The Birth pt 1

I'm a mother. And it came about in spectacularly terrible fashion on April 3. I have a son, his name is John (Though I want to nickname him Jack and the Dude is only calling him John. We'll see who wins), and he is, if I may say so, stupid cute. He doesn't look at all like a newborn, probably because he cooked for 43 weeks.

We went in on April Fools Day and I didn't get my C section. The OB on that day felt it was important to give labour a chance. He sold me a bill of goods about this Cervidil induction, how it's gentler because it takes 12 hours to fully take effect and it ripens your cervix. FYI, I'm going to get graphic from here on out. If this ain't your bag, I'd suggest stop reading now. I'll understand.

My midwife inserted it for me. This was painful. Generally speaking I don't enjoy hands putting foreign unwanted objects into my private crevices. I'm especially protective of my holiest of holies. However, this was the first of many such experiences and I was lucky my midwife was there to do this for me because I know and trust her, whereas I didn't know the OB from Bob.

Cervidil is not gentle, at least not to me. I could feel it chafing my vagina. My cervix, which was clamped shut, began to burn. I could barely walk. 12 hours of a burning nether region is a long time. Couple this with being hooked up to a fetal monitor around your belly and a nurse coming in every 30 minutes to check your vitals. This went on till 4:00 a.m. and meant no sleep for me.

I was able to remove the Cervidil tag (Yes, it's a long tag-like thing. Bizarre.) even though my midwife was called to come back and do it herself. Silliness. There was a slight amount of relief there, but then the resident insisted she check my cervix. My burning, long suffering cervix, which didn't deserve such torture, was not having it. I wanted a cooling off period for it to not feel like it was dying. So I said no. I said no again when she asked me 15 minutes later. And then the Dude said no. That actually got her to stop harassing me.

8:00 a.m. the new OB arrived and she wanted to check for dilation. I'd had bloody show, finally (Don't Google this if you don't know what it is and are squeamish about intimate female matters) and was hopeful that something had happened to make the Cervidil worth it. As the burning had stopped, I let her, and after 12 hours of suffering, the gain was 0 cm. I don't know that "disappointment" is the appropriate word, because I was feeling an otherworldly version of that.

She wanted to insert a foley catheter. It's a balloon-like object that goes in, yes, the damn cervix. It expands it manually and hopefully painlessly and is not supposed to harm the mother or baby at all. That's all well and good, but I couldn't bear the thought of having something pry open Fort Knox (By this time I had casually named my cervix since it had become such a big part of my life and yet had motivations and goals seemingly opposite to my own).

So they gave me morphine. I was accepting of this. Yes, I was pregnant, yes the effect on the baby, but seriously? At this point, he was cooked, he was healthy and he was coming out and I'm no martyr. They said it would wear off by the time he was born and I went with it.

The morphine was something of a mental vacation from what was happening to me. The insertion didn't feel good, but I kind of didn't care. I stayed in bed hooked up to this monitor and zoned out for a few hours.

The catheter was a success. I got to 4 cm and the OB broke my waters. Now that was weird. It's like peeing yourself except with no pressure, cramping or anything. And it keeps leaking and leaking. At this point I thought I was supposed to be able to walk around and get labour moving. But instead I was re-hooked up to the monitor and kept in bed for an hour. I was let off for 15 minutes to get moving around and when labour didn't start in that time frame, it was declared a failure and that I needed pitocin.

At this point I'm going to have to leave part 2 until later. I need a nap something fierce and there's a ridiculous amount of crazy shit left to tell.

42.6

Tomorrow I throw in the towel. I have an appointment with my midwife at the hospital. We'll do a non-stress test and she'll examine me. If my body is still unfavourable (That is my cervix is clamped shut like Fort Knox) then we'll ask for a C section. I'm so over this.

We chose tomorrow instead of Tuesday, when I would be officially 43 weeks along, because the OB on tomorrow is someone my midwife feels better about. Good enough for me. I'll take a recommendation like that. It's super unusual for a woman with a midwife to come in and ask for a surgical birth, but then most women don't go to 43 weeks.

I hate being an anomaly. I just wanted to go into labour and push the baby out and recover like a normal person. Now after a lengthy gestation that has sucked the life out of me and freaked out the hospital staff every time I go in for a test, I have to face a surgery.

And I'll have to explain why I don't want to be induced. I see no point to attempting that without being dilated at all. It's like trying to force open a closed door. It'll likely stall or fail after putting me and baby through a lot of pain and possibly distress and has a good chance in resulting in an emergency cesarian. I don't want to endure that. I have no more stamina left. Get this kid out.

I feel the kicking and movement, I've seen the tests showing a thriving fetus that's growing larger and larger, with a normal heart rate and enough fluid. But I can't sustain this. No more. I can't make myself spontaneously go into labour. This is out of my control. I've gained somewhere between 35 to 40 pounds. Carrying it around is killing me.

I went swimming days ago and the weightlessness was indescribable. Getting out of the pool actually hurt when I had to resume lugging my ass around again.

I really wanted a natural birth. There are risks for inductions, there are risks for C sections and there are risks for going over 43 weeks in pregnancy. At this point, there are no ideal options. I accept this. I am resigned.

And I have to remember my mother, who birthed me surgically after a failed induction and went on to be the sort of woman and mother I would want to be. What I wouldn't give for her to talk me through this. She would understand. She would empathize. I have to remind myself how my child enters this world is a temporary experience. I'll have a whole childhood to look forward to. I am weighed down by disappointment. I think the only cure now is seeing my baby. Who now looks like it'll have an April Fools birthday. Go figure.

Letter

The following is an e-mail from the past, composed 3 months and 29 days ago, on November 30, 2012. It is being delivered from the past through FutureMe.org

Dear FutureMe,

You're a mom! Or at least, hopefully you are. I've got my fingers crossed that you've given birth by now. If not, well, chin up. Easy for me to say, though, isn't it? I'm not 9 months pregnant.

