Connor's Early Arrival, Part Three

(Read Part One and Part Two)

"That's not a head; I think that's a scrotum!"

Lying there between contractions, I felt my heart sink as the realization set in: after eleven hours of unmedicated labor, I wasn't going to get the natural birth I'd hoped for.

Time seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow to a crawl somehow as one of the nurses hit the call button and what seemed like half of Labor and Delivery instantly swarmed into my room. Dr. Ward's face filled my field of vision for a moment, her blonde curls framing her face as she explained that they were going to take me to the OR for a c-section. The L&D staff surrounded my bed, preparing me to be wheeled down the hall — presumably, they were removing monitors, preparing my IV stand to be moved, that sort of thing, but I felt like the eye of the storm. I was still dealing with the pain of contractions, on top of dealing with the sudden turn my birth experience was taking; I couldn't focus on the actions of everyone around me.

Unbeknownst to me, Aaron was having more trouble acclimating to this turn of events than I was. In the midst of the frenzy, he left my bedside (or was forced aside by the onslaught of medical staff) to lean up against a cabinet, lightheaded, trying to collect himself. That's when the staff took note, and had him sit down for a moment (I'm sure they didn't want to deal with my 6'3" husband passing out in L&D). As I was being wheeled out of the room, Aaron called out to me to tell me he loved me. I called back from the door — they were moving me out fast — and told him I loved him, too, and that I'd see him in a few minutes. I could hear in his voice that he was freaked out, and that brief reassurance was all I could do to try to calm him.

The next minute or two felt like something out of a movie: I was flying down the hall to the Operating Room, watching hospital scenery go by — scenery I was denied seeing on my hospital tour, due to it being a sterile area. A contraction hit, and I clung to the bedrail like I had in the L&D room, only to be scolded: "Keep your hands inside!"

"OK, hands inside," I repeated, and let go. With nothing else physical to focus on — no massage, no clutching to the bedrail — I was even more aware of my urge to push. As much to act as a help to myself as to assure anyone else, I said aloud, "I'm not pushing... I'm not pushing..."

I heard my nurse Karen somewhere behind me, reaffirming, "Yes! Don't push!" I remember feeling a little irritated by her response — didn't I just say I'm not pushing? But I was also glad to hear her familiar voice, and to know that someone was listening.

The doors to the OR swung open, and even more staff were there, ready and waiting for my arrival. The intricate ballet that happened next was hard to follow in my pain-haze: I heard Dr. Ward talking to the anesthesiologist as I was moved from the labor bed to the OR bed, discussing whether he could administer the spinal with me on my side or sitting up. As I was being transferred to the OR bed, the nurses explained to me that I'd feel like I was going to fall off, but not to worry: they wouldn't let me fall. Once they'd transferred me, it was time to get my spinal — which, unfortunately, I had to sit up for; he couldn't do it with me lying on my side for some reason.

Of course, as the nurses helped me into a sitting position, I felt another contraction coming on. Karen was right there again, her familiar, calming voice telling me to "breathe it out, just like in the room." I remembered, and relaxed, and hissed my exhales and counted to ten. Again, I felt like I belonged on the (now-defunct) Discovery Health Channel as I braced myself, staying utterly still while the anesthesiologist inserted the needle, saying something to the other staff (and maybe me?) about how this was perfectly fine, how he'd had to do this during contractions before, and it was no problem.

I was catheterized at some point (I forget in the shuffle whether it was before or after the spinal), they put an oxygen tube in my nose — "More for the baby than for you" — and hooked more equipment up to my arms, so I was spread out in some sort of Jesus Christ pose. During this part of the prep, they also erected the screen that would keep me and Aaron from seeing the actual surgical procedure.

I could feel myself going slowly numb, and remembered something someone had said on a pregnancy podcast about the OR staff checking to see how numb she was before making the incision. For some reason, I was suddenly ultra-paranoid about the spinal not taking effect in time, so I asked, "Am I supposed to be able to feel anything?" I knew I hadn't felt any contractions since the spinal, but I also had no sense of time, and I could feel some vague, numb sensations on the surface of my skin. They assured me that I'd feel some pulling sensations, and pressure, but no pain. I was glad that the podcasts I'd listened to had prepared me for the shortness of breath I might feel with the anesthesia, too, or I might have been freaked out by that. As it was, I was prepared for it.

Finally, finally, Aaron arrived, wearing scrubs. He was wide-eyed and shaking, and I could tell he was having a bad time of it. I almost felt guilty for being as calm as I was — I mean, I knew I was OK, but he'd had no such reassurance. I came to learn later that he was told that if I ended up having a spinal, he'd be allowed in, but if I had to be put under completely for the procedure for some reason, he'd see us in the Recovery Room. Not only that, but he'd had to change into scrubs and just wait, alone, outside the OR door, not knowing what was currently happening or what would happen.

Poor guy. No wonder he was so freaked.

As he stood by me and we said our hellos and everything's-OKs, the nurses draped a warm blanket over his shoulders, and pushed a stool up for him to sit on — after they were convinced that he wasn't, in fact, going to pass out and fall off. He sat near my head and held my hand (with some difficulty; we had to work around lots of IV tubing), and we waited for the cesarean to begin.

When they announced that they were starting the incision, I sat utterly still and waited to see what sensations I would feel. I barely felt a fingernail dragging across my skin, then a mild sensation that my skin was being moved around — Aaron told me later that I was, in fact, held open by big metal claws, just like on those medical reality shows on TLC.

It wasn't long before someone — assumedly Dr. Ward — announced, "I've got one leg!" Soon Connor was out and was hastily peeked around the edge of the barrier (Aaron got a quick flash of Connor, but I couldn't see him at all) before being whisked away to be evaluated.

I nearly cried when I first heard Connor's voice coming from the adjoining room, letting out his first cries. Aaron and I looked at each other in shock and amazement ("Holy shit, we're parents!") before the nurses invited him into the room to be with Connor.

Then I was alone with the nurses in the OR, straining to hear Connor's cries and the low cadence of Aaron's voice talking with the nurses in the other room as he took picture after picture. The staff stitched me back up and discussed the remainder of their Labor Day weekend as I lay there alone, longing to see my baby. They discussed their dogs and my fibroids and whatnot, then ceremonially counted all their instruments three times over after they were done closing the incision.

As I stared at the wall with nothing to occupy my mind but my desire to see my newborn son, I memorized the times written on the whiteboard there. I had entered the OR at 13:30, or 1:30pm; Connor had been born at 13:47, or 1:47pm. The prep and surgery had only taken 17 minutes total.

In the midst of this, Aaron did come back with Connor and the nurses in tow, and there was much rejoicing and many photos taken:

And that's how two became three.

Connor's Early Arrival, Part Two

(Start with Part One)

The first hour or two after we got checked into the hospital was a weird period of acclimation. As I got connected to more and more equipment, the experience became more and more real. I got as comfortable as possible on the labor bed (with absorbent pads beneath me, since I was still leaking amniotic fluid), was connected to external fetal monitors, got my IV put in, had blood taken, had a blood pressure cuff put on, and was asked all the standard medical history questions by several students and residents.

Since my Strep B test results hadn't come in yet -- I'd just had the culture taken that afternoon -- the staff treated me as if I had tested positive, and gave me an IV line with penicillin. I also got the standard hydration solution along with my Pitocin drip, which they started at one milliunit (and eventually ramped up to 14 milliunits over the course of my labor).

Once the initial hubbub died down, Aaron and I settled in to rest as much as we could. The blood pressure cuff automatically activated every half hour, but it surprisingly didn't affect my ability to catch some Z's during those few hours. Aaron attempted to relax in a squeaky and not very comfortable recliner.

We both managed to rest enough to take the edge off by the time the shift change happened at 7:00am. Cortnie was replaced by Karen, a motherly type who claimed to be "allergic to pain." She unhooked me from the monitors and let me have my second potty break since I'd checked in, then helped me into a more comfortable position where my ass wasn't falling asleep.

Karen reminded me to stay hydrated as much as possible, and to drink a glass of juice every hour or so to keep my blood sugar levels from dipping. So, I continued to try to doze as much as possible, and Karen brought me a glass of apple juice when I asked (about every other time she came to check in on me).

This whole time, first Cortnie then Karen had been slowly upping my dosage of Pitocin, increasing the frequency and intensity of the contractions. By mid-morning, they were more painful than menstrual cramps (and my period cramps can be seriously intense). Karen asked me to rate them on a scale of 1 to 10, but I felt like I didn't have a frame of reference. I'd always thought that 10 should be "I Feel Like I Want To Die," but Karen said to rate my 10 as the worst pain I'd ever felt.

What was my worst pain? Back pain? When was the last time I cried because of pain? I couldn't remember, so I figured that I might be at a 4 or so. I guessed that a 7 or 8 would be where I'd start crying, so that became my arbitrary reference point.

Back in our childbirth class, the nurse had taught us different breathing and massage techniques to manage the pain of contractions. Finally, I reached the point where I needed to use those techniques. Aaron massaged my leg (the easiest part for him to reach) while I did some deep breathing. I experimented with the Lamaze breathing patterns, but found (as I'd expected) that counting my breaths Zen-style, one to ten, was my most effective method of pain management. I also used the focal point idea that we learned, either staring at one particular ceiling vent or at the whiteboard where Karen had written, "Congratulations Connor!"

Anticipating the contractions became sort of a game for Aaron and me -- we'd be listening to the monitor, to Connor's heartbeat, and we'd hear the signal grow not so much faster as stronger. A few seconds later, the tightness would begin. At some point, I started identifying the contractions as "surges," like the more, shall we call them, earth-mother-y types do -- and it actually helped change my attitude toward them. They became less painful and more straight-up intense. I visualized my cervix pulling open with each one -- not blooming like a flower, mind you, as that's way too hippie an attitude for me, but I'm all about the visualization concept. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn't, but it was a nice distraction for my mind.

