Mission: Crib

When we first brought Roger home and tried to get him to sleep in his crib right off the bat, the whole ordeal was a disaster. After a couple weeks of sleepless nights spent diligently walking laps around the house and rocking in the rocking chair until it was hitting the wall behind it, we accepted the fact that the only way any of us - Roger included - were going to get any sleep was to move him into our room. Roger's first night in the cradle next to the bed, he slept like a rock. The very first night. It almost seemed too easy.

Given that we had never really planned on ever having Roger sleep in our room in the first place, we had to set an "end date" to the cradle and decided that when the little guy was 3 months old would be a good time to revisit the crib situation. This past Wednesday was D-Day. November 17. The day Roger turned 3 months old. By now, he's sleeping through the night with no problem. It's been well over a month since I stopped waking him up every few hours for a feeding during the night thereby rendering the cradle unnecessary. I had promised Matt that Roger would be out of our room and in his nursery - it was something we had BOTH agreed on together, as parents.

But when Wednesday rolled around, I found myself completely unprepared for the emotions that overwhelmed me. I didn't want Roger to go sleep in his room. His presence in the cradle next to my side of the bed was a measure of comfort for me. I liked that if he fussed a little in his sleep, I simply had to roll over and reach my hand in the cradle to give his belly a reassuring rub or to replace his lost pacifier. I had become so attached to the idea of Roger being right there, I wasn't ready for him to make the move to his room. I protested rather heartily when Matt put him to bed in his crib Wednesday night. I checked about a billion times to make absolutely positively SURE that the baby monitor was working. I woke up over ever little stir that came over the baby monitor. At about 1 a.m. I went and got him, bringing him into his cradle so that I could get a good night sleep since I had to work Thursday morning (on a side note, I'm blessed enough that Roger is able to go to work with me, incase the question arose about how I could tear myself away from him during the work day but not at night while I'm sleeping). I felt a little bad for breaking under pressure so easily. I had been concerned that Roger would be the one who'd give us difficulties when we moved him into his own room, but as it turns out, it was me.

I was a bit more prepared last night when I put Roger to bed in his crib. Though I did check on him numerous times (only to find him sprawled out and sleeping peacefully), I did eventually put my faith in the baby monitor and fall asleep. And Roger slept soundly the whole night through. It didn't make a different to HIM that he was in a new place. For all I know, he was probably a lot more comfortable in his nice big crib. The point is, we both (well, me in particular) survived our first night apart. And I suppose sooner or later this day would have to come. Undoubtedly the longer we waited the more difficult it would have become for him to accept that little modicum of independence of which infants are capable. I don't know what I expected - it's not like he could sleep in his little cradle next to the bed till the day he left for college.

I thought the revisitation to the crib mission would be a replay of the first few weeks with Roger screaming in protest the second his butt hit the crib mattress, but it wasn't at all. Roger readily and willingly accepted his new bed. He really does seem to like it better. Rather, it was me who made the bigger deal of the issue. I'll miss the little monster sleeping soundly right by me. I know it'll take a few more nights (or longer) till I'm accustomed to him being in his own room, but ultimately, this is for the best. Our little man is growing up...

On Schedule vs. On Demand

Breastfeeding is one of the things about early motherhood that is definitely about trial and error - you learn what works for you as you go along. Thankfully we haven't encountered any enormous problems with breastfeeding, and after reading countless books and browsing through numerous La Leche League forums (etc) and taking a breastfeeding class prior to Roger's birth, I was prepared for problems. Seriously. They make it seem like problems are the norm. That's not to say problems aren't normal, but the norm? No. But, I digress.

It seems to be almost universally unanimous that the best possible way to breastfeed your baby is "on demand" (i.e. feed them when they're hungry). And honestly, it's a great idea in theory: baby's hungry, feed baby. I feel I'm probably giving myself quite a stigma by admitting that I breastfeed on a schedule, but for both Roger and I, this works quite well.

When Roger was first born, I was feeding him every 2-3 hours just like the books, internet forums, and class told me to do. He actually went closer to 3 hours before he started getting a bit fidgety; perhaps I was able to get away with more lengthy times between feedings because he was a bit heavier at birth? I don't know, but theories abound... By the time he was two months old, he was sleeping through the night, so I stopped waking him up to feed him. They (books, internet, class) said initially you should be feeding baby about 8 - 10 times a day, so now that Roger was sleeping through the night, I figured this meant I had to make up "missed" feedings during the day, so I found myself quite literally force feeding him breast milk about every 2 hours. I thought I was interpreting "hunger cues" like I was supposed to so it was somewhat frustrating that most of our breastfeeding sessions involved a lot of crying (on both our parts) and a great deal of spewing out milk (just Roger).

After much frustration, I abandoned the idea of feeding my baby on demand. It wasn't working for us. He doesn't root. Ever. He did maybe the first couple weeks of his life and every now and again I'll see him do it if I decide to change his diaper before feeding him first thing in the morning. I'm told sucking on his fist is a hunger cue. Well, he sucks on his fist constantly. Minutes after feeding him, he'll have his fist shoved in his mouth. Lip smacking? Yeah, he doesn't do that either. He's generally a happy baby - he cries very little and when he does, it's usually because he's craving some love and cuddles. Besides, it wouldn't be fair (or nice) to Roger if I made crying his hunger cue because it's the only decipherable one.

The only feeding that's NOT scheduled is the first a.m. feeding, which usually takes place between 4 and 5. Then he eats every 3 hours (8:30 is the first scheduled time, then 11:30, 2:30 etc) for however long he wants. He only eats 6 times a day, which you may be shaking your head at, but he's gaining weight well and is otherwise perfectly healthy - in fact, he's even a bit on the large size for a 3-month old. So scheduled feeding it is. Until, of course, he goes through a growth spurt and throws a stick in the spokes of my schedule, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

My Mommy Must-Have

For my baby shower I received an Infantino 6-in-1 carrier. I thought it was great until Roger was actually born and I actually tried to use it. It was (pardon my asterisks) a complete piece of sh**. Getting him in it was like trying to solve a MENSA riddle and once he was successfully in place, well, let's just say he was neither happy nor did he look very cozy. It kind of felt like I was torturing him on some level, so after another hour (okay, I'm exaggerating) to get him out of the damn thing, I was a little disheartened. The baby carrier seems like such a great idea in theory. The babies in the pictures on the box looked so happy, but honestly, whoever designed this baby carrier must not have been thinking clearly. It's like those horrible footie pajamas that only have buttons down ONE leg. Whoever designed them did NOT have convenience in mind.

My sister-in-law has a Baby Bjorn carrier that she swears by. After our unpleasantries with the Infantino carrier, I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to try another carrier, especially one with the price tag that the Baby Bjorn has, but I'd seen this carrier in action with my sister-in-law and niece and I wanted THAT kind of carrier. So I forked out the dough and I'm so glad I did because my Baby Bjorn tops my list of my favorite baby "tools."

I use the carrier pretty frequently. I know there are downsides to using it all the time, so I do make a cognizant effort to limit Roger's time in it, but when I DO need it, I'm always glad to have it. When I'm out in public toting the little man around in his Baby Bjorn, I'm surprised by the amount of people who ask me if I'm worried he'll "fall out." Roger's by no means SMALL for a 2-month old. Sometimes I get raised eyebrows when I tell people he's only 2-months old, but even when he was born, he never would've been small enough to "fall out" of a baby carrier. He was quite an enormous baby compared to the others in the nursery... Regardless, it's not like I'm walking on my hands with him in the carrier which is just about the only feasible way I could see him falling out it. He'd have to lose a LOT of weight to slip through a leg hole. Not to mention baby carriers and slings have been around about as long as babies have been around: a long time (not to mention that anything that could cause harm to a baby is typically recalled in a hurry). I guess I just have more faith in the way these things were designed.

