For the past couple of months, I've had numerous women tell me how much they enjoyed being pregnant. Now, I have no doubts that these ladies had certain things about their pregnancies that they particularly relished, which helps to give that whole time period a particularly rosy glow in retrospect, but when it comes down to these last few weeks - with all the loveliness that goes with it... it's not exactly a picnic - this coming from a regular Pollyanna. The first 7 months I'd felt like I'd been rather lucky - no morning sickness, no real moodiness, no swelling... I was still bummed because I couldn't have the occasional margarita, glass of wine, or sushi, but I'd placate myself by feeling my little one move - trying to imagine how he looks, what his personality will be like, etc.
Even with more distinct movement and the relative coolness of the prenatal heart listener we picked up, the past couple of weeks have brought with them more aches, swollen joints, and fatigue. Goodness, I've even seemed to have developed this strange rash on the tops of my feet, which looks more like a multitude of small bug bites - not particularly noticeable to anyone else unless they look closely, but a bit distressing none the less as I've given up wearing 'normal' people shoes - just flip-flops or other 'breezy' shoes as these size 11s don't care to be confined thank you very much. This penchant has actually made me more aware of my tendency to be a bit clumsy - having almost fallen UP the stairs on various occasions. But at any rate, as I've told my husband, it's ceased to be a completely fun experience.
Ah, but that silver lining I alluded to before...
Thursday night was a prime example of some of those things that I particularly relish which will no doubt help me to look back on this pre-baby time with utter fondness... I'd laid down to sleep relatively early, when Brad came bounding in book in hand. The evening's activities began with a rousing bout of what I fondly refer to as "Kick the Daddy", where Brad essentially baits Coop into kicking/punching in a particular area of my tummy by softly pressing down. Coop gives him a good karate move (I can just imagine him letting out a big 'hi-ya' as he does so) and then Brad will change the target's location once more (if only by a couple of centimeters). Believe me, if Coop were so inclined, this would provide us with hours of entertainment.
Well after a good 15-20 minutes, it was time for a 'bedtime' story - using this loosely as Coop sort of sets his own hours at this point (luckily his late night movements don't keep me from getting some shut eye as I've heard the stories). Brad proceeded to read "Green Eggs and Ham" - complete with this weird Nixon-ish voice for Sam I Am's stubborn friend. Coop apparently found his daddy's reading of this classic Seuss book quite moving as he kept giving him a high five. I should note that he's normally quite calm during story time, but there was one previous occasion where he was also stirred into action - during "If I Ran The Zoo"... my interpretation of his actions either indicate that he thinks he could do an even better job running the zoo or his growing frustration with the nonsensical creatures that would be found in the new zoo. Regardless of my particular 'interpretation' of what was going on, it warms my heart even now to think on it - especially the sweet "we love you"'s and little belly kisses for the wee one who's been in confinement for almost 9 months.
Maybe to some out there it sounds cliche for people to say that having a child is like having your heart walking around outside your body, but if these little moments are any indication, boy oh boy... I'm in trouble - deep.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Big girls don't cry
Prior to this February, I'd been seeing the same OB/GYN since my senior year at Ole Miss. He was a sociable sort of chap, who was able to put me at ease. But he was 60+ miles away from our home, so when the 'peapod' went from a daydream to a reality... I knew it was time to find a doc closer to home.
Lucky for me, I had a very strong recommendation from one of my dearest friends, and he was accepting new patients. Overall, I have been extremely pleased with the care I've received from him and I enjoy his manner - very frank and knowledgeable, but there is one rather funny thing that he's said to me on various occasions and I just think it's absolutely hilarious.
When I was growing up, I was quite tall for my age and until puberty, I was quite thin. About age 11, I began to fill out and have since become a bit curvy. Even when I was working out most days of the week and fairly thin, I was still on the upper end of healthy range on the BMI scale (which I feel demonstrates what a farce it is) and could only get down to a size 10 (8 in the occasional pieces). I'd pretty much given up on the idea that I'd be good with checking my weight everyday, so I went more by what I saw in the mirror, but last year, the numbers began to creep up and up despite the fact that my clothes fit me pretty much exactly the same as they'd done several pounds before... so after a false baby alert toward the end of last year, I decided that 2009 would be the year that I'd get my self in gear and run like a madwoman... Of course about a month into it... I noticed no changes... and then... taa daa... I had a baby on the way. I had the best of intentions to have an exercise routine, but I tell you - it's just a pain in the butt to get up an extra hour early and I pretty much have no time in the evenings as we eat about the time I get home... watch TV for an hour or two and then go to bed... I've done my best to eat healthy foods and keep up the pace when I've walked from place to place.... And you know, I've been really pleased with my progress and gains... I suppose my doc has been good with them as well... after all, all my tests have come back really well and the typical measurements have been good.... but...