This letter is only being sent about four months into the future, but really, motherhood is supposed to be transformative. Are you still you? Does life seem better?

I have so many questions. How was birth? Girl or boy? What's breastfeeding like? How have the cats been reacting? Is ***Dude*** excited? That last one I don't think I really need to ask. I'm pretty sure he'll be overjoyed.

I'm enjoying my last months of independence. I hope you're enjoying the co-dependence of loving your baby. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think we were meant for this life.

Make sure you get out and meet other mothers in the next couple months. I think that'll be important.

Good luck!

Sometimes even you have the power to taunt yourself. No baby yet.

42

Still. Pregnant.

I hit 42 weeks yesterday. I have little humour left to share about it. Calls and texts and emails abound from people who love us and I no longer want any of them. 

Yes, I've heard of that method of induction. I don't care what suggestion you have. I've heard of it, and I've either tried it and it didn't work or I think it's silly and have disregarded it as an option. Last night I attempted acupuncture. Seeing as I'm still in this state, I'm guessing it didn't work.

I've also tried sex (which hurts, for the record. I'm too big and nothing feels good), spicy food, herbs and supplements, walking, meditation--

Just got a phone call from someone I talked to a month ago about RESPs. 

"Still pregnant."
"Oh, awesome!"
"Not really."
"..."

I can't escape this.

I went in for an ultrasound and the technician could have been kinder. I laid there on my back, aching from the pressure and strain and tried to support my lower back with one hand, my head with the other (So my acid reflux wouldn't act up and make me vomit) and I coughed. "Could you cover your mouth?" Yeah. I know it's bad to not cover a cough, but my body was screaming at me to deal with the increasing discomfort, burgeoning on pain. She never tried to help me up and seemed mildly confused about my inability to move with ease.

And then I got sent up for a non-stress test again. Apparently a low heart rate. But when I got there and was tested, the heart rate wasn't low. Low end of normal, yes, but not low. And then I ate a cookie and there was all sorts of activity. 

My midwife came and was reassuring. She had to talk to an OB about me, as I'd hit 42 weeks and there are laws governing these things. 

The OB came in and more or less told me I was risking baby's life by not inducing today. She applied tons of pressure and eventually I couldn't look at her. I knew in my gut she was wrong. Baby was kicking, with a strong heartbeat and I felt fine. Totally over being pregnant, yes, but healthful. But there  she was, reaffirming all the reasons I avoided obstetric care in the first place.

She suggested I do various invasive hospital induction techniques that I knew I couldn't mentally handle. And by "mentally handle", I mean experience a fight or flight response wherein I will freak out and likely kick the doctor involuntarily. I don't care to go into why I'm like this, only that I am. This is not something I can suck up and handle. My primal self will fly off the rail. I tried to explain the impossibility of this and it fell on deaf ears.

My midwife talked to the doctor privately without me and when she came back let me know the doctor was not alarmed by my data, that everything looked good. It was just the fact I was 42 weeks along and everything wasn't exactly perfect. The numbers of certain things, things that were never recorded even a handful of years ago, were off by fractions. And for that this OB had me sobbing in the hospital room. I had to sign a waiver stating that she had informed me of my risks and that she was off the hook.

Now I'm home and feeling drained, discouraged and otherwise unhappy. Do I think baby will come when the time is right? Yes. Do I have faith in myself? Yes. Does it make this any easier to bear? No. No, it doesn't.

Still. Pregnant.

'Tis the first day of spring and the snow is a blowin', on and off, for days and days. And I'm still pregnant. On my father's side, the women tend to go overdue. One aunt was 18 days over, another was a couple weeks for both, and apparently my grandmother was 43 weeks for all of her children and she gave birth 10 times. Christ. Considering kidney stones run in that family as well and I've had those twice, I can't help but feel rather horrified by this prospect.

So, keeping that in mind, I decided to have a membrane sweep today. The Dude's vacation time is running out and I can't afford to not give birth soon. Three weeks of having him home is great and everything, but I need him here for the baby. If we could have waited for me to birth for him to start his time off, that would have been ideal, but we didn't have that choice. So now the pressure is on for the last week.

A membrane sweep is not enjoyable. Turns out I'm not dilated at all. Great looking cervix (If you must know) but not dilated. Doing a sweep, or attempting to sweep a non-dilated cervix can be painful. And it was. Another reason I don't like pregnancy. I really wish I could just let nature take its course. It would be a calmer, easier choice. My baby and my health are doing just fine. No need to panic. Life, however, is getting in the way.

Tonight I introduce castor oil into my life. I had it once before, when I had kidney stones the first time. Not sure why, but it was recommended and my mom made sure it happened. Foul stuff. But it's being put into a smoothie. Maybe that'll make it okay. It's supposed to help kickstart labour, which is a softer alternative to a medical induction with pitocin. Pitocin can necessitate an epidural, which can lead to an episiotomy and forceps, with an enhanced risk of a C-section. Scary.

Leaving the midwives today I had these Braxton hicks that literally stopped me in my tracks. Every minute, with no exaggeration, my uterus tightened up to the point I couldn't take any steps. It's hard to describe. It wasn't painful, but it threatened pain if I tried to move while my womb was flexing its muscle. It never used to be that hard. I guess the organ has really toned up over these many months. I was already walking like a wind-up tin duck and the intensity of the hicks was immobilizing. And yet it wasn't labour.

It's been nearly two weeks since we've seen our friends. The only time I get out now is to make some sort of appointment. My entire life is revolving around the end of this pregnancy. I literally could go into labour any time. It's a difficult thing to live with. Unless you actually live this reality, it truly is hard to understand. I'd heard about other women facing being overdue and I sympathized, but I realize now I didn't really appreciate the nature of it.

