Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Back Blog: Pregnancy/First 2 Months with Allie

June 27, 2007

Naïve as I may be, it’s not as if I didn’t know the general gist of this pregnancy thing:  baby ‘enters’ womb through wondrous act of love, lives there for 9 (really 10) months, and exits via a much less pleasant experience than the one it came in by.  To tell you the truth, the third part of this saga, the actual labor and delivery, didn’t cause me much strife early on.  However, now that I have actually seen this little baby swimming around during ultra-sounds and heard its beautiful baby heartbeat, I’ve come to the undeniable realization that there really is a baby in there, it’s going to keep getting bigger, and it will expect to come out one day.  This thought is truly horrifying because I know of only two ways in which that baby can come out, and I’m not a big fan of either of them.

All my oh-so-helpful pregnancy books mention little to nothing of labor in the beginning sections—they just merrily go on about things like how to deal with morning sickness and constipation and what kind of maternity duds I should consider, as if these will be the most severe of my complications during the next 10 months.  If I hadn’t been such an over-achiever and read straight through to the end of one of these delightful little manuals, I may not have known the true horrors to come until far into my third trimester (perhaps by that time the authors assume you will be so uncomfortable anyway that you are willing to go through anything just to be able to drink more than two sips at a time without having to pee).

I’ve always expected that labor would hurt (a lot).  What I didn’t know was that the unpleasantness persists not only during hours spent in labor and delivery, but days (yes DAYS!) after the baby is born.  I will not go into the gory details here; let’s leave it at the fact that I became nauseous just reading about it.  In fact, I get a bit queasy whenever I think about it (which is actually quite often these days).

So herein lies my predicament:  our baby thinks that in 6 months time it will be joining us in the big wide world, and I am of the school of thought that nothing short of a miracle will convince me that I am up to the task of getting it here.  Then again, I do have six months.  Medical advances are being made every day—brilliant scientists could be working round the clock to come up with a way to deliver a baby without all the discomfort, blood, and general yuckiness that is required at present time.  If they are not working round the clock, they darn well should be!

July 5, 2007
It’s here!!

No, no, not the baby.  That would be bad as it is only about 4 inches long and covered in hair.  Not only would something that small be too easy to misplace, but I imagine you’d be hard pressed to find someone who could peer into a stroller and pretend to find something like that cute.  Thankfully, the baby remains safely inside as it should be. 

What’s here is my baby BELLY!!  (At least I’m pretty sure it is—I can’t suck it in anymore and I’m 93% sure it doesn’t have anything to do with my renewed interest in Hostess gem donuts).  Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be excited about a growing stomach, but there are several undeniable perks of being visibly pregnant.

For one, I can now use those nifty little ‘stork parking’ spots at the shopping centers.  You know the ones—they are conveniently located right between the handicap spots and the cart return.  Granted, I could have been using these throughout the pregnancy, but I’m not going to lie:  I’ve always had this irrational fear that some over-zealous cart attendant would stop me and demand to see an ultra-sound or a box of saltines to prove myself.

Secondly, finding something to wear in the morning is no longer a time consuming task.  I can just waltz right into the closet (okay, a little less waltz with just a hint of waddle), and choose between the two pairs of pants that are still up to the challenge of closing over my expanding girth.  Then I grab one of my new shirts that not only cover my bigger chest and tummy, but miraculously have enough material left over to hide the maternity panels in my pants!  Talk about carefree dressing.  And the best part is, I save precious moments that can later be used for all sorts of useful and productive things (like napping).

The final perk of being visibly pregnant is that I can now EAT like I’m pregnant.  I know, I know, ‘eating for two’ doesn’t mean snarfing down everything I can get my hands on as well as most of what my husband manages to get his hands on, but honestly, if I want to partake in that meal affectionately known as ‘second breakfast’ three or four times a day, who’s going to stop me?!?

Being pregnant is so great right now! 


