33 Weeks aka Babyshower craziness!

What a fantastic week.

Seriously!

This past weekend, I was flooded with friends and family - some people who I literally hadn't laid eyes on in years - to celebrate our little girl.  And I was spoiled rotten.  Well, she was spoiled rotten, and vicariously, I was also spoiled.  But truly, it was such a memorable moment - to be in a room full of all these women who I admire, who had entered my life at different times and supported me in different ways.  My little lady village.  Plus!  Cupcakes!  A perfect day indeed.

Now that everyone has left town and Scott and I are taking a good look at the new baby inventory, we have sort of a deer in the headlights kind of look about us.  Something along the lines of, "Oh MAH Gawd.  This is really happening."  followed by, "what exactly is THAT for?"  followed by, "what else do we need to get in...oh...four weeks?" 

I admit it.  We're feeling a little like some of this is over our head these days.  I required a hands-on tutorial from my friend, Meg, on how exactly one puts on a Baby Bjorn (it so closely resembles a power pack from Ghostbusters!)  All this gear - it's just - wow.  It's funny, I am not worried about labor.  Truly.  Not scared - or at least no more than any normal person would be.  But I am truly wigged out that we might need a very specific baby gadget that we are currently lacking.  Is this nesting, perhaps?  I dunno...

Many of my friends who have children this weekend were peppered with questions from me like, "talk to me about nursing bras?" or "what kind of baby monitor do we need?"  And, of course, everyone has an opinion.

So, the marketing person in me would like to open up the survey to all of you - dear readers.  Now is your chance to weigh-in.  Send me your top five list of "must have or you will die" newborn necessities."  I figure I trust all of you as much as that Baby Bargains book, so why not?  But don't dawdle, 'cuz...

...6 weeks, 4 days and counting...

Are we there yet?

I've had a pretty uneventful pregnancy so far - which I'm grateful for.  I was pretty nauseous during the first 12 weeks, but I was never super pukey.  The second trimester was a breeze.  The third trimester has been pretty peachy, too.  That is, until this week.

Granted, I'm not on bedrest.  I don't have any complications.  I'm not at risk - or so it seems - for pre-term labor or preeclampsia or any of the super scary things.  And I'm not overly uncomfortable yet.  I mean, my oldest sister gave birth to quadruplets, so seriously, what do I have to complain about, right?

Here's my complaint.  My limbs keep falling asleep.  You know, when your foot falls asleep and you get that pins and needles feeling?  Yep.  Like that.  Except it happens all the time now.  And it's my feet, my legs, and the worst - my arms and hands.  It feels like all of the blood in my arm has been sucked out by a vampire - it's heavy, and dull, and achy, until I move it, and then it's like a million little ice picks up and down my arm.  It sucks!  And it always happens at night while I'm sleeping, waking me up.  I'm a super heavy sleeper, so for this to wake me up is profound.  I also have a fondness for sleeping, as you know, so this is a big bummer for me.  Big bummer.  I haven't slept past 4am in a week now, and haven't had a night that didn't involve some tossing and turning in...well, weeks. 

I called the nurse yesterday and all of this is normal, and it all has to do with being pregnant.  She explained that my blood volume has increased by 50%, so my circulation system is working overtime.  But I'm also experiencing swelling, which is making it more difficult for that blood to get everywhere, so if I stay in one position for too long my limbs fall asleep.  It also causes a bit of carpal tunnel, which I've noticed this week, too, along with dizziness and the risk of fainting.

Fun, huh?

At my office visit a month or so ago, my nurse midwife said that she thought I had probably 8-10 good weeks left.  She's close - that was about six weeks ago.  Her take is that it's a good thing that pregnant women start to feel more uncomfortable as labor gets closer.  It makes you ready to end this phase and move on to the next.  Especially for women - like me - who kind of enjoy the whole pregnancy thing.  Well, let's just say, I'm starting to turn that corner.

7 weeks, 1 day and counting...

Prepared Childbirth Class

It's probably a good thing that Scott and I didn't go to high school together.  It would have been a disaster with both of us ending up with very bad grades, I'm sure.  That is, if this weekend's experience is any sign. . .

Yesterday, we attended the first of two six-hour long "prepared childbirth" classes.  First, can I say that giving up six hours of the weekend and hauling ass to downtown Denver early on a Sunday morning was tough.  Really tough.  But I had high hopes.  Was excited even.  I packed my two pillows and blanket as instructed and put on my best "can do" attitude.

