5 Rules of Pregnancy

I found this on a pregnancy board. I have been having a problem with #2 since I announced that I was pregnant at work. I understand that people for the most part have very good intentions but there is something unnerving about a sixty year old woman calling me "mama" every morning.

1. If I wanted your opinion, or advice, I would have asked for it - so shut up.

2. Calling me "mommy", "little mother", "mama", etc. is not permitted. My name is _____.

3. Touch my belly and loose your hand - in fact, I will use it to slap you upside the head.

4. I am not an exhibit in the petting zoo - do not pet my belly.

5. My hormones can beat up your hormones.

It's Alive!

The Husband and I went to bed last night and since we hadn't seen each other all day, I made the effort to ask about his work and to follow the narrative involving motions and witnesses and victims. I was lying on my back (not for long... I know) with my hands on my belly and suddenly shrieked as I felt movement coming from inside. The Husband of course felt nothing after recovering from his shriek-prompted heart attack. Let me tell ya, I thought that kick a couple of days ago scared me. That was cake.

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My co-worker delivered a healthy baby boy last night. I was sorry to hear that it was an emergency c-section. Apparently the cord was wrapped around the neck. I understand the necessity and I'm sure she's fine with it but I felt bad for her for a moment since she had wanted natural childbirth so badly. She attended the same Bradley class as I am attending now and she actually switched to my doctor because her last OBGYN made some really strange claims including: all first time mothers get an episiotomy and that once labor started he would break the water to prevent infection.

Regardless, I am so pleased to hear that she and her eight pound bundle of joy are doing well and that I can finally buy a pair of the cutest shoes ever to give to him.

Baaah. Foiled Again!

I know that it was a pipe dream to keep my job and work from home once The Baby is born. The problem is that I am anti-daycare to a large degree - especially full time. Even if I were to consider daycare as my first option, the job that I perform does not pay well enough to justify giving half of my monthly salary to a stranger to raise my child. Aah, the joys of working for a non-profit.

A position just opened up in my office that would pay significantly more and would allow for a more flexible schedule. I went to the CEO to ask her about keeping my current position from home - she shot that down (despite the fact that my boss is on board with it). I then expressed to her my interest in this new position and she said to go for it. I now have to beg the head of THAT department to hire me on. Meanwhile, I spoke with my current boss to give her a heads-up and she asked what would happen if I didn't get this new job. I told her that I didn't want to give ultimatums.

The way that I see it is that the job that I do now could be done by someone part time. I'm talking fifteen hours a week - tops. Sometimes more, most often less. I've taken on extra projects and expressed the fact that I am not being challenged but this is pretty much the job. If the female-centered organization that I work for is not going to be flexible enough for me to raise my baby, then I'd rather sling coffee in the evenings. Avon calling.

On a lighter note: I was cooking dinner last night and felt a really strong kick. It scared the hell out of me - only because it made everything seem more real. Fluttering is one thing. This kick said, "you better eat something and eat it quick!" Baby likes Italian apparently.

I (Nearly) Haven't Got a Thing to Wear

Putting of lunch for half an hour used to make me puke. Now it makes me INCREDIBLY grumpy especially when dealing with the USPS.

In class last night we talked about what to do if we discovered a hand (or foot, umbilical cord, etc.) hanging down between our legs. YIKES! We also watched a video of natural births to "challenge" our preconceptions of what a birth looks like. I can see how some Bradley instructors are probably all touchy-feely and new age but I'm thankful that our instructor is very pragmatic. The Husband is thankful too.

I ordered some maternity pants from Old Navy a couple of weeks ago. I decided to wear then today but they keep falling down. I might only have a week in my regular pants left. I'm not sure how to handle this. The maternity shirts that I ordered are HUGE and there's no way that I can wear those for at least another month or two. I'll just have to try a different size. Better too big than too small ... I guess.

Oh What a Night

Last night's party was a fascinating combination of good food, fun folks, dancing and the tireless playing of The Stacks. Dr. Cliff’s parties are always a good time. You never know just what the make up will be. Sometimes the atmosphere is dominated by old men who call everyone “baby” in the smoothest, most harmless manner and one bash featured two fire-eaters. Last night was a mix of good friends, hipsters, mid-city folk and a dash of 9th Ward.

