birth story part 2

As we left the house, Tim was all, “Do we have everything?!”

My response was something like, “I’m here…[ouch ouch ouch]…the carseat is…[bang on side of door...grip OS (oh shit) handle]…here…[breathe breathe breathe]…so I think we’re all set.”

I also somehow had the wherewithal to grab my camera to make sure I’d get a sunrise picture, since I was 100% certain Kellan would be arriving later in the day.

I mean, it figures we would be driving to the hospital while the sun was rising. I guess better that than while I was pushing…

Anyhow, before we made it to the interstate, I had multiple contractions that resulted in me climbing the walls.

Kellan’s car seat was installed behind my seat, which made my seat all straight backed and super close to the dashboard (read: my knees touched it).

While in labor, this kind of position is no bueno.

After the second contraction that hurt 10000000000000 times worse than any I had already had, I made Tim stop at a gas station to move the car seat so I could lay my seat back.

Tim, already on high alert, turned super human on me and whipped into the parking area, flew out of the car and ripped the car seat out/shoved it out of the way all in one fluid motion all whhhhhapaaash!

I’ve never been so happy to lay my seat back in my entire 29 years of life.

The contractions still hurt like hell but at least I was a little more comfortable…or as comfortable as you can be in a car.

The other bit of fun?

Trying to capture the sunrise between contractions while sitting inside a moving object.

It’s not easy to try and time a picture between trees, buildings, power lines and other cars.

Now try it whilst writhing in pain.

Tim kept trying to slow down when there were no cars behind us so I could get a clear shot. He was so focused on that task that he almost missed the exit for the hospital.

I saw the exit coming…and Tim not getting into the exit lane…and I was all, “Isn’t that the exit?!”

Ironically, we had talked about making sure we didn’t miss the exit during multiple trips to OB, which is located a few blocks from the hospital.

For whatever reason, we didn’t put the hospital into the navigation system into the car. Doing so certainly would have simplified things.

Not only did we almost miss the exit off the highway, we also were not sure where to turn for hospital. The only other time we had been there was for our one day childbirth express class.

Obviously, commonsense and rational thinking go out the window when you’re in labor.

The baby gods were smiling down on us, though, because we lucked out and made the correct left turn after debating out loud, “Is it this turn or….not?”

It is a huge relief to know you A: found the hospital and B: will not be giving birth in a car on the side of the road.

Since we were there before regular business hours we had to check in at the ER.

That was the one piece of advice we both remembered from the childbirth class, so I guess the $50 we paid for the class was worth it…..

We found the ER…but had no idea where to park. The only place near the door we saw was for ambulances. Obviously, parking there would probably end up in a hefty ticket or Tim getting carted off for super illegal parking, so he instead pulled into a spot across the street from the ER in front of a parking meter.

As Tim turned the car off he was all, “Let’s see them try to give me a ticket.”

I don’t remember responding. I’m pretty sure if I did it was a grunt or moan or something just as unladylike.

Tim helped me out of the car and across the street, as there was still snow and ice on the sidewalk from a snowstorm a few weeks back where we got dumped on…something like 13 inches…

The entrance to the ER was empty, nobody and no apparent emergencies taking place.

After we went through the double doors, we walked into a completely empty check in and waiting area. I looked at Tim like, “Are we in the right place? Is there a bell to ring? OMG am I going to have this baby on the floor of the ER waiting area?!”

Fortunately, the woman working the front desk heard us shuffling about, trying to figure out what to do. She came out from behind a wall that was behind the large receptionist desk.

She took one look at me and was all, “Are you in labor?”

I’m still not sure if my belly or the lack of blood spurting from an appendage gave me away.

The woman, who probably told us her name, took us behind the desk and around the back side of the wall where a few chairs and a desk with a computer were situated.

I sat down in a weird half reclining position while Tim stood next to me and the woman sat in front of the computer and started asking me questions.

I had preregistered with the hospital so they already had most of the important information. I know she asked me my name…and I think my birthdate…but I kept having contractions so I sort of spaced out while Tim answered for me.

Note to self: always preregister. Questions during contractions s.u.c.k.

The woman at the computer finally finished her questions and called L&D to send a nurse down to get me. Then, she printed my information on the standard plasticky hospital “bracelet,” slapped it on my arm and then told us we could wait in the waiting area for the nurse.

Tim and I made our way back from behind the wall over to the waiting area where Tim asked me if I wanted to sit down.

I said no, since sitting seemed to be more painful than standing.

I also noticed that another man…maybe two…had come into the waiting area while we were getting checked in. I remember having a moment thinking, “I wonder if he can tell I’m in labor…I hope I don’t do anything crazy…”

Then I had another contraction and that train of thought went right out of my brain. I didn’t care who was out there or how crazy I looked. I was in pain and that’s all that mattered.

The nurse from L&D made quick work of coming to get us and asked me if I could walk.