Whenever I've had a little bit of a spike in the numbers on the scale, he has always said - "well you can handle it... you're a big girl... a tall girl..." I suppose at one point in my life, that would have hurt my feelings, but now, it's just sort of one of those things that I guess is so obvious that people don't normally think to say it aloud.
Of course, I could go into this fascination I've discovered with older mothers making all sort of strange comments on my weight gain and the size of my belly.... which I've decided isn't a malicious thing, but it IS odd, but perhaps I'll say that one for another day...
Lucky for me, I had a very strong recommendation from one of my dearest friends, and he was accepting new patients. Overall, I have been extremely pleased with the care I've received from him and I enjoy his manner - very frank and knowledgeable, but there is one rather funny thing that he's said to me on various occasions and I just think it's absolutely hilarious.
When I was growing up, I was quite tall for my age and until puberty, I was quite thin. About age 11, I began to fill out and have since become a bit curvy. Even when I was working out most days of the week and fairly thin, I was still on the upper end of healthy range on the BMI scale (which I feel demonstrates what a farce it is) and could only get down to a size 10 (8 in the occasional pieces). I'd pretty much given up on the idea that I'd be good with checking my weight everyday, so I went more by what I saw in the mirror, but last year, the numbers began to creep up and up despite the fact that my clothes fit me pretty much exactly the same as they'd done several pounds before... so after a false baby alert toward the end of last year, I decided that 2009 would be the year that I'd get my self in gear and run like a madwoman... Of course about a month into it... I noticed no changes... and then... taa daa... I had a baby on the way. I had the best of intentions to have an exercise routine, but I tell you - it's just a pain in the butt to get up an extra hour early and I pretty much have no time in the evenings as we eat about the time I get home... watch TV for an hour or two and then go to bed... I've done my best to eat healthy foods and keep up the pace when I've walked from place to place.... And you know, I've been really pleased with my progress and gains... I suppose my doc has been good with them as well... after all, all my tests have come back really well and the typical measurements have been good.... but...
Whenever I've had a little bit of a spike in the numbers on the scale, he has always said - "well you can handle it... you're a big girl... a tall girl..." I suppose at one point in my life, that would have hurt my feelings, but now, it's just sort of one of those things that I guess is so obvious that people don't normally think to say it aloud.
Of course, I could go into this fascination I've discovered with older mothers making all sort of strange comments on my weight gain and the size of my belly.... which I've decided isn't a malicious thing, but it IS odd, but perhaps I'll say that one for another day...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Missing Fuse...
When I was just a girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, I remember being supremely annoyed when one of the girls that had been a close friend began to tease me by calling me a 'worry wart'. After all, it was completely untrue... or so I thought. Perhaps it wasn't keen insight that prompted the name, but over time, it's just something that I've come to accept about myself. I guess it's natural to want to fight the unpleasant things about yourself that you'd just assume keep hidden, but as time goes by, it seems to be natural to either a) accept it and move on or b) be so blissfully unaware that you really never stop to think about it. My natural inclination is to obsess over whatever it might be until finally, I either give in to the insanity ever lurking 'round the corner or take option a, because I'm rarely able to be blissfully unaware of anything pertinent to my daily life.
Flashback 5 years ago to my wedding day... it was one of those rare occasions where I was able to just be in the moment and soak up the beauty and wonder of the day - no worries, no problems. My hubby was flabbergasted - as I'm sure any one else who'd spent more than a few minutes with me would have been. I've generally been a happy person, but that day, I felt truly euphoric. My stint as a conquering hero that day has been a great source of pride for me ever since....
Well, here I am... 34 weeks pregnant. I've managed to read only a minimum of the thousands of pregnancy books out there as I would certainly worry too much about the things that I managed to remember, as it just seems that women have been having babies since the beginning of time and apparently a good number of those babies have made to adulthood without obsessing over what foods to eat, how much weight to gain, what color the nursery should be for optimal sensory development, etc.
Granted, I have never kept a baby. I have never changed one diaper. My sis-mom was sweet enough to let me hold her wee lad a couple of months back, but I was terrified that I might break him. I think babies are generally very cute and all that jazz, but I have never been the type to oooh and awww over them. Heck, Brad is a lot more inclined to actually look at a baby out in, say, a restaurant or store - I look to him for any pertinent information. I couldn't even begin to explain why. I like to think I have common sense, but there's just so much that is unknown. I'm not worried about it (again weird for me), but sometimes I feel like I should be... of course, it never really goes any further than that. Just a random thought that crosses into my conscious thought from time to time....
So, overall, I've been pretty pleased with myself as far as my general serenity during these past weeks. Everything seems to be going pretty normally, so no cause for alarm.... Well that is until the past couple of weeks...