The guests of honor were Cliff’s old friend Godfrey and his girlfriend, Babs. Having heard so much about Godfrey over the past five years, I was sure that he was imaginary. It turns out he’s a real person and I met Wagner too. Babs was great but mysteriously disappeared whenever the Bellydancing Monkey took the stage.

It was a good night of heated debates (that’s what I get for hanging out with lawyers), dancing girls, spicy potatoes and cupcakes (yeah KK!). I’m glad that I went. It’ll be a while before The Baby is up for crawfish.

Bad Taste

Since there is nothing that I look forward to more than dressing my child for the few years that I can before they rebel, I must get the following T-shirts made:

My Daddy Works for Justice

and not to be left out,

My Mommy Pimps Little Girls

Out Like a Lamb

Spring has sprung. I can totally feel it. I love this time of year and the mild weather is so precious to New Orleans residents that I look forward to spending long hours outside starting with yardwork tomorrow and a crawfish boil on Saturday (apparently there will be a monkey-masked belly-dancer there!).

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The Baby must of known that I was worried yesterday because she was moving non-stop. I haven't graduated to feeling full fledged kicks but the bubbly feeling is much more frequent.

One crazy symptom of pregnancy that I have had from nearly the beginning is restless legs. My case falls under"uncomfortable jittery sensation" and "mildly irritating" and happens every once in a while when I stretch out on the couch. Fortunately I don't have them when I go to bed.

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Dog Update: I was sure that Bertha was dead the night before last. She hadn't eaten any food that our neighbor had left for her and we hadn't seen her. The Husband woke me up early yesterday morning to tell me that he had something for me to see outside. I knew immediately that it was Bertha and sure enough she was drinking out of a puddle in front of our house. I ran inside to get her some ham and she let me pet her for a bit. The gash still looked bad but she was doing a good job keeping it clean.

That evening when I got home from work, our next door neighbor helped me to collar her and with some effort I got her in the back seat of the car. Despite her injuries, she didn't snap at me and was a very good passenger (albeit a little muddy). I rang the night bell once again at the SPCA and Bertha could not get inside fast enough (strangest thing). I was pleased that the man on staff took an interest in her and sat down immediately and called her to him. I filled out the paperwork with her history and made sure to list that she was non-aggressive and a sweet dog. I asked that they give her a chance.

Even if Bertha has to be put down, I know that it's better to have the doctors at the SPCA do it than for her to get ill or maimed living on the street. My neighbor offered to share some of the guilt but I don't feel guilty. I'm angry that a good mannered dog has had to suffer because of its owners. I'll miss seeing her but I won't miss the worry.

She's in There ... isn't She?

Twenty-one weeks today.

TWO people yesterday remarked about the fact that I don't look pregnant. Part of the problem here at work is that we have two other women who are READY TO POP. Consequently, I look very small in comparison. The other reason that I'm not showing is because I'm not an itty-bitty thing. There's a lot of room in this body.

I cannot however start to feel insecure and I fear that I'm going to turn into one of those pregnant women who buys a fetal doppler on eBay. Or worse, I'll call my doctor with my first concern and it'll sound something like, "I'm twenty-one weeks and I'm still in my normal clothes! Yes, I can feel it - sometimes. Round ligament pain - check. No, no cramping or bleeding. Yes, I know that ultrasound was normal. Yes, I'm still gagging and I've been crying over a stray dog for two days straight. Can I just stop by for a heartbeat check?"

Dog Vigilante

Over a year ago, the people in the house around the corner got a puppy. I was a cute little thing, white with brown spots. I always thought it cruel that they kept it in a crate on the porch at night but the boy in the family would walk it and play with it often. He named her Bertha.

Bertha became an escape artist. She would often leave her confines to visit our next door neighbor and his big black lab, Michelob. Bertha and Michelob became fast friends and were often on the receiving end of my shouts from my windows at 6 AM. "Bertha! Michelob! Shut the hell up!"

After the boy owner captured Bertha several times only to have her break lose again, he lost interest. She showed up one day without a collar. The boy and his family moved, leaving her behind. She became part of our block. I could never get her to come to me. It was partially because I wasn't offering any food and partially because of my yelling and obvious favoritism towards Michelob.