But - for us - the experience was kind of a bust.  Part of this is purely because Scott and I are the people that we are.  We are data geeks.  Information hounds.  Statistics folk.  I love me a survey and statistics.  And Scott was still coming off his Daddy Bootcamp high.  So, we came in a bit more learned than the others in the room.  As the day progressed, I kept waiting for some "a-ha moment."  Some nugget of info that I didn't really have a grasp on.  It came - at lunch - we discovered that the cafeteria is pretty much open 24 hours.  WIN!  That, and the tour of the birthing and recovery rooms of the hospital was well worth the price of admission.  The accommodations, I must say, are pretty posh.  I was pleased with that.  It made the day worth it.

Of course, that was at the END of the day.  Before that, we watched the standard birthing videos, talked about the stages of labor, talked about the signs of labor, talked about and saw another video about medical interventions.  Blah, blah, blahdity, blah.  I don't mean to sound like I'm blowing this off, or an expert, because I know better, but I also have six books sitting on my night stand right now that cover the same damn thing.  I'm pretty sure that what put both the hubs and I over the edge was the relaxation and massage section.  Just thinking about it makes me smile.  Anyone who knows my husband well is probably giggling, too.  Because seriously.  Scott and I are not that couple.  We are not the kissy-face, schmoopy schmoop couple.  We are not the "gazing into eachother's eyes discussing our deepest hopes and fears" couple.  Nope.  Not us.  We ARE that couple who makes fun of the above mentioned couples and giggles.  Which is pretty much how it all went down. 

The woman leading the session introduces the whole relaxation and massage section.  She goes on and on about how important it is and how we should return to our homes and continue to practice the techniques that she's going to introduce to us.  Then, she dimmed the lights, told us to get our pillows and blankets and snuggle up together on the floor.  Glancing around the room, I could tell that there were some couples that were WAY into this.  Too into it for public, in my humble opinion - not to judge - but just for my own comfort level.

To our left, we have the Bradley Method people - this couple who is very determined to have an all-natural and intervention free birth, and the husband is way, WAY too interested in all things birthing.  It was like he was pregnant.  Every break, he cornered our patient instructor pumping her for information while his poor, pregnant wife sat quietly unengaged - probably longing for a doughnut.  To our right, we have the hipster couple.  They are too cool for us.  And way into one another.  Very touchy, feely, lovey, soft porn on Showtime kind of couple.  Across the room, is the female dominated couple.  The woman whose husband does everything wrong and it seems her obligation in life to inform him of how wrong he is.  "No, like THIS!"  And everything in between.  Two couples expecting twins who look petrified with fear, the older dude and much younger Mom couple,  the "I'm not really quite sure what's going on with those two, but they are clearly stuck in 1985" couple...

And then, there's me and Scott. 

So, as the instructor starts to guide us in our relaxation, we give it our best shot, but it was not going to last long.  Starting with the deep breathing, and gazing into one another's eyes, I'm biting my tongue to not laugh and Scott is poking me saying, "you're supposed to be relaxing."  It was just all so awkward.  Scalp massages.  Face massages.  Butt massages.  No joke.  BUTT massages.  All on a dirty hospital classroom floor with 1/4 inch thick carpet.  By the end, we just gave up and quietly giggled and poked each other as we listened to pregnant blissed out moans from our classmates.

Then we broke for lunch.

The conversation went like this:
Me:  "That was weird."
Scott:  "Way weird."
Me:  "Have you learned anything?"
Scott: "Not really."
Me:  "Me, neither.  Are we coming back next week?"
Scott:  "I don't think so."

We are prepared childbirth class drop outs.  Oh, the shame we must be bringing upon our daughter!  But truly, we are now just about as prepared for childbirth as we can be.  That's not saying that I won't thumb through another book in the bookstore looking for some new take, or pump my doctor with questions at my appointment this morning.  But school's out for us.

7 weeks, 5 days and counting...

32 Weeks!

. . . And the countdown continues.

Last week I mentioned that Scott was attending Daddy Boot Camp.  He gives it two thumbs up.  Turns out, they had real, live babies there!  Three of 'em!  And my husband not only held one, but bottle fed one.  Awww.  I really wish that I could have been a fly on the wall during this class.  But truly, it's such a great idea.  A bunch of dudes sitting around and giving one another real-life information on babies, how to support their wives, and fatherhood.  Scott came home fully engaged and full of information.  It was great - for both of us!

In the meantime, the childcare search continues.  We've received 30 applications and have been weeding through them.  We had a fantastic interview with a potential Nanny today who the hubs and I were both very impressed with.  And I've found a few potential daycare centers that hopefully won't send us fleeing in fright like the last one.  So, slowly but surely, progress is being made.