Around 11am, Aaron called his dad and my mom to let them know that I was in labor. We hadn't wanted to call too early, especially since Aaron's dad (now retired) used to work nights, so we're not sure what his sleep schedule is like, and my mom lives one time zone to the west, so we didn't want to call too early. No one was expecting us to be in the hospital already, three weeks early, so there was some confusion on the other end of the line (and concern on my mom's part).

It's a good thing we called to give them a heads-up when we did, because my contractions really ramped up around noon. I'd requested a birthing ball a couple of hours earlier, and I asked Karen to help me onto it the next time she came to check on me. I felt like it was time to get serious, like something had changed. I would realize later that this was transition.

In the childbirth class, I'd found that leaning over the ball with my butt sticking out was the most comfortable position; here, though, Karen actually sat me on the ball, leaning my head and shoulders forward onto the labor bed, which wasn't nearly as comfortable. With each contraction, I felt like I needed to raise myself up off of the ball because of the pressure it was putting on my nether regions.

Each contraction got more and more intense. I started hissing through my exhales, then moaning, then nearly crying. Aaron tried rubbing my back during contractions, but I had to ask him to stop because it wasn't nearly as calming as the leg massage had been. I also started forgetting to count my inhales and exhales, which made the pain seem worse.

At one point, while on the birthing ball, I felt a contraction coming on sooner and stronger than I'd anticipated, and I let loose a frustrated, "Oh, fuck!" I immediately followed it with, "Sorry!" It was an automatic reaction, but it amused our nurse Karen to no end.

Eventually, I came to a realization: I had a shit on deck. A particularly loose one, I could tell. It was distracting me from the other sensations down below, so I asked Karen if I could go take a BM between contractions. She very gently told me that it would be OK if I had a BM while I was pushing, that the nurses had seen it all before. I explained that it was really just RIGHT THERE, and it was really loose, and if I could just move my bowels, I'd be able to concentrate better on what was going on down there.

Karen agreed to let me go take a shit. "Just let it fall out," she advised, obviously not wanting me to push quite yet. I stood up from the birthing ball, let her unhook me from the monitors, took two steps toward the bathroom -- and a contraction hit. Dammit. I doubled over, clutching my IV pole for support. I was concentrating on standing up, so any pain management techniques were long forgotten. Once it subsided, I made it into the bathroom before another one doubled me over -- this time, my yells echoed in the bathroom, prompting Aaron to call through the door, "Are you OK, honey?" I had another contraction on the john, another after I stood up, and another on the way back to the bed.

At some point during this insanity, Karen left to get someone to check my cervix, realizing that something had changed. When I got back to the bed, Karen asked me to lie on my back so the other nurse could check me.

That's when the REAL pain hit.

The nurse had her gloved hand spelunking around in my parts as I yelled, and she got a perplexed look on her face.

"You're complete," she said, meaning that I was fully dilated and effaced, "but I'm not sure that what I'm feeling is a head."

Oh, no. My heart sank.

One of the nurses in the room called Dr. Ward, the OB on call from my practice, for her to check me herself and confirm whether it was Connor's head that was presenting, or something else. While we were waiting for her to arrive, I had another contraction, and I suddenly felt an immense pressure "down there," and had a very definite urge to push. I let the nurses know, and they very vehemently told me NOT to push.

When Dr. Ward checked me, I swear it felt like it took forever, and that she had to have been wrist-deep up my vagina. That was the most pain I'd ever been in up to that point; I was clinging to the bedrail and yelling uncontrollably, almost screaming. Finally, she confirmed that, no, his head wasn't presenting -- that was his scrotum.

That's when things got crazy.

(Continue to Part Three)

40 Weeks Down: Connor's Estimated Due Date

It's hard to imagine, but Connor could have still been on the inside this evening, instead of having just turned three weeks old.

It's been a whirlwind — the learning curve of just caring for a baby; dealing with the standard sleep deprivation; having family and friends visit (a welcome distraction); and other non-baby stuff, like expensive plumbing problems. I haven't even finished writing out Connor's birth story yet, and he'll be turning a month old soon!

My Mom (aka "Grandma") has been visiting from Texas for the past week, and will be staying through the end of this week. It's been so helpful to have another pair of experienced hands around, especially in the evenings after Aaron goes to work. Once she leaves, I'll definitely miss having her around, but I'll also feel like it's my "stepping out" as a real Mom: taking care of Baby with no one right there to fall back on. Time to figure out our own schedule, mine and Connor's.

And how am I feeling physically? Sleep deprived, still a little tender in the abdominal area, but otherwise OK. I've lost all but a few pounds of my baby weight, and am looking forward to getting the OK from my doctor in a few weeks to start exercising again. Also looking forward to making an appointment with my chiropractor at the six-week post-partum mark, as my back has been killing me. I'm pretty sure my Percocet was intended for relief of incision pain, not back pain, but it does the job in a pinch...

Now comes my valiant attempt to avoid becoming a typical "mommy blogger." Not that there's anything wrong with mommy bloggers; it's just not my style. I don't think. At least, I never thought it would be...

Connor's Early Arrival, Part One

I had my 36-week OB appointment on Friday the 2nd, in the afternoon -- I'd opted to take a half day off of work and make my Labor Day weekend just a little longer. This was the first visit where my doctor would check my cervix for dilation and effacement, to see how far along I was. She almost didn't even check; she asked me if I wanted her to check me, and I asked in return, "Depends: do you want to check me?" So, she did, and she was surprised to find that I was already 2cm dilated and about 60% effaced.

Apart from that, everything went as expected: got my Strep B test (standard procedure at 36 weeks), got to hear the heartbeat (standard for every visit), got to ask all my weird questions (this time, I asked whether I could just have IV access without having to cart an actual IV pole around with me just for the hydrating solution). Left with everything looking awesome and on-track, scheduled the remainder of my OB visits, and proceeded with my long weekend.

Spent the late afternoon at home with Aaron, until he went to work. Spent the evening chilling out and watching Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives on the Food Network -- actually took a nap through a couple of episodes around 8pm. Woke up hungry, so I warmed up a frozen meal and had second dinner before getting ready for bed.

Around 10:30pm, as I was about to undress for bed, I felt a small gush of fluid. Nothing big, but enough to make me take note. I got ready for bed and laid down for 20 minutes to research "amniotic fluid leak" on Google and BabyCenter. When I got up again, I got another small gush. This time, I called the OB on call for my practice, who was particularly unhelpful -- "If there's any question that your water has broken," she advised me, "definitely come in to the hospital and get checked. Otherwise, I wouldn't worry about it." Gee, thanks. I told her I'd just take it easy and see what happened, then.

I gave Aaron a quick heads-up via our Words With Friends game, just in case, and agreed to text or call if anything major happened. Then I went to bed.

But I didn't really sleep. I was on high alert for leakage. I kept thinking I felt something, but didn't want to get up for fear of making things worse. Finally, at 12:30am, there was no question: my water broke. It soaked through the maxi pad I was wearing, through my underwear, down to the sheets. Despite my knock-kneed break for the bathroom, it still spilled down my leg and onto the bathroom floor.

Yep, no questions now.

I was on the phone to Aaron within minutes, once I'd collected myself. I told him what had happened, and his response (after the initial "What do you want me to do?") was, "So, this is really happening!" I was still in denial somehow, thinking that they'd check me and send me home on bed rest -- I was still a little early, after all, not yet having hit the official 37-week full-term mark. But I asked Aaron if he could come home and take me to the hospital. No problem -- he told his supervisor after we hung up and was out of there in no time.

Meanwhile, I had only just started packing our hospital bag earlier that week, so I started gathering what we'd need. Toiletries, clothes, a magazine to keep me busy (which I never did crack open), iPhone chargers, the sorts of things one might need for an overnight stay away from home. I'd never written out a formal birth plan (which was just as well), so I didn't need to remember to pack that.

It didn't take long for Aaron to get home. After our initial hellos and hugs and minor excited freak outs together, he went to get a shower while I called the OB on-call again, just to confirm that, yes, my water had really broken, no question, and to let them know that we were coming in. This time, I got a more definite response: yes, come to the hospital now. We'll be expecting you.

So, we did. Aaron got his toiletries and a change of clothes into the hospital bag, and off we went. At this point, it was just before 2:00am. I hadn't really researched and remembered how to get to Toledo Hospital from our house, since I wouldn't be driving; maybe I should have, since Aaron experienced a minor anxiety-induced brain fart en route, and I had to whip out my iPhone to confirm which way we needed to turn to get to the hospital.

We tried to be as calm as we could as we parked the car and walked into the hospital -- and promptly went the wrong way, going up the parking garage elevator instead of proceeding to the lobby and taking the visitor elevators. No problem; back down to Floor 2, to the lobby, then past the reception desk, past the Mom And Me Boutique, around the corner to the elevators, up to Floor 3, and follow the signs to Labor and Delivery.

"Hi!" I said to the ladies at the nurses' station. "My water just broke."

An RN named Cortnie took our info: name, OB's name, gestational age (36 weeks 5 days), that sort of thing, then escorted us down to L&D Room 1. Our official check-in time was 1:58am.

Room 1 was actually pretty swanky, as hospital rooms go: much larger than the one we'd seen on our tour, with a dresser and a portable CD/cassette player (aka "boom box"), a loveseat, a recliner, and some unintrusive art on the walls. Of course, there was also a fetal monitor and a warmer contraption for after Baby's arrival. I got changed into the gown that Cortnie had left for me, and Aaron and I got used to the idea that we weren't being sent home, after all.