You can't think about the future anymore. Why? Because you have no idea what it'll look like. Zip. Nada. You can't envision it at all. You live entirely in the moment and the moment is uncomfortable and wrapped in nervousness and anticipation. You are entrenched in your body's doings, cataloguing the changes and obsessing over what it all means. You are deluged with advice of how to induce labour, making you feel like every passing day it doesn't happen it's somehow your fault. Everyone is calling, texting, and emailing you wanting updates, even though there aren't any. The only update that anyone needs or wants is: was the baby born? And of course the answer is no. Still nothing. Just like yesterday.

In case I haven't made it painfully obvious, this is ass.

Here's a picture the Dude took at 39 weeks.
This version of me has hopes and dreams of a 40-week pregnancy.
Oh, how wrong she was.

40+6

Oh, I haven't given birth yet, though I have contracted a nasty cold.

It's one of those colds that causes you to cough so forcefully that you throw up. I was already throwing up from time to time due to acid reflux, solved by sleeping upright on the couch at night. But now I was vomiting after I ate. And the runny nose has also been a delight.

So, with it being officially the 18th, I'm six days past my due date. This, generally speaking, is not a cause for concern. 40 weeks is average. Pregnancies can last between 38 to 42 weeks. Hence I don't need to be alarmed. My body is not an egg timer. But there is a difference between knowing this intellectually and the way it feels.

How does it feel? Well, I feel like a walking time bomb of fluids and pains. I've been experiencing pre-labour things for weeks: extra Braxton hicks, menstrual-like cramps. But still waiting on the THIS IS IT sensation of a real contraction, something I'll have to trust I'll recognize for what it is when the time comes.

The birth pool is set up in the kitchen. It's sort of just there, taunting me. One night when pre-labour pains were especially intense, I asked the Dude to get it ready just in case. And of course everything calmed down and I went on being pregnant forever.

But back to the cold, it's sort of been ruining my life for several days and last night entirely robbed me of sleep. I was waking every 20 minutes to sip water to quench my desert-like throat, or to cough violently. Then I had to go downstairs every 60-90 minutes to go to the bathroom and blow my nose. Putting off the bathroom ran me the risk of urinating a little from the coughs, they were that intense. I couldn't drink enough, I couldn't pee enough.

So, I called Telehealth and was informed to see a doctor within a few hours, probably due to my advanced gestation. And being that it was Sunday, I had to get to a place downtown that was only open until 4:00. Spent $35 on cabs there and back. That's how you know I'm sick, when I don't even consider the TTC.

Now, I haven't seen a doctor throughout my pregnancy. I've seen midwives. And because I haven't had cause to see a doctor, I've not bothered, even for a yearly physical. Why? Well... when you show up pregnant to a doctor and they want to know about your medical care during pregnancy you run the risk of condescension and disapproval. And I also can't help but feel my regular doctor would feel affronted by what is frankly my lack of confidence. It's not that I don't think she's a good doctor, it's just sometimes her bedside manner has been patronizing and appointments are always late and rushed, and there would be no home birth option and I don't know how knowledgeable she is about natural birth.

Anyway, this doctor at the walk-in was off-putting in exactly the way I had anticipated. He asked me about my doctor, I told him I had a midwife and he wanted to know what she said about my cough. I responded that she felt I should see a doctor about it. Fair enough, right? Midwives aren't GPs. They don't treat illness. They don't prescribe antibiotics. They're pregnancy and birth specialists.

His response was a dismissive, "Oh, that's helpful." Well, actually, I think it was. It's responsible for midwives to refer their patients to doctors when necessary. Then he wanted to know what my midwife intended to "do" about my pregnancy. I asked him to clarify that, because I'm not sure what there would be to do about a natural process that will end in due time. I'm still well within normal parameters, after all. He was wondering why I hadn't been induced yet, why I hadn't been transferred to an obstetrician yet.

I told him it was standard, that normal pregnancy was between 38 to 42 weeks and that now I was hoping I wouldn't give birth soon anyway until my cough was under control. He prescribed me some antibiotics, scared me off my neti pot and away I went.

You know, I just don't... care for doctors. I always go in hoping to like them, to see a friendly face and occasionally I'm pleased to meet someone who speaks with kindness and compassion and respect for you as a sentient person. But more often I just keep meeting these medical folks who talk down to me, try and frighten me or otherwise make me feel either confused or violated in some manner.

When we got home, the Dude propped me up in bed with every pillow in the house and we watched a movie until I found a way to lean over onto my side, feel the sweet bliss of gravity and fell asleep. Eventually I know I'll take sleeping horizontally for granted again, but I have to say, that much-needed nap felt godlike.

So, still waiting. Somehow having this cold, although annoying and awful, makes me feel a bit better about still being pregnant. It'll be easier to nurse it away without the baby here than with. So at least my lengthier gestation is serving some sort of a purpose.

Waiting, oh, waiting.

I'm days away from being 40 weeks, which would make me due. The Dude is on his vacation time and now I can't help but feel some pressure that I need to birth soon to make the most of his time off. My in-laws are all checking in to see if there's any news, my family is emailing me, and I'm feeling everything: anxiety, excitement, joy and apprehension.

Tonight we're seeing the Oz movie. Time is of the essence with this one. I love going to the movies, so I need to get this in while I can. There's those baby-friendly day time showings around town, but still. And who knows, maybe enjoying myself out of the house will get labour going.

I can't say enough about how weird this is. I mean, massive life changing event due to happen tomorrow. Or next week. Or sometime after that. And all I can do is wait. You get married, you know when that's happening. You know when you'll graduate. You've got your big trip circled on the calendar. You've planned what day you're bringing home your new pet. The closing date on your house is defined. And so on. But this? Pfft. Nothing. I suppose that's the appeal of the C-section. For someone like me, that's the only appeal, but I can appreciate the convenience.

Here's hoping my next post will be along the lines of: I gave birth!

39

Every time I see a new mother pushing her baby in a stroller or carrying the bubs on her person, I have two simultaneous reactions: joy/tenderness, and envy and resentment. And then I usually need to scratch my belly because I do a lot of that now because I've developed itchy skin. Glorious.