Speaking of progress...the baby is now weighing in close to four pounds, and it feels like she's maneuvered herself into the right head down position.  I can now identify the locations of certain body parts - like feet.  I'm really good at figuring out where her feet are.  Which is usually kicking me in the diaphragm.  I occasionally see them poking out above my belly button.  Oh, and that belly button.  Yep.  Officially an outtie now.  It popped this week like the thermometer on a Thanksgiving turkey. 

Over the next few weeks we have a lot of baby stuff going on.  To be expected, I suppose.  We have childbirth classes and a baby shower (!!!), and doctor appointments galore!  There's definitely an overall sense of trying to get things in order both at home and at work.  I have a little bit of tunnel vision - glued to the "to-do" list and annoyed by silly distractions.  I'll admit, it's a bit of a defense mechanism.  If I let myself think this whole parenthood, having a child thing too much, the anxiety sets in.  Other times the reality sneaks up and smacks me in the face.  Like today, I was getting my hair cut and I looked on the stylists mirror at the schedule for making your next appointment.  Four weeks = 10/16.  Six weeks = 10/30.  Eight weeks = 11/13.  "Huh.  November 13," says my wee little brain.  "I think I have something that day."  "Oh, right!  I'm having a frickin' baby!"  .

8 weeks and counting. . .

31 Weeks!

So, yeah.  I can't breathe.  They say this happens, but until it happens, you don't really realize how uncomfortable it is.  The baby is now about 3.3 - 3.8 lbs, which is about the weight of a bag of oranges or sock full of nickles.  She very much enjoys kicking me in the diaphragm, and my lungs are way squished.  Plus, my nose has now decided to produce what I fear may be an extremely abnormal amount of snot.  I appear to be newly allergic to all forms of cotton, including my pillow, blankets, pajamas and all things outdoors.  What really sucks is that now that the weather is cooler, I'm excited to get back into my walking routine, but after a few blocks, I sound like a wheezing geriatric.

Pregnancy is fun!

30.6 weeks pregnant.

The baby is going through some major brain and nerve development these days.  Or so I read.  So, I've been very worried about getting all of those important Omega 3's and DHA in.  Her irises can now react to light and all five of her senses are in working order.  She continues to bulk up, and I hear is on the verge of a growth spurt.  That's sort of daunting, because, have you seen my belly lately?  Yeah.  Holy baby belly is right!  I feel like I need to lay off the desserts - they are my weakness right now.  But seriously, it's all I have.  If I can't have a Bloody Mary or a glass of wine then by God please let me eat three slices of cake.  They say that pregnant women usually crave either the sweet or the salty, and I am on team sweet for sure.  With the occasional hamburger hankering.  With fries.

So, this morning I shipped Scott off to Daddy Boot Camp.  Isn't that cute?  Seriously.  But the class is really a great idea.  It's 3 hours, guys-only, taught by new fathers and is supposed to go over all the basics: "Becoming a Dad", "Forming a New Family", and my favorite, "Caring for New Moms".  I was assured by the nice lady who helped me register that diaper changing, burping, swaddling and feeding were all also covered.  Awesome.  Not that I'm worried.  Because truly, Scott's going to be an amazing father.  When we lived out in DC we were often around my brother's kids, and they ADORE him.  And the day he convinced our uber picky, err, I mean independent niece, Kelsey, to snuggle up on the couch and watch hockey with him, which she did - for the whole game - with no complaints - and I think actually enjoyed it - was the day I knew he'd figure this whole Dad thing out pretty quickly.

Now, when is this boot camp for new Mom's, I wonder? 

9 weeks and counting...

Waxing Nostalgia

  Scott and I in NYC. 

I've been having a lot of nostalgic dreams lately.  The other night, I dreamed about a former workplace and of a past boss who became a good friend and who I'm still very fond of and close to.

Last night, I dreamed of a trip to New York City that Scott and I took together early in our relationship.

I've also had some snippets of my childhood infuse my dreams.  The fabric from the bumble bee dress I wore when I was little that I loved so much.  A family picnic in Pinedale with grape soda.  Sledding down the hill by my great aunt's house with my big brother.  But in all these dreams, I'm the adult that I am today - married to Scott, happy, and pregnant.  In fact in most of these dreams I feel the baby kicking.  I think that she actually is kicking me, I've just learned to not wake up and let my subconscious deal with it instead.

If I can put on my psycho-analyst hat, I know that these dreams have to do with the changes occurring in my life.  I'm always a bit broody this time of year anyway.  There's something about the fall that makes me contemplative.  And yeah, big changes are a comin'!