July 12, 2007

Cribs, cats, and Stroller’s Ed

Well, Baby Claussen has a place to sleep now!  We got a crib and a dresser/changer yesterday, and it’s amazing how happy I am about them.  Every time I see them in the nursery (aka our bedroom aka our study, as we only have a one bedroom apartment) I am delightfully reminded of the little one who will inhabit the space in December! 

Of course I am also delightfully reminded of the little one who already inhabits the space, namely Georgia.  She is convinced that we finally came to our senses and bought her the majestic bed she has always deserved.  I believe she has spent a total of 30 minutes out of the crib since we set it up yesterday, and there is a truly hilarious picture to prove it (which you should check out in my photo album—HahaHA—I crack up just thinking about it).  Anyway, she will have a rude awakening come December when the true owner begins to occupy the bed, but that’s a problem for another time.

I’m particularly excited about the dresser because I now have a place to put all the adorable little baby things we’ve accumulated.  I think Chris may be excited about this as well, as he will no longer need to share his side of the closet with itsy-bitsy-teeny-weenie oh-so-cute onesies, sleepers, and booties (yes I went a bit gaga looking at all the miniscule articles of clothing that I can’t imagine anybody being tiny enough to wear).  It really is incredible though—I put 4 tee-shirts, 4 sleepers, 6 onesies, a couple of sleep gowns and a jacket all in one drawer and it is still only about a fourth full!  I mean honestly, I put about 2 shirts in one of my drawers (especially now), and I think, “okay, next drawer!”

Oh, and I learned another thing about child-rearing today.  Apparently, strollers are not as easy to maneuver as one might think.  I always pictured pushing a stroller to be a bit like pushing a grocery cart (which I CAN do by the way), but it’s really more complicated.  I found this out when I tried to push Olivia’s stroller back to a table at the Nordstrom’s café today (fortunately she was not in it at the time and thus avoided any serious injury).  I ran into about 8 different chairs before one of the waiters took pity on me and began clearing a bit of a path.  He mentioned something about thinking I should have this stroller pushing thing mastered, but I’d like to see him do it!  There are about 6 different wheels on the thing, and they all seemed to be pointing in different directions when all I really wanted them to do was to roll straight forward.  I may need to retrieve our stroller from storage and do a few practice runs before the big day—probably starting in a nice empty parking lot like I did whenever I first learned to drive a stick shift.  I’ll at least be sure to strap my kid in really well before we go anywhere, just in case. ; )
 


July 28, 2007Dark Tuesday

Did you ever have one of those days?  You know the ones…where nothing seems to go right:  your doctor says you’re too fat, you get caught in a hurricane, and you realize you’ve missed your flight by a good three hours…that kind of thing.  Because I JUST had one of those days (well not JUST now, but it takes a while for those kind of days to be more funny and less sad).

It all started a Tuesday or two ago.  As most bad days do, this day started out disguised as a perfectly normal, nonthreatening day.  I got up in plenty of time for my usual walk and shower before heading off to an ultrasound appointment with Chris.  The ultrasound appointment was wonderful of course (what part of seeing your little alien moving around and kicking back with its little legs crossed at the ankles while scratching its chin wouldn’t be?!?).  It was after the ultrasound, while I was gleefully reviewing our newest baby pictures and waiting for the doctor to see me, that the day took a big fat turn for the worse.

Chris and I were called back to the doctor and I had my blood pressure and weight taken.  Now I’ll be the first to admit that the scale did read slightly higher than I had hoped, but scales can be temperamental things, and I didn’t really sweat it.  After all, I am growing a baby, and I can’t be too concerned with such menial tasks as keeping my girlish figure.  I reckoned my doctor, of all people, would understand.  Boy was I surprised when she waltzed in the door, took one look at my chart, and said bluntly, “You are too fat, your baby will be roughly the size of a blimp, and you will be unable to lose all this extra weight you have gained.  EVER.”  (These may not have been her exact words per say, but that was the gist of what I heard.) 

