We don’t often give Adie a pacifier, but when we do, we also insinuate Iowa pride.
The look she’s shooting me with baby daggers relates to my not nursing her on a constant basis. I think today is a cluster feeding day. That means having a very alert and hungry newborn.
Back to the nursies.
As we live less than a block from the nearest public library, it wasn’t hard to make time for Adie’s first trip. Plus, I finally got the hang of the 16-feet-of-fabric Moby wrap.
Other firsts include Saturday’s first cloth diaper, and Sunday’s first Dr. Who episode.
I’m sure there’s some inherent censoring that goes on as I write this, since the whole point of endocannabinoids and all the other sweet, sweet chemicals my body produced were to help make my memories of labor a bit fuzzy (in a good way).
It all started Saturday night (the 15th). Allison had come up from NYC to visit real quick, and we had gone out to dinner ( at the local chinese place, I had cashew chicken) and retired to Wadsgreen HQ. I sat in the rocking chair, and while we talked I felt the occasional uncomfortable pang. I’d previously been attributing any uncomfortable moments to Octavia moving around and sticking her butt out. Turns out those were Braxton-Hicks contractions — she wasn’t doing baby yoga, it was my uterus contracting gently around her.
Knowing that makes the whole thing make much more sense. Around 10:30 or 11, I went to bed. As I was laying in bed, I realized that I was still having little twinges, every once in a while. While laying in bed, glasses off, covers up, I used my iPhone to google “what do contractions feel like”. Turns out, the early ones feel exactly like I had been feeling. Jason came to bed, and I told him that I thought I could be having contractions. He was skeptical (and continued to be skeptical that I was *really* in labor, until we got to the hospital).
Being the awesome geek-dad that he is, he already had an app that let him record contractions. So, I began telling him when contractions started and ended. This is the point where I can say that my sense of time went way off. This was a fabulous thing, all the way through. I had no idea how long the contractions were, or how long I rested in between. Jason became a bit worried when the contractions were just a few minutes apart. They certainly weren’t that bad, most akin to gas pain, with a wave sensation. Increase, increase, INCREASE … decrease, decrease, gone. We called the midwives anyway. They asked if I could talk during the contraction. I certainly could. They said that it was very light contractions, and to drink a bunch of water. (Drinking water can slow or stop contractions.) They advised us to try to get some sleep, indicating that it was likely that we’d having more of this labor business soon.
So, I drank water. I went out to the living room, and announced to Al that I might maybe be in labor, and I’d let her know if there was anything she needed to do about it. She had a bus ticket for Sunday afternoon around 3, and I wasn’t sure if we’d leave for the hospital before then, or what.
I also texted my AMAZING BIRTH DOULA and friend, A’Nova. I told her that I was having minor contractions, and to stay home until I was sure it wasn’t a false alarm. It was the middle of the night, the trains stop running, and I figured she’d need the sleep as well. A bonus to all this was that Allison was around to provide the role of distracting and comforting.
Then we all slept. I woke up around 4, with more labor pains. They were like the ones before. They started getting more intense, to the point where I couldn’t quite concentrate fully when they happened. My brain needed to use some power to perceive and handle the contraction pain. It certainly wasn’t something I couldn’t handle, especially in wave form. I knew the pain, I knew it was coming, I knew it would recede. Totally doable. Jason kept timing contractions, and we both dozed between them. I think there was a lot more time between them.
Around 8 am, we got up. Allison was up too, and she went and got us breakfast. One of the plans Al and I had was to paint my toenails. I don’t usually care about such things, but I got it in my head that having cute toenails would be something that would bring me comfort. Al painted my toenails between contractions. By 9, Jason and I were curled up on the couch, and I was mostly thinking about contractions. Al decided it was best for her to leave. She was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask her to go. My sense of hosting overrode my sense of nesting.
After Al left, Jason and I stayed on the couch, counting contractions. Well, he counted. I still had no sense of time, and was in a very zen place, where my only expectations were to feel the beginning of the next contraction, ride with it like a wave, and then relax. These contractions had been of the can’t-quite-concentrate variety. If we had a movie on, I wouldn’t have been able to follow the plot fully.