I said yes and she turned heel and immediately started leading us to the promised land, aka labor and delivery (L&D).

Our trip back, including a short ride in an elevator, took a bit longer than it probably should have since I had to keep stopping each time I had a contraction. Walking through them was not an option. Stopping, holding onto a wall, breathing and closing my eyes was.

Either the nurse – who was very patient and very supportive-smiley – or Tim mentioned something about how empty and quiet it was…and when I took a second to pay attention to our surroundings…it WAS.

We didn’t pass another woman in labor or requiring assistance as the nurse led us into the L&D ward, past the nurses station and into a delivery room.

It was kind of nice, the quiet.

Once we were in the room, the nurse handed me a gown to change into and told me to go pee in a cup in the bathroom.

This peeing request posed a slight problem, as I didn’t have to pee at all...but I managed to find some somewhere within the depths of my squished bladder.

Also? Peeing in a cup becomes so second nature when you’re pregnant that you don’t think anything of it.

Also, again? Peeing in a cup becomes exponentially more difficult as your belly grows and you cannot see what is going on ‘down there.’

Also for the third time? The nurses totally forgot about my pee in a cup. Tim had to remind them it was sitting on the counter on the sink.

Anyhow, I peed and changed into the lovely hospital gown, debating out loud if I should keep any undergarments on or just go bare assed.

Eventually, after getting into bed with my panties still on, I decided modesty would be fruitless and took them off, handing them to Tim to pack away.

A few minutes passed before our nurse for the duration of my labor – and eventual delivery – came in to introduce herself and check me to, “see if I was in labor and would be staying to have a baby today.”

I didn’t respond to her but was thinking, “The hell I’m in labor and staying to have a baby today.”

Tim was thinking the same thing…though I didn’t know it at the time. We did share a quick look like, “WTF?”

So, our nurse, Laura, asked if I had any allergies or issues with any medications, etc. I said no…except laytex. Latex makes me break out in a rash.

She wrinkled her nose as she went to this squareish table with wheels to search its drawers for non latex gloves.

There weren’t any.

Laura left, in search of gloves and left Tim and me to wait, still not sure if I’d be able to stay or not.

Laura came back, special gloves in hand, and got down to business.

That began a multitude of people having their hands up my hooha.

As she was up there feeling around she looked at us all, “You’re five centimeters! You’re in labor! You’re definitely having a baby today!”

No shit, Sherlock.

(Sorry. It was the contractions talking)

(Also, I went from two centimeters to five between Thursday at the doctor and Sunday)

Once my fate was decided (ie the hospital agreed that I was actually in labor) (again, no shit, Sherlock), Laura started asking me what kind of labor I wanted.

I told her I wanted to try natural but was open to alternatives.

Laura was all, “Ok…but if you decide on an epidural, you need to decide soon since you’re so far along.”

I said ok…still having to stop every now and again for the contractions…and figured I’d go walk the L&D hallways for a bit to see if I could help my cervix progress any further.

Unfortunately, I had to be all wired up with monitors for twenty minutes first so they could monitor both Kellan and me.

Begin torturous twenty minutes of two monitors on my belly, a blood oxygen monitor thingy on my finger and a blood pressure cuff that would squeeze my arm every what-felt-like thirty seconds.

During that time, Tim ran out to move the car and bring in our hospital bags, camera and pillows. I wasn’t happy he left, leaving me to deal with the contractions on my own, but I was super excited to see my own pillow upon his return.

Laura came back in after my twenty minutes was up all, “We took you off the induction list and you’re contracting just like you said, about every four minutes.”

(no…shi..well, you know where I’m going with this)

She also slapped a “latex allergy” band on my wrist.

After I got the all clear to go walk around the halls, Tim and I got ready, which was really just him helping me put my grippy socks on, and headed out of our room and down the still empty halls. The hospital was so barren that there was a guy cleaning the floors that we had to pass, which was both weird and slightly uncomfortable – me only in a hospital gown with God only knows what kind of look on my face.

About two minutes into our walk I was all, “Didn’t Laura tell you to bring my water for me?”

Tim shook his head, “I had one job and didn’t even do it right!”

We moseyed our way back to the room, passing the floor cleaner guy yet again, to pick up my plastic mug of water, my ability to walk long distances halted immediately by ridiculously strong contractions and then we were on our way again.

I’d like to call this next part the Walk of Hell.

I guess there really is something to walking and helping yourself dilate further/keep the contractions going/make the contractions unbearably painful. I have no idea why it works but holy hell. IT WORKS. The contractions started getting really strong and really close together – like every two minutes or so. At one point, Tim saw a fish tank and asked me if I wanted to stand and watch the fish for awhile, thinking it might be relaxing and calming.

Then a contraction hit and the next thing we both knew, I threw my arms around his neck and let all of my weight fall into him while he rocked the rest of my body back and forth.

It was all I could do to keep standing…and keep breathing.