My favorite use for the baby carrier is the ease of transportation it's given me in public. One day Roger will be able to hold his head up and he'll be able to sit in the shopping cart or I can just prop him on my hip while I run into a store for an errand, but until that day, it is nothing short of a pain in the ass to lug him around in his car seat. If it's going to be a long trip (i.e. grocery shopping or a trip to the mall for Mommy), I'll use the stroller (or the shopping cart since most are compatible with car seats), but if I just need to run into, say, Subway to buy a sandwich, I feel a bit awkward going through the process of pulling the stroller out for such a short trip and even more awkward standing in line holding the car seat.

At home I use it for soothing purposes. When Roger cries inconsolably, carrying him is usually the solution. When he wants to be carried for prolonged periods of time... enter the Baby Bjorn. My favorite part of the carrier is that it's designed to enable a parent to remove a sleeping baby without waking him (not even a remote possibility with the Infantino carrier). So if he falls asleep during his carrier time (which he's been known to do), transferring him to a more suitable location for sleeping is a breeze. Thankfully he doesn't sleep TOO much in it. He seems to thoroughly enjoy checking the world out from the comfort of his carrier - I can't wait till I'm able to stick him in it face-out. I know he's going to love it.

The learning curve for becoming a parent has been a fun one (discovering things that work for you and your baby is a good feeling). Our next step is transferring Roger to his crib for night sleeping, BUT that's a post for another day!

Keeps Going and Going...

As it turns out, motherhood is a mode that has no "off" switch. It hasn't been too difficult for me; Roger is already sleeping through the night (he's had a few 7 hour stretches and last night was his first 8-hour one), and he's a relatively easy-going baby - he just goes with the flow. That's not to say he doesn't have his fits and fussies, but thankfully they're rather easy to decipher. I don't mind other people holding and playing with him - admittedly I do appreciate the break - but I miss him when I'm not the one holding him. I guess one could say I get a little selfish. I have to remind myself that it's important to share; he is, after all, not only my son, but also a grandson, a nephew, a cousin, etc.

I've been running myself into the ground lately and have reached a point where I would actually really appreciate those extra set of hands. I came down with a miserable cold after the Halloween weekend and am finding that it's a lot harder to run on 5 - 6 hours of sleep when you're not 100%. So I finally did what I rarely do and asked for help. I just needed a nap. A recoup. I handed Roger off to his daddy for a couple hours and retired to our room to rejuvenate, but this is where the whole "off" button thing comes into play. You can't turn off being a mommy. My new role is always at the forefront of my mind. I'd start to drift off to sleep, but every time I heard even just the tiniest fuss, my eyes would snap open. It's not that I don't trust Matt. I know he's perfectly capable of and pretty adept at dealing with the little man's not-so-happy moments. I just am not physically or mentally able to NOT be a mom. It's a very strange sensation.

Now my husband has caught my cold too (little Roger's still running healthy though - here's to breastmilk antibodies!). I'm still running a little slow while the remnants of my cold disappear, and now I have a sick husband to deal with (I think dealing with a sick infant would probably be easier... why are all men such babies when it comes to being sick?). When I was younger, I always used to marvel at how EARLY my parents got up. I was able and willing to sleep the entire morning away and thought my parents were nuts for getting up with the sun. Even well into my 20s (and basically right up until the third trimester), I was a big fan of sleep. I finally get it now. I get up at about 4:30 or 5 now (depending on when Roger eats) because it is, quite literally, the only time I have to myself. Nights after Roger goes to bed are Matt and Erika time. Mornings before Roger wakes up are Erika time. I get 5, sometimes 6 (if I'm lucky) hours of sleep a night, and everything inbetween is work, Roger, cleaning the house, Roger, running errands, Roger... I am a mom. I have NO idea how I'm going to squeeze school into the schedule when I go back in January.

Halloween was a blast. Matt's parents stayed at our house and babysat for us while we went out till the wee hours of the morning (didn't get home till after 2 a.m. which is probably why my cold reared its ugly head... ah, consequences). Even Roger got dressed up for the occasion (albeit briefly). He was less than thrilled about the costume (though everyone else thought it was adorable), so I spent $20 for about 5 minutes worth of pictures. Totally worth it. I can't even believe how BIG he's getting. We had our first set of vaccinations last Tuesday and a well-baby check. He weighs over 12 lbs now (12 lbs 4.5 ozs to be exact) and measures 24 1/4". No one seems to quite believe me when I tell them he's 2-months old (well, nearing 3 now)... He's already wearing 6-month size infant clothes and the 6 - 12 months Halloween costume seemed to fit him pretty good. He's gonna be taller than his daddy :)

Can You Smell What the Little Man is Cooking?

Life with the little man gets that much more amazing every day. He's starting to smile a lot, which is heart-melting every time I see it. For some reason, he smiles the most on his changing table, like he's very happy to be having his diaper changed. He doesn't smile "on demand" just yet, so I enjoy trying different things to make him smile. I've found that puffing my cheeks out and making farting noises seems to be a sure bet - that usually brings about the big toothless grins instead of the small tight-lipped smiles.

He can't grab things just yet (well, he did grab a toy hanging on his activity mat once, but I think that was more luck than properly developed depth perception...), but he can hold on to toys if you put them in his hands. I watched him fling around a pair of toy keys for about 10 minutes yesterday and thought it was about the greatest thing ever.

On Saturday he had his first long car ride - just over 2 hours to Sacramento. He did great on the ride - slept most of the way - but he got pretty fussy by the time we got to his grandma and grandpa's house. The amount of people there who wanted to meet him might have been a little too overwhelming, but needless to say, he slept like a rock when we got home that night. Actually, he's a great night sleeper, able to sleep in about 5 and sometimes even 6 hour stretches, get a meal, and then sleep for about another 4 hours. He does not, however, sleep much at all during the day. His naps are only about 20 - 30 minutes long and they're very light (i.e. if I leave the room, he's suddenly very aware that I'm not there and makes it clear that I need to return). I'm somewhat baffled... I thought infants supposedly slept all the time?

We got back to Reno from Sacramento relatively early on Saturday, so we had some time to relax and for Roger to wind down from his big day. He was resting peacefully in his daddy's arms (so cute), when Daddy takes a sniff and says, "Are you cooking something babe?" I shook my head. It seemed a random statement; I hadn't even been into the kitchen in a while. A few minutes later, he says again, "I smell something cooking. It smells like popcorn." A light bulb went off in my head - I knew exactly what it was that my husband was smelling because it's a smell I've become rather familiar with over the past 7 weeks or so. It's true that breast milk poops don't smell that bad, and Roger's happen to smell somewhat like popcorn. A sniff to the little man's butt confirmed that the "cooking" my husband was smelling was simply what the little guy had been cooking up in his diaper. :)

Tummy Time Frustration

The little man gets a bit of tummy time every day to start building up his neck muscles (he's already so strong!). I can't help but chuckle about it sometimes though; he seems to get so frustrated, like he wants to be able to do more than his body is physically capable of. He's going to be crawling before we know it...

Coos and Ahs

I can't believe Roger will be a month old on Friday (and I will be 28 on Sunday... yikes). Despite the "learning curve" period, the month just flew by. I feel like I'm really starting to get this mom thing down; I feel like an old pro at diaper changing and I can get my car loaded - infant, diaper bag, purse, and dog - in no time at all. It's funny how things that previously grossed me out or that I never would've pictured myself doing are completely second nature now (i.e. sticking my finger in a diaper to check for wetness).

I've started to become more adept at decoding cries. I definitely have the "I pooped myself, change me please" and the "I'm hungry, feed me" cries down and I think I'm started to pick up the "I want attention," the "leave me alone," the "where's my binky," and the "I need a nap" cries. In addition to crying, Roger is starting to find his voice. I LOVE listening to him "talk" (though admittedly at first it was tough to distinguish his talking with the sounds that presaged a fit). It's been fun watching him grow, even through the minor changes the first month brings. His eyes are open a lot more now and he'll focus on an object. He's always looking around, taking everything in, talking it out. He's just absolutely amazing! I nearly peed myself the other day when he grabbed his feet - I can't wait till we start reaching major milestones!