I mean, seriously, I just want my baby. Also, I want to know what the damage will be to my body so I can get to work on both accepting it and willing it back into some sort of decent shape. I have particular concerns about my rib cage, as I do not wish myself to be a barrel. Also, my hips have spread and have taken my ass along for the ride, effectively flattening it. My butt is not gone, but it's not as round and I'm interested in some sort of hip shrink wear, as post-birth the body is more malleable and may be my only crack at re-assing myself.

I've started to get small anxieties about being a mother. I know I'm up for it, but it's the finality of the decision that occasionally stuns me. This is permanent. Nothing else in life will ever be as permanent of a choice as this is. You can drop out of school, change jobs, sell a house, get divorced and so on. Having a kid is forever.

It's a weird place in your head. There's still the ME talking loud and clear. How will I get to my hair appointments and still meet my baby's needs/afford hair appointments? What about my social life? What will I look like? But then aside from all that there's the intensity you feel inside. You know you're going to adore your baby and you want to meet him or her now, and know if baby's a him or her. I want to breastfeed, and I don't want to be chained to breastfeeding and I want breastfeeding to go well, and I want my boobs to go back to normal and I don't want to pay for formula and I think pumping will be a pain in the ass. Ah, ambivalence.

My God... On one hand I wish I had other things to write about right now. But really? Try growing a new person inside your body and have the physical symptoms run your life for nine months. After awhile, it's just sort of what your life is about for a good long stint. My conversation hasn't been reduced to only baby talk, at least. But I think my blogging has now become an outlet for this side of my life. I know no other pregnant women. In a weird little prenatal way, this is all I've got.

Plunge

Oh my God, it's almost here (Or at least it had better be almost here). I'm a few days from being 39 weeks along, I'm measuring at 39 cm (My uterus, that is) and the baby is so far lodged into my pelvis that I question if I'm going into labour every time it moves. And I didn't know it was normal to feel menstrual-like cramping in the last month. Oh yes. And there's dick-all you can do about it.

So, occasionally, I simultaneously experience Braxton hicks (Uterus tightening in practice for labour. Non-painful, unless the baby kicks), the baby kicking (mm-hmm) and cramping. Even a woman who loves pregnancy would have to get fed up with this tomfoolery. I don't even have room in my mind to be nervous about birth. I just want this kid out.

The midwife came for a home visit today, which was nice. It made my impending delivery more real as she was going through the house, casing the joint as it were, determining its fitness for a home birth. Our apartment passed, which was nice. I was sure it would, but sometimes I feel unsure about my home. I'm happy here and it's got a yard and is off the subway, but it's a poorly renovated 100-year-old house. If critters aren't getting into the roof, water is leaking under the stairs or the appliances are breaking. Oh, Toronto. And this place is something of a steal at $1275.

I've applied for EI for the first time ever and being off work for the week has been interesting. And by interesting I mean boring and relaxing at the same time. I'm trying to soak in the lack of things to do because soon I will never be without something to do for years and years. I should really leave the house, but the weather's been ass, and hauling my body around has become a test in endurance.

I'm really looking forward to meeting my baby. I've always wanted to be a mother, minus about 3-4 years when I was a teenager after babysitting the worst kid ever. Great birth control, that experience.

But I envisioned briefly my baby's face and I think about the cuddling and the love. I think about the nursing throughout the night and diapers and potential for colic. I've been mentally preparing myself as best as possible for my new life, and mixed in there is fear of the unknown, nervousness about losing my independence and freedom, excitement about parenting and just basic joy. There's a readiness and desire for my life to be about more than me, despite my apprehensions.

This is without a doubt the deepest plunge and biggest leap of faith of my life. I really wish my mom were here for this.

38

Today is Tuesday and this is my first official day off work. I finished on Saturday and when I put my finished document onto the server I cried a little. I wasn't even sure why because I couldn't pinpoint how I felt. I just knew I'd completed my final assignment for a year's time. Technically I'm on vacation until March 1, and then my maternity leave really begins, but the effect is the same. I'm home, as usual, and not at my work computer (Unusual).

And this is all well and good because sitting at my computer makes my feet swell up like hot water bottles. Yes, I've reached that stage. I'm 38 weeks tomorrow and various other body parts have started to fail me in small ways. My feet don't hurt, per se, though they certainly are uncomfortable. When you press fingers into them, there's actually an indent. The Dude has been massaging them nightly, which makes me feel both like a grateful wife and also that it's really the least he can do.

Our nursery is pretty well set to go, minus this item, which is en route in the mail via allposters.com.

Tell me this isn't the cutest thing ever, like ever.

At this point, I'm really keen to do things with friends. I can't be making long-term plans, nor can I leave town at this point (Well, I can, but my luck would have me going into labour). However, I can do dinner, coffee and Sunday night we threw our annual Oscar party. It's nice to socialize, still free of responsibility. I also want to see a movie or two. The only thing I'm a little bitter on is that we might well miss The Book Of Mormon on stage. It's all sold out (Unsurprising since it's only from April 30 to June 9), and if they don't increase their run, it'll leave the city and that'll be that.

It's astonishing how fast motherhood is approaching me. The birth tub is getting delivered this Sunday (So at this point, I really hope I don't go into labour. Not only is Matt not off until March 9th, but I want my tub, dagnabbit). I have my in-home midwife appointment this Saturday. Strangely my main concern  through all of this is that my water will break while I'm on the couch. Not out in public, but on my nice new couch.

At my last midwife appointment I learned I was about 157 pounds. I think I misread previous scale readings because supposedly my weight hadn't budged in a month from 148. I started at 126. 22 pounds isn't unreasonably small, but it was bizarre to me that a month could pass without me gaining anything when I was clearly getting bigger.

