39 weeks...but who's counting?

Apparently everyone.

I'm getting Facebook messages and texts from students, "Maybe we won't have lessons this week!!"

My MIL even text me (this is HUGE, people) and wondered how I was.  I swear her cell phone is a rotary.  I had ten texts to her before she wrote one back to me.  It was a trip.

I did end up cancelling lessons last night, but it was mostly because Andy was really really sick.

Last Friday was our appointment, and Andy came for moral support (poor guy worked 5am to 1:30pm and then came from Lancaster to Middletown just for my app.)  And so I gingerly asked the midwife's assistant if I could be measured. 

She was AMAZING about it.  Just amazing.  In the past I hadn't liked her because she wasn't the normal lady I like to see.  But she's an L and D nurse, and after some prodding from my husband, I decided to like her.  She told me what she was going to do, how it was going to feel.  She showed me a little diagram with her hands of the process she was going to use.  She explained that to find the entrance to the cervix, she was going to have to walk her fingers around in there, because the cervix is usually tilted. 

I thought we wouldn't find anything.  I thought for sure I was going to be closed up tight.  Except, I wasn't.  2 cms dilated!  And it was more uncomfortable than anything- no real pain involved.  It's funny what you find painful after you've felt REAL pain.  More on that later, perhaps. 

And then she pushed up and down on the baby and told me I was pelvic station -1.  In case you aren't familiar with pelvic station, here's a diagram:

(Don't tell anyone I stole this image.....)

 

 

My husband, once again on the business end of all this, mouthed to me, "Did that hurt??"  To which I'm like, "Yeah a little." 

 

Because it did.  A little. 

 

I'm convinced that "man pain" is different than "lady pain."  Because no matter how much pain the lady is in, there's still supper to be cooked.  There are still chores to be done.  One of the things my husband loves to do it to tell me just to sit still. 

 

"Just sit still, Babe!"  He'll command.  Next day?  "Boy this house looks like a dump."  You know why?  Because you told me not to do anything today.  So I deal.

 

And then.  He hurt his back.



So my husband, as handsome and strong as he normally is...is now flat on his back and has been for days.  Missed work, the whole nine yards.  So it's been a trip!  Poor guy though.

You can imagine my mixed emotions as I started having contractions yesterday for a solid hour, every 12 minutes.  At that point, he couldn't have even driven me to the hospital.  But then the contractions subsided.  And then I cried.  Because I really really wanted it to be the real thing.

So here we are.  39 weeks.  Husband with the hurt back.  2 cm dilated and -1 pelvic station.  I'm trusting that God's timing is right.  That I can trust the process.  That Andy will heal and be there to coach me from the first contraction to the last cry from me and the first cry from our son.  It's going to happen!  Just when?

And the survey says...

Here I am at 37 weeks.

It's hard to get an accurate picture.  I feel like a tank.

38 Weeks...

It's the FINAL COUNT DOOWWWNNNN!

(feel free to read that again, singing it this time.)

First off.  Here I am:

The boy is LOWWWW.  And my hair is LONG.  He's on my sciatic nerve, and sometimes the pain just FLIES in there and I want to cry.  Sometimes it takes all I have not to just fall to the ground. 

The other pain we should talk about here is the pain I lovingly refer to as the , "knife in the lady parts" pain.  Lauren and I coined this term, because there's no better way to explain it.  It literally feels like someone has a small knife, and is just inserting it up there and then pulling.  It's sharp, it's intense, and it takes your breath away.  It it not a lasting pain, but you know it when you feel it.

I go for my next appointment on Thursday.  At 2:30.  With the midwife.  And I'm going to request, if they aren't going to do it on their own, to be checked and measured.  With an internal.  *shudder*.  For anyone who is tuning in, and doesn't know how this is done, the practitioner will physically stick their fingers up and up and up until they reach your cervix.  Many times they will push down on the baby's head so they can REALLY feel where that cervix is.  Then they measure the opening with their fingers.  One finger equals one centimeter.  So as you can imagine, it's not a walk in the park.  (Just to put this all in perspective; a penis- you know, the thing that got you there in the first place?- cannot reach the cervix...  just in comparison).  This is the honest blog, friends.  I do not sugar coat things here.

What you DON'T want to hear, after all of this, is "Nope, closed up tight!"  Because that means that all the pain has been for naught.  Even if they say, "Well, we've got one centimeter so far!"  At least that's a glimmer of hope.

And so on Thursday, as my husband and I sit expectantly in the sterile doctor's office, we're hoping for that "Any day now!" diagnosis.