This was really happening.

(Continue to Part Two...)

37 Weeks Down... And A Change Of Plans

On Friday night, right before bed, my water broke.

Within 13 hours, at 1:47pm on Saturday, September 3rd, our son Connor was born. Weight, 5 lbs 15 oz; length, 21 inches.

All three of us are still in the hospital and doing fine; we'll be discharged tomorrow. Once we get home and I can write on a device a little more conducive to long-form blogging, I'll post a full-length birth story with photos.

No worries about his gestational age, by the way; he was assessed at 38 weeks instead of the 36w5d we had originally thought.

Aaron and I are parents! And we're perfectly OK with it so far.

36 Weeks Down, 4 To Go: Baby Shower

This date, as with the Childbirth Express class, has been on my calendar for months. It seemed so far away for so long (just like my impending due date) that it seems weird to have it over already.

I was genuinely surprised when a total of 22 people RSVP'ed with a Yes to Sheryl's baby shower Evite. In the end, though, only a dozen people could make it — Aaron's aunt and uncle had to work, his one cousin with a car had to work (which took the rest of them out of the running), Aaron's brother had to work, my BFF from junior high ended up unable to wrangle a 2½ hour trip with two little ones, and I'm sure I'm forgetting someone. Although I missed them all, I think it worked out better with a smaller group: we all fit around one hibachi table, and I was able to socialize with everyone without feeling like I was slighting anyone too much.

The evening started with appetizers and dinner at Sakura Japanese Steakhouse. I hadn't been there for a couple of years, maybe, and had forgotten how much fun watching the crazy hibachi chef can be.

Almost everyone else had something from the grill; Aaron and I got sushi. Along with the appetizers that Sheryl ordered, I think we were all stuffed to the gills after dinner. And cake. Oh, my.

After dinner, most of us drove around the corner to Starbucks for the opening of presents, since Sakura wasn't amenable to having us take up valuable table space (and there really wasn't enough space for proper present-opening, anyway). Starbucks was pretty deserted, so the dozen of us didn't feel too bad about invading for a while. I opened presents, girlie giggles were had by all (even the guys), and I really enjoyed connecting with everyone in a slightly more intimate and less noisy setting.

After all the presents were opened, I thanked everyone for coming and let them know that I wouldn't be offended if they opted to leave at that point. I knew that Traeonna wasn't feeling well after getting a tad sunburnt that morning/afternoon, and Erika needed to take eight-month-old Naomi home before she got too cranky (she was such a trooper, though, through two hours of dinner and maybe an hour of Starbucks). The rest of us hung around and talked about the random stuff that friends talk about.

Mark and Rocky took off after a while (she's still experiencing first-trimester fatigue, so I didn't blame them in the slightest), and we all hung around for a while longer before I just couldn't hold my yawns in anymore (I'm experiencing third-trimester fatigue myself, and every night is an early one these days). Aaron and I got to take the cake leftovers home, along with all the cupcakes that didn't get eaten due to the last-minute cancellations. (EVIL. Pure, delicious evil.)

That was a super fun time, and a perfect fit for my style in general. Sheryl and Amy were fantastic co-hosts (props to Sheryl for doing most of the legwork, being the local one and all), and they totally planned an evening that fit my personality and my social preferences. I had such a great time reconnecting with people I hadn't seen in a while, and feeling loved and appreciated is always a good thing, too.

At the time of this writing, I've posted all but Aaron's iPhone photos to my Flickr. We brought multiple digital point-and-shoot cameras and passed them around to everyone to get lots of pictures... and here they are.

(For a blast from the past, check out the pics from my bridal shower from Spring 2003, also hosted by Sheryl and Amy.)

Thanks again to everyone who showed up, and who wanted to show up but couldn't. You all rock. I feel seriously loved, and you're all welcome to stop by sometime in late October or November to meet our little one — just be sure to set up a date and time with us first, or you're likely to spend some quality time with cranky, sleep-deprived parents and a potentially fussy newborn. ;-)

35 Weeks Down, 5 To Go: Childbirth Class

Most expecting parents who take childbirth classes through ProMedica go to class one evening a week for five weeks. Since Aaron works nights, that wasn't an option for us, so we signed up for one of the monthly Friday/Saturday Childbirth Express classes (aka The Weekender). After months of having this event so far away on the calendar, it finally happened this past weekend. (Which means that The Big Event is that much closer, as well. Yikes.)

Overall, I only picked up a few things I didn't already know: Lamaze breathing patterns, pros and cons of analgesic pain relief options (as opposed to the ubiquitous epidural), different labor positions, and lots of videos. Aaron, not having read the crapload of books and websites I have, definitely got more of a data dump than I did, but we both feel much better having gone. We had some unexpectedly close bonding time with massage and relaxation, and we both got more used to the idea of not just going through the act of childbirth, but having a child of our own to bring home after it's all said and done.

This Cabbage Patch Kid (Brett George, my only boy Cabbage Patch of six, in case you were wondering) was the first object Aaron has ever diapered. As a first try, I think he did great. Granted, as a couple of our friends pointed out over Facebook, a Cabbage Patch Kid doesn't squirm or have explosive diarrhea, but I still think it was a good start.

That brings up something else that's been an intriguing exercise in observation: Aaron and I imagine that we can tell what kind of parental experiences our parent-friends have had so far by what kind of "advice" they give. A few people have been so positive and supportive and helpful; others tend to dwell on the negative and the "you just wait until..." factor.

We're not kidding ourselves. We know about the feedings every two hours and the loose poops and the sleep deprivation. We understand about the frazzled nights and the bleary days. We expect the crying for no discernible reason (both from me and from the baby). We honestly don't need to be reminded — if you'll all recall, this wasn't our idea. But we've accepted and embraced the reality that we're going to be parents soon, and what we need now is support. Friendship. Helpful tips. A few last adults-only meals with friends, perhaps, since we might be holed up in our house for a while this Fall.

Next Saturday is our baby shower, thrown by my bestest gal-pals Sheryl and Amy. We'll get to see people from out of town whom we haven't seen in years — Aaron will get to meet some people for the first time ever — and we'll get to touch base with some local friends we rarely see anymore. Honestly, while it'll be nice to get more baby stuff, I'm more interested in being social with my friends one last time.

It's only going to be The Two Of Us (Plus Our Cat) for as many weeks as I can count on one hand.

Holy crap.

34 Weeks Down, 6 To Go

Our baby acquisitions are finally winding down. This weekend's purchase was a crib mattress from Baby Depot, with a 15% off coupon. Score! Even more win: the cheaper mattress was the firmer mattress (and firm is good when it comes to crib mattresses).

Now we wait until the baby shower on the 27th to see what our friends and family have decided to bestow upon us — then we hit up Amazon.com or Baby Depot to purchase the necessities that may be left, like a play yard (aka playpen) or changing pad or bottles or bouncy seat or whatnot.

Next weekend is our Childbirth Express class: Friday evening and all day Saturday. Normally, the class would be taken for five weeks, one day a week, for two or three hours each session. Since the only sessions are in the evenings, though, and Aaron works nights, we're rocking the two-day express course. We're both looking forward to learning about our options and how this is going to go down: pain management ideas, labor positions, and so forth. Aaron's never changed a diaper in his life, and it's been YEARS since I have, so learning/relearning some basic childcare skills will be mighty helpful, too.

The breastfeeding class comes separately with this option, so I'll be flying solo one of these evenings to take that (because I'm definitely going to be breastfeeding, Flying Spaghetti Monster willing).

New and notable this week: increased fatigue, continued swelling of hands and feet, sore and achy knuckles, and a change from feeling hungry to feeling queasy and lightheaded (which apparently means the same thing now: eat something). Also, I'm not entirely convinced that today's chiropractic adjustment helped a whole lot, as I'm still feeling the very slight numbness of sciatica in my right buttcheek.

Overall? Feeling mighty pregnant right now. Starting to get used to the idea of being someone's Mom soon, although it's still a little freaky (and I'm guessing it still will be, even after we bring our son home). I'll probably feel more secure after this weekend's class, though.

33 Weeks Down, 7 To Go: Baby Transportation

This week's baby-related acquisitions: car seat and stroller. Both second-hand, both in fine shape. The car seat we got from our awesome friends Doug and Erika, whose daughter has moved up in the world from infant seat to convertible seat. The stroller we got from Once Upon A Child, which we've been frequenting for the past several weeks, so we knew when we saw a slightly-nicer-looking-than-usual Graco stroller for $48 that we may as well jump on it.

We ended up with the Graco Infant SafeSeat and the Graco Quattro Tour Deluxe stroller. Granted, the patterns don't match, but we don't particularly care; we basically got a $200+ travel system used for $50. Once Junior grows out of the car seat, we'll have the option of either keeping the stroller or trading it back to the secondhand store for credit and purchasing a lighter-weight stroller that fits in the trunk a little easier.

The only thing we still need to buy that isn't on our registry is our crib mattress. We won't know until after our shower how much we'll still need to buy for ourselves: mattress cover, changing pad, bouncer, pack-n-play, etc.

In other preparations, I've been reading craptons of books, asking questions of my parental friends on Facebook, listening to podcasts, that sort of thing. Between all that, the hospital tour, and the impending Childbirth Express class coming up in a couple of weekends, I'm feeling surprisingly unstressed... sometimes. Sometimes I do get into a tizzy of OMG I CAN'T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ANOTHER HUMAN BEING — I'M NOT DONE WITH MYSELF YET, but it doesn't usually last for long, thankfully.