But let me tell you, reading that sudden increase freaked me out. It had only been a week since my previous appointment so this apparent 9-pound gain was only over a week. That's the sort of thing that can make your average weight-conscious North American woman shit a brick.

It occurs to me that the vast majority of my blogging has surrounded my pregnancy. Somewhere along the line, I became a themed blogger. I always had focused on life stuff, musings about getting older and nearing 30. But it never really was a theme for all that. Now it's sort of a Pregnancy Sucks and Here's My Cute Nursery blog. Well, turns out when you're gestating a new life, it's damn hell ass hard to find other things to write about, especially considering new crazy bojangles are happening to your body all the time and your life no longer follows a discernable pattern. Every week it's new.

I used to have dreams I was stuck in stations and airports and unable to catch my flights, or that I was in a hotel and people were getting in my way and I couldn't pack things or find my travel documents. Dream journals said this was symbolic of feeling stagnated in life. I haven't had a dream like that since getting pregnant. What I did dream about last night was having quintuplets, four of which were misshapen. One was flattened out. I don't even want to know what that means.

Vanity

No matter what, I'm pretty sure I'm going to continue to give a massive shit about my vanity. I'm not a gorgeous woman, but I'm pretty enough, in a cute sort of way, and I want to maintain my appearance. My figure has never stopped traffic, but I like my legs and I've always had a nice bum.

What I am faced with post-pregnancy is totally uncertain and my Google searches are littered with queries like "shrinking rib cage after pregnancy," "post natal stomach", and "breasts after weaning". I think they equal the number of searches I've done on actual baby care, antenatal information and fetal growth.

Currently my bum has flattened out. The Dude says he doesn't think it has, but then he'd never tell me the truth about that. I think it shrunk, and not just relative to the size of my belly. I think it's less round. Probably my spreading hips are the culprit. Even my loosest pyjama pants I can't haul up around my buttocks anymore. I hate the thought of going through the rest of my youth with a flat ass. I'll accept it when I'm a senior citizen, but I would really like to enjoy my 30s on a nice rump.

I have no stretch marks (Yet. Knock on wood) and at 37 weeks, that's not too shabby. But oh God, will I have loose skin around my midsection? I can't bear the thought. I was given a Belly Bandit from my cousin and his girlfriend and I fully intend to use it. It's supposed to help the uterus shrink back to normal size in a timely fashion. I'm hoping it'll also do my ribcage a favour, as it's spread about two inches. I'm already short waisted and small breasted. The last thing I need is to be barrel shaped. I'd like to regain some semblance of a waist, something suggesting an hourglass.

I've started to gray, something I mentioned long ago. Hair falls out after pregnancy. You barely lose any for nine months, which in my case has bestowed upon me more hair than I know what to do with, and then after birth you lose everything you retained. Some women get bald patches. My hair is naturally so thick, I'm not terribly concerned about the loss of volume. What I am thinking about is the gray hair. All the hair that falls out could come back white. I could have a salted red head.

And I don't know what kind of baby I'll have and whether he or she will be calm enough to take to the hair salon, which I'll be quite desperate to do should my fears come to light. I could wind up looking like a witch.

And let me just say, the very last thing I'm interested in hearing is how it'll all be worth it. I wouldn't have subjected myself to this had I thought my looks were too precious to risk. They're not. I do think, though, I'm allowed to have conflicting emotions about my bodily changes. I also don't want to hear that I won't care. I'll still be me and, yes, I'll still give a damn what my body looks like.

At least my shoe size hasn't changed. I don't have an extensive collection, but I would be incredibly bummed to have to lose out on ever wearing this pair again:

Of course right now it's winter,
and my feet are too swollen currently to wear them.

36.5

When you're in the last month of gestating your first baby, it's entirely too easy to hemorrhage money. I managed to add in the neighbourhood of $3,000 to our savings over this time, and work plenty of baby things into the monthly budget, so as not to touch said savings. But now that's over. Time to dip in.

For example, this weekend cost us somewhere around $400: Bassinet/playard (Used, thank you, Kijiji), vertical drying rack, nightstand, toy box, hamper, baby bath tub, drug store things for the birth, plus other normal household stuff like groceries and cat food, and a Zipcar to grab all this stuff.

This month was also the Dude's birthday and Valentine's Day. We didn't blow the bank, but we also didn't let the days slide. Pre-parenthood special days should not be neglected.

And that's all on top of the other stuff I ordered online/bought last week: baby carrier, breast pump, BDA pants, crib sheets, changing pads...

The baby has dropped. I now feel like I'm carrying one of those 5-pound bowling balls in my pelvis. I waddle. When the baby squirms, my cervix cries. I'm 37 weeks in a couple days and more or less I'm term. Almost. I am so looking forward to being done with this. The fact I risk massive vomiting every time I cough and that I cough after every meal I eat got old many moons ago.

We're hosting one last party before the birth. Most people thought we might skip our Oscar party this year, but oh no. I'm not losing the chance to do this one last shindig sans bebe. I may be a huge beast of a person right now, but there's no wee one crying or needing anything and I intend for the Dude and I to make the most of our last bit of freedom.

It's so funny. Everyone talks about how hard and awful having a baby will be, but generally think pregnancy is exciting and sweet. Having looked after children (pee, poo, vomit, tantrums and all) and having now experienced pregnancy, I kinda think it's the other way around. You suffer for a purpose and then you enjoy (occasionally lament and curse, but mostly enjoy) your offspring. I sort of feel sorry for those who love pregnancy, in a strange way. It's a temporary state that you only experience so much of and then it's done and gone. My memories are going to be of looking back over these months with total gratitude that they're over. I try not to laugh too hard when someone tells me I'll miss it.

Also, I think having IBS in comparison to dealing with this will really put things into perspective. Your body can always be a bigger asshole. I won't have as much life freedom, but my God, I'll have bodily comfort again. That's my new idea of what freedom is: feeling good in your own skin. Oh, how I'm looking forward to that.

