The pooping was a false alarm, people. Ninja has her held safely tucked in the top of my pelvis and continues to beat the crap out of my insides like she's getting paid to do it. Must be because the government didn't shut down. Thanks a lot, Obama.
41 weeks today. Went in for a non-stress test and it was like she knew she had to put on a good show to impress everyone. I woke up at 7:30 to give myself plenty of time for breakfast and a shower. I can only hope that Ninja's fetus sleeping habits follow her out of the womb, because she is hilariously like her mama right now. If I wake up before 9, she's just a sleepy lump off to one side of my belly. Doesn't move, doesn't kick, except to try halfheartedly to get away from you when you poke her. Shower doesn't wake her, food doesn't wake her, even the car ride to the doctor...nothing. She likes to stay up late and sleep in like a pro. Well, they got the fetal monitor on just in time for her to start her very busy day of kicking me relentlessly, so that was good. She passed, she's allowed to stay in for one more week if she wants.
Yaaaaaaaaay.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
A Sign
Uncontrollable, smelly farts.
That means my baby's almost here, right? RIGHT?
But seriously, it's pretty stinky. I feel that should carry some significance.
Signs that my labor is imminent (I'm basically a doctor):
1) So much pooping!
2) Angry fetus bellybutton maulings.
3) False labor every night. YAY!
4) I have not packed a hospital bag.
5) I have not installed any carseats.
6) The dishes are dirty.
7) The government is shutting down.
This is totally me right now:
That means my baby's almost here, right? RIGHT?
But seriously, it's pretty stinky. I feel that should carry some significance.
Signs that my labor is imminent (I'm basically a doctor):
1) So much pooping!
2) Angry fetus bellybutton maulings.
3) False labor every night. YAY!
4) I have not packed a hospital bag.
5) I have not installed any carseats.
6) The dishes are dirty.
7) The government is shutting down.
This is totally me right now:
Thursday, March 24, 2011
A Story in Pictures
This is the miracle I performed to make room for your stuff (the miracle of cleaning out the hall closet).
Monday, March 21, 2011
Dear Ninja
Dearest Ninja Babe,
You are nearly cooked. In one week, you are "full-term," the magical time when mommies on birth boards go completely nuts and start drinking castor oil and arguing over non-medical inductions and eating spicy food and having sex whether they feel like it or not (don't forget to ask me what sex is in a few years, I know we are both excited for that conversation), all in a vain attempt to get those babies OUT. Because honestly, even the most ethereal earth goddess of fertility and maternal instincts hits a wall at some point, and that point is right about now.
On the one hand, you have shown yourself to be advanced in all areas, including hair growth, kicking strength and speed, umbilical cord grabbing and chewing, and cervical punching. If you feel like coming out in about a week from now, I'm certain you will continue to excel in life and I will be happy to assist you on your exit strategy. I may be projecting, but I don't think you like being in there any more than I like walking around with what feels like a broken pelvis. We practiced swaddling in our infant class and I could almost hear you laughing at the very idea that you would tolerate being restricted and repressed against your will in such a way. Something tells me you are going to need your wide open spaces, even as a tiny, angry Ninja infant.
Here's the thing, though. You can come in one week and I will just high five you for being so on top of it. On the other hand, I could probably use a few extra weeks. I'm doing this thing called "nesting," but in my typical insane fashion, I've completely torn the apartment (yeah, we don't have a house. Sorry.) apart and am reorganizing everything we own to make more room for you. Oh, and we bought a giant bed to save our marriage from death-by-horrible-mattress, so now there's even less room for you. Don't worry, we have a carseat, diapers, a bassinet and enough outfits to get you through a week, probably. I really hope you think the furry giraffe sleeper I got you is as hilarious and awesome as I do. You're a human baby, dressed up as a giraffe! Great, right? I wish all of your outfits were animal or food costumes.
So there you go. Come when you want, but I'm warning you. Anything past 41 weeks and your life will just be the muffled sounds of me, in bed, eating chocolate and pad thai and watching Netflix. I'm NOT drinking castor oil.
Aw, look at how cute you are!! Kicking yourself in the face. Keep doing your thing, sweet baby.
You are nearly cooked. In one week, you are "full-term," the magical time when mommies on birth boards go completely nuts and start drinking castor oil and arguing over non-medical inductions and eating spicy food and having sex whether they feel like it or not (don't forget to ask me what sex is in a few years, I know we are both excited for that conversation), all in a vain attempt to get those babies OUT. Because honestly, even the most ethereal earth goddess of fertility and maternal instincts hits a wall at some point, and that point is right about now.