I'm well into the phase where strangers greet me with either a double-take at my belly or just straight-up asking me when I'm due. I get a lot of "Boy, you've probably had enough of this heat!" Luckily, I've gotten better with the small talk the longer I've worked in an office environment, so I can smile and answer with something appropriate, depending on who's asking.

My co-worker is due exactly one week before me, so it's also fun to get comments from other employees from other departments, usually asking about how our boss is dealing with the situation. It's even better if he's there, too, so we can get his reaction. Today, for example:

Marketing Bigwig, to my co-worker: When are you due?
Co-worker: September 19th — and she's due a week after me!
Me: Yep, I'm due September 26th.
Marketing Bigwig, to our boss: And what are you going to do?
Our Boss: Cry.

Priceless.

In My Eighth Month

[Taken 4 August 2011 | 1/60sec @ f/4 | ISO 200 | 24mm | adjusted in Photoshop CS2]

If I'm looking a little less than tickled in this photo, it's because I photographed myself for half an hour straight in a small, hot room in the upstairs of my house after I got home from work. I'm a little uncomfortable... which isn't to say I'm not enjoying myself anyway.

This image was actually a pleasant surprise in post-processing: it wasn't until I messed with this initially-underexposed image (with a bounce flash that was meant for fill) that I thought about tweaking it into a high-key, high-contrast portrait. That's not my M.O. — but I'm pleased with how it turned out.

I've posted some more of my maternity self-portraits in a set on Flickr.

32 Weeks Down, 8 To Go: A Place To Put Baby's Stuff

The biggest item on our agenda, after securing a place for Junior to sleep, was a place to put his stuff: a dresser. Aaron and I had been hitting the antique mall every Sunday after Starbucks, checking Craigslist, scouring the thrift stores... until finally we got a solid lead.

Two-piece baby furniture set, the listing read, for $65 total.

We arranged to drive out past Perrysburg to see the furniture in its native habitat, and when we got there (and a prettier Middle Of Nowhere I haven't seen in some time), we agreed that the four-drawer dresser and three-drawer changing table were exactly what we needed. The seller was kind enough to load them into his truck the next day and deliver them to our house after work for no additional charge — and by Thursday evening, we had a place for Junior's stuff.

I spent a little time Sunday evening getting his stuff into the dressers, at which point I realized that Junior's gonna need some more stuff. But all the stuff he's already managed to accumulate is put away.

As for me, physically, I'm still not quite miserable yet. My feet and hands are swelling — so much, in fact, that I've given up on wearing my wedding band and engagement ring and have swapped them for Aaron's high school class ring, which is a size or so bigger. My lower back is stiff sometimes, and my hips take turns with my knees to ache enough to keep me up at night (yes, despite a pillow between my knees). My right knee is feeling the excess weight and lack of glucosamine/chondroitin supplements, crunching and squeaking with every deep-knee bend and stair step.

I'm keeping my weight gain steady and controlled and healthy; I've gained just over 20 pounds so far during the whole pregnancy. The last time I weighed this amount was when I joined Weight Watchers in April 2008. Luckily, I'll drop a good ten pounds when I deliver, so getting back to where I was shouldn't be a problem. In fact, I'm not really worried about that at all. I'm mainly just irritated at the pregnancy symptoms that I know are due to (or exacerbated by) weight gain.

Next OB appointment is tomorrow; they're every two weeks now. Kiddo has been bumping and grinding on a regular basis, shoving what I assume is his ass up against my ribcage, so I expect my doctor to make comment (as she always does) about how active he is.

Eight more weeks; less than two more months. I'm trying to savor this last bit of time and commit everything to memory. These months have flown by so fast.

31 Weeks Down, 9 To Go: The Crib

Aaron had asked his dad to drive his SUV out to our place this past Saturday to help us with buying a crib for Junior — or, rather, to help us get it home, since we wouldn’t be able to fit the box into the trunk of our trusty-but-not-made-for-haulin' Kia. So, Dad showed up around 2pm, as planned, and (after some pleasantries and catching-up) we headed out to Burlington Coat Factory (home of Baby Depot), just down the road from our house.

The place looked surprisingly un-busy when we got there; the parking lot was just about empty. Sure enough, when we drove a little closer, we could see a handwritten sign taped to the front doors: "Closed due to power outage." Either they’d been affected by the recent summer thunderstorms, or the massive heat, or both.

Luckily, we did have a Plan B: Wally World had a similar model for a similar price. So, we headed a few miles west to Walmart and picked up the Graco Stanton crib (instead of the Graco Lauren crib). It fit in the back of the SUV with no problems (well, Aaron was a little cramped in the back seat with one of the seats folded down), and we got it home much easier than we would have with only the Kia and some rope.

Aaron assembled it all by himself today, while I was at work. Sounds like it was kind of a pain in the ass — OK, more than "kind of," but he managed it quite well on his own and didn't add any new scratches or dents above and beyond the ones that were already there.

We still need a dresser (we're working Craigslist for that right now), but with the crib put together, it's starting to look and feel more like our son's room than a minty-sage-green storage room.

The cat's not happy about having her litter box evicted from the room, but that's another story...

30 Weeks Down, 10 To Go: Hospital Tour

I remember putting the Toledo Hospital maternity tour and the childbirth class on our calendars months ago; they seemed so far off then. Well, this past Sunday was our maternity tour, and Childbirth Express is scheduled for August 19-20.

We showed up early for the 1pm tour, along with about eight other expecting mothers and their support (significant others, parents, etc). Our tour guide, lactation consultant Melanie (if I'm recalling correctly), first showed us the way up from Entrance #1 to Labor and Delivery (elevators are just past the Mom & Me Boutique, conveniently enough).

First stop: Post-partum Recovery. (The group after us was going to Labor and Delivery first, so we took the tour backwards.) The hospital encourages "rooming in" with baby, so they have a bassinet for baby and a comfy recliner for Dad (or other support partner) in each room, along with the hospital bed for Mom. Most rooms are singles; there are some double-occupancy rooms, but they're rarely used as such (usually Dad gets to sleep in the other bed instead of the chair). The hospital also encourages breastfeeding and skin-to-skin contact; lactation consultants are on staff 24 hours a day to answer any questions.

Other things I learned at this stop:

Next stop: The Nursery. There really are giant windows in the front of the nursery, just like on TV, but they're usually covered with mini-blinds, and you can't just ask the nurse to hold up the baby you want to see. Each baby is fitted with ID bands that the staff match against Mom and Dad's, as well as an electronic tag that alerts hospital staff if a baby is taken out of the permitted area. It sounds like babies aren't frequently in the nursery, since they're usually rooming in with the parents — in fact, when our tour came through, there were only a few babies in the nursery (the nurse was kind enough to raise one of the blinds so we could see in).

Next stop: Labor and Delivery. The room we all wanted to see (or at least I did, anyway). Very spacious; homey but utilitarian. Large windows let in lots of natural light, but Aaron did notice the giant surgery lights recessed in the ceiling above the labor bed. There's also a storage closet with giant accordion doors, wherein they keep the necessary equipment (including, I'm sure, the machine that goes "Ping!")

Here I learned what the process was all about, and it set me at ease in a big way. They're all about upright birthing positions. They can provide a birthing ball if requested, and the labor bed can be fitted with either stirrups or a birthing bar (and I'm assuming it adjusts to a near-upright position). Fetal monitoring is only done if necessary. As I mentioned above, they're also all about skin-to-skin contact, and they routinely postpone any procedures on the newborn (vitamin K shot and eye ointment) until after about an hour of bonding and breastfeeding.

Last stop: Where You Go If You Get a C-Section. It's a separate section of the L&D floor, and, of course, we couldn't enter the actual surgery area, as it's a sterile area. They still encourage rooming in and skin-to-skin, even after a c-section.

So, a bit backwards, but that was the tour. Aaron and I did see my OB during the tour, which was cool and unexpected. She didn't see us, though. We went in for our 30-week appointment today, and I told her that we saw her — seems she got to be on-call that day, and work the next day at her office. Good times. I also told her that all my questions were answered and all my fears assuaged, and I asserted that I'm a big dork for having been all worried about the whole labor and delivery process.

I really am feeling a LOT better about this whole thing, knowing that nothing overly medicalized will be forced upon me, and that they're trying to conform to the latest practices. Toledo Hospital isn't officially certified Baby-Friendly yet, but it wouldn't take much for them to be.

As anyone who knows me will attest, I'm one of those people who needs to know what to expect. Not that I don't like some surprises, but I like to be prepared for whatever situation I may find myself in. This tour was a HUGE help for my preparedness and my state of mind. Once we finish the childbirth class next month, I'll feel even better.

Silhouette

[Taken 13 July 2011 | 1/40sec @ f/3.5 | ISO 200 | 18mm | Adjusted in Photoshop CS2]

Me at 29 weeks, 2 days. Experimenting with poses and camera settings at six months, so I'll be ready when I take the "real" maternity self-portraits at eight or nine months.

I'm already pretty big now, though. Damn.

29 Weeks Down, 11 To Go

The short version: the third trimester is definitely sneaking up on me. After a few months of deciding that this whole being pregnant thing isn't actually all that bad — now I'm getting lower abdominal muscle soreness, lower back soreness, major fatigue, swelling hands and feet... It's still not as bad as it could be (or will be), but it's becoming an annoyance. Not being able to do the things I used to be able to do... it bothers me. I'm not ready for the "pregnancy waddle" to be taking effect, either. Not yet.

