. It's not my fault I don't believe in high maintenence clothes and won't purchase anything that may need to be ironed or dry-cleaned...ever.
Anywho, so one of my pals (who has birthed two nordic giants sans epidural) gave me a book on hypnobirthing, which I've been making my way through. I know, I know, it sounds a little anti-medicine, but I'm open to at least learning about other ways of doing things even if I don't plan to employ them. So, I'm reading this book and not all of it is total nutjob preaching, which is surprising and enlightening. They play a lot of captain obvious, telling you how chicks in third world countries who are pregnant feel themselves go into labor, find a nice sturdy wall, lean against it while crouching down and deliver their own baby and go own about their travels. Does this happen? Dunno, but it kind of makes sense. Would you want to be the next person to lean against that wall while waiting for the bus? Nope. Puke. Yes, the magic of epidurals and modern medicine is lacking from this story, but you can't dispute the fact that it sounds a lot more tolerable than the cinema-made-famous scene of the screaming, crazy spaz crowning in a modern birthing suite screaming 'you did this to me' at her schmo of an inseminator.
My plan has always been to head to the hospital for my epidural when I was, oh, a half centimeter dilated. Now, I'm wondering if I couldn't hold off a bit. They talk alot about fear being the root of the pain and the perception of the impending pain causing a lot of reactions that do indeed lead to the sensation of pain. All of this, physiologically makes sense, but then why does everyone in this country think that labor should be and is psychotically painful? There's a lot of massage and relaxation techniques taught in the book which every person, pregnant or not, could benefit from. Don't worry, I'm not going to go all Gisele on you and climb into a tub, sneeze out my baby and claim I never needed maternity clothes. I, after all, am not a Victoria's Secret model. I am, however, going to try to remind myself that it might not hurt and that I might not need an epidural and that chicks do this all the time, so why should it be more difficult for me than them. Hopefully, this thinking gets me to at least 3 cm before I squeeze my hubby's livelihood hard enough to have him calling for my epidural.
Another book, more like a collection of really short essays, I been thumbing through is Jenny McCarthy's Belly Laughs, or something like that. I'm a little dismayed by anything she does since the whole autism and vaccinations thing, but I gave it a shot. It's funny in parts, which isn't surprising, given her generally fun and crazy personality...at least what I've seen on TV. Unfortunately, the 'chapters' are on average 4-5 pages long and don't really get into whats going on besides, 'Yep, I have discharge and it's a lot and it's gross.' She's made a ton of dough on this book and I kind of am in awe her publicist for that one. I need to get that man's name.
So, on the bean front, we have our 20 wk ultrasound in the next week or so and it's on the kickass high def machine so we'll have some new sweet pics to post of his highness. We're painting the nursery green this weekend and grabbing some furniture in the next couple of weeks, I'm planning. He's still as ADD as ever and moves non-stop, especially at night, which hopefully is not a trend he plans to continue once he vacates the belly. John has been able to feel it through the belly once by mashing so hard I'm not sure if he's feeling my heartbeat through my aorta or the little man practicing his freekicks. (just kidding) I quit having heart-attack-inducing cravings but have gained about 8-10 lbs so far which is a little much for this early, but whatev. Once I proclaimed that I didn't care what happened to my body as long as my baby got everything it needed to be healthy, my body was listening and responded 'you betcha, sucker' and started piling on the pounds quicker than Kirstie Ally. It's actually getting to the point where I'm full after only eating a kidsize serving so I'm either going to quit gaining weight eventually or start developing some killer stretch marks because my belly is as taut as all get out and not in the 'situation' kind of way.
To end on a funny, I'm sitting in clinic the other day, chatting up a 75 year old sweet old lady patient of mine. It went like this:
Her: So, you're married, have a new name and are having a baby. Do you know what it is?
Me: Yeah, it's a boy.
Her: Do you have a name picked out?
Me: Yeah, but I'm not telling anyone any more because I'm sick of people's inability to hide their hatred of my babies future handle.
Her: Well as long as you don't name it ______.
Me: Virginia, why would you say that? Did you talk to my nurses?
Her: No. My husbands, nieces, sister had a boy and named it _______ and all I could think was 'don't you love your child?'
Me: Virginia, I'm naming my kid ________.
Her: (turns to me) Don't you love your kid? There are plenty of good baby names out there, why don't you look some more.
Me: Virginia, that's what I'm naming him. It's interesting, just like your name. I love the name Virginia.
Her: Of course you do because you don't have the name Virginia. I hate my name. Why don't you find a _________ and ask him if he likes his name. Good luck with that.
Me: Virginia, I can't believe you said that.
Her: Well, no one said anything to my parents so I have to stick up for all the kids who are sure to get their ass whooped and it's all their parents fault.