We went on that way for probably…maybe…another ten minutes…up and down the halls of the L&D ward, me stopping and holding on to Tim whenever a contraction hit. Finally, I decided I had had enough of this walking business and wanted to go back to our room.

By the time we made it back, Laura was ready to check me again to see if I had made any progress.

I had.

My little walk brought me to seven – SEVEN – centimeters.

I’m not even sure what kind of conversation I had with anyone at that point because I had to keep stopping to focus on the contractions. Tim asked me if I wanted the epidural and I looked at him like, “Yes…but no?…but OMG I don’t think I can deal with these kind of contractions back to back once transition starts…”

I was already exhausted. It was close to 10am and after being awake since one in the morning with contractions, I was just….done.

I had wanted, desperately, to do this naturally and Tim had to keep reminding me that I needed to do what was best for me given the current circumstances and that the end goal was a healthy baby, not a stubborn showing of, ” I said I was doing it this way so I’m doing it this way.”

I knew he was right and I knew I didn’t have the strength or mental wherewithal to get through the rest of my labor. I’d never had an epidural before, so I was nervous about the prospect, but I was more nervous about going through the remainder of my labor sans medical intervention.

So, the next time Laura came in, I told her to go and get the medicine man – aka the Anesthesiologist.

I think I forgot to mention that Laura was super supportive with whatever decision I made and had planned to get the jacuzzi tub ready for me after my walk of hell. She also helped me breathe through each and every contraction as they came. I have no idea how the people in those positions – L&D nurses – are so patient when we – the laboring woman – can be extremely obstinate.

Anyhow….where was I?…..right. The epi.

Laura went out to find him and then came back a few minutes later to inform me that he had just gone into another room to insert an epi in another patient and that it would be a bit before he was able to see me.

“A bit” was close to 45 minutes.

45 more minutes of ridiculously painful contractions.

Laura brought me the consent form to sign and tried to reassure me that the risks of complications were super low.

Eventually…finally…the Anesthesiologist came in. He was really tall and asked me if I did any yoga.

(What does that have to do with anything? I’m getting the drugs that will make any potential yoga positions null and void.)

I nodded yes and he was all, “Good. Then you know how to do the cat pose. That’s what you’ll need to do when I insert the needle.

Fab.

Then he started asking me a litany of questions and every few minutes I had to be all, “Hold on…contraction…” and I’d cringe in pain while he busied himself prepping the epi stuff. I have no idea what any of that “stuff” was, by the way. I just knew I was in pain.

Laura told Tim that he could sit next to the bed and hold my hand while the epi was inserted. I think he was also there to make sure I remained still through any contractions, as any kind of jolt when a needle is going into your spinal column is bad mojo.

Finally, Mr. Chatty was ready to give me the drugs.

He moved over to the side of the bed my back was facing and told me to “Curl up like a cat.”

So, I did and mind you, my entire back and butt was completely exposed for the world to see…and wanna know something?

I didn’t care. At all.

He then made sure I knew that he would tell me what he was about to do before he did it – including swabbing my back with an alcohol swab.

The first part where pain was involved, the numbing shot thing, hurt like he said it would (bee sting my ass). It was worse because I was contracting at the same time and OMG you try and keep still through that kind of pain shooting through your entire lower abdomen and lower back.

Once the numbing thing was done he told me he was putting in the needle that would next be used to thread the catheter that would stay there and numb my lower extremities.

The needle went in fine…the catheter…not so much. The first time he put it in, he asked if I felt it and I was like, “It feels like my right leg is on fire and having uncontrollable spasms.”

He pulled it out, apologized, repositioned the needle and tried again.

I cringed, waiting for the pain, but thankfully, it never came.

Apparently the second time is a charm.

I’m pretty sure Tim’s hand needed that numbing shot after I was done squeezing it through that experience.

After he set up the medicine that was hanging above my head in a bag sitting inside a clear locked box, he started doing his paperwork.

While he was doing so, he and Laura began talking about another hospital where they allowed women to eat throughout labor. The Anesthesiologist thought it was crazy, saying it was dangerous, especially if the woman got nauseous and started puking during an emergency c-section.

I chimed in, feeling much better now that the contraction pain was subsiding, stating that there was no way I could eat anything. Even with the pain gone, I still felt sick to my stomach.

Laura was all, “That’s how you know you’re in active labor.”

Before the Anesthesiologist left, he showed me this little elongated plastic thing with a button on the top that I could press any time I felt like I wanted an extra “shot” of the meds.

I smiled and thanked him.

I now see why everyone sings their praises and they’re the most loved doctors in the entire hospital.

He left, saying he’d be back to check on me and Laura started hooking up all of the monitoring devices again, my ability to move around thwarted.

Epidural = constant monitoring.

Laura also inserted a catheter.

The fact that I now had a tube coming out of my hooha and attached to a pee bag (that Tim kept checking every so often) hanging off the side of the bed was mortifying.