A couple months ago, my Mom had surgery to remove a brain tumor.  I've been hesitant to write about it in this blog thinking that it might cross a line.  But I am happy to report that the surgery went very well, the tumor was benign, and she is trucking down the road of recovery at a good clip.  I was able to spend a little time with her before the surgery, which was really important to me.  It was the first time that she had seen me pregnant, and I was just really starting to show.  Definitely a special moment for both of us - the first time she said hello to her grandchild and felt her kick.  But Mom always has a trick up her sleeve, and one afternoon she pulled me into her bedroom and brought out a bag of goodies which included some cherished family heirlooms - the trench coat I wore as a toddler, the coming home sweater that my grandmother knitted, but the one that put me over the edge was the hippo book.  MY hippo book.  This hand-made, cloth, tattered with love book that I had forgotten about entirely until it appeared before me and I burst into tears.  It was one of my most cherished possessions as a child, and I hadn't seen it in decades.  And here it was, having been stored away all these years, saved for this very moment.  My heart was so full in that very moment.  The one thing Mom definitely understands is how very sentimental her daughter is.

I hope my daughter will be the same way.

I find myself searching for artifacts to pass down to her.  I had no idea that I would take so much pleasure in looking into my past so that I can share it with my future.  Comments like, "when I was your age" aside, there's just something really incredibly about the traditions and history of a family as told through moomintrolls, sophie the giraffe, the John Denver & the Muppets Christmas album, Chief Falling Rock (a family legend), and crepes on Christmas morning.

My family is rich in tradition and nostalgia and I know that there are many memories that Scott looks forward to revisiting with our daughter as well. I am so anxious to combine the two and share all of these family customs and memories with this little family that Scott and I are creating together.  It makes me so happy that sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming again.

9 weeks, 2 days and counting...

30 Weeks!

When countdowns start at 10 (9. . . 8 . . .7 . . .) they always seem more impressive to me, somehow.  New Year's Eve.  The space shuttle.  Having a baby.

There's something about getting down to single digits that just heaps on the anticipation and excitement.

I'm now 30 weeks along in my pregnancy, About 10 weeks to go to my due date, and all is well.  Our baby girl is almost 17 inches long and weighs around 3 pounds (give or take a few ounces), which is about the weight of a head of cabbage. I must admit I felt some relief when I read that most full-term babies are between 20 and 22 inches long because that means we have at most five more inches to go.  And let me tell you, it really doesn't feel like there's a lot of room left in there.  She often feels like a pissed-off house cat with some of the kicks I've been experiencing lately.

I recently had the big conversation with my boss and co-workers about my maternity leave.  It went very well.  I worked up a nice, comprehensive proposal that laid out how much time off I was taking, if and how I'd like to be contacted while on leave and under what circumstances, who I suggest to cover some of my responsibilities while I'm out, and what I'd like as I transition back to work.  I'll be taking a full 12 weeks off in leave, and will then return to work full time following those 12 weeks - BUT - I'll be working exclusively from home.  After that, I'll commute into the office twice a week, and work from home the remainder of the week.  So, in essence, it gives me 6 months at home with our little girl.

But I'm not naive to think that I'll be able to handle work at home with the temptations and demands of a newborn and be able to really do either job well.  So, we've started our search for childcare options, and toured our first daycare on Friday.

It was a little traumatic for me.

The daycare was fine.  Standard, I'm sure.  But you're all aware of my...shall we say..."nit picky" tendencies.  And after leaving, I felt like I wanted a long, hot shower to get all the kid germs off of me.  Plus, it just felt like things were a bit chaotic - lacking order.  Which, I know must be a difficult thing to accomplish when dealing with a lot of little ones.  But as I watched the infant care provider hold and rock a six week old baby in a chair while rocking another one with her foot in a bouncy seat while two (maybe three?) others slept in cribs nearby, I thought, "no way."  Even when they explained that there was another caretaker for that room who happened to be at lunch.  Nuh uh.  Nope.  Not feelin' it.

Then we went to the toddler room.  It was right after they had lunch.  And the words from my husband's mouth pretty much said it all, "wow, check out the carnage in here!" 

I know that kids are messy.  I'm an aunt to 10 nieces and nephews and have countless friends with little ones.  I've seen it - I've experienced it - I've cleaned it up.  But this just felt different somehow.  Unnecessary.  And the adults were just too outnumbered.

As we left, I looked at Scott and said, "I want a Nanny."