He's not as fussy as he was in the first couple weeks, but I'm not sure if that's due to HIM being more content or the fact that I've gotten better at predicting what it is he wants. Maybe it's a little of both. He's sleeping well at night, happy and content in his cradle (and yes, still next to our bed... we haven't revisited the crib battle yet) - I usually have to wake him up for his feedings in the wee hours of the morning, but he's typically the one waking me up to feed him around 6 or 7 in the morning. He's gotten a lot better at taking a bottle. The first time my husband gave him a bottle (because he absolutely positively will NOT take one from me. I am, after all, the "Boob Lady") he kept glancing up at Matt with this look of confusion, as if to say, Okay, it's definitely Mom's milk, but you're definitely not Mom... and he cried inconsolably for a while after that first bottle. Now that he's gotten the hang of it, it's a nice reprieve for me as Matt will usually give Roger a bottle of breast milk before he leaves for work which allows me a bit more straight sleep and is totally worth it despite how sore and engorged I am after missed feeding (that's what the pump is for!).

Part of me is excited to reach the point in Roger's life where he's more interactive with me - I won't lie, there are times when having an infant this young is downright boring - but the other part of me is astonished at how fast it's going by and I wish I could slow it down just a bit to take in all the little moments. Motherhood is shaping up to be a beautiful thing; already life before the little man seems a vague and distant memory. How strange it's been to so instantly and unconditionally love something :)

Crib vs. Cradle

Before Roger was born, Matt and I were bound and determined that the little man would always sleep in his crib. We were set on promoting independence from an early age and had agreed that we would not be the kind of parents that shared a bed with their baby, let alone a room. No sir, from the beginning Roger would be sleeping in his crib. No cradle or bassinet was purchased and the baby monitors were charged and ready to go.

It's interesting how when once the baby arrives all preconceived notions you may have in mind for the baby or what kind of parents you'll be go right out the door.

From the get go getting Roger to sleep in his crib was a battle. Matt's mom stayed with us for a little over the first week of Roger's life. When it was time to put Roger to bed, it was like a little alarm went off in his head. He was instantly wide awake and ready to resist what was coming. While she was here, Matt's mom would take the first shift, rocking Roger in the rocking chair, cradling him to sleep, but without fail, as soon as his back hit that crib mattress a screaming fit of epic proportions would ensue. When it was time for a feeding, I would relieve Matt's mom and take the next shift, feed him, and occasionally have some success in getting the little man to fall asleep in his crib (though admittedly these successes were very infrequent and usually required me falling asleep on the floor next to the crib and sneaking out some time later). My husband and I spent a good portion of one night laying on the floor in the nursery with Roger between us waiting for him to fall asleep only to be barraged with heartbreaking wails as soon as we placed him in the crib.

When Matt's mom left it was up to Matt and I to continue this ongoing crusade alone. Of course, given that Roger wasn't even 2 weeks old yet we couldn't simply adopt the "cry-it-out" method (nor do I think I would be capable of withstanding listening to my little man cry for very long). We spent the first night sans-mother-in-law camped out on the couch with our darling son in his automatic bouncer next to us and amazingly enough... he slept through the night, only waking when it was time to eat. The answer was amazingly clear - the little guy was more than willing to sleep through the night. He just didn't want to be alone. And understandably so; he had just spent the past 9 months in the comfy confines of my womb.

So though we still won't let him share a bed with us (I have this innate fear of rolling over him or smothering him with blankets or one of our many pillows), he now sleeps peacefully through the night in a cozy little get up right next to my side of the bed. All books and websites have assured us that it's impossible to "spoil" an infant at this age, so perhaps in a few weeks (or months) we'll revisit the crib battle, but for now, this one's been won.

Little Man - 1, Parents - 0

The Birth Story

My last prenatal appointment was August 16. Prior to that, I had gone in to see my doctor on August 12 and she decided to strip my membranes to see if that would put me into labor. I texted my husband to let him know that I could be going into labor if this worked, and despite telling him not to, he was so excited he came home from work. Unfortunately stripping my membranes had no effect. None. We started reading diligently about what natural things we could do to induce labor, and while I absolutely refused to try the herbs or castor oil avenues, we took lots of walks, I spent some time on a swing set at the park, took a hot bath, and spent what feels like endless hours bouncing around the house on my pilates ball all to no avail. On Monday the 16th I made Matt go into work - sitting around the house waiting for labor to happen had taken a stressful toll on both of us, and listening to him joke that we'd be celebrating our son's first birthday with him "in there" was not helping. Instead my mom came out to "babysit" me incase I went into labor. I also had a prenatal appointment that Monday - the one that turned out to be my last.

My doctor's first comment on entering the exam room that Monday afternoon was that she couldn't believe stripping my membranes hadn't worked. "Nope, still pregnant," I replied forlornly with a shrug. She was guessing the baby to be right around 8 and a half pounds and all that weight on my pelvis was making me miserably uncomfortable (I think all that time on my pilates ball trying to "open" my pelvis only made the pain worse). "Well," my doctor started, "how do you feel about inducing? Tomorrow?" Needless to say, I was totally on board. I was already just over 3 cm dilated and 50% effaced, so I'd basically bypassed "early labor." My doctor called up the hospital and sent me home with my induction paperwork; I was to check in to the hospital at 5:30 the next morning - August 17 - and I called Matt as I left the doctor's office asking him if he was finally ready to become a daddy.

Matt and I spent the night in a weird state of anxiety. I can't describe the feeling of knowing it will be your last night without a child, but it was exciting and it was impossible to concentrate on anything else. My sister-in-law had had both of her children induced and it had been a very long process, so I was expecting nothing short of 12 hours in the delivery room. We called Matt's family and tried to dissuade his parents from coming too early (because this could be such a long ordeal), but they were still planning on arriving at the hospital around 7:30 a.m.

Somehow we managed to get some sleep and bright and early the next morning (okay, not so bright... it was still dark out when we left at 4:50), we loaded up our bag, my extra pillows, and the infant seat into the car and headed off to have our son. I had always imagined rushing to the hospital in the midst of painful contractions, so this trip was quite the opposite; I still had yet to even know what a contraction felt like as all the ones I'd had thusfar had gone completely unnoticed. We checked in at exactly 5:30, and after shedding my comfy yoga pants and maternity tank for a not-so-flattering hospital gown, I chattered nervously with the RN as she hooked me up to an IV, adjusted two belts around my belly - one to measure the baby's heart beat and the other to measure my contractions - and checked my cervix (I was 4 cm dilated and 70% effaced). At about 6:15 a.m. the nurse added the pitocin drip to my IV and the waiting officially began. And... it was boring. Matt read the newspaper, I broke out my book of Sudoku puzzles. Every now and then we'd turn the monitor up so we could listen to Roger's heart beat, and sometimes Matt would ask if I "felt that contraction?" I couldn't see the monitor, but apparently it looked like my contractions were off the chart. Matt's parents showed up at about 7:45 and stayed in the room with us until 8:30 when my doctor showed up to break my water.