I started to look out for her daily, to say "hi" as I passed her sleeping on the sidewalk. As I grew more attached to her, I grew fearful that one day I would find her not sleeping but dead on the sidewalk, a casualty of a careless driver.

It was when three small puppies showed up on our block from out of nowhere that I saw our abandoned dog infestation as a city problem. I called the SPCA three times, each time increasingly irate. I did get one call back but they wanted an exact address of the stray dogs. Apparently the corner on which they frequented was not specific enough. Besides, as the woman explained to me over the phone, they were under-staffed despite a huge budget increase just passed by City Hall.

Bertha and the puppies played together. I kept threatening The Husband that I was going to adopt Bertha and I tried to get friends to adopt the puppies. We weren't ready for a dog and it's easy to say no to a puppy when it's not staring you in the face.

I saw Bertha hanging out in the middle of the road yesterday like she often does. I was on my way out and I noticed that she was limping. I looked at her more closely and noticed a huge gash on her side about one inch wide and seven inches long. It looked like she might have been trapped somewhere and tore herself out. I pulled over and got out. The kids on the street riding by on their bikes didn't know what happened. I came up to Bertha. She let me pet her and I decided immediately that she had to go to the pound. I did not want her to die from an infected wound. She followed me for a few steps as I tried to lure her to my car. She stopped at one point, undecided. I pet her some more but she would go no further with me. She crawled underneath a house on the corner and wouldn't come out even when I bribed her with cat food and prosciutto.

I left for the park then and my two-mile walk. Everyone was out walking with their dogs. Happy dogs. Dogs with good homes. I fought from crying (the hormones weren't helping). I became resolute. If I saw those puppies out again, they were going to the pound immediately.

When I returned home, sure enough, there were the puppies. They were especially drawn to the Italian ham that I had left for Bertha. I was able to nab two of the three and I put them in the back of my car. I must have looked like a crazy woman, tossing puppies into my clean car. The puppies were well behaved and I assured them that they would find good, loving homes as I drove them straight to the SPCA.

I rang the night bell, filled out the intake forms and bid good night to the guard. The hormones overtook me later and I cried that evening in bed. Bertha deserves better. She's a good dog. She got a rotten deal.

I got up this morning, put some ham in a bag (NOT the prosciutto) and grabbed a towel in case I saw Bertha out making her morning rounds. She wasn't. I hope I see her again so I can take her to the SPCA. Even if they have to put her down it'll be better than dying alone under a house.

Two down, two to go.

We Got Class!

The Husband and I attended our first Bradley Birthing Class last night. I liked the instructor. We were nearly 1/2 hour late because I had the time wrong in my head. I apologized profusely. I've only been emailing this woman and anxiously awaiting this class for about three months. I'm such a loser.

Anyway, class went well. There was no video - that's next week. We talked a lot about what we wanted in a coach and nutrition goals. The way that the dates of the classes fell, I had to take it now even though it's a bit early. I wasn't the least pregnant there thankfully. There were all sorts of couples there but we probably all had a lot in common. All but one couple were white and I assume that we were all heterosexual. Most were married. I would also guess that most of us are transplants to New Orleans. I sincerely thanked The Husband for being a good sport and he got his free cookies as promised.

We missed the first 45 minutes of Deadwood last night. Uh oh.

Over the weekend we spent a ridiculous amount of money on a refrigerator, oven and new bed. It needed to be done (at least the appliance part). We got a great deal on a floor model refrigerator and the bed was on sale. The Husband didn't quite understand my want of a new bed but I eventually won him over. We will be swapping the computer room and bedroom. The baby's stuff will be in the blue computer room. The other option would be to move the baby into the shed which I'm not completely opposed to.

I had an epiphany on Saturday. Now that I will have an official room to decorate for the baby, I have to come up with a theme 'cause that's what expecting mothers do. I'm not a fan of pastels and I'm certainly not painting again. Given my growing collection of Alice in Wonderland STUFF - it only seems fitting to build a room around that. I need to paint the dresser which will double as a changing table and move my figurines into a more prominent location. I'd love to find someone who can paint a mural.

It's coming together.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Within the two weeks since my last dry-heaving episode, my stomach (or stomach muscles) has moved. This morning while bent over the kitchen sink, rushing to blend my smoothie, I was clutching where my stomach USED to be. It was a very strange sensation.