But…it came with the epidural deal. Apparently it’s a combination package.

Laura left, off to fetch me a Popsicle since I had not eaten since our Chili’s dinner the night before, and I told Tim to go find himself something to eat since it was just a waiting game, now.

While Tim was trying to figure out where to get breakfast, Laura returned with my frozen juice meal (aka Popsicle).

I managed to eat about half of it and then had Tim throw the rest of it away, my desire to eat at zero.

Apparently, though, I should have had Tim wait five minutes before he left because as soon as he walked out of the door, drama ensued.

…to be continued…

operation: don’t think about it

You know…going overdue is way worse than on time. Or early. Or anything else in between.

We have everyone sending labor juju and it just…isn’t happening.

WHY?! WHY!?

I realize I’m only one day overdue at this point, but after man handling a basketball inside my belly for the past FOREVER LONG, one day is like an eternity.

I’m hoping and praying the sprout doesn’t pop out a ten pound behemoth because OMG.

His clothes will not fit him and he’ll have to go home from the hospital wrapped in a towel instead of the cute outfit we have packed.

Also? We don’t even have that many outfits for him in the first place.

I was telling my mom that if he doesn’t come soon OR if he ends up being a giant, we would have to cut off all of the feet on his sleep-n-play outfits because he’d be too long to wear any of them. I mean, I can feel this kid in deep my pelvis and my ribs at the same time.

FYI: I’m 5’10 and don’t exactly have a short torso.

So, because my mom understands what it means to carry around a baby who doesn’t want to come out (I was something like 2+ weeks late), she instituted operation don’t think about it this morning.

It consists of things like antique shopping and a pedicure, neither of which have I done in a looooooong time and both of which are desperately needed.

I love, love, love antique shopping. Tim has always like antiques and we have a TON of them in the house. I didn’t really get the draw at first – why buy old stuff? – but now? It’s like this huge treasure chest of awesome and I’m always looking for something old and fantastic.

As for the pedicure, considering I cannot even SEE my feet anymore…that part is pretty self explanatory.

So, we’re off on that adventure today.

Hopefully it does the trick!

And by “trick” I mean eating hospital food by tomorrow morning.

Also, dear What to Expect App: I hate you and want to punch you in the mouth.

Yesterday was absolutely NOT “the day”

PS: I read and love every single one of your comments. They help get me through the day and it isn’t that I’m ignoring you by not responding. Truthfully, I can barely put together a blog post at this point, much less communicate coherently with another person. My brain has been 100% taken over by WHERE IS THE BABY. Once we get this dram-A over with, I shouldn’t be so rude and obnoxious. Please don’t bail on me, now.

she lied

So…..what does one do ON their due date with no baby?

………………

I’m just saying, the OB was obviously wrong when she was all, “You won’t make it to next week.”

Surprise!

Here I am.

Sans baby.

We had another appointment today where, first, the OB walks in and says, “You’re still here??!?” and then told me I was a “good 3 centimeters” and would only require one day for an induction because my body is, well, basically ripe and ready and just….waiting.

You better believe we scheduled that induction.

At first, the OB was all, “We usually wait until 41 weeks”

I looked at her and said, “The other doctor said I could go 40 + 4, so…”

I guess I had some kind of tone in my voice because the next words out of her mouth were, “Get dressed and I’ll take you to the lady who schedules inductions.”

Induction date?

February 20.

Baby sprout, your eviction notice has been served and your mother’s patience is wearing thin. An induction is absolutely not in my desired birth plan and it’d probably be better for everyone if you just pulled the trigger and came before then.

I’m begging…no…as your mother, I’m telling you to obey me on this. You might be stubborn but I’ll be damned if you can hold a candle to the fire of a 40+ week pregnant woman.

By the way, do you have any idea how hard this part is? Just waiting? Not knowing? Hoping something happens?

FYI: The waiting game sucks big fat donkey nuts.

My mom came into town yesterday and she’s dying for baby sprout to come. Like, on pins and needles, eagerly anticipating, forcefully willing him to greet the world.

When we came back from the OB appointment this morning she was all, “I don’t hear a baby crying!” when we walked in the door.

Yah. No kidding.

Believe me when I tell you I had Tim go to a cupcake store after our appointment to buy half a dozen giant cupcakes because that’s just the kind of mood I was in.

I’m still in that funk even after I ate so much pineapple my mouth is raw and then lugged myself out the door for a three mile walk.

(that sentence is structured funny and at this moment in time I have no desire to fix it but I think you get my point)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a yoga ball and an eggplant sandwich.

the whole *bump* progression

How fun is this?

My bump…from beginning to (almost the) end:

Almost 12 Weeks

17 Weeks

19 Weeks

20 Weeks

23 Weeks, 3 Days

25 Weeks, 3 Days

28 Weeks, 3 Days

31 Weeks, 2 Days

I have no idea what happened between week 31 and 33. Growth spurt? WOW.