It was a weird sensation, having my water broken. I was worried it would hurt and asked as much, but was assured it wouldn't. And it didn't. It was just a gush of a tremendous amount of fluid. A really, really tremendous amount. I probably lost 5 pounds just from having my water broken... One of the nurses inserted a catheter into my uterus, explaining that the monitor around my belly wasn't measuring my contractions very accurately (apparently those "off-the-chart" contractions weren't really off the chart) and this catheter would do a much better job of giving them an idea of the size of my contractions. My doctor left saying she'd be back on her lunch break to check on me, and it couldn't have been more than a few minutes later that I finally discovered what exactly a contraction feels like. Once my water was broken it was game on. I curled up into the fetal position on my right side and clung to railing on the bed. I did not want to be touched - I told my husband so on numerous occasions and my mom got to hear it as well when she showed up and rubbed my leg. All I wanted was someone to fan me (I was unbelievably hot) and keep replacing the cold wet washcloth on my head. Thus I labored for a good long while until the nurse came in at some point and described my contractions as "moderate." Moderate! I started questioning my decision to try and forego the epidural. If these were merely moderate, what would the strong ones feel like? I concentrated on breathing. My husband joked to "stay out of my uterus's way" (something the birth class instructor had told us) and I could've killed him because laughing brought on hard and strong another contraction (though I have to give him credit for successfully making me laugh in the middle of labor). I listened intently to Roger's heart beat - rapid and rhythmic, I used it as my "focal point" to pull me through the contractions.

At about 10:45 or so, after 2 hours of laboring through contractions, my focal point stopped. I wasn't totally aware of it until my mom and Matt's mom were rapidly ushered out of the delivery room, three more nurses suddenly appeared, and one of them was urgently saying that they'd lost the heart beat. Lost the heart beat? The nurse was calmly but urgently telling me I needed to move. She was explaining to Matt why it can sometimes be bad to labor in one position for too long, but I wasn't fully cognizant of what was being said. Lost the heart beat? Was my baby okay? I rolled over onto my left side, all the tubes that were attached to me being adjusted by the nurses as I turned, and my belly monitor being moved around as they continued their search for the heart beat. After a few minutes on my left side, the nurse told me to get up on all fours. I obliged and an oxygen mask was thrown over my mouth and nose as the search for my son's heart beat continued. It seemed like an eternity before Roger's heart beat started up its rhythmic thump-thump on the monitor again.

My natural endorphins had started to kick in causing the contractions to have less of an effect than the moderate ones had earlier... the human - nay, the woman's - body is truly an amazing thing. I tried to shift to laboring on my left side for a while but found that surprisingly the most comfortable position was up on all fours (which admittedly is an awkward position to be in in a hospital gown with no back, but that wasn't a concern at that point). Shortly after they finally removed the oxygen mask from my face, I was overwhelmed with the urge to push. We had learned in the child birth class that one of the benefits of bypassing the epidural is that you wouldn't need to be coached when to push; now I know why. I told the nurse who, upon checking my cervix, found me to already be at 8 cm after just 3 hours of laboring (I say "just" 3 hours because I really had it in my mind that this would be a much longer process than it was turning out to be). They paged my doctor (who would be coming back earlier than her planned check up on her lunch break) and I started the somewhat arduous process of breathing ("breathe like you're blowing out a candle") through the urge to push. The nurse kept telling me that breathing would prevent me from pushing which may very well have been the case, but I have to say that fighting the urge to push was probably the most difficult part of labor (though definitely not the most physically draining - that was yet to come).

I was stuck at 9 cm for a while after my doctor arrived, still actively squelching the urge to push so much so that when I finally reached 10 and was able to start pushing, I was extremely relieved and ready to do so. While he had significantly lowered when my water was broken, Roger never really dropped so he was still relatively high in my pelvis when I was finally able to start pushing. The positive of pushing was that I was able to use my contractions rendering them pretty much unnoticeable; the negative was the general physical exertion of it. Because he was stationed so high in my pelvis before I started pushing, I had a lot of pushing to do to get him to crowning: over an hour and a half worth, to be exact. Matt kept reassuring me that "you're almost there, Roger's almost here," but it felt like I was hearing the same reassurance from him for many, many pushes. I was spent. I didn't think I could manage pushing even one more time. Then: "Erika, he's crowning. Reach down and feel his head." I did. I felt his soft little head and a little tuft of hair. HAIR! That was all the motivation I needed to get my second wind - with a brief pause to cut the umbilical cord which had wrapped around his neck - it took only a couple more pushes till he was officially born. I glanced over at the table where they were checking my son and after a brief moment of shock over the idea that I had just delivered that big baby, I was instantly in love.


Roger was born at 1:45 p.m. on August 17, 2010. He weight 9 lbs 3 ozs and measured 21 1/2 inches in length (which explains why I was so huge when I was pregnant!). His arrival has added so much to our lives; it's already difficult to remember what life was like before him.

Taken August 18 before we left the hospital:

The Epidural

When I first got pregnant I was fully on board the epidural wagon. I joked about how they could just go ahead and administer it into my spine on my way out of the car in the parking lot. "I don't want anything to do with that pain," I said. My opinion on this has since changed for various reasons. My pain relief preferences in the delivery room are not something I regularly discuss with my friends. My life is not like a Nuva Ring commercial where I sit around with my girlfriends and all of a sudden we start discussing our birth control preferences and potential side effects. In fact, I have mostly avoided discussing the issue with my friends because I don't think it's really any of their business (seeing as they're not going to be in the delivery room let alone the one pushing the baby out), but also because when it DID come up and I DID happen to mention in passing that I was going to try to deliver without the epidural, I was immediately pegged as "nuts." This is one decision that was solely mine to make and one decision I truly did not want other people's opinions on, BUT now that it's out and I've officially been deemed as crazy, I figured I'd write a little blog about it.

My decision to TRY to forego the epidural (and I emphasize TRY because I never said I was absolutely positively going to do this without pain relief - just that I would like to give it a go. If I do decide the pain is more than I can bear, I'm not going to beat myself up for asking for the epidural halfway through labor) - the decision initially came with the knowledge I obtained in the childbirth class my husband and I took. It's not due to the potential side effects of the epidural that rarely anyone ever experiences, but rather what I learned about child birth itself. Apart from believing myself to have a rather high tolerance for pain, our bodies are pretty well equipped for child birth. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that a woman's body is designed for child birth. I think a lot of the hype for the epidural comes from women doubting their ability to withstand the pain - if you set yourself up for failure, you increase the chances that you'll fail. The thought of delivery is nothing short of terrifying for a lot of women and the epidural offers a modicum of relief from that fear.

The epidural is a relatively new phenomenon. For centuries women give birth without it. I am in awe of the pioneer women who used to just pull over on the side of their wagon trains, throw up a tent with their midwife in tow, and voila, a baby! If that doesn't demand some respect, I don't know what does (it brings to mind Stewie in "Family Guy" saying, "Imagine the nads on the guys who did this in a wagon! Pioneers, Brian! We share their spirit! Manifest Destiny!"). I truly have more faith in myself than to think I should immediately turn to pain killers, and if my friends think I'm "nuts" for that, well, I guess it's a good thing they get to make THEIR own decision when the time comes. I appreciate their rash judgment against myself on the issue though.

Finally, aside from having faith in myself when it comes to delivery, I also have complete faith in my husband as my birthing coach. To say I made the decision to forego the epidural completely by myself would be inaccurate; Matt was a large part of the decision as well. He expressed an eagerness to be as much a part of the birth as possible and standing idly by while I get a relief from a small tube in my back isn't exactly partaking in the miracle of the birth of our son. After 9 unbelievably long months of having to be the one to carry around our son, I am thrilled to be able to have Matt share a large and important part of it. Ultimately I didn't know what to expect when I mentioned to Matt that I would kind of like to try delivery without the epidural, but he was so fully on board, it was just a reminder of why I love this man so much in the first place.

SO my friends may think I'm nuts, but I prefer to think of myself as tough. Everyone's different and when the time comes that they're pregnant and about to deliver, whatever decision they make in regards to their pain options will be what works best for them. I made my decision for me.

