I'm sorry? 33 weeks already?

I'm fairly sure someone has sneaked my son a set of blocks, and he's just banging them together in my stomach.  There are many times I just sit and watch my belly being beaten around like pizza dough.  But I LOVE it!  And I say, "Kick baby, kick!  Mommy feels you!!!"

33 weeks today.  33 weeks.  What happened to the last 32 weeks of my life?  They've been spent in anticipation of what's to come in another 7 weeks (or less, depending.)  Only two more labor classes.  Only a handful more doctor's appointments.  I'm going every two weeks now, in case I haven't mentioned that before.  And then I will see him every week.

This is me :

I love being pregnant right now.  People are so nice to me, and they get me things and clean my house for me :)  I think that's where my anxiety comes from now- the thought of getting "un-pregnant."  I'm bad at changing seasons- I'm sure there's a disorder or something that someone could diagnose me with.  But as much as I'm excited to meet him...I'm also nervous to not be pregnant any more!  I know I know, I'm a walking contradiction.

But if you had the attention of your family and friends, and I mean the 100% undivided attention of your husband, whenever you asked, combined with your mom coming over on a regular basis and helping you clean and wash and ironing your clothing for you...you would not want this to end either.

Along with the fact that being pregnant puts you on this pedestal.  Every day is new.  Every week you're learning something new about your baby.  You go into the doctors and everyone smiles at you and secretly thinks how cute pregnant women are.  And then...you become the new mom with the screaming infant.  Nobody smiles at that mom.  They wonder why she can't control her child.  They immediately start to judge on how fast you've lost your baby weight.  They ask questions about "Is it a boy or a girl?"  The older ones contemplate how the younger generation just doesn't do it like they used to, while the younger ones consider how my life is now "over" because I now have responsibility.

And maybe I'm only speaking this because that's probably what I would have said a few years back...except that now I want it so badly.  I want my son to be crying "momma!" and have me be the only one who can comfort him.  I want to pack the car with a mountain of accessories, just to go to the grocery store.  I want to have to leave the beach early because of nap time.  I want all that.  And more.

But the long and short of it, is having a baby means your replacement is here.  You've just secured your lineage into the next generation.  Babies only stay young in photos.

So here I am.  Here WE are, at 33 weeks.  In a few weeks, WEEKS, I'll be posting a picture of my husband, my son and myself, wondering where the last 40 weeks went.  Or maybe less.  OR maybe more.  No, certainly not more.

32 weeks = 8 Months

Sore throat and swollen glands.  That's how I welcome my son to his 8th month.  My huge weekend and lack of uninterrupted sleep has left me feeling down in the mouth...so to speak.  However, I just cannot believe we are almost through this.

Friday was my doctor's appointment, to which I brought a long list of questions to ask Sandy.  They ranged from perineum questions (warm rag is best) to circumcision (they no longer use sugar water...) to pitocin (why DO they use it after giving birth?  To contract your uterus, that's why.)  I've gain 14 total lbs.  Bringing me back up to a whopping 220.  It's hard to see that on the scale.  But the baby is at least almost 4 lbs of that.  He's about his full length now, and will just grow chubby from now on.

Saturday was Cherith's wedding, which was amazing for me to take part in.  Everything was lovely and she looked very happy.  Here we are!

I'm on the left, of course, and Cherith is in the middle and Stevi is on the right.  Well, Melisa.

However, the TRUE love being captured on that day was this picture:

Of course I had to wear my highest heels on the stage while I was playing- you know, because people care- and I couldn't get them on or off, so Andy interceded on my behalf.  Tiny buckles...big fingers...it was amazing.  And romantic.

Sunday was our shower, which of course was amazing :)  My mom and Cathy really worked hard and I think my sister was there at some point too (she didn't think she could come).  But then she left without saying goodbye to be with her boyfriend, and I never saw her again.  I will hopefully have more pictures to come of the shower, when I get a moment.  Here is me, Kristi, and Lauren:



Tell me Lauren and I don't look utterly exhausted.