33 Weeks, 4 Days

35 Weeks, 3 Days

37 Weeks, 4 Days

39 Weeks, 3 Days

Holy WOW can my skin…morph.

I’m thanking good genes for no stretch marks. PRAISE THE BABY JESUS HALLELUJAH!

babybabybabybaby

Happy Valentine’s Day! Tim and I totally celebrate, by the way, Hallmark holiday or not. Did I ever tell you about the time I left heart shaped post-it’s all over the house for Tim with love quotes on them? It was during the time I’d leave for work WAY before Tim ever got up. I wanted to avoid traffic…he didn’t have to worry about traffic for his commute…I digress.

I tip-toed around the house and put them all of the places he visited when he got ready in the morning so he’d have a quote to read as he got in the shower, put on his socks, ate breakfast, etc.

It was an awesome, creative idea if I do say so myself. Sneaking around the house at 4 in the morning…slightly more challenging.

And I think I’ve mentioned how Tim has always gotten me roses for Valentine’s Day? It all started with the first Valentine’s Day we spent together…this is our thing and it’s fun so I’m wishing you a day of love and chocolate and roses.

Anyhow, for you non-celebrators (lovey-dovey party poopers), what I really wanted to say today was…

Funny how I went from OMG. FREAKING OUT. about having a baby to OMG. SO READY. in the span on nine months.

It’s a strange transition, really. One I didn’t think I’d fully make, to be honest. I really didn’t see myself as “ready” for the whole labor and delivery and you’re giving me a brand new baby to take home? Without supervision?! 

But, I am.

There are random things I think about, probably because of the hormones or lack of sleep or something else that leaves me just as delirious.

For instance, earlier today I realized that Tim I just had our last weekend ever in the whole entire universe as a family of two. Even if the sprout holds out until next week, my mom will be here this weekend so without really realizing it until now – and now is too late to really do anything about - Tim and I will never have a weekend where it is “just us” ever again.

Once I realized that this was, truly, our reality, I started thinking back to all of the recent weekends we’ve had and got all nostalgic on myself like, “WHY DIDN’T I PAY MORE ATTENTION?! TAKE PICTURES?! CHERISH IT?!”

(begin pregnancy tears)

But let’s be realistic. Every waking moment for the past two weeks has been babybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybaby.

Is he coming? Are you feeling anything? Will I wake up and my water has broken? Will I wake up to contractions? Will we have to call someone at 2am to take care of the dogs? Have we packed everything? Do the cats have enough food? What about the water bowls we need to put down? Are we sure we packed everything? Who is going to remember the car seat? Are you sure that wasn’t a contraction? Remember we put a checklist on the door…

It’s exhausting, really, waiting on the sprout.

Tim and I make sure the house is generally picked up and declutter every day and then vacuum, run the dishwasher and wash and put away all of the laundry every three days or so. The last thing we want is to come home to a mess so we’re preemptively striking.

Hopefully it pays off.

I’m sure all mom’s – first time or not – go through this anticipatory period at the end of their pregnancies when the due date you were given is really just a guide and any day could be THE DAY your life changes.

Unless you have something scheduled and set in stone where you know the baby is coming on X date.

And even if that was my reality, I’d probably still be nervous.

So…….waiting.

Still.

(another) *naked bump update* 39 weeks…are we done yet?

I thought I was out of space a few weeks ago.

Heh. Boy was *I* wrong.

A few weeks ago I still had all the space in the world and I could walk without cringing. It’s a sad state of affairs these days, watching me try to move from anywhere. I need some kind of backup beep, early alert  ”SHE’S ON THE MOVE” system. Tim has to literally wind up and shove my ass from behind to help me get off the couch or else it ain’t happenin’.

(I swear this next part will make sense in a minute)

As of a few weeks ago, one of our dogs has THE FARTS and OMG. They clear a room. We have no idea what happened or why but the stench that leaks out of their rear ends is beyond peeling paint off of the wall.

The worst part?

They’re totally silent so you never know it’s coming until it’s already too late.

After one such SBD (silent but deadly) dog fart last night, Tim looked at me as I was bouncing on the yoga ball and said, “Your farts used to be quiet like the dogs all ssssssssssssssss and now they’re freaking BRRRAAAMMMMPPPP!!!!!“

Thanks, dear. As if I don’t already feel gross enough.

You think it’s bad now?

Just wait ’til I get on that delivery room table.

You’ll wish it was ‘just farts,’ then.

(That’s kind of an inside joke between Tim and me…’just farts’….there is a story somewhere – no idea if it is true or not – about a mom and a kid at a restaurant and the mom smells something like her kid just did a #2 in his pants. She looks at her child like OMG. DID YOU?! The kid, seeing the horror on his mom’s face, pulls down his pants, bends over, spreads his cheeks and says, “See, mom? Just farts!”)