We bought some clothes for Junior this weekend, both at a yard sale and at Old Navy. At the yard sale, we picked up a hat and a few onesies, and the Old Navy grab bag scored us a couple of shirts and several onesies. Next up on the shopping list for Junior will be pants and sleepers. As my Mom pointed out on Facebook, I never really fit into newborn clothes, so we're keeping to mainly 3-6 month sizes, although we do have a healthy collection of 0-3 month stuff and a few newborn clothes (just in case).

I also splurged on a few online purchases for myself: a dress from Destination Maternity (hopefully to be worn at my baby shower), a couple of Bravado nursing bras, and some maternity underwear (because the larger-sized plus size undies just aren't cutting it). I hate to buy stuff that I won't be wearing after September or October, but I just can't justify being uncomfortable for the next few months, either. Plus, the nursing bras will be in use for who knows how long, and should be worth the investment.

My main goal for this week is to get the kid's room ready for a crib, since Aaron and his dad will be purchasing and transporting and assembling next week or the week after. (Well, his dad will be involved in the transporting part, anyway.) We're also on the lookout for an inexpensive dresser that can double as a changing table. We have a few leads on Craigslist — which reminds me that I need to e-mail said leads shortly.

Slowly but surely, we're getting ready.

Baby "Bucket List"

One of the pregnancy podcasts I listen to, PregTASTIC, recently had a show about baby bucket lists — similar to the list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket, but in terms of the things you want to do before you have a baby. This really struck me, because Aaron and I had barely even thought about that sort of thing until the infamous Miscarriage of '07, after which our baby bucket list turned into our lifestyle.

Before we got pregnant the first time, the only thing we did in preparation was to paint the baby's room. We didn't have any savings, we hadn't gone on any trips, we weren't in the best shape physically... I'm honestly not sure what made me think it was a good idea at the time. Biological clock ticking and all that, I guess.

The miscarriage happened at ten weeks: barely enough time for us to have gotten used to the idea of being pregnant in the first place. I've mentioned our post-miscarriage dinner at Red Lobster (yes, I think it may have been that very weekend), where we discussed our chance of a do-over. Now we get the opportunity to do the things we should really do before starting a family... so what are they?

Going to Japan.

That was the main one, and it was made possible partially due to a pretty sweet tax return. The next year, we went to Hawaii, made possible mainly from the severance pay from the job I got laid off from in Fall 2007.

After those two trips, our annual Big Vacation became something that we (and our friends and family) came to anticipate and expect. It became a part of our lifestyle, as much as going out to eat together on the weekends, or subscribing to cable internet service. Our baby bucket list (of one item) became a pivotal linchpin of why we decided not to have children.

(Until the decision was made differently by one rogue, birth-control-evading ovum, that is.)

Now that I'm six months pregnant (really? already? holy shit!), there's not much on the baby bucket list except gathering baby stuff. Clothes, crib, dresser, and whatever ends up leftover from my registry (which I'm sure will be plenty).

There are things, however, that I'm glad I ended up doing before I got pregnant — first and foremost involving my health. I'm glad that I was at my lowest adult weight when I conceived. I'm glad that I had started a running regimen, and that I had just finished my first 5K.

I'm also glad I got a job that pays well and that I enjoy (as much as a person can enjoy their 8-to-5, anyway). I'm glad that we're financially stable; although we'll definitely be cutting back on spending (dinners out, Starbucks, online purchases), we're not living paycheck-to-paycheck, and we'll make it. We'll just go back to being weekend homebodies for a little while, maybe only taking Junior out to Sunday dim sum with us (because we'd go absolutely stir-crazy nutso if we didn't get out of the house at all).

There are also things that it might have been nice to do before we got pregnant, but that it's not the end of the world that they didn't happen. I'm thinking mainly of home improvement projects, like painting the living and dining rooms and getting new carpet. Once Junior threatens to become mobile, I'm sure we'll have a whole new set of home-related to-dos, like putting up gates and perhaps getting some new pieces of furniture (or securing our current shelves to the walls). But we'll cross that cliché when we come to it.

Moms and Dads out there: what was on your baby bucket list? Did you have one? Did you wish you had after the fact?

27 Weeks Down, 13 To Go

Well, I spent most of my quality blogging time this evening trying to puzzle out how to most efficiently code a javascript slideshow of my growing baby bump, with little luck. I know there are free ones out there, but I really wanted to code it myself; alas, I may end up finding one that I can tweak instead.

Point being, today's update is going to be short and sweet kind of stream-of-consciousness, since I used up all my time and brainpower on javascript geekery.

Even though I haven't quite hit the third trimester yet, I'm definitely feeling different this week. I feel like I look rounder these days, and I can feel the pull of the extra weight on my back and abs. When I try to activate my abs to protect my lower back and to stand up straight, my abs get sore quick; when I let my weight sag forward, my back hurts. Walking is more tiring than it was even a month ago, and makes my lower abdominals ache in an interesting new way. Luckily, my thighs don't hurt as much anymore — whether that's from my sleeping with a pillow between my legs or because my pelvis has slowed its spread is a mystery. Either way is fine by me.

In relation to me getting rounder, our baby boy is definitely getting bigger and taking up more room. Used to be that I could only feel his kicks and punches and whatnot below my belly button; now (right now, actually) he's making movements I can feel above my waistline. This corresponds with my suddenly-decreased lung capacity and my new-found inability to eat a large meal.

Aaron and I are getting closer to a name for our new addition, as well as getting closer to having his room livable. His room has been a storage room for the past seven years or so, and it's been a slow process for me to get my crap out of the room. I still have some odds and ends to relocate/pitch before we can buy a crib and get it assembled and ready for Junior. We're also starting to check out antique malls and other low-cost options for a dresser that will double as a changing table.

As far as the naming goes, we have some options posted on the refrigerator, and we do have a strong contender for full name. We've recently moved from dorky, joking mode to seriously-our-kid-needs-a-name-soon mode, and we've made good progress.

We're scheduled for a tour of the hospital in July, and we're taking the weekend Childbirth Express class in August. Things are falling into place, and we only have three months to go before two becomes three.

Yikes.

Apprehension

I rarely write personal thoughts in my blog anymore. Either I'm just not interested in blogging after spending the work day in front of a computer, or I'm not comfortable sharing that much of myself anymore.

Today, I think, may be a departure from that trend.

Because I'm feeling totally overwhelmed.

It really is ironic that I got pregnant after Aaron and I had decided that having kids just wasn't for us. I mean, I'd always wanted to be a mom, but Aaron had never wanted children, and he never sugarcoated that fact for me. I knew. I hoped he'd change his mind, but I knew. In fact, I told him on more than one occasion that I loved him more than I loved someone that I'd never met, that didn't even exist, and that I certainly wouldn't leave him just so I could have a child with someone else.

Back in September 2009, nearly two years ago, I blogged about why people choose to (or not to) have kids:

This really feels like my deconversion from Christianity: a slow but revealing process that makes my brain look at the world differently. Once I seriously asked the question, once I stepped back from my worldview and considered it, I got my mind blown.

There are just so many reasons why we didn't want this. Like I said earlier, it's not that I didn't want kids, but I did recognize that the support situation isn't ideal. We don't have any family who's local, apart from my father-in-law and brother-in-law (neither of whom are likely to watch Junior on a regular basis). We work opposite shifts — I get home from work and usually get to spend about 30 minutes with Aaron before he's off to work; I'm asleep for a good four hours before he comes home; then I get up and leave for work in the morning and he sleeps for another five hours after I leave. This spells daycare, so Daddy can get some sleep after Mommy goes to work in the morning.

Then there are even more selfish reasons, like having nice things, and sleeping in on weekends, and going on international and tropical vacations, and being totally comfortable with our current financial situation. Yeah, they're self-centered. That doesn't bother me. After all, I am the center of my universe. I am the person who perceives the world around me and interacts with it. (But that's a philosophical post for another time.)

Maybe it's hormones. Maybe I'm overloaded with babyness. I don't know. But I have this pervasive fear that our child is going to affect our marriage in a Very Bad Way. So far, we've managed to work through most of the relationship bumps we've encountered, coming to some sort of arrangement or agreement to get us through. But this... I don't want us to resent this newcomer. Or each other.

A friend-couple of ours just told us that they're also expecting, and that they're "overjoyed." I read their e-mail, and thought about that first few minutes after our positive pee-test, where Aaron and I sat in the living room in shoe-gazing silence, punctuated by the occasional quiet f-bomb. Even after getting used to the idea, I've barely made it to the "moderately excited" part of the spectrum. "Overjoyed" won't be until... I don't know when. Until he graduates high school?

I feel guilty as fuck for NOT being overjoyed. Like there's something inherently wrong with me. And, again, it's not that I won't or don't love this little still-unnamed son of ours... but I do love my husband, and I don't want us to grow to resent our son or each other.

I hate the unknown. That's mainly it. Our lives are about to change (as every parent loves to tell us), and as much as I can read and prepare and learn, there's no knowing how this is going to affect our routine, our lifestyle, our relationship.

Maybe we can have a "normal" weekend, with no baby garage sales or baby naming or shopping for maternity underwear or bras that are three goddamn cup sizes bigger than my old ones. Maybe some normality (or as close as I can get) will help set me right.

24 Weeks Down, 16 To Go

Today's pregnancy topic: my changing shape. Specifically, finding clothes for said changing shape, especially considering that I'll only be wearing these clothes for another few months.

The good news is that I'd been slack about getting rid of my old "fat clothes" after losing 25 pounds on Weight Watchers. Many of my fat pants are still quite passable with a belly band to hold them up (and to disguise my waaay open fly). The bad news is that all my cute summer girly tees and whatnot are going to stay in their Sterilite container under my bed for at least another year.

