Bed rest...the logical consequence of trying to do too much, I suppose

Dear Baby,

As I write this, you and I are reclining in a hospital bed, wondering what is taking daddy so long with those Vietnamese spring rolls and peanut sauce. The combination of a restricted hospital diet (which I have decided to defy no more than twice a week, with little treats) and the medication they have us on to stop my contractions, have made me both loopy and perpetually hungry.

But, at least we are in a safe place should the bleeding return and our doctor has to deliver you early.

The morning of the day we were admitted, I remember thinking that perhaps I would need to find some time for a nap and deep breathing later in the day. I was doing a high speed waddle from my office to a meeting on the other side of campus, and though I felt winded, I could not bring myself to slow down as I was already running late, and people were waiting. Well, an hour later, after the meeting, I made a pit stop and found that I had bled a considerable amount. As this was the second time I'd had bleeding during this pregnancy, I caught a ride to my doctor's office and began a rather scary afternoon during which I thought I might be delivering you as early as that evening. At that point, you were 29 weeks and 3 days old.

Thankfully, things stabilized and though I was transfered to a hospital 45 minutes away from home and was told I would stay there until you were born, I knew that we were going to be okay when the nurses finally let me eat something.

Now, the rest that I'd been trying to schedule, has become our new normal. I sleep a lot, and am only allowed up for short walks four times a day. Initially, I had grand plans of teaching my class online, working on my dissertation and doing some crochet. But the medication makes me dizzy and REALLY tired, and the doctor has put me on total work release. Given how hard it is for me to concentrate on anything substantive for too long, I realize that this is probably for the best.

In the meantime, I rejoice over the wonderfulness, which is your father. Though we are now nearly 3 hours away from him, he has driven down to stay with us. He has returned to my apartment to clean it and help our friend take care of the cats. He has been a source of calm, optimism, and contraband treats. He has been my rock, and I am ever so grateful for him.

My mom is really getting excited to meet you, and is eagerly awaiting your arrival. She has helped spread the word about our condition and I have no doubt that the peace I feel, has a lot to do with the power of prayer being directed our way. Your grandma seriously knows how to tap into multiple prayer chains!

Your dad's family have also been supportive. Your sister still seems a bit ambivalent about the whole baby sister thing, but she's been kind towards your daddy about his coming down to see us. Your brother has been kind as well. Your paternal grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins really welcomed us over the holidays, and have also kept us in their thoughts and prayers.

We are surrounded by so much love from family and friends, both near and far. It humbles me and reassures me that come what may, we will have the support of good people.

When our doctor stopped by today, your daddy and I asked him about the possibility of waiting until the 35th or even 36th week to give me the betamethazone in preparation for your delivery. He said that if you look good and I look like I am in good condition, that we could do that. But just in case, your dad and I toured the NICU this afternoon to see where you will go after you are born. It's a nice space...not too gadgety. If you have to go there for more than a few hours, your daddy, grandma and I will be with you as often as possible. But here's hoping you will be a trooper baby, and won't have to spend much, if any time, in the NICU.

Though, admittedly, it's not like we are totally ready for your arrival. Your dad and I reviewed the registries today to figure out the bare necessities we will totally need. So it looks like, I will be placing some orders here shortly.

Okay, Little Bunny, you're getting feisty and I'm getting faint, which is my cue to lay back down for a bit. Still no sign of your dad or those spring rolls. Here's hoping they get here soon!

Siblings

As on only child, I can't say that I really understand the whole sibling thing. Mind you, I have known more people with siblings than people without, but still, I have always considered observations of siblings to be something like a laboratory experiment.

This weekend, your siblings-to-be, Dear Baby, came down with your daddy to spend the weekend with me in my place. And there we were: three cats; two kids; a dog, who stole like half of the cat food; and your daddy and me.

Things started off well. I had the house cleaned and dinner ready by the time they arrived Friday evening. And everyone ate, without the usual drama that ensues between your brother and sister. After dinner, we all tucked in to watch the Transformers sequel (which we all deemed too spasmodic to have been actually good), and called it a relatively early night, since your older brother was starting to feel ill and developed a slight fever.

The next morning, his fever had broke and we went on with our plans to visit the Chimposium at the university. It was quite crowded, but interesting. I can't wait to go there with you, Dear Baby, especially after I teach you some basic signs. Hopefully, the chimpanzees will be intrigued more than angry about your signing skills.