Stubborn, Just like his Daddy

Today I am 38 weeks and 4 days, so I know that I really don't have too much room to complain since I DO technically still have 9 days left till the "official" due date. Nonetheless, it seems like all I do these days is complain (especially since I got my hopes all high over what was apparently not my show): I don't sleep hardly at all anymore, I can't get comfortable no matter what, Roger still hasn't dropped so my rib cage is still being battered on a regular basis, I get winded walking from room to room. My lamenting is endless; my husband's patience is infinite. Whatever the case of my uterus may be, it would seem the little man is perfectly content staying right where he is - he's stubborn, just like his daddy.

Just about everyone seems convinced that he's going to come this week though since he's "not allowed" to come on the 12th (for lengthy uninteresting reasons pertaining to my husband), and I'm not exactly rooting for Friday the 13th, his dates are pretty well limited to sometime in the next 3 days or some time over the weekend. My dad is sold on the 14th because he's a big believer in Murphy's Law and he'll be out of town. I'm starting to lean somewhere more toward, oh, September time frame. My oh-woe-is-me mindset has lead me to believe that I will, quite literally, be pregnant forever. The second trimester went by so quickly - too quickly even - and now all of a sudden it's as if time has just... stopped. I will be the perpetual pregnant woman.

This weekend we finally finished up the nursery (which was started somewhere around week 20, furniture was eagerly built right after the baby shower around week 26, and then the room was pretty well procrastinated until we recently realized that it was probably somewhat important that we finish it before the arrival of our little man). I'm THRILLED over the letters (which my handy husband cut himself with his jig saw and which I painted).


I am, however, massively disappointed in the curtains. Admittedly I was somewhat upset over the general lime greenness of them when they first arrived, BUT once they were up - well, they don't look so bad. In fact, the lime green works kind of nicely; it adds a kick of color to the room. As for the curtains being "black out" curtains (which is why I specifically purchased these curtains), well... their capabilities in that aspect are up for debate. While they definitely do keep the room darker than the vertical blinds they replaced, "black out" is not how I would describe what they do. Maybe more of a "green out"? The curtains came with some pretty extensive literature boasting their temperature-controlling, sound-canceling, black-outing quality, and I'm hard pressed to say they do any of these things. I understand that no curtains can "completely block out 100% of the light," but these curtains don't even seem to block out the 99% they claim to be capable of blocking out. The picture in the brochure compares the black out curtains to regular curtains, showing how much light streams through the fabric of the regular curtains whereas it can't even penetrate the twill fabric of the black out curtains. Um, yeah. There's PLENTY of light coming through the fabric of these curtains - it's definitely not just from the small gaps above and below the curtains. I WILL admit that the room is definitely pitch black at night (black enough to strike horror in Roger's heart when he's old enough to be afraid of the dark. I see night lights in our future), but as soon as that sun starts peaking over the horizon... well, maybe we shouldn't have made the east-facing room the nursery.


SO 9 days till D-day and counting. Perhaps we can try to entice him out now that we've finished his room? Probably not. For not even being his own entity yet, I can already tell he's going to share a lot of his dad's traits :)

Hurry Up and Wait

Nine months is a really long time. It seems like I should know what it feels like to wait after Matt's deployment to Afghanistan (he was gone for 15 months), but that was over four years ago and apparently I've since forgotten how much waiting sucks. During all my whining and complaining about how LONG I've been pregnant (which started a while ago, but picked up momentum when I reached full term at 37 weeks), I keep trying to remind myself that a couple weeks is really not that long, but it amazes me how relative time is - when you notice the passing of time, it feels like time passes slower.

The longest pregnancy recorded (that ended in a live birth) was 375 days back in 1945, so it would appear I have no room to complain over my measly 280 or so days. I really couldn't imagine being pregnant for 3 additional months. I keep telling Roger he seriously needs to consider making his debut pretty quickly here. Matt tells me jokingly that I've been "selfishly hogging our son" but I've assured him on multiple occasions that were there any way for me to SHARE the pregnancy with him, I would gladly pass that torch.

In Googling for the longest pregnancy ever, I stumbled across some other interesting pregnancy facts; like, for example, at any given time about 4% of women in the United States are pregnant. Pregnant women blend in well. Until my husband and I started trying to conceive (and subsequently I became pregnant), I never realized just how many pregnant women there are out there walking (or in some cases waddling) around. Now I notice them EVERYWHERE (and not just at my OBGYNs office which would obviously be a given...): baseball games, the grocery store, the mall (though admittedly I am mostly around the Motherhood Maternity store when I go to the mall these days). I'm sure there's a great deal of psychology involved in the "blind eye" we turn on things that are wholly unimportant to us - in fact, I'm almost positive I remember watching a grainy video on the very subject in my Psych 101 class - but I don't remember the small details behind those workings of the human brain.

These days the average size of a full term baby is 8 pounds (30 years ago it was 6 pounds). I suspect it's due to the discovery of alcohol and cigarettes being bad for you during pregnancy. Or we're just breeding a super race of large people. The BIGGEST baby every born was 23 pounds. My 8 month old niece is about 23 pounds right now. The thought of giving birth to a baby that size... ouch. The largest baby ever born that actually survived after its birth was 19.2 pounds which is absolutely unbelievable. That was just last year in Indonesia. The baby was delivered by C-section, but it's still absolutely amazing to me. How does a baby GET that big in 9 months?? I'm concerned because I think Roger's going to be closer to the 9 pound mark. Add another 10 pounds to that and then I'd probably have more reason to cringe over the miracle of childbirth.

All the random facts on pregnancy can be found here. The most important one amongst all my whining and complaining is the one which states that only 10% of babies are born on their exact due date (mine being August 18). Based on these statistics, it sounds like a 2 week margin of error is king; I wish they'd say in which direction... even I could accurately predict that my baby will be born sometime between now and the beginning of September :D I do, however, have reason to believe that that two week margin for me might be closer to 38 weeks than 42. I think my bloody show made it's appearance yesterday. What? You THINK? Don't you KNOW? Well, I know that I'm spotting - that much is obvious to me - but whether it's because we're about to get this "show" on the road (har har - I couldn't resist the pun) or due to my exam yesterday is tough to say. What I do know: cramping started yesterday, along with some nausea (both of which seem to be mostly gone today though). Doc puts me at nearly 2 cm dilation, and when I left the office yesterday she said, "See you next week... or maybe sooner..." (though she probably says that to ALL her patients who've passed the full term mark and started dilating).

There is, however, no denying that I'm spotting and that it's right in line with the description of what a bloody show should be. I've obviously told my husband (who came home yesterday to me packing a bag and doing laundry. It was our 4 year wedding anniversary and I thought it might be funny to tell him I'm leaving, but he doesn't always share my sense of humor and with my big ol' basketball of a belly protruding about a foot and a half in front of me there are only so many reasons I would be packing). Apart from telling Matt, it's tough not to go shouting it from the rooftops. I want to shoot off emails to family letting them know I have reason to believe that labor could start any day now. I want to call my mom and Matt's mom to put them on the alert. I want to hang a sign from our front yard announcing that I got my bloody show (though that might be a bit TMI for our neighbors). The point is, I want SO bad for it to be the "real thing." I'm so ready for my squirmy little consolation prize that comes at the end of pregnancy that I'm vehemently praying that blood vessels in my cervix are rupturing (not every day you hear that sentence...). I'm trying to be realistic though. Since I DID just have an exam yesterday (which HURT - how freaking far up there IS my cervix??) it seems possible and likely that it could be the cause of my little bit of bleeding. So I continue to wait for the more obvious tell tale signs. Like contractions. Then I'll go shouting from the rooftops. After 37 weeks pregnancy truly becomes a game of hurry up and wait.

Ah, Pregnancy.

I have spent a great deal of my pregnancy complaining... about my pregnancy. Of course, it hasn't ALL been bad, and I suppose (in retrospect) some of it has even been humorous. With only a few weeks left till Baby Roger finally becomes his own entity, I decided I'd write a post to reflect on the good, the bad, and the ugly of my pregnancy. I'm told once the baby's born, I'll experience a bout of pregnesia in which I'll completely forget all the reasons I did not like being pregnant, and while that sounds promising, admittedly, I haven't hated everything about pregnancy.