See I had gotten into the habit of 'going granny' to save some gas and money - generally going 60 in a 70 zone and the speed limit when lower than that. It had reduced the amount of stress I had driving to and from work and made it a fairly pleasant experience to drive the 88 mile round trip each day. I didn't get into my old mode of flying off the handle when someone cut me off or what have you. I was able to breathe and just be in my own little world. That is, until the start of August.
At first, I noticed how mad I'd get when people started driving like maniacs - flying up behind folks, jerking over right in front of them... Then my feet found the lead that I was sure I'd left in my old Mustang... First I was doing 70 again - but once I wound up feeling crowded, the speedometer decided to creep up a little more... I have been getting back into my old aggressive habits - I'm not happy about it, but that's about as far as it goes. Today, it escalated. I had set a goal for myself to stick at 70-72 and keep my cool... until this Impala decided to cut right in front of me as he was in entirely too much of a hurry to notice that I was just inches from hitting his bumper as he did so. I was infuriated. I screamed my head off and began to shake. I could feel how it was effecting my body, so after what seemed like only a moment, I took a deep breathe and tried to sing along with the radio. As I was still upset over the speed of the cars ahead of me in the 'fast' lane, I quickly took my leave of them the first chance I got. I kept trying to completely calm myself down from that time on... but as I got closer to work, all I could feel was the throbbing of my head and some Braxton Hicks contractions... Even still, I've been feeling more contractions than usual, and I can't help but feel guilty.
I've been told that this happens, and in fact, it will probably only get worse as the days wind down... I just pray that God will keep my little man safe and that I can regain my inner peace once more....
Flashback 5 years ago to my wedding day... it was one of those rare occasions where I was able to just be in the moment and soak up the beauty and wonder of the day - no worries, no problems. My hubby was flabbergasted - as I'm sure any one else who'd spent more than a few minutes with me would have been. I've generally been a happy person, but that day, I felt truly euphoric. My stint as a conquering hero that day has been a great source of pride for me ever since....
Well, here I am... 34 weeks pregnant. I've managed to read only a minimum of the thousands of pregnancy books out there as I would certainly worry too much about the things that I managed to remember, as it just seems that women have been having babies since the beginning of time and apparently a good number of those babies have made to adulthood without obsessing over what foods to eat, how much weight to gain, what color the nursery should be for optimal sensory development, etc.
Granted, I have never kept a baby. I have never changed one diaper. My sis-mom was sweet enough to let me hold her wee lad a couple of months back, but I was terrified that I might break him. I think babies are generally very cute and all that jazz, but I have never been the type to oooh and awww over them. Heck, Brad is a lot more inclined to actually look at a baby out in, say, a restaurant or store - I look to him for any pertinent information. I couldn't even begin to explain why. I like to think I have common sense, but there's just so much that is unknown. I'm not worried about it (again weird for me), but sometimes I feel like I should be... of course, it never really goes any further than that. Just a random thought that crosses into my conscious thought from time to time....
So, overall, I've been pretty pleased with myself as far as my general serenity during these past weeks. Everything seems to be going pretty normally, so no cause for alarm.... Well that is until the past couple of weeks...
See I had gotten into the habit of 'going granny' to save some gas and money - generally going 60 in a 70 zone and the speed limit when lower than that. It had reduced the amount of stress I had driving to and from work and made it a fairly pleasant experience to drive the 88 mile round trip each day. I didn't get into my old mode of flying off the handle when someone cut me off or what have you. I was able to breathe and just be in my own little world. That is, until the start of August.
At first, I noticed how mad I'd get when people started driving like maniacs - flying up behind folks, jerking over right in front of them... Then my feet found the lead that I was sure I'd left in my old Mustang... First I was doing 70 again - but once I wound up feeling crowded, the speedometer decided to creep up a little more... I have been getting back into my old aggressive habits - I'm not happy about it, but that's about as far as it goes. Today, it escalated. I had set a goal for myself to stick at 70-72 and keep my cool... until this Impala decided to cut right in front of me as he was in entirely too much of a hurry to notice that I was just inches from hitting his bumper as he did so. I was infuriated. I screamed my head off and began to shake. I could feel how it was effecting my body, so after what seemed like only a moment, I took a deep breathe and tried to sing along with the radio. As I was still upset over the speed of the cars ahead of me in the 'fast' lane, I quickly took my leave of them the first chance I got. I kept trying to completely calm myself down from that time on... but as I got closer to work, all I could feel was the throbbing of my head and some Braxton Hicks contractions... Even still, I've been feeling more contractions than usual, and I can't help but feel guilty.
I've been told that this happens, and in fact, it will probably only get worse as the days wind down... I just pray that God will keep my little man safe and that I can regain my inner peace once more....
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