Pregnancy Sleep.

Coming to you live at 6:23 a.m., it's me! Tired and confused over broken sleep that abruptly ended around 3:30 this morning. Yep. So I've been surfing the internet and washing dishes. I've heard this nonsense lack of sleep in a random unfathomable pattern is nature's way of ensuring I'm accustomed to the sleep deprivation that is new parenthood. Well, colour me used to it. I am, in my way. Don't much care for it, but I can deal.

I'm not really expecting to enjoy motherhood at first. I'm not doing this because I think 2-month-olds are charming and fulfilling companions. Oh, I'm sure I'll love my baby, but what I'm really looking forward to is having a smiling baby who is learning words, and more than that, a child, one that can walk, talk and dress him or herself and say silly shit. This is not the fun part, and nor will the immediate future be either. I consider it all an investment in my future joy.

Yesterday I found a glider rocking chair on Craigslist for $200. I haggled it down to $175 and the Dude picked it up and now it's in our nursery. I'm too lazy right now to take a picture of it in the room, so here's the picture from the ad:

It also came with a matching ottoman.
Chair normally retails for $500 before tax.

I have this lamp en route:

From Lamps Plus.

And this nightstand will be the last item I require.

Sears item. Handy for holding my water, snacks and Kobo reader.

It's taken a lot of work to find sales, but the savings has been somewhere in the neighbourhood of $600+. Not to say we'd have spent more without sales (We wouldn't have), but we would have had to sacrifice quality. We've borrowed a few things, like a Jolly Jumper and a bouncy chair. McPal gave us his old rug. The diapers were a sale item, as was the crib, car seat and lamp. The stroller was both a gift and sale win. The glider is possibly my biggest coup. I feel very satisfied with my shopping, all of which, and this is no exaggeration, was done online. I don't know how anyone can haul ass around the city looking for sales and not lose time and patience (and of course the best prices). I love the internet.

Today is the Dude's birthday. There are literally no special plans afoot. He wants to order in Indian food, watch TV and open a present. That's it. I'll make him a morning coffee in a couple hours and also some pancakes. Maybe we can have nachos for lunch. He's not much for his birthday, but he certainly enjoys a day of having nothing to do. Since those days will soon be behind him, I can understand the day of laziness he's asked for. I was hoping we'd go out for steak, but it's not my birthday.

In order to have today be free of responsibility, he re-organized the kitchen yesterday. I can't even believe it. The fridge, once a haven of expired random shit now looks empty and gleaming. Under the sink is now debris and garbage-free. The cupboards are clean and organized. There's actually storage space available now. Someone's nesting in this apartment, and it ain't me.

Home Birth

So, I want to talk a bit about home birth. That's my current plan of attack/transformative milestone/shot in the dark approach to delivering my baby.

I think that it's important to put this into context. Home birth is not something the average first-time mother chooses. Most home birthers tend to be second-time moms who had a poor experience at the hospital and wanted to explore another option. Generally, there is an element of apprehension involved in doing something this intense for the first time and the "just in case something goes wrong" reasons ultimately guide a new mother to the hospital.

So why not me? Because I have come to believe over time that if I want to be safe and maintain my bodily autonomy, I need to stay out of the hospital.

It may have been the time I needed a vaginal ultrasound and the male technician, after his exam of me, ignored my discomfort and the female supervisors requests for him to stop, and continued to penetrate me against my will.

Or perhaps the time when I went to the hospital prior to my IBS diagnosis (And access to a family doctor) and the doctor insisted I be anally examined and did not allow me to say no. It happened against my will and I went into a panic. I hyperventilated and even once I caught my breath, I could not stop the tears for 30 minutes. It was very disconcerting to sit calmly in a hospital bed crying without actually crying.

My doctor berating me because I can't treat a pap smear like a handshake hasn't helped. Being given shots without any discussion about my right to refuse or the side effects (Laying me up for two weeks with pain and lethargy) lessened my faith in the medical establishment.

Overall, when I'm in the hospital, I feel as though I'm treated like a thing, a project, a subject. Not a person, not someone with feelings and hang-ups and needs.

I'm bypassing all of it.

If my health were in jeopardy or the baby was found to have problems or there were any indicators of risk, I'd resign myself to the hospital and work with it the best I could. I'm a little over five minutes from the hospital as it is, so there's easy opportunity for me to get there should I need to.

As it is, I have two midwives, one for me, and one for the baby, who are trained to understand normal birth and distinguish between normal labours and pathological issues. I have a doula, who will act as a support person for all us while I labour and birth. I've rented a birthing tub to have as an option if I want it. And importantly, I'm not afraid.

When you've had kidney stones, appendicitis, and live with IBS, you come to understand the nature of abdominal pain. It bothers you, yes. It's upsetting, sure. You sometimes cry or pant or moan. But you learn how to cope and the thought of future episodes doesn't worry you because you know you're able to handle it.

With this birth, it's not going to be a pathological pain. It'll be bringing me what I want. It'll be the baby and I working in tandem to meet each other. I'll know why it's all happening. I'll be supervised by medical professionals and an experienced wise woman and my husband. I can meet the intensity. I have faith in myself. I'm going to be in the driver's seat of this experience, and that will benefit me. And what benefits me will benefit the baby.

Avoiding the hospital and staying in my cozy home, on my own turf, gives me confidence and a sense of calm about the birth. No IV to distract my attention or have to cart around with me. No fetal monitoring to restrict my movement or make a machine the centre of the room. No pitocin or epidural to alter the course of my labour and potentially cause problems. No unfamiliar nurses entering my space and wanting to insert their fingers into my vagina. No one clocking my labour and planning a C-section for me if I take too long. No labouring and birthing on my back.

Again, if I develop an issue, I give myself up to the medical institution and I'll put myself at their mercy to handle the problem. That's the beauty of modern medicine. It can handle ailments and illnesses that previously could have meant death. But birth itself is not inherently a problem. I don't see my current state as something that needs fixing, managing or direction. Just support. No pre-emptive procedures. I don't want to be around anyone who doesn't think I can do this. I don't want to have people around me who don't have faith in me. I'm a woman. I was built to do this.