---

I'd like to point out that I'm ready to be done being pregnant.  Don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed being pregnant, and I will most likely do it again.  But there's a reason why your body starts to fade at the end.  Because God knew that if He didn't create the process like that, we'd never do it again.  "I'm feeling fine!"  We would say.  "Why would I want to put myself through the pain of getting the baby out?"  The way it is now, women are more likely to say...or maybe exclaim in an outside voice, "PLEASE PLEASE let this be done now.  I'd do ANYTHING."  And then you start to push.

One of the things that makes this so unnerving at this point is that you're literally... just...waiting.  Like when you go to a haunted house, you know you're going to be scared.  Eventually.  You're waiting for someone to jump out at you.  And you practice what you're going to do when this person does actually jump out at you.  You may repeat to yourself, "I will not pee myself when this person jumps out of nowhere......." But the more you dwell on what's going to happen (you don't know when...) you just get more and more uptight.  If you were walking through the same haunted house, this time with the knowledge that at 10 paces you were going to be scared, you'd still feel anxious, but at least you'd know what to expect.

Birth is like, "Well, sometime AROUND the estimation of this date, you will go through this whole process- it will hurt like a...well, like, a lot.  And then your entire life will change forever.  So now just practice for something you've never felt and we assure you that you'll forget all that went wrong...as soon as you hold your child.  Oooookay?"  Yeah, sure.  Whatever you say.

People (like my mother) keep asking what's going to happen after.  "When will you need me?"  She asks.  Was there ever a more loaded question?  Bottom line, is I don't know.  Hope am I supposed to know when I've never felt any of this?  I probably do get snarky, but I would like to just be left alone to go with the flow sometimes.  And don't ask me questions I don't have answers for.  The end.

More on this later!  Pretty soon I'll be posting a picture of our beautiful Son :)

Makin' a List, Checkin' it Twice!

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go!  Well.  Physically ready.  As ready as packing a bag makes you.  I've got snacks for Andy.  I've got caffeine for Andy.  I've got clothing for Andy.  I've bought us new toothbrushes, and new toothpaste.  There are travel packs of soap, face wash, hair soap (better known as "shampoo" for those who can still come up with words on demand). 

The baby's bag has staying and going outfits and picture outfits and hats.  Blankets.  Not a lot, mind you, but things I'd like him to have right away.  His little winter coat is in there, because it's going to be chilly for a baby.  His Red Sox hat and his little lion man hat, for costume changes.  As well as onsies and socks.

My bag?  Well.  Jammies and yoga pants.  Nursing tops and robes.  Things to make me feel like myself.  Makeup.  Hey, you know what?  Don't judge.  People say I will not need it, but if it makes me feel better after X amount of labor, I'm bringing the makeup bag. 

Other things that are making their way into the car?  My body pillow.  My Boppy.  My breast pump.  The birth ball (cleverly disguised as a yoga ball...if you go looking for one...).

The one thing I am pushing for is the beautiful blanket I'm making for him to come home in.  It's incredibly cool, and I'm making it for him to wear home, but we'll see if it's ready in time.  More on this when I've completed it.

--

So.  This week Andy's coworkers threw him a shower.  I am floored by these people's admiration for my husband.  These ladies just threw such an amazing little bash for him!  Food and gifts and cake...balloons!  Love it all!  We got some money and gift cards to his work, but most of it was little heartfelt sentimental gifts, which I just loved.  And all "daddy" themed.  Oh and we got a robe with little booties!  IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Here are some pics from his big day :)

(in case you're wondering, this is the front to a maternity mannequin at his store.  Too funny!)

 

 

That's it on our front this week.  I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon.  I hope to bring Lauren and Bob and little Liv some supper.  Andy works late tomorrow, so I hope to get more things done than if he were home and I wanted to be with him.  Ya know?

 

See ya!

So this is what full term feels like...

I find it ironic that "full term" falls on an odd week, as we all know my hang ups with the "odd weeks" of pregnancy.  In three (or less) weeks, I will be holding our son.  He can show up any time he wants.  The car is scrubbed.  The bags are packed.  The car seat will go into this weekend after the people at the car seat clinic show us how to hook it up. 

At the doctor's last week I had to have a procedure that my very good friend Jamie and I like to refer to as, "The Great Bung Hole Swabbing of 2012."  Now's the time for the squeamish to look away (or perhaps find a new blog to read.)  Essentially it tests for a type of Strep virus that can make your baby very sick upon exit.  30% of American women test positive for this, and the result is being given antibiotics in labor.  No biggie.

So of course this is the only week until the end of the pregnancy that my Handsome Husband can make it to my appointment.  And of course this is the week where the midwife intern is doing all the dirty stuff for the actual midwife.  And of course this is also the week where the put me into the broom closet turn examination room.  So I go in and they tell me to robe up, which is fine.  Right?  It's fine.  Except my husband is sitting right there.  And the room is so small that there's nowhere for him to go.