The First Trimester. Of the three, I have to say the first trimester was the worst (excluding the first 6 weeks or so since I didn't know I was pregnant for the first 4 weeks and the following 2 weeks were just generally full of excitement). There's something so nerve-wracking about the first trimester, and not just because you're bombarded with the thought that you're going to have a baby (in fact, I'd have to say the reality of what the END of the pregnancy would bring was difficult to grasp at that time). Pregnancy is such a fragile thing in the first trimester. Spotting and cramping in the 8th week or so had us scared that perhaps getting pregnant hadn't been that easy. As it turns out there are a LOT of scary moments in the first trimester that are entirely normal and our "little dude" fared just fine.

My One and Only Craving. Greasy biscuits and gravy from a nearby casino coffee shop were all I wanted to eat for the first few weeks before I plateaued into a nearly permanent state of nausea and decided I didn't want to eat anything but crackers and Ginger Ale. I tried really hard to make an effort to maintain normalcy, but it wasn't easy. The exhaustion that accompanied the first trimester was surreal. What to Expect When You're Expecting explains that the exhaustion is due to the fact that your body is working over time to create a life. Creating a life really takes the life out of you. I averaged about 12 - 13 hours of sleep a day.


The Second Trimester. The arrival of the second trimester was an absolute God send. I quite literally woke up that morning and felt, well, human again. Adios exhaustion and nausea! My little bump started to become more prominent (the above photo was taken around 20 weeks). Finding out we were having a boy was exciting; I spent a minimal amount of time watching the screen during the ultrasound (since I couldn't see it), but watching the drop-jawed astonishment on my husband's face was just as good.

Gas. One of the "ugly" aspects of my pregnancy. In the words of my pregnancy bible (What to Expect When You're Expecting), "Nobody does gas like a pregnant woman." I think that's putting it lightly. Gas was one of those I-wish-someone-had-warned-me side effects of pregnancy, but of course, what could prior knowledge have done to make it any better or less embarrassing? It was the worst during the second trimester and even, on occasion, had the power to send my husband to the couch at night.

Maternity Clothes. I hung onto my regular wardrobe for as long as I possibly could. For the first 19 weeks of my pregnancy I managed to pull off my regular jeans with the help of a shoelace and the Be-Band, but once I started locking myself in my closet to get dressed (so my husband couldn't see the dancing, squirming, and general awkwardness of movements it required to get into my pre-pregnancy jeans), I finally accepted that it was time to bid adieu to my beloved jeans. The shoelace digging into my skin made me feel fat, not pregnant, and the Be-Band does NOT "hold up" pants as it claims to do. The first pair of maternity pants I tried on in the dressing room at Motherhood Maternity was like heaven. I couldn't help but utter an "Oh, thank GOD" which I'm sure probably elicited a few strange glances from the sales lady on the other side of the dressing room door. My SHIRTS, however, I've been able to hang onto for a little while longer. Even now, approaching 38 weeks of pregnancy, I have a couple "regular" shirts that still fit thanks to their general cut and design.

Starting the Nursery. Eliminating an entire room of our house turned out to be a task of epic proportions. The room that became the nursery was, once upon a time, our office otherwise referred to as our "clutter room" because it was exactly that - all the clutter from the rest of the house always managed to find its way into this room. Finding a way to relocate an entire room full of clutter is not an easy task, but we somehow managed to pull it off. Assembling the nursery furniture made the reality of the baby that much more REAL. Perhaps one day when he's older (like in his 20s...) we'll tell Roger the story of how we raised chicks in brooder in his room 4 months before he was born (subsequently, the carpets in his room are really clean now). I have to admit that no longer having a "clutter room" makes our house feel more like a home; it's like having a huge weight lifted off my shoulders not having that dirty little secret lurking behind a closed door.

Flying Pregnant. Here's the cool thing about flying pregnant (assuming you're flying Southwest with its open seating policy): if you're on a pretty full flight, no one wants to sit next to the pregnant woman. At the beginning of June just before (or was it just after?) the onset of the third trimester we flew out to Wisconsin for my niece's baptism. I, of course, had to sit in an aisle seat in order to make frequent bathroom trips easier. As the plane started filling up, Matt whispered to me, "Stick your stomach out. Make yourself look more pregnant." Sure enough, on a nearly full flight we were able to claim a row to ourselves. Apparently being pregnant gives you a built in repellent in crowded situations - I could almost see the wheels turning in peoples' heads as they passed us: Well, that open seat is a window seat, but that lady looks pretty pregnant. If I sit there and she goes into labor am I obligated to help?


The Third Trimester. When I first found out I was pregnant, I remember standing in front of the mirror trying to predict how big I would get. I explained to Matt about how all women carry differently and even showed him the illustrated picture in (yep, you guessed it) What to Expect When You're Expecting. I am, without a doubt, about 20 times bigger than I predicted. I thought because I was small to begin with that I wouldn't get that big. Ha. As it turns out, the size you are before pregnancy is not a good indicator of how big you'll be when you're in the third trimester. I quite literally BLEW UP over night. I smile amiably when people exclaim about how big I am, but honestly, I can't say that it thrills me to hear multiple people exclaim on multiple occasions, "Oh, my God you're HUGE" or "I can't believe how BIG you are." I feel like I should be joining the Ringling Brothers. The clerk at 7-11 seems unconvinced that I'm not having twins. Every time I go into the store and she's the one working, she shakes her head in disbelief at me and informs me that I'm that much bigger than the last time she saw me.


Bladder, Pelvis, Rib Cage and Lungs. These are the four things that will most appreciate it when they no longer have to share a space with my evidently very large baby. The feeling of Roger's head grinding into my bladder is awful, an almost tingly feeling that sends me to the bathroom about 800 billion times a day (only 3 or 4 of which I actually have to pee). My rib cage and lungs have been properly abused by the little man's flailing feet, and my pelvis... Oh, my poor, poor pelvis. Only someone who's had the weight of a baby resting on their pelvis can fully appreciate what a strange sensation it is to have a sore pelvis. I don't have the words to describe it.

Peeing in a Cup. Peeing in a cup is a frequent thing when you're pregnant. I guess you could say the "peeing with a purpose" starts when you first pee on that pregnancy test stick. The bigger I get, the harder it gets to pee in that damn cup and in a sick twist of irony, the bigger I get, the MORE I have to pee in a cup (due to more frequent trips to the doctor). I'll spare you the gory details...

The Childbirth Class. Makes you go from "We're having a baby!" to "OH MY GOD WE'RE HAVING A BABY!" Reality hits. We had fun in our childbirth class though and learned a LOT. As it turns out, giving birth is not at all like how it's portrayed in the movies. Who knew?

Maternity Clothes Revisited. I bought the cutest maternity capri pants from Burlington Coat Factory back in the second trimester. The other day I watched in horror as buttons were literally popping off of them. Thanks to my size, yoga pants are officially the only thing that currently fit. Thank God for yoga pants.

The Amazing Mobile Stomach. When Roger rotates around and sticks his little butt out, one side of my stomach is larger than the other. Watching my stomach move and change shape is interesting, to say the least. When he gets really active, I always wonder if people notice. Maybe they're waiting for a little alien to jump out and start singing "Hello My Baby" a la Spaceballs.