That’s when I started crying.  Yup, right there in the doctor’s office.  Perhaps it was the hormones, my new-found ‘mummy sensitivity’, or just that I’d been told I gained too much weight (let’s face it: nobody wants to hear that), but in any case, I couldn’t stop crying.  Not even as I drove Chris back to his office.  He kept saying nice things, like “you are doing just fine, and the baby is just fine”, which was quite sweet and really pretty comforting until he sort of patted my arm in a loving way and I could see it jiggle a bit.  Maybe I should lay off the donuts for a while…

After assuring Chris that I would be fine, I left him at his office and pulled myself together enough to think about the errands I’d hoped to run before leaving for Washington the next day.  That was when the hurricane hit.  Okay, it wasn’t really a hurricane, but the storm came out of nowhere, garbage can lids were suddenly hurled into my path, and rain was pouring down so hard that I couldn’t see two feet in front of the car.  Of course I did what any level-headed pregnant woman would do.  I pulled over onto a side street as it started to hail, and proceeded to call my dear husband.  I explained (quite rationally, I’m sure) that I was stuck in the storm of the century and demanded to know whether I should be watching for tornadoes.  Oddly, as Chris was still at work, he wasn’t able to do much for me.  He just told me that it was highly unlikely there would be a tornado and that I should wait it out.  He was right; the storm passed as quickly as it had come, and I was able to return home without further complications.

Chris called me almost the minute I walked in the door to make sure I made it home okay (apparently I hadn’t sounded quite as rational on the phone as I had hoped).  Actually, he must have decided that there was little chance I would return to a normal level of saneness at all that day, because he told me he was taking the rest of the day off to spend some time with me.  This was such a pleasant surprise that I was finally able to relax a little and think about what I needed to do to get ready to leave the next day.

I decided the first order of business should be emailing my family to let them know exactly what time to expect my smiling face in Seattle.  I pulled out my itinerary from its neatly labeled file (proudly noting my organizational prowess), and glanced at my departure information.  That’s when I saw that my plane had left three hours earlier.

When Chris walked in the door a few minutes later expecting to find his wife slightly red-eyed but all together delighted to see him, he found me instead: a raving mad pregnant woman waving an itinerary in front of his face while blubbering something like, “I’m not even supposed to be here anymore!”

All things considered, he took it pretty well.  He offered to call the airline to see if anything could be done, which gave me time to begin chucking things out of the hall closet in my search for a large suitcase.  I wasn’t really sure that I’d be going anywhere, but darned if I was going to miss my chance to go to Washington just because I’d failed to pack.

Chris, still on hold, eyed me warily as I flung clothes and toiletries into my bag, but I think he was most shocked when I began hurling all my dirty clothes in as well (anybody who has ever seen me pack would understand how truly shocking the state of my suitcase was).  All in all, I did an amazingly grand job of packing.  Sure, I made a few fundamental errors (I only brought 4 pairs of socks, and I accidentally slipped in a few shirts that have long been a bit snug), but one can’t be too choosy.  I’m just pleased that I remembered to remove Georgia from the suitcase before I zipped it up.

By the time Chris had finished speaking with the airlines, I was pretty much ready to go.  It certainly wasn’t the departure I had imagined, but I was REALLY lucky to get on a standby flight out of St. Louis with no problem.  I arrived in Seattle safe and sound several hours later, thus ending what I now refer to (with unnecessary drama) as “Dark Tuesday”.

The moral of this longwinded tale of tragedy?  Dreams really do come true! (for proof—see my blog on packing…) ; )

August 31, 2007

I’ve read in several reliable sources (namely my faithful pregnancy manuals), that women’s dreams often change for the better during pregnancy—that all their wildest fantasies come true when their heads hit the pillow.  So each night I happily await the moment I drift off to sleep and on to all kinds of amazing adventures involving tropical islands, Europe, or, let’s face it, Tom Welling, only to find that this pregnant woman is not so lucky.  Because aside from one off-the-wall dream where my boobs got so big I had to unscrew them and heft each around in its own gigantic duffle bag, my dreams have split into two less than exciting categories:

The first is what I have begun referring to as my ‘eating dreams’.  I’ll have these dreams where I do nothing but eat one particular food.  It’s not like I’m hobnobbing with the rich and famous, and I happen to be noshing on a corndog while I’m at it.  Oh no.  It’s just me, in a usually empty room, eating a cucumber or something, slowly, bite-by-bite.  And the weird thing is I can actually taste the foods!  I wake up thinking I’ve really had them.  One night I ate an entire Number 11 from McDonalds (that’s the chicken nugget meal, for those who don’t frequent the golden arches), coke and all.  And believe it or not, that’s the more exciting of my two classes of dreams.

The other type of dream I’ve started having involves me spending an enormous amount of time on some mundane task.  Last night, for instance, I spent what felt like hours scrubbing a toilet in my dream.  I washed every single surface over and over again.  I don’t even spend that much time cleaning in real life, and I’m a bit of a neat-freak.  I actually woke up from sheer boredom.  Who gets bored in their own dreams?!?

So yes, my dreams have changed since I’ve been pregnant.  But not exactly my wildest fantasies realized.  Though to be honest, the chicken nuggets were pretty darn good.

October 11, 2007

It has come to my attention that it has been far too long since I have posted an update on the pregnancy.  I suppose you all may be wondering whether the baby and I are okay, or if I have just had to stop writing because my arms can no longer reach around my expanding belly to the keyboard.  Fear not!  All is well with mummy and baby, and as I have rather abnormally long arms for my height, I predict that I will have the ability to type right up until the end, which by the way, is less than ten weeks away!

Yup, we are well into our third trimester, and I am happy to report that for the most part I still feel great.  Knock on wood, I have managed to avoid most of the unpleasant side effects of pregnancy including heartburn, which according to the old wives tale means our baby will be bald.  HA!  With two parents with the ungodly amount of hair that Chris and I have, I just can’t fathom a baby without a big head of hair.  Actually, I can’t fathom a baby of ours without a big head AND big hair.  And let me tell you that in about two months time I’ll be wishing desperately for a child predisposed to having a smaller noggin.  But c’est la vie.

Anyway, the only complaint I have at the time is some occasional back pain, and I really don’t think that can be avoided.  You try filling a backpack with 20 pounds of books (or more realistically, a 20 pound cat if you have one on hand) and then strapping it to your front 24-7 and see if you don’t feel a bit stiff in the mornings!  I’d like to inform you that I handle these occasional pains of pregnancy with quiet dignity, but I must admit my tendency to milk it just a bit.  (As in, “Chris, I really do need three pillows all to myself at night, and could you possibly scooch over just a smidge as I now require three fourths of our bed?!?).  Yes, this may seem a bit harsh, but I prefer to think of it as ‘sharing the burden of parenting’.

On a brighter note, I have been taking some time during these last months of pregnancy for some much needed mommy-to-be pampering.  I got my first pedicure last week, and though there were a couple of close calls, I didn’t kick my pedicurist at all (some of you may remember how much I hate it when people touch my feet).  I’m actually really glad I got the pedicure as I have been trying to spend a lot of time admiring my tootsies (I fear they may be but a distant memory in another week or so).

Well, I think that’s about it for now…here’s to hoping for a blessedly uneventful last 10 weeks!


Sometime in November:

Five more weeks to go!

Well we have made it to 35 weeks.  Just two more and we are considered full term, and just 5 more until I’ll have a baby at home (or somebody better bring me a lot of potosin and an award for lasting over 40 weeks).

I’m happy to report that things are mostly still great!  There was one unfortunate incident last Tuesday that began with me attempting to jog and resulted in a badly pulled butt muscle, but what can I do?  (The answer to this seemingly rhetorical questions is ‘waddle around and whine to anybody who will sit still long enough or that can’t out run me’).  Other than the walking issues, I really am fortunate to still be feeling so well.