As with my last update, I'll be skimming back through my tweets to find some appropriate milestones...

read more...

22 Weeks Down, 18 To Go

It occurred to me that I've been doing my readership mother a disservice by not blogging more about my pregnancy since I announced it to the world. I guess I just got in such a habit of keeping everything to myself (we learned about it at 10 weeks and didn't say anything for another month and a half) that most of my internal pregnancy banter still went straight into my private longhand journal.

I've gotten away from the journaling a bit, though, and more into micro-blogging on Twitter. Granted, my tweets do get published here (and on Facebook), but condensing feelings and experiences down to 140 characters can lose a little something in the translation.

So, I'm going to take my first few public micro-blogs on the topic of pregnancy and expound on them a bit. We'll see how far I get...

read more...

When Jupiter Aligns With Mars

Chat with a former intern from my department at work. He knew about my co-worker being pregnant (only a week further along than me) before he knew that I was also pregnant.

Stephen says:
so congrats on the upcoming spawn!
Diana says:
heh. thanks!
must be something in the water.
Stephen says:
apparently. or maybe some weird cosmic connection with you two being so close in proximity to each other
you know, star alignment and gravity and all that nonsense
Diana says:
if jupiter aligning with mars defeats The Pill, someone should tell the scientific community. this is big news.
Stephen says:
lol, it would be important news out there for everyone
i can see a little disclaimer on the prescription: "the effects are nullified when jupiter and mars are in alignment, be careful"
Diana says:
LOL!

Irony

Four years and three months ago, I was ten weeks into a planned pregnancy. We'd conceived on our first go at it, but the resulting pregnancy was fraught with complications. On a Friday evening in January 2007, Aaron and I found ourselves at The Toledo Hospital, dealing with the results of my miscarriage.

That weekend, we sat down and re-evaluated our life together, and decided to take a temporary fork away from the typical married-with-kids plan. We decided that we really could afford our long-dreamed-of trip to Japan — and that started a trend that we later decided to continue indefinitely.

We opted not to have children after all. I gave away the few parenting books and baby paraphernalia I'd collected for "someday when we have kids" and went on The Pill. We continued planning vacations (Japan, Hawaii, Japan again, Mexico, and Aruba upcoming in 2011), and settled in for a life of being Just The Two Of Us And Our Cat.

February 2011. My second missed period, after having religiously taken The Pill every night around 10pm. Called the OBGYN's office on Monday; they told me to take a home pregnancy test, just to rule out that outcome. Took the pee test on Monday after work.

Positive.

In a three-day whirlwind of tests — urine, blood, and ultrasound — we went from being Just The Two Of Us And Our Cat to picking up where we'd left off four years before: ten weeks pregnant.

It's now six weeks later, and this pregnancy has been complication-free thus far. Medically, anyway; Aaron and I are both finding this quite complicated to wrap our brains around. On our good days, though, we're actually pretty excited about this next chapter in our lives.

Just The Two Of Us And Our Cat will become Just The Three Of Us And Our Cat on (or around) September 26, 2011.

Shower The People You Love With Love

Honestly, when I got the invitation to E's baby shower, I wasn't excited at the prospect of attending another awkward shower where I know no one besides the mother-to-be. Unlike many other baby shower invites I'd received in the past, though, this one was local -- only 15 minutes from my house, not in Columbus or West Salem or some other hours-away destination.

I can't complain about never being invited to anything if I don't go when I am invited, I decided. The RSVP was Regrets Only, so all I had to do was buy a present (via their Amazon registry) and just show up. So, I looked through E's registry and picked out a baby journal and a Star Trek onesie, both gifts that I felt would be appropriately "me."

I waited until the night before the shower to wrap the presents. It was a Friday night, and I decided to make it a movie night -- so, I put in the HD-DVD of Blazing Saddles (which looks amazing, by the way) and sat in front of the TV to wrap.

Most people would just buy a gift bag with obscenely cute bows or flowers or duckies or something and be done with it; not me. I opted for a more personalized route.

I remembered E showing me a super-cute stuffed tiger toy in the baby's crib, and telling me that her daughter would be born in the year of the tiger. So, with some plain brown paper as my canvas, I drew my own super-cute tiger with acrylic paint, Sharpie, and an orange highlighter. I even Googled reference photos for tigers, so I'd get the stripes and coloring right.

While I waited for the tiger to dry, I used my Japanese Totoro stamps to decorate the rest of the wrapper (which required a couple of do-overs, actually -- the white tag wasn't originally in the design) and added a To and From section with some alphabet stamps I picked up a few years back. Once everything was dry, I wrapped the presents in the newly-adorned brown paper, tied it up with an appropriately-girly pink ribbon, and was quite pleased with myself.

Until I got to the shower the next morning.

My decorated brown paper package looked as hopelessly out of place as I felt, as it sat amongst the elaborate packaging and ribbons and tissue paper, in view of the heirloom antique crib.

As for me, after I tried my hand at some of the shower games and talked to Great-Grandma, I sat down with some of E's friends. I didn't even have time to introduce myself, though, before I spotted a familiar face from the Aikido dojo, and relocated myself to her table. Turns out she also didn't know anyone at the shower besides E, so we spent the luncheon catching up and gratefully trading gossip.

When the time came for the opening of presents, I was a little anxious. Would my handcrafted packaging be recognized for the thoughtful act it was meant to be? Would E like my presents? ...Would she keep the wrapping?

Turns out I had nothing to worry about. My present didn't get opened until well past the halfway point, in the midst of everything, but everyone took notice of my artwork. E's family made sure she planned to save the wrapping -- and they liked my presents, too.

(For the most part, anyway. One relative commented about how she'd liked my beautiful wrapping, but she didn't know what she thought of me after the Star Trek onesie. E had to assert that it was mainly for her geeky husband.)

As she opened my present and acknowledged each item, I was expecting a big epiphany on my part. I didn't get one.

See, the Totoro bib wasn't on their registry.

The Totoro bib was a purchase from our first trip to Japan. As many of my readers know, that trip was a happy result of a very unhappy circumstance: my miscarriage at 10 weeks. In the aftermath, we had decided to seriously do all the things we'd wanted to do before we had kids, starting with taking a trip to Japan. So, while we were there, we still intended to have children... eventually. Hence, I couldn't possibly pass up the Totoro bib -- not when I might never have the opportunity to buy one anyplace else when our time finally came.

But years passed, conversations were had, and decisions were made: we wouldn't be using that Totoro bib. Might as well give it in friendship to someone who will.

I wasn't sure what kind of reaction I would have when E opened her present and found the Totoro bib -- for which, of course, she had no idea of the backstory. Heartwrenching sadness, perhaps; or at least I'd get a little misty at what might have been. I wasn't prepared for my lack of any sort of reaction, outside of happiness at E's happiness. It was as if the bib had never had any emotional significance to me, and was really just a baby shower gift.

I guess that's what acceptance feels like.

As the present-opening festivities continued, I realized what a great network of support, tradition, and love E has behind her at this important and joyous time in her life. That overflowing support really underscored the decision Aaron and I have made not to have children -- not that I wouldn't like to bear his child(ren), but that it just wouldn't be a good idea for us. We don't have that sturdy network of support, among a myriad of other reasons (which I won't go into here).

Parents of children young and old would undoubtedly tell me it's all worth it in the long run. But I think I'll be content to spoil E's daughter with love and gifts, and go home to a quiet, non-babyproofed house when it's all said and done.

Why Have Kids?

I'm not being flippant or rhetorical. This is a serious question. Why do people choose to have children?

I've been sitting on this entry for weeks. Never before have I logged into Movable Type for day after day and had it tell me, "You have 1 draft." I just haven't been quite sure how to tackle the topic. Do I attack this like a dissertation, listing all the philosophical and sociological theories for procreation that I can think of? Do I keep it informal and funny? Do I engage my readers and hope someone will join in the conversation?

Guess I'll just jump in.

This really feels like my deconversion from Christianity: a slow but revealing process that makes my brain look at the world differently. Once I seriously asked the question, once I stepped back from my worldview and considered it, I got my mind blown.

If you have kids, or are expecting, I seriously want to know: why? I'm not being a dick; I'm being serious. When you sat down with your mate and had The Discussion, what was the driving force behind it? Was there a religious imperative to actively bring children into the world — or at least, not to prevent it? Do you just like kids, and wanted some of your own? Were you looking to pass on your own life lessons and beliefs for future generations? Or was it just time?

(Of course, if you're like my Mom, there wasn't so much of a mutual discussion as there was an after-the-fact decision, so that's a little different... but not so much. There was still the decision of birth versus abortion, and raising versus adoption.)

If you're consciously choosing not to have children, I ask you: why not? Is it a personal decision (you don't like kids, or you prefer your current lifestyle), or is it a sociopolitical decision (humans are in no danger of going extinct, and food is becoming more scarce)? Or is it something else entirely?

I don't want to start a debate as much as a discussion. Inquiring minds want to know!

Social Lies and Omissions

I'm fairly open about myself. I developed this trait when I flunked out of college for a semester, back in 1995. People would ask about school (mainly why I wasn't there), and I'd just tell them the truth. It was a little embarrassing, but it got easier with the telling. Granted, I didn't always tell the entire story about why and how I got put on Academic Suspension; it wasn't always relevant to the conversation, and was usually more than the person needed to know.

These days, I'm still fairly open about myself. I gladly announce my strengths and shortcomings, for the most part. I'm all over the internet, too, so there's no hiding from people who want to know all about me. (I know there are one or two people from work who check my blog and Twitter and Flickr on occasion, and I've come to be OK with that.)