If other women want to opt out of the full bodily throes of labour, I salute them for knowing themselves and wish them well. Do what you got to do. Be comfortable with your choices and caregiver and place of birth and go for it. I've often seen birthing without medication described as "having something to prove" or "being naive". For me, it's about being in touch with who I am as a person.

Handy Dandy Friends

The nursery! My friends! They came together in a blaze of glory last Friday night and the result is the baby's room actually looks like a baby has any business being there. There were three things to assemble: crib, hutch and dresser, all of which could have potentially destroyed my marriage to the Dude.

McPal was there, along with our college friend and her husband and her college roommate. We're a happy pack of people who enjoy good food and being crass together. Mostly I shake my head at the crassness. But who am I kidding? We enjoyed some tasty Indian food and cupcakes as well and when they went home we were all stuffed with yummy goodness and general satisfaction.

Here are the fruits of their labour. And I say their because I sat on the sidelines and ordered food and tried to stay comfortable while they made the magic happen.

IKEA dresser.

IKEA hutch.

Sears crib.

It's still in need of a gliding rocker, a bedside table (basically a nursing station) and a rug. McPal has offered us his old rug no longer in use, and I really think it'll tie the room together. Heh. That so never gets old. We also need some crib sheets, a toy box for the stuff you see in the crib, and I want some wall decals.

And in the window we have the handcrafted gift from the Dude's stepmom:

Lovely.

We spent the following Sunday organizing our baby things and putting them into the dresser and hutch.  The clothes and blankets and diapers are all put away. We got a lot of disposables at the shower, which will come in handy for a newborn. The BumGenius 4.0s I bought would be excessively bulky on a wee thing, and the disposables will leave room for the umbilical cord. So, once we run out of those, we'll transition over. And that'll save us laundry while we get used  to the ohmygodwe'reparents first couple weeks.

I'm officially at 34 weeks.

Taken in the bathroom at Windsor Arms a couple days ago.
Classy!

Above is a picture I took courtesy of the full length mirror and flattering light of the Windsor Arms Hotel. My friends and I went to Twilight Tea there on Monday, which is essentially tea time for dinner, and as usual had a scrumptiously good time. Having a baby is definitely going to impact my now-easy ability to do these sorts of things. One, the expense may not work into the budget, and two I'd have to leave bebe with the Dude and some expressed milk, as I'm not the sort of person who'd bring a wee one to a quiet tea room. Three, no more Twilight tea, only Sunday tea because the Dude has a wonky work schedule that can't be relied upon on weeknights.

As you may imagine, I'm soaking up the freedom now.

33

Hello, 1:40 a.m. How you doing, old friend? Oh, I'm fine. Can't sleep as usual. I'll probably drop in on 2:15 a.m. tonight and possibly even 3:25 a.m. if the spirit moves me. And by moves me, I mean prevents me from retiring to sweet, sweet bed with a reasonable amount of fatigue to get the job done.

I've gotten maybe 10 hours of broken sleep the last two nights. This is mostly due to vomit and such creeping up my throat when I try to lie down. If I cough, that's all folks. Goodbye, stomach contents.

I have pretty much, like, no torso. I'm 5'2" and the Dude is 5'7" and our legs are the same length. Yeah.  He has five extra inches of torso than I do. He should be carrying this baby. He'd have room.

It's all out in front. I'm lucky about that, at least visually. It's cute looking. And I have no stretch marks (yet). But damn, if it's not a hassle to lug myself around and Jebus help me, getting comfortable is harder and harder all the time.

I'm fielding all kinds of guesses about the sex based on the way I'm carrying. It's a boy because I'm carrying high is the most popular. But I have really strong abdominal muscles, this is my first (only baby) so I'm not really stretched out anywhere from previous use, and frankly high is the only place for me to carry because there is no low. Any lower and I'd be hauling a fetus around in my actual vagina. Because I have no torso.

It's such an odd thing. I do look very healthy right now. I can see that. My skin is lightly flushed, my hair is thick and lustrous (though I have no hair talent and I'm rather overwhelmed by the immense volume of it), my weight is under control and I'm not swollen or anything. How very deceptive it all is. I kind of don't remember what it's like to feel good. Like, properly hungry and able to eat comfortably and be tired and able to sleep like a normal person, and all without aches and pains and spasms.

What is nice is that now that I'm in the home stretch, I'm getting excited about meeting my baby. Before it was all very abstract. Now at 33 weeks and change, my baby's movements are intense and hard. The nursery is coming together and we have about 80% of the stuff we need all ready to go. I'm going to hold a little person the Dude and I created, and continue to help him or her grow with my own body. I'm going to meet someone who's going to be deeply important to me. I'm going to meet someone I know I will love.

So it's not all grumpy pants.

A couple days ago our friends came over to assemble nursery furniture for us. I'll post about that in full really soon, with pictures, because it deserves its own post, and I haven't taken any snapshots yet. What I can say now is I have amazing friends.

32

I'm 32 weeks pregnant today. I am huge. The Dude assures me I am not huge, but try actually being this size and hauling around my ass all day and tell me I'm not huge. Because I totally am. And, oh, sweet merciful crap is my back feeling it.

And my lower abdomen too. Yes, you can actually feel your uterus stretch out and it don't feel good, boy howdy. Sometimes I walk around with my hands under my belly as if to hold it up. The weight is surprisingly challenging to manage. How do fat people do it? Dude, seriously. Lugging around excess you is exhausting.

I went to my baby shower in my hometown last weekend. My aunt threw it for me and my family came, plus my friends in town and some of the Dude's relatives. It was really nice to see everyone. It was a laid back affair, the kind where there was enough seating for everyone, some sandwiches, no games and a tasty chocolate and vanilla cake. It lasted two hours. Frankly, it was the sort of shower that I like: simple, quick and with cake.