On the one hand, you have shown yourself to be advanced in all areas, including hair growth, kicking strength and speed, umbilical cord grabbing and chewing, and cervical punching. If you feel like coming out in about a week from now, I'm certain you will continue to excel in life and I will be happy to assist you on your exit strategy. I may be projecting, but I don't think you like being in there any more than I like walking around with what feels like a broken pelvis. We practiced swaddling in our infant class and I could almost hear you laughing at the very idea that you would tolerate being restricted and repressed against your will in such a way. Something tells me you are going to need your wide open spaces, even as a tiny, angry Ninja infant.
Here's the thing, though. You can come in one week and I will just high five you for being so on top of it. On the other hand, I could probably use a few extra weeks. I'm doing this thing called "nesting," but in my typical insane fashion, I've completely torn the apartment (yeah, we don't have a house. Sorry.) apart and am reorganizing everything we own to make more room for you. Oh, and we bought a giant bed to save our marriage from death-by-horrible-mattress, so now there's even less room for you. Don't worry, we have a carseat, diapers, a bassinet and enough outfits to get you through a week, probably. I really hope you think the furry giraffe sleeper I got you is as hilarious and awesome as I do. You're a human baby, dressed up as a giraffe! Great, right? I wish all of your outfits were animal or food costumes.
So there you go. Come when you want, but I'm warning you. Anything past 41 weeks and your life will just be the muffled sounds of me, in bed, eating chocolate and pad thai and watching Netflix. I'm NOT drinking castor oil.
Aw, look at how cute you are!! Kicking yourself in the face. Keep doing your thing, sweet baby.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Stuff You Probably Knew Already About Being Pregnant
There's probably a reason you have to be pregnant FOREVER. I've decided the most obvious reason is that babies are this earth-shattering, life changing developments for which you need time to be prepared. So since becoming pregnant approximately seven years ago, I've used much of my free time to read all about pregnancy, childbirth, diapers, vaccines, sleep methods...there are infinite time consuming possibilities and you might as well study up before you never read or sleep again, right? One thing I've noticed appearing over and over again in every baby magazine, website, forum, you name it, is the "Things No One Ever Told You" list. I always get super excited to read these, because, you know...I want to KNOW. What are the great secrets? What are the unspoken truths that no one has dared reveal until now? Well, in this age of internets and information, these lists are often disappointing. Turns out I have heard about sleeping when the baby sleeps, meconium, nipple pads and nursing bras. But maybe you haven't.
So here's my List of Things Someone Has Probably Told You But I'm Telling You Again About Being Pregnant:
Things You Should Not Say To A Preggo
1) Don't call her preggo. I don't mind it, but apparently many women are infuriated by it.
2) Don't tell her how huuuuuuge she is. I mean, really. We're pregnant. It's not suddenly OK to inform us that we are fat. Even if we are.
2a) This includes comparing us to cows, whales and other large animals.
2b) This includes speculating on how we are probably going to have twins or triplets or give birth to a cow. Yes, she's sure she's not having twins. If she's having twins, she'll tell you.
2c) This conversely applies to telling her she's soooo small, are you sure there's a baby in there? You should eat something! Honestly, how many people really know what the average belly size is during any given month or week of pregnancy? Just say, "Your belly looks awesome!" or something equally inoffensive.
3) "Just wait until the baby gets here. You'll never sleep again!!!!" or equivalent fear mongering. Look, we know babies are nightmares from a demon dimension that deprive you of sleep and meaningful human contact. We've been informed. I do appreciate honest stories and advice from people who have been through it, but right now I'm just a swollen, seasick, injured version of myself who can't sleep, concentrate or go for a run. And I don't even have a cute little human around whom my world revolves to make it all worthwhile. "Sleep now, while you can!" That's great advice...except I can't. I'm an insomniac with heartburn and chronic back pain. Oh yeah, and a crazy 4-5 lb ninja endlessly kick-punching me from the inside. The first time I fall asleep on my stomach (my normal sleeping position) will be heaven. Even if I have to wake up twenty minutes later to change a diaper and feed her...at least she'll be on the outside!