Summer Pregnancy. At first I was disheartened at the idea of being pregnant during the summer. In the desert, no less. Toting around a large belly in 100+ degree weather? No thanks. As it turns out, summer is a great month to be in the third trimester. Sure, shaving my legs is a little challenging, but easily enough accomplished by sitting on the edge of the tub. Painting my toenails is out of the question, but gives me a great excuse to get a pedi (as if a girl needs an excuse...). And oh, I could write an ode to flip flops. Seriously, I feel bad for girls who are pregnant in the winter and have to tie their shoes. Of all the things I've tried to accomplish with my appendages below my waist (putting lotion on my upper thighs is harder than I would have thought), tying shoes has definitely been one of the hardest. I guess the winter mommies always have Uggs, but nothing is as easy and convenient as the flip flop. Also, on a side note, I have to say that the whole not being able to see my feet thing isn't as annoying as others have lead me to believe - I never spent much time staring at my feet before I was pregnant, and it hasn't at all effected my ability to walk or avoid running into things.

And finally...

My Built in Shelf. One of my favorite things to do is sit back in the recliner with a good book and small bowl of Jelly Beans resting on the top of my belly. There is no denying that a pregnant belly makes for an excellent table; I've even been so daring as to put a glass of milk on it, but sometimes Roger starts kicking and then things tend to go a muck. Regardless, I have to say that of all the ups of pregnancy, one of the things I'll miss the most is the convenience of having my food right in front of my face.

Surprise! Ultrasound!

Yesterday I had my 37 week check up with my obstetrician. Hooray for now being full term! As far as I knew I was just getting the usual check up (weigh in, pee in a cup, check my blood pressure, listen to the little one's heart beat, ask any questions, see you next week) with the new addition of checking my cervix for dilation. I was, therefore, extremely surprised when the nurse who called my name lead me back to the ultrasound room - I haven't been there since I was about 10 weeks pregnant and our darling was nothing more than a teeny tiny squirmy thing that bore no resemblance whatsoever to anything human (the second ultrasound was done by the hospital). After making note of my blood pressure in my file, the nurse asked me, "Did the doctor mention why you were having an ultrasound?" I could see the neon pink post-it affixed to my folder with the word "ultrasound" scrawled on it, but "No," I told her. "I didn't even know I was having an ultrasound."

The doctor took long enough to come to my room to give me plenty of time to work myself into a good worry. Why was I having an ultrasound? If the doctor had felt something was wrong last week she would have mentioned it last week, right? She had mentioned that he was BIG, so maybe that had something to do with it... maybe she just wanted to be sure I didn't have a small giant preparing to destroy my uterus. I didn't know and though I wanted to be excited that I was going to get to see my baby (whom I haven't seen for about 18 weeks), there's something nerve-wracking about an unscheduled ultrasound.

When the doctor finally entered the room, her first question was, "So do you remember why I said you needed an ultrasound today? Was I worried he might be breech? Too big?" "Well, you did say he was big, but we never talked about an ultrasound," was my reply. Huh. We're both baffled. She palpates my stomach and confirms that Roger is in the head-down position. Not breech. All I can think of is that it must have been a clerical error, another patient who had an appointment around the same time as myself, a post-it note that ended up on my folder instead of hers. Whatever the situation, now that I know nothing is egregiously wrong, I really want the ultrasound even though it's obviously not meant for me. I always knew that (pending a healthy pregnancy) I would only be getting two ultrasounds, so no need to get my hopes up for an unscheduled third. Then she says, "Well, since we're already in here and all set up, let's do it just for fun. We won't charge you for it." Score! I was beyond thrilled.

So that is how it came to be that I got an ultrasound yesterday (and confirmed that Roger is, in fact, still a boy, which is fantastic since his nursery is totally unsuitable for a girl). Obviously the first ultrasound wasn't much to ooh and aah over since he looked more like a baby chicken than a baby at that point, and our evidently very bored ultrasound tech who did the second ultrasound sent us home with a picture of a foot and another picture which had us questioning whether I had, by chance, been inseminated by a creature from another planet, so I was really excited at not only the opportunity to HAVE a third ultrasound, but that the pictures actually turned out really well. His little face filled up the whole screen (as he's obviously grown a lot in the last 18 weeks since my last sonogram), but short of a 4D ultrasound, I'm elated at how well you can see his face.

He has his daddy's hairline:


I have started to dilate just a most negligible amount - not even at a centimeter yet - so the doctor predicts it'll probably be another couple weeks before I go into labor. I'm off to the hospital today to finish up my pre-registration and just in general ready to get through the next few weeks...

Life's Transitions

I remember when Matt and I first got married how exciting it was to call him my husband and to be referred to as his wife. In life we go through these transitions and take on different titles as we go along; at the time, gaining the title of someone's wife seemed like an enormous thing to me. Now, as D-Day (sometimes rapidly and sometimes slowly) approaches, we're preparing ourselves for our newest titles of "Mom" and "Dad." Granted, we've always called ourselves the "mother" and "father" of our pets, but regardless of this (and despite some crazy vivid dreams that would have me believe otherwise), I am not giving birth to a litter of puppies and I've never literally been my dog's "mom."

I've never been very good with kids - not that I don't try, but they just seem in general to not like me or to otherwise be entirely indifferent toward me. I guess mostly it stems from a complete lack of experience. I try to recall memories of my teenage days when I used to babysit, I try to remind myself that once-upon-a-time I did know how to change a diaper on an actual squirming infant rather than just on a creepy blank-eyed plastic baby supplied by the Infant Care class, but it all seems impossibly distant because I never really absorbed what I was doing as important - I guess at 14 - 15 years old it's difficult to register the importance of retaining diaper changing as a life skill, and understandably so since the role of "Mom" is a far-fetched one for the vast majority of 14-year olds. Can it really have been 13 years since I changed a diaper on a living being?? Yikes.

Matt, on the other hand, seems to have a natural knack for it. He always manages to say the right things or supply the proper entertainment while I'm left at a complete loss. In our old neighborhood, the kids used to just stop by to say hello him. I'm convinced I didn't even properly hand out Halloween candy (if there's a way to incorrectly give candy to children on Halloween, I can do it). So what am I supposed to do when the kid is MINE? Perhaps it's reasons such as these that nature made most humans incapable of remembering anything of importance prior to 3 years old. Especially first children. I imagine it's for the best that they don't remember their parents struggling to master the roll of being "parents," and I've always heard that one can never fully appreciate all that their parents did for them until they themselves are in the same shoes.

All this, of course, does not mean I'm not excited. Quite the contrary. As the due date gets closer, it's become easier to picture myself with a little baby in my arms. Since I'm adopted, the idea that I'll finally have and know someone who shares my DNA makes the prospect that much more exhilarating, but nothing - nothing - can shake the fear of the unknown. I haven't spent as much time fretting over the labor and delivery part of having a baby as I have over the part where I actually HAVE A BABY. The instructor at our childbirth class asked each woman individually what their biggest fear was currently and while everyone else said the pain of labor and delivery, I immediately jumped that minor thing and headed straight into "parenthood." Because honestly, what a small part labor and delivery plays compared to the irreparable damage that can be done by bad parenting. Last I checked they don't offer an epidural for THAT.

Ultimately I'm sure it will all turn out okay - most things usually do, and I'm told that good people generally don't make for bad parents. However, I wish I felt more ready than I do. I wish I knew what to really expect. I keep getting the feeling that everything I've read in all these books and magazines I've stocked up on is just going to go out the window once the baby's actually here. It'd be nice if after delivering the baby and the placenta there came a little booklet with exact instructions on how to care for THAT particular baby, but I guess where's the fun in that?

Unsolicited Advice

Unsolicited advice is one of the many inclusive elements of pregnancy (or I should say apparent pregnancy since I was mostly left alone during my "inbetween" phase - Is she pregnant or does she just have a belly?). For the most part, I honestly don't mind it; I thank my lucky stars no stranger has yet been bold enough to approach me and start rubbing my belly. Admittedly it WAS a bit much when our waitress at a Mexican restaurant took it upon herself to spend a half hour telling me how unnecessary an epidural is (with no prior knowledge of what my stance on the topic was), but I recognize everyone's entitled to their own opinion and though I probably won't take it to heart (unless it strikes me as really good advice), I have no problem engaging in polite listening.