So, we are definitely in the throes of our search for childcare.  We haven't completely ruled out a daycare center, but I think we have ruled out that particular one.  Maybe.  We're leaning toward a Nanny, but the timing is difficult to navigate, and we're not sure how easy or complicated it will be to find one willing to work part time.  We're more comfortable with a daycare center after she turns 1, and it just seems like it might be worth it to suck it up and go with a Nanny for the first 6-9 months.  But it's all really confusing, and there are pros and cons to all sides.  And can I just say, "GODDAMN! This stuff is expensive!"  Seriously.  I'm in the wrong business.

9 weeks, five days, and counting...

The Feathered Nest

As if this whole pregnant having a baby for the first time oh my gosh I'm freaking out please pass the croissants thing wasn't enough, the hubs and I are embarking on the largest home remodel project we've ever faced.

We bought our house - which we love and is truly the perfect home for us - in July of last year.  It's in a semi-suburban neighborhood, with good schools and easy drives into the city.  It's a great house.  And we're slowly making it our own.  It's a long process, because, you know, we're not made of money.  We've yet to furnish the formal living room.  It's gonna have to wait until we have an IKEA.  So, the only items residing in that room are two potted plants, two paintings, and a wine cabinet.  I like to think of it as a mini art gallery at the moment.  One day, while I was watering the plants, I noticed some funky looking paint on the wall.  It was bubbling - like got wet somehow.  It was by a window so I thought maybe rain?  Sprinklers?  But we never open that window.  So, hmm.  I called the hubs to investigate.  Together we poked and pulled at it and were both like, "crap."  Then, we looked up and sure enough - water stains on the ceiling.

Crap.  Again.

Above the suspect spot in the living room lies our master bathroom.  Which is probably one of our least favorite rooms.  The previous owners had done a quick DIY job in there, so it was tolerable, but dated, and on our list of projects for the future.  We went to the bathroom to investigate and sure enough, a-ha!  The floorboard was really wet.  Like rotting wet.  And the shower doors aren't exactly level.  And the caulking didn't look so great, definitely leaky.  So, that has to be it, right?  Water is clearly leaking from the shower.

Scott donned his Mr. Fixit attitude and went to work to fix the leak.  Then, while I was out of town for a week, he decided to dive into repairing the wall in our living room.  Such a nice guy to tackle painting and patching while his pregnant wife is out of town and out of the house, right?  But it didn't take long before the little patch job turned into something...bigger.  Paint and plaster was peeling off in sheets.  And it was wet.  And gross.  So, Scott did what any respectable young husband would do.  He called his Dad for advice.  And then he called someone who we could pay to fix it.

So, this really great company, All Dry, came out to the house with this fancy schmancy meter that tells you if there's water in the wall and how much.  He slapped it up on our walls, and the beeper went crazy and he shot a look that pretty much said, "you're screwed." Then he asked us if we have insurance.

YES!  Thank goodness.  Because this whole ordeal is costing a pretty penny.  Lots of pennies.  And they are very, pretty, shiny, pennies indeed.

Basically, once we started investigating the whole issue we discovered that the previous owners forgot one tiny but uber important aspect in their DIY job.  Teflon tape on plumbing.  For at least a year, the shower has been leaking back into the wall.  And everything in that bathroom has to go.  Everything.  Plus, all of the dry wall on one wall in the living room needed to be removed because it was also wet and damaged.  Water also leaked underneath the tile in the bathroom, which they cleverly laid directly over vinyl, which also needed to be removed along with the subfloor.  So, ick.  Oh!  And did I mention that there was asbestos in the dry wall which meant abatement and dudes in hazmat suits and plastic sheeting and giant, noisy "negative air" fans taking up residence in our house for several weeks.  Neighbors actually came to knock on our door to make sure we were okay. 

Yep.  We've become those people in your neighborhood.

So, now that demo is done, the real fun begins - rebuilding everything.  It starts next week.  It's all both super exciting because, hello, we get a brand new bathroom!  We get to pick tile!  And a new vanity!  Paint colors! And should we do a new fancy glass shower, or a nice soaking tub!?  And newly refinished hardwood floors! Fun!  But also, there's the, "Hey, dudes, just have to remind you that I'm 7 months totally preggo over here and your negative air fans are wicked hot and make it hard to sleep.  And all that banging makes it hard to take a nap.  And you're sort of messing with my nesting mojo.  And are you sure it's okay for me to be breathing the air in here right now?  Yeah, and there's sort of this timeline thing.  'Cuz I CANNOT have you IN MY HOUSE with a NEWBORN!  Tick tock, dudes.  I NEED my bathroom back.  I'm HAVING A BABY!"

So, the race to finish the bathroom is on.  It's a new source of anxiety for me.  My nest is being feathered, and I'm like that psycho little bird who flits about and has no control over the situation, and all it can do is dive-bomb innocent passers-by.

10 weeks, one day and counting...