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! : )