The exception to the rule is people who approach me and are actually oozing disdain for their children (seriously. Oozing). Nothing rubs me the wrong way more than a sneering stranger approaching me in a grocery store or some similar outlet telling me to "enjoy it while I can" (I haven't found all that much "enjoyment" in pregnancy, but from what I've been told, it's nothing compared to actually having the kid running around wreaking havoc). People like the aforementioned are definitely the minority, but having no previous knowledge of ME and apparently absolutely hating their children makes me wish they had just kept their mouths shut. My husband and I didn't start this journey off thinking that raising a child would be a cinch, and I could certainly do without having those who evidently regret having children treat me like I've made an enormous mistake.

It's incredibly difficult for me to smile politely at the person who's cornered me and is bombarding me with the woes of their much abhorred children. Some time ago, a couple with three very out of control children stopped me while I was registering for my baby shower to inform me that registering for all that stuff was the only enjoyable part of having kids for them. They then sarcastically insisted that I "have fun." Our microwave kicked the bucket last night, so I ventured out to purchase a new one today and a woman with a couple kids and an armful of baby gave me the standard facetious: "Enjoy it while you can." Of course these are just examples of numerous similar incidents (coincidentally, both of these took place at the same Target...), but I simply don't understand why someone would assume that I want their "warnings" of how horrible it is to be a parent. Though I like to pretend that my little boy will be a perfectly behaved cherub, I realize there will be those hair-yanking moments. I wonder at the couple who approached me while I was registering, at why they went on to have two more children if registering for the baby shower was literally the only enjoyable moment of it all; I wonder at the woman with her entourage of kids and her smart remark in the store today. Come to think of it, in all the incidents that come to mind, not a single person had only one child with them - they all had three or more they were impatiently toting along.

These people do irritate me. They make a tremendous amount of assumptions in approaching me and pointing their shaking finger of doom in my direction. The majority of unsolicited advice seems to be in agreement that no, it's not easy, but it's definitely worth it, and this consensus makes sense. I'd be amiss if I ever said I thought it would be "easy," but the parents who are so beaten down as to leer at my pregnant belly as though I'm carrying the anti-Christ are extremely disheartening. What in the world would make them think that I want to hear how much they hate parenthood and moreover, what gives them the right to assume that subsequently, I will end up hating parenthood just as much? I've started to simply walk away - to pretend I didn't hear them or that I didn't know their comments were directed at me. I'm so close to the end of the road, to discovering all these things for myself.

Honestly, I am not prepared. At all. What new mother can truly ever say she is? I have my subscription to "FitPregnancy" (their "new mom guide" in this month's issue says not to use diaper wipes on newborns... well, what the heck am I supposed to use?!?). I've poured over every word of What to Expect When You're Expecting and What to Expect The First Years. I've taken an Infant Care Class and a Breastfeeding Class (and obviously the Childbirth Class) offered by the hospital where I'll be delivering. All these steps have undoubtedly armed me with knowledge I did not previously possess, but none of it makes me feel more prepared. The unknown does terrify me and the child-hating parents of the world are not making it any easier by offering up their condemnation. One of these days in the very near future, the hospital's going to send my husband and I home with our little bundle of joy and the rest is up to us... The thought of that is nothing short of horrifying, but we learn as we go. I know we'll do the best we can and things will shape themselves as we go.

Well, ALMOST New Mom

I don't quite fall into the category of "new mom" just yet, though I did get my first Mother's Day card this year (along with a Sephora gift card - awesome!). I guess you could say that I'm well on my way. Today marks 36 weeks and 1 day of my pregnancy. Our first child (a boy to be named Roger after my husband's father) is due to arrive in, oh, 4 weeks or so. Specifically August 18, BUT I'm told that first children rarely arrive on time (regardless, I've still chosen August 18 as the arrival date in the pool we've started... I just can't shake the feeling that our little man is going to be right on time).

So I got this urge to become one of the millions of Mom Bloggers. I have this romanticized image of me in my rocking chair nursing my new baby boy as I blog away on my Droid, but alas, I can't admit to being entirely delusional (which is why I say "romanticized image"). I imagine the real image will be a lot more like chaos and a minimal amount of blog posting, but we'll see. It's at least worth a shot.

Pregnancy has not been all that fun for me. It happened like rapid fire. After 7 years on the pill I was quite convinced that conception would take some time - at least that was my understanding. I stopped taking the pill in October and on December 12 two EPTs happily displayed the word "Pregnant" on their itty bitty screens. I didn't really think it would happen like that... I was diligently reading up on monitoring my BMT, thinking for some reason that this was going to take some time, that I'd probably done a number on my ovaries with all those years of hormones. Then BAM. "Pregnant" says the EPT. Yep, "Pregnant" confirms the second one. Of course we were thrilled - this was a planned pregnancy. You just don't expect to go from sitting on the patio with your husband saying, "Let's do it! Let's have a baby" to being pregnant - snap of the fingers - just like that. Well, you roll with the punches.

The first six weeks of pregnancy were great. Hey! You don't even feel like you're pregnant. Then came the exhaustion and the "morning" sickness and subsequently a very messy house as I perfected my body dent in the couch. I would not, could not, did not want to get up and do anything (except make the occasional fast paced trip to my good friend the toilet). Ginger Ale was my savior, but now I could go the rest of my life without taking another sip of the stuff and be perfectly content. Now, 30 weeks later, I look like I have cantaloupes shoved in my bra and a basketball up my shirt and the best word to describe my current state is: "uncomfortable." Very, very, very uncomfortable. My husband thinks it's funny when I sit on the floor to do stretches and then can't get back up. I, however, am not likewise amused.

Yesterday kicked off my weekly trips to the obstetrician. After the birth class we took, I was feeling pretty confident about my abilities as a woman to labor and deliver a baby (as in, "Yeah, I can do this without an epidural!"), but it's somewhat disheartening when your OB states as she's manipulating your ENORMOUS belly, "Wow! You're growing a BIG BOY in there." My husband was something like 9 and a half pounds when he was born. My doctor estimates our little one to already be almost 7 pounds. I have about 4 weeks left of pregnancy! How much bigger can he GET?? I guess it explains my tremendous size (the clerk at 7-11 is not entirely convinced I'm not having twins), and it accounts for 7 of the (ugh, I hate to admit this) 44 pounds I've gained. But seriously, am I going to be delivering a gigantic baby? On second thought, how about we keep that anesthesiologist close by...

I am really excited though (well, "excited" is one of many emotions I'm feeling. "Terrified" would be another one). The nursery is really starting to come together. I still have to wash the sheets I put on the crib just for show and a few outfits so the little dude has something to come home in (something tells me he's going to completely bypass all those newborn sizes we got). Apparently the crib bumper has to go to; I'm a little disappointed since it's so cute with all it's little footballs and baseballs, BUT the birth class instructor insists they don't need it when they can't even roll and one of my many resources (books, magazines, etc) says that anything in the crib - bumpers included - can increase the risk of SIDS. We got the nursery curtains yesterday which I was overly thrilled about (that is, until I opened them and saw that the picture in the catalog didn't exactly do a great job of portraying the color... they are LIME GREEN, as in, one step below neon green). They're blackout curtains which was a necessity since the window in the room we picked for the nursery faces east and the sun tends to rise from that general direction. I'm eager to see how well they "black out" the light since they are a) not actually black; and b) come with a little booklet explaining that no curtain can block out light 100% but these curtains block out 99% of light. That sounds like a cop out to me.

Today's plans include washing my car. I plan on installing the baby seat in it this weekend (and feel I need to wash my car for this...). Yeah, I truly do plan on driving around for 4 weeks (give or take) with an empty infant seat in my car. I figure it's never too early to start getting the dog adjusted to sharing the back seat, though admittedly it's no indicator of how she'll do when there is actually a little being in that seat. Let the countdown to new motherhood begin!