At any rate, while the kids enjoyed the Chimposium, it was clear by the time we came home that your brother was feeling poorly again. And so began our day of videos, soup, more videos, applesauce, and more videos. And then your sister felt ill, and the battle began.

I worry what will happen when you catch illnesses and bring them home to share with us, because your siblings seem to take catching each others' colds as a personal attack. Needless to say, your movements and interactions with your older (and much larger) siblings will be closely monitored.

Of course, right now, I feel utterly wrecked and think that I may be coming down with what your siblings were exchanging between them. I hope not, since this weekend is Thanksgiving and you and I are supposed to go to Seattle to spend the weekend with your daddy, big brother, paternal grandparents, aunt, uncles and cousins.

I suppose, we shall wait and see how we feel. But here's hoping watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and eating some soup will work its magic on my immune system.

And this, from the shameless commerce division...

So, I was looking at Facebook this morning and came across a Babies R' Us/Toys R' Us announcement: On November 23rd, people will be able to access the Black Friday circular for Thanksgiving weekend. The 23rd is Monday. Black Friday is a week from today.

If there are any parties interested in that information, the link to check on November 23rd is:
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=156032954640.
It is in the Facebook realm, but I don't know if you have to have a Facebook account in order to access the page. Probably, but you never know.

After the disclosure of the Target Black Friday circular last week, with all its crazy deals, I am cautiously optimistic that Babies/Toys R' Us will be a jaw-dropper as well.

It has been YEARS since I have joined the Black Friday madness, but the combined need to outfit two homes for Dear Baby, buy another pair of maternity jeans (or maybe cords this time), find a microwave for work and maybe buy a TV and VCR since mine are hanging onto this world by a thread, will compel me to join the hordes. Oh, and I'm all about sales because paying full retail is crazy and I have too much sense to be that careless with my cents.

So...I think you can dance!

I've been meaning to chronicle your latest and greatest for awhile, Dear Baby. But the combination of my fatigue and your relative chillness has meant that no such update was forthcoming.

This last weekend I felt as if I was fighting off a cold, which would not have surprised me in the least. I have had both flu shots, which has been providential considering how sickly so many of my students have been. But unfortunately, there is no such thing as a shot to stave off the common cold. Instead, I slept...a lot. I think, all told, I slept 12 hours on Saturday and a more modest 9 hours on Sunday. I go through orange juice like it were tap water and of course I take my daily dose of prenatal vitamins and fish oil tablets.

But still, you weren't very active. And then on Sunday, I began spotting. Needless to say, I freaked out. I called my OB's office, but the phone just rang and rang. I seriously consider going to Urgent Care...but your mommy is kind of cheap and I decided to first check a host of pregnancy sites online. And I really wish I hadn't.

I found myself, blurry eyed at 3 on Monday morning, convinced that I was in the early stages of a threatened miscarriage and alternated between cursing my frugality that kept me from the ER and weeping uncontrollably over my impending loss of you. At some point, I was so exhausted that I finally drifted off to a truly fitful sleep, only to wake up just as anxious at 5. At 8, I called my OB and made an appointment for later in the afternoon, since according to the triage nurse, the spotting I described was actually quite "normal." Um, okay.

So I trusted her...kind of...and went on to work, where after several days of nothing, I finally felt you flutter again. Your little flutter did more to calm me than anything the nurse said.

And by Tuesday, you were fluttering quite regularly. That, combined with your strong heartbeat (which I heard at my appointment on Monday), convinced me that maybe I should be less of a spaz and more of a bliss-filled mommy-to-be.

So, yesterday, while I was embracing my new found calm, I turned up the streaming jazz at my work desk. And as soon as a salsa-infused piece came on, you went nuts! I was stunned! But, being the consummate researcher, I had to run a little experiment: was it the music or that huge chunk of Tillamook Cheddar Cheese that helped you find your groove? I switched the music to classical, and you hunkered down. I switched to an all Latin station, and you shook your little groove thing again. I tried a country station, and thankfully, you stopped mid-twirl. At least it looks like you will not subject me to Tammy Wynette and company. Good Baby.

While I cannot guarantee that I will let you listen to Latin beats all the time (because as you get bigger, your flutters will change to kicks and I don't think I could deal with that all the time), I will make sure to expose you to an incredible diversity of world rhythms both now and when you make your entrance into the outside world.

Dance on little one!

So...you're not gas...you're energetic!