The contractions kicked themselves up a notch to what I’ve classified as level 3 (1 being gas pain-like, 2 being hard-to-concentrate). Level 3 was where to be able to handle the contraction, I needed to make a noise. I mostly made a low aaaa sound (as in father, not able), or a mmmmm sound. It worked really well, turning down the intensity of the contraction. I wasn’t talking during those contractions, which is what the midwives had described when we’d called them at midnight.
Besides being curled up on the couch, the other position I took up was on my hands and knees on the shag rug next to the couch, holding my head in Jason’s lap, while holding his hands. I’m not sure if it’s comforting because it’s cliched, or if it works on some primal level, but holding Jason’s hand became a necessity throughout labor.
I think Jason called A’Nova at some point, and told her to meet us at the hospital. Previously, we had talked about her coming over during early labor, specifically to play cribbage between contractions. I didn’t feel the need to be distracted — in fact, I was keenly interested in experiencing the contractions. Plus, I had Allison to paint my nails.
At 10:30, the contractions were of the level-3 variety, about 5 minutes apart (although not consistently), which is when the midwives want you to call them. We hadn’t packed a bag (we assumed 80 would be overdue, if anything), so Jason grabbed a few things, and pulled the car around front. We agreed that if I started having a contraction in the car, he’d try to pull over, so I could contract in peace. We live about 7 minutes from the hospital, and I had one contraction on Sparks Street. It’s a one-way, with little traffic, so there was ample time for Jason to calmly pull over.
Thus ends part one. I’m erring on the side of getting the thing posted, rather than writing this huge, epic blog post that I don’t post for weeks.
I sat down to work this morning, at the swivel desk chair I have at the dining room table. After a while, I looked down at my feet, and realized they were blue.
I was confused, as we just got a new blue rug, and it could very well have been blue ink. Indeed, it was not. My feet weren’t icy cold, but they had a dark blue tinge to them. When I massaged them, they went back to pink.
Jason said he thought he recalled reading something about this, then quietly sat on the couch with his iPhone until he had some more information. (Side note: he could be playing sudoku, or checking work email, so I don’t really think about what he’s doing with his phone out. It’s a nice surprise when he’s looking up something I’ve just wondered aloud about.)
Turns out, my giant midsection weighs heavily on my pelvis and legs when I’m sitting, and restricts blood flow. Since my whole job revolves around sitting, this may present a problem.
I’m going to make myself get up and walk around more, which should help. I can also prop my feet up while I’m working.
Finally, another late-term symptom! I was starting to feel guilty for not having more uncomfortable symptoms. At this point, I’d also take heartburn and sleeplessness. I’m hoping to dodge the stretch marks, though.
Not much about my body has changed in the past few weeks (of course, my belly has gotten bigger, by a centimeter or two every week, but at this point it’s the opposite of a drop in the bucket). Here’s what I’ve noticed:
*Now that the temperature is reaching summer levels, I’m noticing how warm I am. Some of this happens every year, as spring moves to summer and I have to recalculate what “comfortable” is. After walking home from Harvard Square on Sunday, though, it took me a good 45 minutes to cool down. Usually it takes me about 10.
*My feet are puffy. I’d been noticing that my socks were leaving marks on my legs (indicating that they were affecting fluid), so now that I’m barefoot most of the time, I’m seeing my ankle bones recede and my toes plump up.
That’s it. That’s my list of complaints. I’m pretty sure I’m in some sort of minor percentile of pregnant women who are still sleeping well, without heartburn, baby feet kicking into ribs, surprise peeing, etc.
Maybe I should do this professionally?
TMI (too much information) warning for this post.
The latest development with The Soybean is that she’s now so big, and so active, that when she moves around she hits my cervix. I think of this as “pinging my cervix”*. To ping is a computer term. In Facebook parlance, it’s like “to poke”. It’s sending a message to someone without saying anything.
The term has become part of my daily language. I ping my coworkers via instant messenger to see if they’re available before launching into the question I have. I’ll ping my friend Kelly when I’m ready to meet her for lunch, so she knows to meet me on the corner.
The way the word sounds also fits the feeling I’m having. The baby is just saying “hey, are you still there?”, probably wondering when she can come out and play. As my (very pregnant) friend Mary described herself, I too no longer have a round belly. It’s getting corners.