Bubbles and Squeak

I ate an obscene amount of homemade quacamole last night. I mean obscene. So obscene that I was scouring the web earlier to see just how much fat I did take in. It was more than a Krispy Kreme doughnut but less than a pint of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ... oh wait, I didn't include the nacho chips.

Apparently, there are a lot of good things about avocados so I'll just focus on those. At least there was no sour cream involved in my binge.

It seems that lately I can't pass up an opportunity to buy new groceries. We have plenty of food at home but the produce aisle is so nicely organized and freshly misted. Last night I went to WalMart (despite The Husband's boycott - I will never disobey him again) to get a new VCR since our old one bit it. The VCR cost $3 more than a new DVD player. I found this interesting. ANYWAY since I was at a SUPER WalMart, I stopped by the produce and got fruit and guacamole makings. It's all the VCR's fault, really.

Once I hooked up our shiny new VCR I popped in the tape of our little cherub during the ultrasound. It was pretty cool and since I didn't have something jammed into my belly, I was able to focus more. I'm sure that I saw the heart beating and I remembered what the femur looked like. I checked out the head again and the spine. It was all groovy.

I slept well last night despite some crazy dream about rescuing stray puppies in our neighborhood. Instead of capturing the three that are actually there, I captured about thirty and put them in the empty apartment next door. Is that what they mean by "nesting"?

Tight Pants and Fluffers

HALF WAY TODAY! Woo-hoo! I'm twenty weeks and I noticed my pants were getting a little too tight so I've ordered a pair of khakis from Old Navy. I also ordered some shirts. I'm hesitant to order much until I try on some pants to see what I like best. I figure that I'll be ok with some of the pants in my wardrobe for another couple of weeks because I tend to wear pants on my hips to begin with. Because of this, I've just been hiking them up to my waist and they fit fine.

I've been gagging less and less but I fear that the vomiting could come back any day. The Husband is concerned but I keep telling him that I have it pretty easy and that puking is normal.

I had a straight-up pregnancy craving yesterday for a fluffernutter. Well, apparently, fluff-a-nutters are a Yankee thing and therefore, fluff is very hard to find. I struck out with Walgreens and went to Winn Dixie where I searched high and low for the peanut butter which they had in a weird spot (in the dairy aisle). To my horror, there was no fluff ... so, I tried to baking section in hopes that it would be there. Luckily I found a jar. It was not the brand that I grew up with but it suited me just fine. I also had a craving for watermelon but unfortunately it is the wrong season.

Oh! One more thing, the baby really likes (or dislikes) Verdi's Requiem. She was dancing last night during choral practice.

The Not So Quick(ening)

Since I found out I was pregnant, I have been awaiting “The Quickening”, the monumental moment when one feels the baby inside. I expected an actual moment to savor – an instant when I knew for sure that the baby was moving and I would remember it for ever and ever.

In my experience, The Quickening does not happen that way. For the past few weeks it’s been more of a swooshing in my belly for brief periods; nothing that I would describe as a “flutter” or “popcorn popping”. These moments initially made me wonder, “hey, is that the baby?” They did get a little more recognizable and more frequent as time went on but the sense of movement was so soft and minor that how could I be sure I’m not just crazy in the head? I was mildly disappointed for the past couple of days that I missed my one moment in time.

However, the night before last, I awoke in the middle of the night and in a groggy-half-awake way acknowledged that the movement was stronger and there might have been additional sensations as well. I went back to sleep encouraged. Last night after feasting on chicken wings, I rested on the couch and fell into giggles. Something was tickling my insides. It was only three or four pokes in quick succession but it was undoubtedly Baby.

I’m looking forward to more pokes and maybe in a couple weeks The Husband can share in the fun.

What Exactly Do You Mean?

I got my first oddly inappropriate pregnancy question today. I'm actually surprised that I haven't gotten more already. The question was, "are you happy about the pregnancy?"

"What? Huh?"

I responded with as an enthusiastic "yes" as I could conjure before adding, "but I'm not terribly happy about some of the symptoms."

It was indeed a strange question that left itself open to many things but accountants aren't known for their social graces and seeing as how this one has never had children of her own, I know it wasn't ill intended. It was just a bit odd.