Dear Baby,

In spite of my 2 1/2 month absence from posting, nothing is wrong.  You and I are still a team.  You are growing and fully embracing your God-given right to pillage me for all the nutrients you need to keep growing.  And I, as a result, am still exhausted and occasionally brain-dead.  

I finally saw you in full baby form at my 12 week ultrasound.  You have all ten fingers and toes, and when you woke from your nap during the examination, I got to see you swim around and, dare I say it, wave!  It will still be another four weeks before I get to know if you are a boy or a girl.  Your daddy has a preference, but I don't.  I just want you to continue being a healthy little baby (and hopefully a happy one with a nice sleep pattern once you join the outside world).

And you seem to be off to a very good start.

In the last week, I have been convinced that I was having another bout of "digestive issues," because I regularly felt "bubbles" in my stomach and occasionally movements in my bowels.  So I would rush to the bathroom, fearing a reinactment of the restroom scene in "American Pie" (which you will not be allowed to see until you are 17), but nothing would happen.  Finally, I began to realize that I wasn't having digestive problems at all.  Those movements were you!  Fluttering, energetic, fond-of-3am-wakeups you!  And now I fixate on those movements all the time.  

They only seem to occur when I sit down, lay down, or right after I eat.  You seem to let up once I start to drift off to sleep, which is very considerate of you.  I can only assume that my snoring lulls you to sleep as well...or terrifies you into submission.  I've been told that my snoring can be... "impressive," so I suspect either interpretation would work.

I have become quite the fan of early-to-bed, early-to-rise scheduling.  And the time change this weekend has only accentuated it.  As I write this, it is nearly a quarter after 7pm and it is taking every bit of willpower I have to not go to bed right now.  I sense this is a losing battle, and will be starting my evening ablution shortly.

But before I go, rest assured, Dear Baby, that I don't just sit around and lament the fatigue, and migraines, and spike in brain-farts, and strange fixation on mandarin oranges (in water) that have become regular features of my pregnancy.  I also marvel at my very modest weight gain, and the complete disappearance of my sweet tooth (which might help explain the modest weight gain).  I spend as much time as possible with your daddy, or on the phone with your daddy, or emailing your daddy.  I've even begun collecting some of your swag, thanks to the scoping efforts of your Aunts Teresa and Delayna (aunties in love, not blood...you will have several of those).  You now have a changing table, a co-sleeper, a wipe warmer, feeding spoons, a crib mirror, a high chair, two boppy pillows, a portable changing pad, and a front carrier...all for less than $70!  Which is great, since your daddy and I will need to outfit two households with baby gear.

And since it looks like I will only have about 5 weeks of paid leave saved up by the time you arrive, bargain hunting for your gear is going to be our way of life for awhile.  I mean, with having to deliver you by c-section due to my fibroid fun two years ago, I won't even be fully recovered by the time my paid leave runs out.  Legally, I can take up to 20 weeks of leave (disability, plus Family Medical Leave), but unless I qualify for shared leave or come across one heck of a windfall, you and I will be returning to my work eight weeks after you are born.  Thankfully, that will be during the summer, when things are more quiet at the university.  And I have a large office, with a heavy door, so assuming you're not too much of a screamer, I can keep you with me while I work.  You know, assuming your daddy and I don't win the lottery or something. 

Anyway, Dear Baby, I am wrecked.  I'm off to grab a little snack (how do grapes sound?), shower and hit the sack.  I think we will have another 5am wake up, which is fine if I can also get myself out of the house and to the office by 7.

I love you, Dear Baby, and am glad to know that my little intestinal "problem" is just you exploring your world.  Soon, I will begin reading aloud to you in French and English, since I gather you can hear me now and I hope to make Paris a regular part of your world and my career.  But don't worry, I'll start with Le Petit Prince and save Discipline and Punish for your teenage years.  :-)

Dear Baby...Please stop making me so stupid

It has only been a week since I made your acquaintance, but already, you are making your presence known: 4am constipation cramping; perpetual bloating; severe fatigue; and a ridiculous odor sensitivity. Thankfully, you have been gentle on my gag reflex; feel free to keep up the good work there.

But the one thing I really wish you'd let up on? My capacity to reason and to remember little things like where I am going, what I am doing and what my companion's name is at any given moment. In short, please stop messing with my head.

Mind you, it is in both our best interests that I keep my wits about me. After all, these next 34 weeks and 4 days will likely go by rather quickly and I have A LOT of work to do to be totally ready for you. So, unless you want me to accidentally run off and join a circus sideshow, or worse...get fired...please, please, PLEASE cut my somewhat overwhelmed mind some slack.