For those of you who’ve had a Pap smear, it’s similar to when they swab your cervix. It doesn’t last long, but you definitely notice it. PING!
I keep wondering how much assault my cervix can take before it gives up. I have three weeks till my due date, but the way she’s squirming, I think the Soybean is going to throw herself out of me. That, or it’s going to be a very long three weeks.
Then again, I should be grateful that she isn’t pinging my bladder. I hear that generally results in an underwear change.
*I think Kelly actually used this term first. Since she had a 10+ lb. baby, you can imagine all the pinging.
It’s been a while, and because of the pace of visible growth, you’re going to be able to tell. What I find interesting is the change to my posture.
(That’s 7, 14, 18, 22 and 31 weeks.)
I’ve also been taking pictures of what it looks like when I tighten my stomach muscles.
I should have nicknamed the fetus “The Six Pack”.
Thursday marks the rollover date for The Soybean. It’s kind of like an estimated birthday, or reverse-birthday, since the actual birth day hasn’t arrived yet. Conception day sounds too creepy. Conceptión Day sounds better.
Anyway.
Yesterday marked the 28th week of my beknocked uppedness. I was always irritated by people who spoke of their pregnancy (or children’s ages) in terms of weeks, because it meant I had to divide by four to get a number that was meaningful to me. Much like how much a salary is, or how much a house costs, my ability to understand the numbers is something that came with age. 28 weeks = seven months, which would then mean that I have two months to go (8 weeks), but in reality, human gestation is a bit longer than that (40 weeks total), so I actually have 12 weeks to go.*
So what does this mean? The Soybean is over two pounds now, and if she were born now, she’d fare … ok. My plan is to keep her in for another 12 weeks.
What does this mean for me? Month 5.5-6.5 was kind of crappy, body-wise. I really couldn’t sleep in any position other than my sides, and I started getting back aches when standing or sitting for too long. This meant I was uncomfortable no matter where I was. I also was waking up a lot at night, unable to fall asleep. That may be par for some of your courses, but not me. I’m a good sleeper, and I want to get as much of it as I can NOW.
I thought (and even admitted to Jason) that if this is how crappy it is now, there’s no WAY I was going to be comfortable again for the next 3.5 months.
Starting mid-way through month six, I started being able to sleep better, and my back stopped hurting. I recognize that it’s not that much to complain about, since I’m bringing some effing life into the world in exchange.
What I’ve learned is that there’s a fine line between feeling like myself, and feeling like an incubator. When I’m not achey, when I can sleep at night, when I can wear jeans and a hoodie, I feel like myself. (I recently acquired maternity jeans and a maternity hoodie — my standard uniform, expanded.) If I’m uncomfortable, I feel so radically different, it’s surprising. It’s not like when I’m sick, even really sick. Maybe it’s knowing I’m not just outpacing a cold, I’m running the equivalent to a marathon, and it’s nowhere close to over yet.
*I’ll save all irritation at the whole gestation length being off by 2 weeks, because doctors count from your last period, instead of when you actually got pregnant, but whatever. It’s a joyous occasion, and I can’t get my panties in a bunch anyway. They’re stretched too tight.
As an update to my first set of belly photos, here’s the updated set.
(That’s 7, 14, 18 and 22 weeks.)
And, just for fun, the cat for size reference:
Avert your eyes now, if you don’t want to know the sex of The Soybean.
When we had an ultrasound, we were given the choice to know the baby’s sex*. We opted to find out. The ultrasound technician must have figured out a long time ago how to best handle this event, because she told us before she put the wand down on my belly that she’d be doing all the measuring, counting and observing she needed to do for the doctor, then she’d try to check the baby’s sex.
She plunked the wand down, and on the monitor, we saw a baby. Specifically, we saw the crotch of a baby. The Soybean was ass-up, legs splayed. The technician said “Well, usually we wait, but it’s obviously a girl.”
I looked over at Jason, and saw the most amazing thing. I could see his expression change, and I could hear the thought in his head (which was the same thing that was occurring to me), which was to say “I don’t have a baby, I have a daughter“.
It was a brief, subtle moment, but I will never forget it.
*Jason pointed out that we won’t know the baby’s gender until they’re old enough to tell us.