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I'm not sleeping well, haven't been for a few months now. I anticipate not sleeping well for the next eighteen to thirty years. I was hoping to delay the sleeplessness until AFTER the birth of the child.

Exercise would probably help. Exercise would help with a lot of things. Exercise is hard to do. Maybe I can convince The Husband that for the good of his offspring, we should walk every evening. We'll see how far I get with that.

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A rent check arrived yesterday. We finally have tenants. This is a very good thing. It's a married couple and they are moving in sometime in May for the husband to attend Tulane Law School. They have two hound dogs. I love hound dogs.

I've taken the whole tenant thing very personally. It's hard not to when you live next door and it's your house. I don't take every rejection to heart but when The Husband and I gave special consideration to a single father in respect to the amount of the rent and the payment of the security deposit and the man never showed to sign the lease - twice - I was a little upset.

When said single father called yesterday, twelve days after standing us up, to inquire as to whether the apartment was still available, I couldn't help but state that it was not and hang up on him. When said single father CALLED ME BACK to tell me that I was rude and that I don't know where he's been and I can't tell him how to spend his money, that it's HIS choice as to where he wants to live ... I hung up on him again.

What he didn't know of were the discussions that The Husband and I had about taking him on as a tenant, our concerns about his income and his previous arrest, how great it would be to have that cute little girl next door, and how refreshing it was for once not to have a prospective tenant ask, "so what's it like living on this block?" (translation: "Am I going to get shot here?") There was no way for him to know that The Husband and I sought to make his move easier by buying a shower curtain and installing it the day before. Nor did he know that I was so tickled by his daughter's reaction to our cats that I bought her two stuffed kitties of her own.

I have plenty of growing up to do but it's hard not to overreact, especially pregnant.

Will One Coughdrop Really Kill My Baby?

I've caught a bit of a cold. I woke up achey on Saturday but was ok until that evening when my throat was on fire and my sore muscles were getting worse. I committed myself to the couch on Sunday - which was fine, I didn't want to do laundry anyway. Between the rest and the vitamin C tablets, I'm putting up a good fight. Oh yeah, I'm also overindulging on Superfood. Yum.

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We showed the apartment a few times over the weekend. There were two very good sets of prospective tenants. The Husband and I have resigned ourselves to the fact that most people are looking for a May rental. One couple we really liked however, they want a discount on the rent. I'm willing to do it because I would like them as neighbors (and we can get a discount to the zoo!). The second set of roommates will pay full price but want French Doors installed. I called them up a bit ago and offered the doors if they will pay half of April rent. We'll see how that goes. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a signed lease in the near future.

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Not much new in Babyland. A co-worker is giving me crib that she used for her daughter and was passed to her from another co-worker. It's solid wood with not only a tower of drawers on the side but some below as well. It's a very good use of space. One thing that I've noticed about baby furniture is that it's a terrible waste of space for small homes. Have you seen some of those changing tables? Our baby's most likely not going to have its own room for a long time and if it does, it will be sharing it with the computer.

Appointment #4 - It's Not a KITTEN!

I had an ultrasound yesterday. I really didn't understand what I was looking at but the perinatologist was nice enough to point out the femur. I'm pretty sure I saw the head and some feet. Oh, and I saw the spinal column too. The doc made some sort of Outback rib joke. He was alright. Everything looked good he said. My OBGYN concurred. I wasn't too worried - except about giving birth to a puppy or kitten like my dream dictated. The perinatologist also announced that we are having a GIRL! I always get what I want. The Husband was pretty quiet throughout the whole thing but I'm pretty sure he was glad to be there. He's still freaked out about the alien in my belly.
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After work yesterday I went to three stores looking for a "Daddy's Little Girl" outfit but there was such a poor selection (I could have just gone to WalMart but The Husband is in the middle of a boycott and since the gift was for him AND the baby, I thought that I should abstain). I saw some cute dresses but I picture my newborn wearing onsies for the first few months. I finally made my way over to KMart where I was able to find a mini basketball and some newborn athletic socks with stripes. It served The Husband's love of basketball while also working in my love of early 90's PJ Harvey a la leopard coat and striped athletic sock days.