Also? Baby sprout, you’re killing my game, here. Lets get a move on.

Everyone is waiting….impatiently, probably…for this little one to enter the world as a real, screaming, pink baby. It’s like the worst form of anticipation. Every single day it’s like “Is it today!? Is it going to happen!?”

Then, when it doesn’t, you’re all, “Maybe tomorrow….”

We only have three “maybe tomorrow’s” before my due date, so………

(Can you believe my due date is Thursday?! Wow)

Am I aware that most first time moms go late?

Yes.

Do I want to be one of those?

Absolutely not.

Will that happen?

I don’t really want to think about it.

Instead, let’s see just how large I’ve gotten because, really, it’s out of control.

Also, I no longer care how crazy my hair looks or how fat my face IS.

JUST GET THIS BABY OUT.

37 weeks 4 days

39 weeks 3 days

And the non-compression shirt, naked version:

39 weeks, 3 days naked

You may not be able to see much of a difference but TRUST ME.

It’s like I’m legit about to pop.

Stick a pin in me, I’m done.

…I have to admit, though, I will miss the pregnancy hair…

*37 week bump update* + fu manchu

If I start making zero sense at any point it’s because I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I have no idea why but I am d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g and could definitely sleep ALL. DAY. LONG. if it weren’t for the constant bathroom interruptions.

As far as pregnancy symptoms go, I have no idea what this means but it seems to be happening more often these days.

Anyhow.

My birthday is Thursday.

I’m in denial.

My birthday was the last “thing” on my “What Has to Happen Before the Sprout Comes” list and that thing is Thursday.

THURSDAY.

……..

Not to mention that after Thursday I’ll only be a year away from 30….

I told Tim if we don’t celebrate my birthday then technically it didn’t happen and then maybe everything will just slow the hell down so I can have a minute to process the fact that our lives are about to be turned upside-down and backwards. The anxiety and mini-freak-out-attacks I have now are both ridiculous and necessary, I think. I mean, having them means I understand that my life and my role as a person is about to change forever but having them also means I’m having them…which does nothing to encourage the calming thoughts I should probably be having at this point.

And then, I have other moments where I’m completely giddy about the sprout.

It’s like I have multiple personality disorder and FYI it is extremely confusing to live inside my brain right now.

Also? Did someone forget to tell me that the heartburn gets worse at the end? OMG. I’ve never had heartburn in my life and now it’s like I need an ongoing prescription for Tums.

(the ironic part is I’ve yet to even take Tums…ever)

In the middle of my multiple personalities, I have moments where I’m all, “I’m ready! Let’s get this show on the road!” and then I have other moments – usually somewhere between 1 and 4 am where I’ll be awake, unable to fall back asleep even though I’m exhausted, and think, “Dear God…please don’t let my water break now because I’m really not in the mood to deal with it.“

Of course, because I’m saying this, my water is going break at 2:15 in the morning.

That’s how pregnancy karma works, I think.

At this point, I’m preparing myself for “any day now” or having the OB tell me that I’m not going home after my appointment but instead straight to the hospital.

Notice I said preparing.

I’m not entirely sure how I’ll handle the situation when it happens.

Tears come to mind.

I had a list of things I wanted to get accomplished this weekend because, you know, “any day now…” so we managed those even though neither of us really wanted to do them.

The big one was cleaning the house. Tim was in charge of the kitchen and vacuuming while I dusted and did little stuff. I don’t know why but cleaning the kitchen is A: the most difficult and time consuming task ever and B: the most rewarding when you’re finished.

Our kitchen is literally sparkling, now. Mostly because Tim did extra super cleaning on stuff we normally don’t clean because he said he “knew I wanted a super clean house.”

How sweet, right? I know.

Then…because you can’t have a weekend of no fun, Tim shaved off his goatee and things got real.

This…the man I married:

Who the hell these people are…I have no idea.

I think somebody’s uncle Ralph is the second one and I’m pretty sure the first dude shot up an old saloon.

And lastly, (also probably what you’ve been waiting for), the bump!

I really don’t see much change from 35 weeks to this weekend (37 weeks). Do you?

35 weeks…

35 weeks, 3 days

37 weeks…

37 weeks, 4 days

I guess my boobs look a little smaller?…and my face looks fatter.

The hell with it all at this point. I’m big. I know it.

People notice I’m pregnant even with a huge bulky jacket.

The sprout is in there and taking up all the space and I’m just saying it’s about time he comes O-U-T.

progress only happens without pants

Guess who’s officially full term (37 weeks)?

That’d be…the sprout, technically speaking.

There is no question that my belly is definitely full term OMG can it stretch any farther?! It is in a constant state of outness, if that’s even a word. My belly button goes from flat to complete outie depending on where the sprout is laying and how much I’ve recently eaten.

Yesterday, we had another OB appointment (I go weekly, now). One of the non-fun ones that will, from this point forward, include no pants.