I received some lovely things, ranging from the nice-to-have to the need-to-have: Diaper bag, toiletries, toys, blankets, washcloths, books, teething rings, thermometer, harnessed baby carrier, change pad, monitor, bottles, and lots of clothes.  The nursery, still completely not put together, is stuffed with bags. We're going to have to get organizing or the delivery of more nursery furniture is going to be a pile of chaos.

We still need:
Breast pump
Play yard
Bibs
Car seat adaptor for the stroller
Rug
Portable changing pads
Wrap baby carrier
Crib sheets
Nursing pillow
Glider

It's sort of wild to think about. I've been squirrelling away money for over a year, so we will able to manage all this, but good god. These upfront costs are crazy. And I'm eight weeks from my due date. Unbelievable. Nine months is a long time physically to be pregnant, but financially I could go for another three months to bulk my savings.

30 weeks

Vomiting is slightly traumatic. Some people can do it unceremoniously and others... can't. I chucked my cookies for the first time this pregnancy last night. It came on hard and sudden while I laid down for bed and I barely made it to the bathroom. The Dude rushed in to hold my hair and cleaned up the mess I made. He's good. I mean, the man loves me.

I cried last night before bed. My ribcage was aching. Turns out it's expanded three inches already, which was alarming even if it was expected. My lower back was in pain. My sour heartburn was around as per usual and I had a constant gas bubble sitting inside my chest. I would pound it out and another would reappear. I was just so damn fed up with feeling subpar.

The Dude had a McDonalds craving and so that was what I ate last night and subsequently lost to the porcelain express. The only good thing that happened after the tears and the upchucking was that the McD's seemed to absorb all the acid and take it along for the mass stomach eviction. I had the best night's sleep I can remember in a long time. It was six hours of broken sleep, but heartburn-free. Of course it was back in the morning, but I had a reprieve from one of my most trying symptoms.

I have roughy 10 weeks left of this nonsense. I went to the midwives yesterday. Blood pressure? Perfect. Weight? On target. Measurements? Normal. Glucose? Healthy. My healthful, uncomplicated pregnancy still comes with all these quality of life issues. Gotta say, I'm not feeling the glow. I'm told I have the glow, which is great, but I feel old. Like, creaky with bouts of bodily failures.

My cloth diapers arrived in the mail today. They're really cute and high quality. The colours are nifty too. The fact they don't become instant garbage as soon as they're used gives me a sense of satisfaction. I always thought that was gross, the disposable nature of diapers. I'm grateful to live in an era with sensible (and adorable) alternatives.


I wonder if my child will ever want to read my blog. If so, let me tell you, kid, this sucks. If nothing tells you how much I want to be your mother, going through this crappy pregnancy should give you an idea. Also, I reserve the right to throw my suffering in your face if you give me lip. Ha!

6:21 and all is well

Nearly 6:00 a.m. I've been up since 10:00 p.m. Yes, that sounds incredibly odd, but there you are. I'm now sleeping in roughly four-hour increments. I fall asleep quick and randomly when my body allows for it, when my stomach isn't sour and acid isn't shooting up my esophagus. Sometimes it's in my bed, other times on the couch when I had no intention of napping.

There is a weird guilt about being up all night. Despite it not being a choice and regardless of the fact I'm just doing what I can to rest and keep going, it makes me feel immature somehow, as if I'm unemployed and spending my nights watching infomercials.

I am really looking forward to having my body back. My sleep is not likely to improve while caring for an infant, but not having heartburn ruining my every day and all my rest, I think it'll be a welcome relief to just have my baby already. It'll be a joy to hold and interact with the reason I'm doing all this for.

The Dude and I spent New Year's eve at the McPal house. It was right up our alley. Quiet and intimate with friends and food. It was our last year being childless. Next New Years will not likely see us going out. We don't go out too much now, being homebodies, but what going out we do will soon be significantly curbed.

I shaved my legs for the first time in months yesterday. What an ordeal. I think I'm just going to quit with that whole thing till it becomes sensible to bother again. There certainly is a temptation in general to just let my whole self go to seed. Broken sleep makes one feel slovenly.

More Sales

I made my cloth diaper purchases. There was a sale and thus I couldn't not do it, not when saving money was on the line.

BumGenius 4.0
(I got the snaps version)

I spent $472 on 18 diapers, two medium wet bags, one large wet bag, and 24 washable wipes. Sounds like a lot of money, but that was after I saved $72. I still need laundry bags and newborn diapers. I bought everything thus far on Caterpillar Baby and I'm going to get the rest I need from Ava's Appletree. Oh, the expense of it all. And yet disposables can cost $2,500 by the time you're done with them, so as expensive as this is right now, it's cheap.

I still look at my favourite online clothing stores and pore over the pretty, pretty dresses that no longer fit and which I can now not afford to have anyway in light of my looming maternity leave. And besides, I need to be able to nurse and that means clothing that grants boob access. It's an understatement to say I miss my clothes. I will not be able to wear my lovely things for over a year from now. And that's if they fit.

Many people are telling me I'll have more than one child. I don't know what they're basing that on other than their own family preferences. It can't be based on what they know about me personally. I'm an introvert. A small family will best enable me to get more opportunities for me time. I'm frugal. One child is less money spent total than any other option. I'm practical. One child means a likely ability to pay for post-secondary education. I'm pragmatic. One child means no sibling rivalry and thus no fighting in the house to referee.

Plus I don't want to be pregnant again. My sleep schedule doesn't exist. I now just sleep when I'm tired for however long and it doesn't seem to matter what time it is or isn't. While I look forward to motherhood with an open and ready heart, I also relish the fact I'll have my body back, though I'm nervous about what it'll look like. I think I'm already prepped for disordered sleeping patterns. I'm living that now.

Two and a half months to go.