I was sweating and my hair was a hot mess, and it looks yellow under those lights.  But I was so happy :)  To the left of the picture you can see the most creative gift by far- the little man made out of baby items.  (More pics of this later) and to the right, you can see the travel system that the Erb's small group (which consists of the parents of the kids in the youth group) all went together to get us.  What a beautiful gift and showing of generosity.  Other gifts ranged from money to diaper genies to clothing to shampoo.  This weekend, Lauren and I are going to go thrift shopping for the rest of what I need.  I'm thankful for everything.  With the money we got, we can pay off the dresser and put the breast pump on layaway.  The best gift of our shower was having Pastor Bob and Joan and Krista there. I introduced Bob as our Pastor. He is our Pastor. I couldn't WAIT to see them :)

So here we are.  32 weeks.  Our tiny son has everything he needs to come into this world- including a ton of love from family and friends.  I get excited when he kicks, even when it's in my ribs.  I hold his little baby clothing up to my belly and imagine him in it.  I imagine nibbling on his little toes and cleaning his little toosh.  What a wild ride this has been.  How deep the Father's love for me :)

Here I am at 31 weeks...3 days...

A little like I swallowed a watermelon seed...

Teacher's Pet...

So we're going to this "Prepared Childbirth" class, given at the hospital.  We paid $85 for 6 classes, but they are a bargain at any price.  We have learned SO MUCH!  Next week is class four, and I'm really looking forward to it.  We practice breathing and relaxation techniques, and for two hours, my husband has to do EVERYTHING the teacher says.  So I get massages, and we slow dance to relax and he counts my breathing, and for two hours, I feel like I don't have to give ANYTHING, just receive.  He's active and interested, and on the way home, we talk about what we've learned.  See what I mean?  A bargain at any price :)

But I'm such a big goober.

I'm pretty sure the teacher doesn't LOVE me.  Like, she likes me well enough, but, she doesn't LOVE me.  I feel I answer all the questions wrong and she just nods and goes on to someone else.  Or like, last night we had to write things on the board that motivate us.  I said other women that aren't pregnant motivate me (them in their pants with waistlines, ugh.  Look at them go.) I think she was looking for activities.  I tried to follow up with a quip...she didn't laugh.  I'm pretty sure she hates me, actually.  What happens with parents that fail the class?  Can that happen?  Do they confiscate the baby?  Is there a big red mark of shame on our hospital file that reads, "Better keep an eye on this one..."

But the teacher REALLY likes Amy.  She likes her because Amy asks lots of questions.  Amy Amy Amy.  I bet she's going to get an A.  A for Amy.  Blah.

To spite not being Teacher's Pet, I've made a few decisions about our birth.  The teacher really encourages us to be responsible for our own bodies, and to know what we want when we get there.

1) Don't ever take my husband from my side.  Hear me?  Never.  I understand if he needs space or air, I will NOT understand if he's told he's not allowed somewhere.  That man knows me inside out.  He knows what I like and what I hate.  He has brought me water and cleaned my puke off the walls.  I need him to be with me ALL the time.  No exceptions.

2) I want to tell them when I want meds.  Right now, I'm leaning towards the epidural.  Strongly.  But you can't depend on something you'd never had.  And in class we have talked about how to get the baby down into place and how to ease pain and tension without drugs.  My friend Alison just had Baby Grace, and she doesn't remember any of her pregnancy because she was so drugged up.  Now, I'm no hippie.  There will be drugs administered.  But I want to be lucid.  I want to remember this.

3) Breastfeeding- it's going to be happening.  After he wiggles his way out, I'm opting to breast feed him immediately.  I want that skin to skin everyone talks about.  I'm determined to make this work.  After that, they can bathe him and do whatever, but I want to get him first.

4) I want a dim and quiet room.  That's it.  Just Andy and myself and a few nurses.  No commotion.  No parade of people in and out.  Just.  Quiet.

And that's it.  Those are my demands.  I know there are many other things that people could be picky about, but those are the four I'm going to be picky about.  It's my day.  It's OUR day.  It's my son's birthday, after all :)

Moving forward...

So after the frustration yesterday, I went into my boss and got her to write down all my time off for the entire year.  I checked it all, and it's all correct.  Actually turns out that she was very nicely not charging me time for all the little 15 minutes here and there where I left early for a doctor's appointment.  Andy helped me figure out the rest.  And now I feel better.  It's an awful feeling when you think you're being cheated or treated unfairly.

So I'm moving forward.  And we're going to make it work.  And God is going to provide.

Today, I saw a foot protruding from my body.  This was followed by a huge contraction.  I informed the baby he could not kick his way out, but thanks for the effort! 