As a trade off, I promise to change my sleep pattern, since you seem determined to tuck us in by 9:30 pm, and have already demonstrated your love of the wee mornings (4 am stomach cramping? Come on!). Oh, and I will totally keep eating the dried mango you like...I might even make you another roast some time soon! Assuming I am not too stupid.

We're a team, you and I. I promise to take care of you; but I need you to be a little gentle on me.

Oh, and our team isn't just you and me. I am happy to say that your daddy, while not crazy ecstatic about the situation, is totally supportive of you and me, and is committed to making this work. He even jumped on board with my idea of taking a babycation for New Year's. He's voting for Hawaii, but we will have to see if I have defended my dissertation and finished paying my tuition by then. Otherwise...maybe we'll go to Arizona!

I don't care where we go. I'm just glad that the We-that-is-three will be together. I think the conversation your dad and I had about your conception really helped put things on an even footing.

When, in about eleven years, we sit you down to talk about the changes going on in your body, and stress that once you become sexually active, you need to be very careful of disease and pregnancy, because it only takes one time...resist the urge to roll your eyes. Because you, Dear Baby, are living proof.

Your tenacity could have derailed a rather new relationship, but instead, it seems to be bringing us closer together. Not in some saccharine kind of way. Rather, we are communicating, regularly, openly and honestly with each other with a greater intensity than perhaps we would have at this point. I am confident, that in him, I have found a kindred spirit. What that means in terms of the nature of our commitment to each other, remains to be seen. But neither of us are rushing into anything more serious than...you know...accidentally conceiving you.

I feel strongly that rushing into marriage, or even discussing it at this point would be poison for whatever your daddy and I are developing. As a kindness to both of us, we don't feel any real need to bring it up.

Oh, Dear Baby, I am pooped! I'm off to shower and to bed, since I have to ready myself for the early AM wake up call. Hopefully, you will like the prune juice I had with dinner and the three servings of yogurt, two oranges, a banana, an apple & whole wheat pasta I had throughout the day. I shall finish the evening with a tall mug of lemon-ginger tea and one more row on your baby blanket.

A la prochaine!

Dear Baby...you are NOT a vegan

Two nights ago, I cooked a roast.

I'd never cooked a roast before. But, to quote your grandma, I "put my foot in it" (that's a good thing, by the way. Our family has a lot of southern sayings that don't make much sense. You'll get used to it).

I marinated the roast in slivered garlic with olive oil, Herbes de Provence and ground pepper. Meanwhile, I sauteed celery, carrots and white mushrooms in olive oil and Cabernet Sauvignon that had been uncorked a little too long. Once the meat was marinated, I placed about 2/3 of the lightly sauteed veggies, with some uncooked, chopped yukon gold potatoes from my garden, on the bottom of the pan. Then I placed the meat on top and surrounded it by the rest of the veggies, topping it with the Cabernet reduction.

Yummy! Oh, how a nice glass of red wine would've gone beautifully with it. But you're way too young to start drinking with me, so I contented myself with an extra scoop of the reduction sauce, and a nice, tall mug of lemon-ginger tea.

And I ate. We ate. I all but growled while eating that meat. It was SO darn good! And it was a gift from your daddy, or more accurately, from his steer last fall. I've been eating on it all week, thinking at some point, you are going to compel me to puke it all up. But helas, paradoxically, while you are not too fond of multigrain Saltines, you absolutely LOVE beef. I could be projecting here, I know. But pre-you, I could eat beef on sparse occasions, and the only way I wouldn't feel ill later, is by drinking a good amount of wine while I ate. This week, however, I feel like if I met that steer in a dark alley, he would have every reason to be afraid. VERY afraid.

Weird. And so soon in the process. Frankly, it freaks me out. I need to find the time to read What to Expect When You're Expecting, because I'm already feeling like my body is doing things I don't typically endure, like the prolonged bloating and really full-feeling boobs and low-level nausea. All I ask, Dear Baby (in addition to you being a healthy singleton), is that you show mercy on my body during this journey. Feel free to bump up my metabolism; better that, than blowing me up to the size of a beached whale. Please take it easy on the nausea thing, and the back aches, and fatigue. I will be better about long walks, and may even take up bellydancing, and I promise to take naps when I get home from work and on my days off.

In fact, though there is much more to share with you, I am fading fast and must sign off. More tomorrow, Dear Baby. But here's a hint: your daddy is a VERY good man!