There's a line, though, when it comes to casual social interaction. For instance: when I use the phrase, "once we have a kid," or, "someday, when we procreate," or whatever witty way I put it, one of the standard responses is, "Oh, are you thinking about trying for a kid?"

Normally, a standard answer from your average married thirty-something would be a casual nod and a smile, and perhaps a vague timeline — once so-and-so finishes school, or maybe this Fall, or even a secret admission that the person is indeed actively trying to conceive.

From me, though, you'll likely get a stiff attempt at a casual nod and a "We're thinking about it." That's because, every time someone asks, I think about the fact that I miscarried my first pregnancy at 10 weeks, and that Aaron and I could have been parents of a toddler right now. Then I realize that no one wants me to mention the worst day of my life in casual conversation — especially me — and I omit that detail and move on.

Never mind the fact that, no, we're not necessarily thinking about trying for a kid again. The jury's still out on that.

When my close friends ask me about my miscarriage, I answer. We discuss. It's cathartic, I think. But when people who didn't know me three years ago ask me about my family plans, I almost feel like I'm committing a social lie by not telling the whole truth, even though I know that's the last thing they want me to tell them at that moment.

The omission is just as much for my comfort as theirs, though. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was the worst day of my life. Reliving it isn't at the top of my to-do list.

So I'll stop now.

The Quest For Inbox:Zero

My modus operandi with e-mail is to leave "pending" items in my inbox, then file them when I've done whatever it is that needs to be done with them. Reply to them, take action on them, whatever. While that works out well at my job, it only plays to my procrastinating tendencies at home, leading me to have e-mails in my inbox from literally five years ago.

It's fun interesting looking back at some of the stuff I'd intended to blog, but never got around to it, being that some of it ended up being mildly prescient / prophetic:

Fri 15 Dec 2006 | 4:47 PM

I’m not one to fall into the trap of blogging about specifics at work. Suffice to say that I have evidence that the high turnover rate in my department of late is likely to continue in the future. Our previous clockwork vibe is long gone, co-workers are complaining about one another, and our supervisor and her actions are unpopular in certain circles. The few people who have the best interests of the department in mind (myself included) are quickly moving toward just doing our jobs and the extra mile be damned.

Fri 29 Dec 2006 | 4:49 PM

I figured out last night why I'm so stressed about the possibility of losing this pregnancy. There will never be another individual exactly like this little one that's brewing right now. Even though it can't yet see, or hear, and doesn't even really have opposable thumbs yet, it has the potential to be a unique human being. If it doesn't make it, it's not only a child I wouldn't get to raise, but it's a person who wouldn't exist. It's like some weird wersion of It's A Wonderful Life or a Richard Bach story, thinking of all the people who haven't existed due to miscarriage or abortion. Who knows what potential leaders or philanthropists were never born, but were, in fact, meant to be?

Then, there are some slightly more recent almost-blogs that are more applicable to my life as it is today:

Mon 19 Nov 2007 | 4:21 PM

[My old job] vs. [my new job] is like marching band vs. drum corps - no one is here who doesn’t want to be here. Everyone is all business.

Also? Seniority is directly related to a person’s proximity to a window. At least in my dept.

(Incidentally? I will shortly be moving to a cube two spots closer to the window, after a year and change.)

Finally, there are some random goodies that are fun any day of the week:

Mon 27 Aug 2007 | 3:45 PM

[Heard at work:] "...teach them their prayers." Does God not listen to you unless you know the magic words? Mormons learn God's secret handshake in the temple, though, and that's no less ridiculous.

Fri 27 Jun 2008 | 11:30 AM

From a DBA [database administrator] at work, about a debacle he helped create: "Bah. That's part of the job. They just misspell it: should be DBAcle."

I still have about 80 e-mails in my inbox, dating back to January 2005 (the oldest ones are from genealogists and possible distant cousins looking to share research). Considering that I was way over 100 last week, I'm well on my way to zero.

Family Planning

It's been coming up more than usual lately, and in multiple places. I've been catching (and voluntarily watching) more of the maternity and childbirth-related shows on the Discovery Health Channel. On the one-year anniversary of my "new" job, my Mom reminded me that now I'm eligible for family leave. Aaron and I talked about it over sushi a couple weekends ago. And now Dooce is pregnant with her second child. Not only that, but after doing a little math, I figured out that, when she announced her latest pregnancy on her blog, she was right about at the place in hers that I was when in mine I had the worst damn experience of my life.

Whenever I write about that experience, it seems like I really dance around the subject. I don't often use the word "miscarriage," or say that "I lost the baby," but will instead refer to the emotions that surrounded that terrible weekend. You'd think that, almost two years after the fact, it wouldn't be such a tender subject. But it is.

Anyway.

Despite the fact that I can't get excited about subjecting myself to the possibility of that kind of tragic letdown again, it's something that we'll need to be thinking about relatively soon. We still have a few years yet before we need to really get on the ball, though. I'm 32½ right now — I'll be 33 in April. We won't be dipping into the *really* not-so-fresh ova until, say, the beginning of the next presidential campaign.

There are some things around the house that, if we're going to get them done, will need to be done before we procreate. Like painting, and getting new carpet and flooring, and replacing the window in the green bedroom (a.k.a. the cat's room, and someday to be Junior's room). Other things, like getting the leak in the tub fixed and installing a new bathroom faucet and replacing the garage door, those things could potentially be done with a small human being in residence, but the cash flow we have now may no longer be in effect. There are also some personal habits of mine that will need to change, like my housekeeping, and my health and hygiene (e.g. I'm way overdue for a trip to the dentist). I also want to reach my goal weight (about 20 more pounds to lose) before going and getting pregnant.

When I contemplate this laundry list of pre-partum to-dos, it occurs to me that we might just be stalling. Finding reasons not to try again just yet. That's a completely reasonable reaction, I think, for several reasons. Neither of us want to be in a place in our lives where we resent having had a child too soon, before we could discover who we were and experience the world and do the things we wanted to do. I don't want to be driving the family minivan to soccer practice in another ten or fifteen years asking, "What if...?"

That goes both ways, though. I also don't want to someday find myself pre-menopausal, without a child of my own, wondering what it would have been like to be a Mom.

Sometimes I feel like I'm too passive to be a Mom. Not responsible enough. Not selfless enough. But, every now and then, something comes up — say, Aaron turns pasty-white and clammy in the middle of a gaggle of people at the Ren Fair and needs to sit down before he falls down — and Responsibility Mode kicks in. And I'm reminded that I do have some innate something-or-other that can take hold when I need it to.

I've been easing myself back into the idea. The concept that the experience might actually be as joyous and fulfilling as people claim is starting to seem realistic to me.

But please pardon me if I remain stand-offish and skeptical for a while longer.

Still Too Close To The Surface

Read a blog entry about abortion today, written by a pro-choice advocate. Chose to write a comment in response.

Received an e-mail from the one friend I hadn't told about my miscarriage yet. Chose to write a friggin' novel in response.

I hadn't realized this shit was still so fresh in my mind. I've been emotionally KO'd all evening. Didn't get much accomplished besides playing some Civ IV.

Now it's time to start getting ready for bed, and I have no idea what I'm making for lunch tomorrow, which is bad. I don't really want to put my lunch together before I go to bed, which is worse. God knows what I'll end up throwing into my lunch koozie tomorrow morning...

I know that these things smooth themselves over as time passes. I just wonder how long I'll have these random days of sadness in the middle of being perfectly OK.

Better Than Yesterday

Not as preoccupied. Can count on only one hand the number of times my day came to a grinding halt and I stared off into space in sorrowful contemplation. Smiled. Laughed. Am eating and sleeping fine. Made it through the follow-up consult with my OBGYN with no problems. Discussed future baby-take-two plans with Mom over the phone.

Still feeling odd about finally feeling like myself again.

I feel weird about feeling almost OK. I'm sure it's only temporary.

Not-So-Tiny Tragedy

All the associated magazines and freebies and bills and other accoutrements have been tucked away into a corner, as if the "out of sight, out of mind" methodology will work on this.

Not like I'm not reminded by every commercial, every slip of the tongue, every time one of my pregnant co-workers walks by. Not like I don't zone out and think about it, instead of successfully getting back into the daily grind.

The logical part of my mind, the part that's usually in control of how I live my life and how I present myself to others, says that grief is stupid. It's more useless than even regret, because at least, with regret, you have the opportunity to learn something and make changes in the future. Grief... it's like constantly reminding yourself that this situation sucks, and that there's nothing to be done.

The emotive part of my mind has been held in check for far too long — years, in fact — and threatens to take off with the rest of me.

I feel alone. No, not alone, because Aaron's feeling quite the same way I am, although he's trying to be strong for me. I feel... empty. I'm alone in my own skin again, and I'm not sure how to react to that, especially after having just gotten used to being someone's... home?

I tell myself, at least it wasn't really self-aware yet. Or even conscious. Not yet able to hear, or see, or feel. Still, it doesn't help. To see it grow from a barely discernable blob with a heartbeat to a small human being with wriggling arms and legs — then to see it lying horrifically still and lifeless, displayed on a monochrome monitor in a darkened room, as the poor ultrasound technician tried every possible way to find a heartbeat...

This is probably the single most gut-wrenching experience I've ever been through. Maybe that's a testament to how lucky I've been in the past 30 years.

I'll miss you.

Experiences In Birthing

Being that we're actively trying to conceive, I've been searching around teh internets a lot lately about, well, having babies. Not just having them, mind you, but HAVING them. Like, how does one successfully pass a bowling ball through one's hoodie-hoo?