This weekend is our shower...I know I know, I've said it a million times.  But I'm excited!  Well, a little.  My inlaws are coming down last minute, mostly because they don't want to stay with my parents (which they have to, because where would they sleep otherwise?)  I'm not excited for the drama, just for the gifts and the baseball cupcakes :)  Mmmm...cake...  I just got word today that my sister won't be coming.  This is new news, but not big news.  She's the one supposedly planning it after all, so it's only natural for her not to be able to come.   Not being grumpy.  Just stating the facts.

In closing, this is one of our cats, getting acquainted with the baby clothing:

Keeping the Faith

IF there's one thing that being pregnant does for you, it helps you enlarge your faith.  Because deep down you know that there's nothing you can do to to keep that baby safe inside you.  You can eat right, you can work out, you can follow all the rules, and you could be in a car accident on the way to work one day that ends it all.  Life is short and it's beautiful and it's terrifying to know that you JUST have to rely on God to bring you through.  Even the people with the strongest faith find they are just big hypocrites when a baby is placed in their care.  Because immediately you want to take care of it and nurture it and be the best parent you can be, in a really broken world.

So today, at 31 weeks, which I totally forgot until Lauren text me about it, and then Andy text me later about, I'm plagued with the knowledge that every time I've been taking the last 15 minutes of the day out to go to a doctor's appointment, they've been docking me an hour.  That's policy.  That's policy I had no prior knowledge about.  So down from 80 hours, of which I was fairly sure I had most of left...I've got 31.  31 hours of vacation time left.  I have at least 5 more appointments, which will dock that at least 5 more hours.

And here's my lack of faith.  We were trying to get me four weeks vacation, using savings for two of them, and then using vacation for the rest.  We'll be lucky if I get 20 hours of vacation out of that, after all the appointments are done.  Another clincher is, my office isn't open on Black Friday, but we can't work either, but we don't get paid.  Fast forward to Christmas.  We aren't open the week between Christmas and New Year, but we don't get paid either.  That leaves LOTS of time where I don't get a paycheck.

Where are we going to get the money?

When you start to lose faith, you start to doubt.  Lack of faith equals lack of hope.  And when you believe there is no hope in a situation it's a slap in the face to God- the author and illustrator of the Universe.  I'm sorry, you think your money problems are too big for God?  No, but sometimes I wonder if the starving children in Africa aren't more important than making sure my son makes his way into my white,  middle class life in style.  If money for the people who don't eat on a regular basis takes precedence over me having a few more days off to be with my son.

Maybe what frustrates me more is that Andy is working so hard with the money to make sure we have enough for me to be off.  I've gotten a decorating job to cover my time off, and he's been painting on his days off and just making sure we're not going over budget (which we manage to do many times).  He's trying to make ends meet for his new family.  And now this.  He says to me, "I just want you to have enough time off to heal."  My precious, precious husband.

So instead of counting my pennies, I'm going to reaffirm that all things are possible with God and start counting my blessings again.  (How much things can change from one blog post to the next...)  Our shower is on Sunday, and we will be surrounded by friends and family.  Lauren's shower was on Saturday and she loved her blanket.  Here we are together:

Enough of this pity party.  Time to get back to work.

And now for something COMPLETELY different.

Sometimes when you're pregnant, things happen to your body and you google it immediately to make sure it's normal.  Especially with your first.  Because NOTHING is normal about pregnancy when you've never had anything to compare it to.

But last night when my Handsome Husband and I were enjoying each others company, he may have noticed that my breasts were...um...how can I be discreet?  Well, they were wet.  And he points this out to me!  "Hey, your boobs are wet!"  And IMMEDIATELY I start to cry.  And he starts to panic, because I'm crying.  "What's wrong, what's wrong?"  I'm like..."It's too soon!!!  I'm not ready to have the baby!" 

Do you know what it's like to get BACK to enjoying each others company after that?  Not hard for the male, obviously.  (And because it's my blog, I can talk about things like this.  It's the open and honest blog.  We don't sugar coat here.)  It's harder for the woman, though.  AT least it was for me.  The birthing class lady told us it would happen, but I thought she meant it would happen to OTHER people.  Like, the girl next to us with breasts already spilling out of her shirt.  I mean, I haven't even changed bra sizes.

So that's the story.

Yesterday the baby did this maneuver and turned around and elbowed his way to a more comfortable position, which happened to be right on my bladder.  Glad you're comfy, baby!  However, oddly enough, a girl at birthing class last night said the same thing happened to her.  Perhaps it's the moon...it IS full, you know.