I only ad-libbed a little and the rest of this came from a sweet little old bag who's one of my best patients. I can't wait to be old and be able to say whatever I want and everyone just says, 'she's so old and sweet and funny.' Needless to say, I'm not naming my future daughter Vagina...I mean Virginia.
Light bulb moment. This is hilarious to us because he's been feigning restless legs and heard me talking about the iron pills I was taking to combat it and decided to see if this could get him out of bedtime. After Will's request, we, of course, put him back to bed sans ironing pills, but it wasn't a matter of minutes before the hubby mentioned that someone else might benefit from ironing pills, given the fact that I couldn't really tell you what our ironing board looks like or how to turn on the iron. It's not my fault I don't believe in high maintenence clothes and won't purchase anything that may need to be ironed or dry-cleaned...ever.
Anywho, so one of my pals (who has birthed two nordic giants sans epidural) gave me a book on hypnobirthing, which I've been making my way through. I know, I know, it sounds a little anti-medicine, but I'm open to at least learning about other ways of doing things even if I don't plan to employ them. So, I'm reading this book and not all of it is total nutjob preaching, which is surprising and enlightening. They play a lot of captain obvious, telling you how chicks in third world countries who are pregnant feel themselves go into labor, find a nice sturdy wall, lean against it while crouching down and deliver their own baby and go own about their travels. Does this happen? Dunno, but it kind of makes sense. Would you want to be the next person to lean against that wall while waiting for the bus? Nope. Puke. Yes, the magic of epidurals and modern medicine is lacking from this story, but you can't dispute the fact that it sounds a lot more tolerable than the cinema-made-famous scene of the screaming, crazy spaz crowning in a modern birthing suite screaming 'you did this to me' at her schmo of an inseminator.
My plan has always been to head to the hospital for my epidural when I was, oh, a half centimeter dilated. Now, I'm wondering if I couldn't hold off a bit. They talk alot about fear being the root of the pain and the perception of the impending pain causing a lot of reactions that do indeed lead to the sensation of pain. All of this, physiologically makes sense, but then why does everyone in this country think that labor should be and is psychotically painful? There's a lot of massage and relaxation techniques taught in the book which every person, pregnant or not, could benefit from. Don't worry, I'm not going to go all Gisele on you and climb into a tub, sneeze out my baby and claim I never needed maternity clothes. I, after all, am not a Victoria's Secret model. I am, however, going to try to remind myself that it might not hurt and that I might not need an epidural and that chicks do this all the time, so why should it be more difficult for me than them. Hopefully, this thinking gets me to at least 3 cm before I squeeze my hubby's livelihood hard enough to have him calling for my epidural.
Another book, more like a collection of really short essays, I been thumbing through is Jenny McCarthy's Belly Laughs, or something like that. I'm a little dismayed by anything she does since the whole autism and vaccinations thing, but I gave it a shot. It's funny in parts, which isn't surprising, given her generally fun and crazy personality...at least what I've seen on TV. Unfortunately, the 'chapters' are on average 4-5 pages long and don't really get into whats going on besides, 'Yep, I have discharge and it's a lot and it's gross.' She's made a ton of dough on this book and I kind of am in awe her publicist for that one. I need to get that man's name.
So, on the bean front, we have our 20 wk ultrasound in the next week or so and it's on the kickass high def machine so we'll have some new sweet pics to post of his highness. We're painting the nursery green this weekend and grabbing some furniture in the next couple of weeks, I'm planning. He's still as ADD as ever and moves non-stop, especially at night, which hopefully is not a trend he plans to continue once he vacates the belly. John has been able to feel it through the belly once by mashing so hard I'm not sure if he's feeling my heartbeat through my aorta or the little man practicing his freekicks. (just kidding) I quit having heart-attack-inducing cravings but have gained about 8-10 lbs so far which is a little much for this early, but whatev. Once I proclaimed that I didn't care what happened to my body as long as my baby got everything it needed to be healthy, my body was listening and responded 'you betcha, sucker' and started piling on the pounds quicker than Kirstie Ally. It's actually getting to the point where I'm full after only eating a kidsize serving so I'm either going to quit gaining weight eventually or start developing some killer stretch marks because my belly is as taut as all get out and not in the 'situation' kind of way.
To end on a funny, I'm sitting in clinic the other day, chatting up a 75 year old sweet old lady patient of mine. It went like this:
Her: So, you're married, have a new name and are having a baby. Do you know what it is?
Me: Yeah, it's a boy.
Her: Do you have a name picked out?
Me: Yeah, but I'm not telling anyone any more because I'm sick of people's inability to hide their hatred of my babies future handle.
Her: Well as long as you don't name it ______.
Me: Virginia, why would you say that? Did you talk to my nurses?