-"Would you like to turn around while I undress?"

"Are you serious?"

-"Yes, I'm just nervous to undress in front of you."

"Do DO know how that baby got in there, right?"

-"Yes, I just feel awkward."

I did what I needed to do, quickly put the piece of purple paper over my lap, and sat on the table again.  The lady learning to be a midwife came in and after a detailed description of what's involved in said swabbing, she went about her task.  And of course my husband was on the business end of that endeavor because the room IS THE SIZE OF A POSTAGE STAMP.

As I was redressing I asked:

-"Did you look away?"

"Yes, I looked away."

-"Good, because that was very awkward."

"You do know what I'm going to watch coming out of that vicinity in a few weeks, right?"

-"That's going to be different.  That will be our son.  This was a bung hole swab."

The moral of the story is...well.  There's no moral.  It was awkward.  It got me thinking all sorts of thoughts about how I'm going to most likely be naked when birthing our son, and there are going to be lots of nurses around and my husband and how I didn't think I was an overly modest person, but it turns out I might be.  I wonder why God chose such a way to have life come into the world?  Probably because man was created with no inhibitions- they were all naked in the beginning.

---

In the meantime, happy 37 weeks to me and my husband and my son.  I'm thankful for every moment of this pregnancy.  I'm thankful for the bad times, the puking, the arguments in the beginning that I now see were just out of sheer terror of what was happening.  The reality of it all...  I'm thankful for the good times, the "it's a boy" times, the first kicks and the milestones of imagining his creation in my belly.  And I've tried to be thankful all along, but it's hard.  But it's worth it.

The truth is...

I'm miserable.

Everything hurts.

His kicks are so hard I feel like he's going to break a rib.

I'm so short that he has dropped into my pelvis, but is also squarely planted on my respiratory system.

I pee so frequently it hurts to wipe.

I take two to three doses of Colace every day, just so it doesn't hurt to go #2.

I can't stand up without pain.  I can't sit down without pain.

Discharge?  Let's not even go there.  Change of undies every day.

BUT.

The thought of holding this little miracle in my hands and kissing his forehead and toes and snuffling his little neck...

Yeah, it makes it worse.

Because I'm anxious!  And Andy's anxious!  And they say the last few weeks are the quickest!  However, I'm positive that "they" are people who have gone through it and are looking back.  Maybe it's because you never know how long those last few weeks are going to last.  Full term?  Short term?  Past term?

In the meantime it's our anniversary today :)  Look what showed up for me:

 

 

Oh, I've got it GOOD ;)

She's sooooo tiny...

Andy and I had the extreme honor of meeting Miss Olivia Crum for the first time.  I wasn't going to ask to hold her, because I'm not sure I want people holding our son from the get go...but she offered and of COURSE I said yes :)  And of course my son kicked her. 

So I handed her to Andy, where she promptly cuddled into his chest, gave a little sigh, and fell back to sleep.  He just held her little butt and cupped her little head so it wasn't floppy, and I think the both of them could have just taken up residency on the sofa.  He was SO content with her there.  He was playing with her ears, beeping her nose, touching her fingers...like the Gentle Giant I know he is.  My heart was swelling with pride.

I'm learning that the secret to a happy marriage is glorifying your husband in public.  Building him up around strangers and friends.  Not superficially, of course, but with humility and grace.  I love telling others about all the nice things he's done for me.

Oh, for instance.  There was no water on Sunday morning and we had to sing in church.  And by no water, I mean that we hadn't filled out the pitcher to filter it through.  So...plenty of water, none of it potable.  And he said, "You can have the rest of the water, I'll find something else."  Really?  What a guy.  What a sacrifice.  Love him.  My cup is overflowing.  :)

Today equals 36 weeks.  He's completely viable from here on out.  He's fully formed, just getting fatter and more developed.  Fingernails and hair and finishing touches on his little skin and his liver and lungs.  The wait to see him is getting harder, because he's never let us see his face.  So we have no idea who or what he looks like.  While all of my friends were looking at smushed noses and tiny toes, we were looking at arms and elbows.  Oh, and his penis.  Which he promptly displayed every time we came to see him.

Thursday is our next appointment.  I was having contractions yesterday- but they were on average 20 minutes apart, so no harm done.  The doctor's office measures our weeks on Fridays, so we're a little ahead.  I go by my period, they go by the size of the baby.  Both are right.  He'll come when he wants to :)  I love him :)

It was cold enough this morning to justify a light jacket.  I'm not sure, but I think I remember this fitting me last year...