I’m getting ahead of myself, here, but at the end, as Tim was trying to wipe off the gel stuff they use to listen to the fetal heartbeat and he was all, “You still have some in your belly button…”

I looked at him, pushed out my belly so my belly button popped completely out and smiled up at him all, “There you go!”

He just looked at me like, “Seriously?” and then started laughing.

I know. Sometimes we act entirely inappropriate and I’m sure people who see this kind of behavior cannot believe we’re actually going to be raising another human being.

Anyhow, the appointment! In (some kind of) order!

Suffice it to say they were late getting us back into a room and then I had to sit on the table thing for almost half an hour without any pants on. After about 20 minutes, Tim – who, by the way, was fully clothed and sitting in a chair – was all, “I’m starting to get annoyed.”

I looked over at him like, “Really? You’re complaining? I’m the one sitting here bare assed.”

The doctor finally came in and apologized for the wait and then proceeded to violate me in ways that are nothing compared to what childbirth will be like.

The good news is that (if you’re a guy, you might want to stop reading now…or maybe we passed that point already with the no pants) my body is actually doing something and the menstrual-like crampy feeling I get off and on isn’t all for naught.

I am officially one – almost two – centimeters dilated and 75% effaced with a cervix that is barely a finger tip long.

And she felt his head (WEIRD!).

Even though I am aware that this really means nothing and I can go 42 weeks without any further progress, I’ll have you know I said that to the OB all, “I know it doesn’t mean anything…” and she was like, “No. This is actually really good for a first timer.”

So there.

I’m doing well….for a first timer.

And this first timer ended up super crampy and spotty after such an exam, I’ll have you know. But, whatever, it’s progress, right?

Right.

I told Tim, who was legit bouncing off the walls knowing that I only have nine more centimeters to go before the sprout can make his appearance, that this weekend must include a ridiculous amount of walking and lots of um…(earmuffs, family)…deed-doing.

We’re also cleaning the house from top to bottom and I had a wild hair and decided to wash all the bedsheets this morning.

I’m sure it’s not nesting.

More like pre-preparing.

breaking into fort knox

Guess who spent the better part of yesterday cutting tags off of baby clothes?

THIS GIRL.

Side note: Dear Gerber, Please stop taping your clothes to everything. That’s so 90s. Or so not functional.

If you’ve never had a baby before, friendly little PSA:

There are more little plastic tag connectors and stickers and tags to clip off of a single onesie than there are a pair of panties and they’re the same size.

When you think you’ve finally gotten them all, you find another one, hidden under a sleeve or behind a snap. It’s like trying to break into Fort Knox.

Only softer.

And more maddening.

So, after hours of cutting tags and separating clothes into piles of “warm” and “cold” and “like colors” everything finally made it to the laundry room to be cleaned.

And this was the end result:

ONE DRAWER OF CLOTHES.

I feel like after four loads of laundry, I should have more than one drawer to show for my work.

Conclusion: baby laundry: small…yet deceptive.

Other than the endless loads of laundry, I spent the remainder of my day baking dessert for today. Tim is having some kind of offsite strategic planning meeting thing with his direct reports and invited me to join them for lunch.

I have no idea why…I guess so we could all see the pregnant lady at the zoo…

Anyhow, I said I would make something to bring because that’s what the wife of the boss does, right?

We bring yummy things.

(They’re building yet another house across the street from us and OMG I’M GOING TO KILL SOMEONE. How is anyone supposed to concentrate with the constant banging?!?!?!?!?!?!)

So I tried simple.

I tried cupcakes.

Made without the help of a box cupcakes.

And they failed.

Miserably.

I have no idea what happened. I followed the directions exactly…I didn’t even rush. I had a neat-o little container to carry them and I made the frosting from scratch, too and had it all planned out….

It was not meant to be, these cupcakes.

The baking disaster got to the point that I asked Tim to try them after he got home from work. I wanted him to be brutally honest because I kept trying them and thinking something just wasn’t right.

I tried them so much that I felt sick to my stomach and couldn’t even look at them without wanting to vomit.

He took one bite and was all, “No. Those…just…did you put any sugar in the actual cupcake?…”

I shook my head like, “Yes!!…I did everything the instructions said and they’re still awful! I can’t bring these! I can’t be known to everyone as the wife who makes things that we have to choke down!”

I finally decided that it wasn’t me.

It was the recipe.

And then, I begrudgingly decided to skip yet another workout and start all over this morning at 5:45am with a whole new plan: white chocolate and cranberry oatmeal cookies and cheesecake brownies…with the help of a brownie mix box.

(And I followed the brownie recipe exactly except the part where I used brownie mix instead of all of that other stuff they said to do to make brownies. That looked entirely too complicated for 5:45 in the morning)

Things are slightly messy and not very pretty but much better edible, now.

Hopefully everyone enjoys my blood, sweat and super sore back.