Her: No. My husbands, nieces, sister had a boy and named it _______ and all I could think was 'don't you love your child?'
Me: Virginia, I'm naming my kid ________.
Her: (turns to me) Don't you love your kid? There are plenty of good baby names out there, why don't you look some more.
Me: Virginia, that's what I'm naming him. It's interesting, just like your name. I love the name Virginia.
Her: Of course you do because you don't have the name Virginia. I hate my name. Why don't you find a _________ and ask him if he likes his name. Good luck with that.
Me: Virginia, I can't believe you said that.
Her: Well, no one said anything to my parents so I have to stick up for all the kids who are sure to get their ass whooped and it's all their parents fault.
I only ad-libbed a little and the rest of this came from a sweet little old bag who's one of my best patients. I can't wait to be old and be able to say whatever I want and everyone just says, 'she's so old and sweet and funny.' Needless to say, I'm not naming my future daughter Vagina...I mean Virginia.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
What was that?
So, I first thought that I felt the baby move a couple of weeks ago, but wasn't quite sure. Today, which continuing my Big Brother act on my growing spawn, I simultaneously watched him kick off one side of my uterus and hit his head on the other side. I say simultaneous not for the movement but for the fact that I distinctly felt two flutters at the same time. I actually stopped ultrasounding to look at my belly (as if my xray vision would suddenly start working and I'd see him without the aid of technology) and had my little light bulb moment. It was sweet. Now that I'm sure that that particular sensation is the munchkin playing bouncy house in my belly, I'll be even more acutely aware of his darling self. Now I won't have to ultrasound so much to prove his existence, which I'm sure he'll appreciate since he tends to pout and throw a little hissy when we've done it too often.
You'll notice I said 'him' or 'he' as my pronoun of choice above and I'm 99.9% sure that this is an accurate description. We've never gotten a completely clear view of a definite dangly, but the evidence we have would stand up in court. Time to start decorating his room! Speaking of decorations, I've kind of taken some flack for my choices of yellow, green and brown. When you think of those colors, don't think of the hideous shades that flatter no one and are generic enough to use when you don't know the sex of your little monster. Think of a rich green, a pale yellow and a complementary soft brown. Not every pole-toting infant needs to be head to toe blue to prove to the world he's got his own balls to play with. I'm like the Pat-esque colors and am using them to decorate in somewhat of a safari meets winnie the pooh idea I've been tossing around. You don't have to understand it people, you just have to accept it.
Another thing I'm sure of is that this kid is definitely already taking after mom. When I eat something he doesn't like, he throws a fit. When I'm in the wrong position, he throws a fit. When I wear pants that are not elastic, he throws a fit. I know you think I'm exaggerating, but when you watch your child throw a fit on ultrasound, as witnessed by a besty who mocks said childs being just like mom, you can imagine the same type of behavior at other junctions. He actually gets both arms going up and down, pretty quickly, and then starts to bounce off either side of his not-so-roomy- anymore water balloon house. Today, he actually turned his head to the side and brought one of his hands up to rest on his forehead as if to say, 'Wooes me. What shall I do?' It was kind of funny. He'll fit right in with Will who has adopted various parts of my dysfunctional personality as his own. He provided us with our most hilarious form of entertainment on vacation (hard to compete with Shamu) when we went to Cocoa and Daytona beach. It's barely 60 and sometimes sunny and this kid is the ONLY PERSON in his swimtrunks running into the iceberg supportive water and back out and up and down the beach all which laughing and screaming, the kind where everyone looks and wonders A)is someone drowning/being stabbed, and B)who is the crazy person laughing the kind of laugh that you just know they have the crazy googly eyes too while it's going on. The fact that he was the victim and the perpetrator in this audible fairytale and watching him run laps in the sand was H-I-larious.
Oh, and about elastic waistlines...they rock. I think that I might want to be pregnant for the rest of my life. Not wearing your fat pants and eat a big lunch? If you're not wearing pants with an elastic band, this sucks. If you are, you don't have a care in the world and go back for thirds. Although I've only gained 5-6 lbs, it's all right in my belly, which now pooches out and rises nearly to the level of my belly button. I have some bella bands which allow you to wear your old pants and just not fasten them correctly, but I think I might ditch them...too much work. The plain ole' yoga pants that are loose fitting and flared leg that can be worn with a long top and no one gets close enough to touch them and realize they're like cotton sweatpants are my new favorite bottoms of choice. These and scrubs will allow me to drastically increase my oral intake and, thus, scale results, I have no doubt. My other favorite clothes are pregnancy shirts, fyi. They are all low cut to show off the new assets and they're all tight under the girls and super loose over the belly so once again, you can eat whatever you want. It's like the dance scene in Twilight where Bella motions to Jessica that her girls look good in her dress. Every day at lunch, another friend mentions how the girls are looking stellar in that shirt and I have to explain that apparently a man with a side job at playboy designs pregnancy shirts so that the world can take full advantage of the esthetically pleasing view that is the pregnant body.