We started our child birth classes a few weeks ago, and though Chris and I generally start cracking up whenever we practice the breathing techniques (we are sooo not mature enough to be parents), the classes really are helping me to feel more prepared.  Just yesterday we learned about vocalization and movement as alternate comfort methods during labor.  Apparently it will help to make low vocal tones and gently bounce up and down or rock.  Naturally, I’ve been practicing by moaning as low and loudly as I can while rocking back and forth.  Sure I may look like a crazy person and it may freak Georgia out a bit, but I think it’s hilarious.

Our baby shower was Sunday and was absolutely fabulous if I do say so myself (kudos to Jennifer and Lou on a job well done, and thanks to my most favorite sister in the world, Laura, for flying all the way from Washington to attend and hanging out with me while I droned on and on about the baby).  We got a ton of great stuff, and we are now much more prepared for the arrival of little baby Claussen.  Of course this also means that I have a lot of organizing to do, and I am fighting the urge to dash around like a mad-woman washing little baby things, folding blankets, and cleaning and re-organizing all the closets and cabinets.  Those of you who don’t know me may think I am nesting, but those of you who do realize that I am always this psychotic about order and neatness.  Anyhoo, I’ll figure I’ll be caught up in a couple of weeks and completely ready to have the baby by December 1st or so.  Now if only somebody could get the memo to the baby…

January 24, 2008

So Allison is two months old, and this is the first time I am mentioning her by name in a blog (you heard reference to her before as “my giant belly”, or something similar).  Does that make me a bad mother?  As this is a rhetorical question, I shall answer it for you.  NO!  This makes me a NORMAL mother…my little darling is time consuming!  But let me catch you up on all that you have missed since that fateful November night…

Actually, I think I will start just after Allison was born.  I am forced to deny the requests for a blog on my labor, because let’s face it, there is absolutely nothing funny about pushing a grapefruit through a bagel hole.  My.  That was an odd analogy, but fitting, really.  Moving on.

Allison was born on Monday November 26th at 11:18 am.  She was 7 pounds even, and 19 inches long.  After a couple of blissful nights in the hospital where people came to admire our baby and there were nurses to wait on us hand and foot, we were able to bring our little angel home.

To those of you who plan to have children or are pregnant now:  Do NOT leave the hospital until they make you.  I repeat:  Stay with the nurses and the meals in bed and the husband who remembers exactly what you went through until the hospital staff threatens to plop a pregnant lady down right on your nifty little mechanical bed.  Because let me tell you, it gets MUCH harder once you get home. 

At least it did for us.  Well, at least I think it did.  To tell you the truth, I can’t remember a whole lot about those first four weeks.  There are just so many diapers, so many sleepless nights, and so many moments (okay hours) where you just sit and watch your baby sleep and wonder how you ever got so lucky.

Allison had a marvelous first Christmas, filled with many admirers and many loving arms to hold her while she slept.  I think it was a rather rude awakening when we went back home, and Chris went back to work, and it became just her and mom’s two loving (but sometimes otherwise-occupied) arms. 

That’s when we met Allie’s alter-ego, Little-Miss-Must-Be-Held.  I swear the kid has crib radar.  She’ll be fast asleep, smiling in her dreams and as soon as we hold her over her crib she opens those beautiful eyes and yowls as if nothing so horrible has ever happened to her in her entire life.  (And truth be told, she’s probably right).  To this day, she still refuses to sleep by herself.  On those rare occasions that we trick her in to sleeping in the pack-n-play, she promptly awakes and punishes us by screaming inconsolably for a good 20 minutes.  She is training me so well…in fact as I write this she is snuggled in her snuggly and snoozing contentedly, having recently been rescued from the torturous pack’n’play.  She will grow out of this, right?  RIGHT?!?!

All kidding aside, we are pretty taken with our newest member of the family.  Her smiles and coos are priceless, and even her grunts and pouty-faces are pretty darn cute.  She is 11 pounds and 8 ounces of pure baby delight, and we can’t wait to see how she’ll change and grow in the coming weeks! : )