And I seriously don’t want to see another dessert in like…thirty minutes.

Even if Tim’s direct reports don’t like my baking (non)skills, I doubt anyone would give the side eye to the dessert made by a ginormous pregnant lady.

Oh, remember the drawer of clothes I just showed you a few minutes ago (pregnancy brain…it doesn’t always allow for a coherent flow…please forgive me)? This morning, as I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I caught Tim staring into it with this crazy cute look on his face while he was waiting for the iron to heat up. He looked up at me and was all, “We’re going to have a baby!…A baby who fits into these tiny clothes!”

He’s so ready for baby sprout. It’s freaking adorable.

Speaking of, I’m officially 36 weeks pregnant TODAY!

As if to celebrate the one month left milestone early, my body decided to give these random, shooting, feels-like-someone-is-shoving-an-ice-pick-into-my-cervix pains last night that came out of nowhere.

I was laying on the couch, minding my own business and then BAM!

PAIN.

I jumped all, “What the hell?! Someone slipped the baby a shiv!”

After I laid there, trying to relax through that bit of fun, I read up on Dr. Google and found that those pains can potentially be either the sprout sitting on my cervix or my cervix starting to dilate.

I’ll take the second option, the dilating one, even though a few of the pains hurt so much it brought tears to my eyes.

It’s like a precursor to the real thing.

And I want to do this birth naturally?….OMG.

*bump update* the one month to go edition

So…wow.

We’ve made it…this far.

Today, I am exactly one month away from my due date.

ONE MONTH!

I’m not entirely sure if I would consider myself “miserable” at this point or not. I don’t have any swelling or a baby sitting on my sciatic nerve or sore joints or weird pains. I mean, the belly gets in the way, sure. It’s super huge and I’ve resorted to lugging myself around, having to lean back, lift both my legs up in the air and then project myself forward to get off the couch but…generally speaking, I’m mostly mobile.

Sleep is a thing of the past. I’ve kind of accepted walking around like a zombie, especially if I don’t get a nap in during the day. It doesn’t help when I have mornings like today when I was awake  from 1 to 3 for no apparent reason other than I was wide awake and uncomfortable.

I also forget everything.

I mean e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

Perfect example: when Tim was making breakfast yesterday morning (he makes us breakfast on the weekends, usually on Sunday), we found out that we had run out of baking powder. I do a majority of the grocery shopping and 100% of the “list” for what groceries we need to buy, yet I had no memory of running out of baking powder.

He took the can out of the pantry all, “Why was this even IN HERE?”

I have no idea?

And then?

As I was helping clean up I absent-mindedly put the completely empty can of baking powder back into the pantry.

Pregnancy brain is real, y’all.

The thing I’m struggling the most with is exercise. I’ve been really tired and wanting to nap instead of workout…even though I usually feel better if I manage about an hour of some kind of activity. I managed to pull out a workout on Thursday last week and then Tim and I went for a 4.3 mile walk on Saturday and a 3 mile walk on Sunday. It was a far cry from my goal of five days a week but it was better than nothing, I suppose.

Tim was also keen to point out that out 7.3 miles we managed in two days we used to eat up in a single run.

Thanks, honey.

Three miles with this belly  is a workout at this point, thanks to the pressure I feel in my pelvis with every step, not to mention that I have to pee the entire time, even if I went right before we left.

Oh, and a sore vajayjay afterwards. Lest we forget that fun side effect.

I’m really looking forward to being able to roll over in bed without having to wake up in order to remember to keep my knees pinned together. If I forget, I shoot up in excruciating pain. The pelvis…the vajayjay…ouchie. Me no likey.

I have random Braxton Hicks contractions every day. Sometimes I have a hard time differentiating between them and the sprout moving around. He’s so big now that when he moves his entire body my stomach gets hard, just like with the contraction. None of them (the contractions or the movements) have been painful except the other night when the sprout decided to park an appendage or his butt or something in my ribs on the right side. I couldn’t move or bend or get him to move so I sat there, pressing on whatever body part he was using as a jackknife, and begged him to move all, “Puhlease! This hurts!”

He didn’t listen.

Tim tried putting his hands on him to get him to move after I moaned and complained for half an hour. Usually, the sprout will move for him…and he did for a minute…but then he was right back to trying to break out from the inside. My ribs felt sore and bruised the next day.

Dislike, baby sprout.

Also? I’ve been on a smoothie kick for about a week. I crave them like nobody’s business. I guess I’m missing something…or need more of something…or maybe I just really like smoothies in the middle of January. I have no idea.

Anyhow, the bump!

(My boobs have run into my bump…or vice versa…either way, it’s not pretty)

Apparently, it *looks like* I’ve, well, technically the sprout, dropped, hence the disparity in how the bump looked at 33 weeks and at 35 weeks.

bump 33 weeks 4 days

bump 35 weeks, 3 days

This is a good thing, right??