Anywho, I'm not feeling sick anymore, just tired. But, we did just get back from vacation(in FL...in the first week in March...read 'cold') and I've been working on our hospital service and had a sinus infection so that would account for that. Vacation by the way is way more fun when you're not pregnant. A babymoon should be pre-baby in your belly. There's no staying out late, having a cocktail, doing crazy stuff like bungee jumping, etc. Oh, and if you're at Disney, Universal or Sea World, you can't ride any of the rides so your sole job is to shop and eat and be on picture duty. Now that I think about it, maybe that wasnt such a bad deal.
You'll notice I said 'him' or 'he' as my pronoun of choice above and I'm 99.9% sure that this is an accurate description. We've never gotten a completely clear view of a definite dangly, but the evidence we have would stand up in court. Time to start decorating his room! Speaking of decorations, I've kind of taken some flack for my choices of yellow, green and brown. When you think of those colors, don't think of the hideous shades that flatter no one and are generic enough to use when you don't know the sex of your little monster. Think of a rich green, a pale yellow and a complementary soft brown. Not every pole-toting infant needs to be head to toe blue to prove to the world he's got his own balls to play with. I'm like the Pat-esque colors and am using them to decorate in somewhat of a safari meets winnie the pooh idea I've been tossing around. You don't have to understand it people, you just have to accept it.
Another thing I'm sure of is that this kid is definitely already taking after mom. When I eat something he doesn't like, he throws a fit. When I'm in the wrong position, he throws a fit. When I wear pants that are not elastic, he throws a fit. I know you think I'm exaggerating, but when you watch your child throw a fit on ultrasound, as witnessed by a besty who mocks said childs being just like mom, you can imagine the same type of behavior at other junctions. He actually gets both arms going up and down, pretty quickly, and then starts to bounce off either side of his not-so-roomy- anymore water balloon house. Today, he actually turned his head to the side and brought one of his hands up to rest on his forehead as if to say, 'Wooes me. What shall I do?' It was kind of funny. He'll fit right in with Will who has adopted various parts of my dysfunctional personality as his own. He provided us with our most hilarious form of entertainment on vacation (hard to compete with Shamu) when we went to Cocoa and Daytona beach. It's barely 60 and sometimes sunny and this kid is the ONLY PERSON in his swimtrunks running into the iceberg supportive water and back out and up and down the beach all which laughing and screaming, the kind where everyone looks and wonders A)is someone drowning/being stabbed, and B)who is the crazy person laughing the kind of laugh that you just know they have the crazy googly eyes too while it's going on. The fact that he was the victim and the perpetrator in this audible fairytale and watching him run laps in the sand was H-I-larious.
Oh, and about elastic waistlines...they rock. I think that I might want to be pregnant for the rest of my life. Not wearing your fat pants and eat a big lunch? If you're not wearing pants with an elastic band, this sucks. If you are, you don't have a care in the world and go back for thirds. Although I've only gained 5-6 lbs, it's all right in my belly, which now pooches out and rises nearly to the level of my belly button. I have some bella bands which allow you to wear your old pants and just not fasten them correctly, but I think I might ditch them...too much work. The plain ole' yoga pants that are loose fitting and flared leg that can be worn with a long top and no one gets close enough to touch them and realize they're like cotton sweatpants are my new favorite bottoms of choice. These and scrubs will allow me to drastically increase my oral intake and, thus, scale results, I have no doubt. My other favorite clothes are pregnancy shirts, fyi. They are all low cut to show off the new assets and they're all tight under the girls and super loose over the belly so once again, you can eat whatever you want. It's like the dance scene in Twilight where Bella motions to Jessica that her girls look good in her dress. Every day at lunch, another friend mentions how the girls are looking stellar in that shirt and I have to explain that apparently a man with a side job at playboy designs pregnancy shirts so that the world can take full advantage of the esthetically pleasing view that is the pregnant body.
Anywho, I'm not feeling sick anymore, just tired. But, we did just get back from vacation(in FL...in the first week in March...read 'cold') and I've been working on our hospital service and had a sinus infection so that would account for that. Vacation by the way is way more fun when you're not pregnant. A babymoon should be pre-baby in your belly. There's no staying out late, having a cocktail, doing crazy stuff like bungee jumping, etc. Oh, and if you're at Disney, Universal or Sea World, you can't ride any of the rides so your sole job is to shop and eat and be on picture duty. Now that I think about it, maybe that wasnt such a bad deal.
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