I came across an interesting set of photos by snowdeal (a.k.a. Eric Snowdeal III, father of internet-renowned micro-preemie Eric Snowdeal IV). This subject of this set was his... sister? sister-in-law? At any rate, it was of a home birth. It hadn't occurred to me that a home birth could be more like a holiday or a family gathering than a private moment with one's partner and one's doula and/or midwife. But, sure enough, here was a woman inviting her family and friends into her home to hang out while she had contractions and watch as she gave birth to her daughter.

Watch.

Y'know, I love you all, but I don't know how comfortable I'd be with you all in my living room, seeing me squat down and produce the miracle of life right there before you. I think that takes a certain kind of person with a certain kind of social network. And even my closest friends — Amy, Sheryl, even my Mom — I don't know how comfortable I'd be with you guys RIGHT THERE watching my first delivery. Afterward, sure, come visit and meet Diana Junior. But during the process? I dunno.

There are so many options... home birthing (which I don't think I'm down with, even without the party), water birthing, hypnobirthing, lying down or squatting or reclining... I'm looking forward to eventually sitting down with a medical practicioner and finding out what the options are. And what Aetna will pay for. I'm guessing I'll be getting the standard Delivery Room, bright surgical lights, lots of strangers staring at my crotch, doctor not even there yet, WTF is going on right now kind of dance that is my impression of what The Big Day must be like.

Of course, I have no idea what any of this is really like. And I'm NOT asking my Mom until we're at T-minus nine months and counting.

It's Thursday

It's been a few days since I wrote, so I figured I should spout off a few paragraphs before I turn in.

There's this woman at work who's pregnant — hold on, let me stop there. First off: is anyone else weirded out by calling your peers "women"? I mean, yeah, that's what they are. Late 20's, early 30's... you're not a girl anymore. You're a woman. I'd rather call my female peers "chicks," but some of them might not take kindly to that. And using the term "lady" is kind of weird, too. "Lady" always has the connotation of "bitch" somewhere in my mind. Like, "Hey, lady, get outta the way!" You know.

ANYway. There's a chick at work who's pregnant. There are a lot of them, actually, but I'm thinking of one in particular who's got a personality that jives with mine. Irreverent, cool, blunt, and totally floored that she got knocked up by her boyfriend. I mean, no one thought of her as the motherly type before — not even herself.

She had her first ultrasound this week, and brought in the "baby pictures" for us to see. Thankfully, the printouts were labeled with body parts, to give us a frame of reference. One was a full-body shot, with the head and arm labeled, and one was an image of the head, with the eyes labeled. What's really weird? This 21-week old fetus has teeth! Really visible teeth, obviously still in the gums, but still. I hadn't thought of such things before. It was kind of cool, seeing an ultrasound photo where I didn't feel all self-conscious about saying, "What IS that? What am I looking at?" Usually I feel kind of awkward about the whole thing.

At the ultrasound, she found out that her child is a girl. She told us all about how her unborn was doing friggin' backflips, and the nice ultrasound technician was having a bitch of a time getting all the images she needed. One that she did manage to get, though, was a total spread-eagle of the kid with her feet up by her ears. We all had fun with that — I made some sort of comment that we'd have to get her daughter some big hoop earrings.

The more pregnant people I deal with on a regular basis, the more comfortable I get with the concept of *being* one of those people someday. I mean, you guys know me. Candlemaking and wearing the occasional pink shirt is as girly and frilly as I get. Something about pregnancy just harks back to my days in church, where there was always someone pregnant, and all the womenfolk could make perfect pie crusts and sew their kids' halloween costumes and their favorite paint color was mauve. I'm not like that. But I guess moms don't necessarily have to be.

I'm really tempted to share too much about my private time with Aaron... but I'm not going to. There are some things that, although really fucking funny, are just a little too personal and weird to share with the entire internets. If, however, you want to know what Aaron says after unprotected sex now, feel free to ask privately. ;-)

Doctor's Appointment

Visited the OB-GYN's office today, for the first time since college. Don't worry, I won't give gory details — not that there are many gory details to give. Most of my time was spent waiting, either in the waiting room or in the examination room.

Let me say that I started out the day pretty stoked. I stepped on the scale, and it told me I weigh 201.5 lbs, which is continuing my downward trend, and is my lowest weight point since December 2004. When I got to the doctor's office (over my lunch break) and the nurse was doing her pre-exam thing, the scale in the examination room also read 201. Rock! My scale's not fubar!

Then, after a long several minutes of me chilling out on the examination table, the doctor came in.

One of the things I asked Dr. Okin was whether I should try to lose more weight before trying to conceive, or if I should just wait until after pregnancy to continue my weight loss. Predictably, she told me that a woman should be in her best physical shape before becoming pregnant. Sure, that makes sense. Then she continued to tell me things I already know: My BMI is 29, I should be around 21 to 23, and that means my ideal weight is around 160 lbs.

Right. So, considering the steady weight loss trend of .5667 pounds a week I've had since July (yes, I *do* have a weight-tracking Excel spreadsheet), and not discounting any lengthy plateaus, I should be in prime condition to conceive in... *does calculations* ...April of 2008.

*sigh*

She must realize I'm not inclined to wait, though, because she prescribed me some prenatal vitamins.

(The entry continues in a rambling self-pitying fashion, should you care to read on...)

read more...

Babies Babies Everywhere

Seems everyone's having babies these days. I guess we're just that age ("we" being myself, Aaron, our friends, and my blog readership). A few years ago, it seemed everyone was getting married. It's the next logical step.

I used to have a "thing" about pregnant people. Even when I was eight and my aunt (who lived with us) was pregnant with my cousin Michael, I was uneasy around her. It just makes me feel... weird. Like I'm witnessing something that should be more private and less obvious than hiding a watermelon under your shirt. Or like they might break. Or like something's wrong with them. All of which I know is slightly ridiculous.

Since I've known more people who have become pregnant, had to work with them (half a dozen in my building), and socialize with them (mainly Kathy Fries), I've become less stand-off-ish about pregnant people.

Now it's the baby thing that unnerves me.

Babies and I just do not get along. Especially little ones. It's like they can feel my trepidation and awkwardness, and start to cry for Mom not two minutes after being plunked into my arms. Again, I feel like I'm going to break them. And I'm afraid to be too obviously taken in by the marvel that is Life. Someone might be watching, after all, and I can't show that I'm a softie, now can I? Especially not around my Mom, who I'd like to think I have convinced that I am an emotional rock.

But at the same time, I'm getting this feeling... this knowledge that I'm going to do this someday. It's akin to another feeling I've had, one that will require some backstory.

In the Mormon Church, the first Sunday of every month is set aside for the members to share personal experiences and bear testimony of the Gospel as they know it. It's known as Fast and Testimony Meeting, because members are also encouraged to fast for two meals, and donate the money they would have spent on those meals to the Church welfare fund. (Mom and I made use of this fund several times — the Church has a Storehouse of food for the poor, funded by these donations).

Anyway, at this particular meeting, there's no set agenda: after the standard opening song and prayer, and passing of the sacrament (This is My Body, This is My Blood... you Christian-types know the drill), the pulpit is open to all in attendance to come up and speak. It's kind of funny, too, because so many people are poor public speakers, but they want to let everyone know they believe... so there's kind of an unspoken ritual opening that all Primary children know, but all adults try to break away from: "I'd like to bear my testimony that I know this church is true. I know that Jesus is the Christ, and I know that God lives. I know that Joseph Smith was a true prophet, and that [insert current Church President here] is the prophet today..." Then the child or stumbling adult stammers through why they felt the need to bear their testimony. Usually something happened that week to particularly affirm their faith, or something happened to them that they feel the need to share, in order to reaffirm someone else's faith.

So, as a member of the congregation, you either sit and listen quietly and pensively (or not so pensively), or you start to wonder what you would say, if you got up there. If your case is the former, then Testimony Meeting is either entertaining and uplifting, or boring and tedious. Either way, no stress on you. If your case is the latter, though, the most interesting sensations come upon you. You can't seem to listen to the testimonies, because your adrenaline starts up. A feeling of inevitability wrenches your gut. You know you're going to have to get up there and say what's on your mind. It reminds me of knowing you're going to puke, except this feeling is supposed to be much more warm and fuzzy, coming from the Holy Spirit and all. (It usually isn't, though.)

It's that feeling of inevitability that I'm talking about. That knowledge that you're not sure you want to do it, but you're driven to it anyway. Something is compelling you to do this thing that you're so apprehensive about. You know you'll feel better afterwards, and you'll regret it if you don't.

That's the feeling I have about procreating. Aaron and I are comfortable with the fact that we're going to do it someday, so that's a step in the right direction. But we're also agreed upon not having kids for another few years, preferably until we have a house. It's not like my internal clock's a-ticking... though it kind of is, although I'm choosing to ignore it for now.

There are so many things to look forward to about having children, and so many things to be apprehensive about. For right now, though, I can't even keep my fucking room clean, much less raise a child. But I'm inwardly jealous of all the new parents I know, while outwardly snickering at their sleepless nights and new responsibilities. Without waxing all emotional (I am a rock, after all), suffice to say that the bond between parents and child intrigues me, and I'm looking forward to experiencing it someday.

I'm 27 right now. OK, 27-and-a-half, but who's counting? I used to think I should have kids by age 30, and I know that fertility becomes an issue at some point (right now, I do believe). I don't know, though. I don't know if we'll be ready by then. I'd wager we'll never feel totally ready... but Aaron's too careful to have an oopsie, and I'm perfectly OK with that. :-) I've just got that feeling of inevitability, and it comes and goes. I want to, but I don't, but I do... but my crotch tells me in no uncertain terms that it is not looking forward to pushing a watermelon through a straw.