A lady who had just had a baby 5 weeks ago saw me reaching for something on the bottom shelf at the grocery store. I was failing miserably while fighting the urge to pass out. You know what she said to me? "It gets better." You hear that? BETTER. She knows...she was JUST pregnant. Even though she hadn't slept in 5 weeks and that was probably her first time out of the house, she did not look like she wanted to switch places with me. She was like, oh yeah, I remember that one time I was so humongous that I could barely move and my body turned against me and basic functions like breathing were impossibly hard! I traded that in for a screaming infant and my life is so much better now! Oh, and she had a 2 year old.
Come to think of it, that's probably why you're pregnant for so long. So when you you are elbow deep in baby poop and you've lost your hearing and you are operating on a Charlie Sheen level of sense-making because of sleep deprivation, you'll think back to being pregnant and be like "I love this! Babies are awesome!" I'll let you know if that works out for me.
Things That Are Awesome About Being Pregnant
1) It makes people smile. I catch so many people just involuntarily smiling at me after seeing my big belly. I'll admit, it is usually a mixture of "happiness and pity" as Jon has described it, but I still like it.
2) Everything you do becomes sitcom material. I realized this today as I was ranting to Jon in the grocery store about the lack of Girl Scouts in our area. I need my Samoas! Midtown Scouts are slacking! Then I spotted Cadbury Eggs and got so excited I jumped up and down. Now, this is just normal seasonal behavior for me, but now that I'm fat and pregnant...hilarious for everyone! See also: buttoning my jacket, fitting through narrow spaces, etc.
3) It's a great excuse. What? It is.
4) It makes my husband even nicer! I hate to even mention this, because honestly, Jon already does all the cooking and pretty much lovingly does whatever I ask. But I am 100% guilty of taking full advantage of his selfless devotion during this gestational period. I had this theory that because I let my husband do so much for me in normal life, I would do a 180 in pregnancy and have some need to prove I could do it all myself. My theory was WRONG.
Things That, Seriously, No One Told Me
1) I have heard a lot about constipation during pregnancy. Let me just tell you that you can have the opposite problem. 'Nuff said.
2) Half the stuff that conventional wisdom says you can't eat, do or think is just not true. Every doctor should have a myth-debunking pamphlet that they hand you at the first appointment.
3) Delivering the placenta: Ok, why are there five million TV shows about people giving birth and not one of them ever shows this? I know it's gross, but babies are kind of gross too, at least on the way out and they still show that!
Eh, there's probably more, but thankfully I planned ahead and was born in the 80's so that I could give birth during the Age of the Internet. You can pretty much Google yourself through any tricky situation. And if you want to see a placental delivery...there's a YouTube for that.
So here's my List of Things Someone Has Probably Told You But I'm Telling You Again About Being Pregnant:
Things You Should Not Say To A Preggo
1) Don't call her preggo. I don't mind it, but apparently many women are infuriated by it.
2) Don't tell her how huuuuuuge she is. I mean, really. We're pregnant. It's not suddenly OK to inform us that we are fat. Even if we are.
2a) This includes comparing us to cows, whales and other large animals.
2b) This includes speculating on how we are probably going to have twins or triplets or give birth to a cow. Yes, she's sure she's not having twins. If she's having twins, she'll tell you.
2c) This conversely applies to telling her she's soooo small, are you sure there's a baby in there? You should eat something! Honestly, how many people really know what the average belly size is during any given month or week of pregnancy? Just say, "Your belly looks awesome!" or something equally inoffensive.
3) "Just wait until the baby gets here. You'll never sleep again!!!!" or equivalent fear mongering. Look, we know babies are nightmares from a demon dimension that deprive you of sleep and meaningful human contact. We've been informed. I do appreciate honest stories and advice from people who have been through it, but right now I'm just a swollen, seasick, injured version of myself who can't sleep, concentrate or go for a run. And I don't even have a cute little human around whom my world revolves to make it all worthwhile. "Sleep now, while you can!" That's great advice...except I can't. I'm an insomniac with heartburn and chronic back pain. Oh yeah, and a crazy 4-5 lb ninja endlessly kick-punching me from the inside. The first time I fall asleep on my stomach (my normal sleeping position) will be heaven. Even if I have to wake up twenty minutes later to change a diaper and feed her...at least she'll be on the outside!
A lady who had just had a baby 5 weeks ago saw me reaching for something on the bottom shelf at the grocery store. I was failing miserably while fighting the urge to pass out. You know what she said to me? "It gets better." You hear that? BETTER. She knows...she was JUST pregnant. Even though she hadn't slept in 5 weeks and that was probably her first time out of the house, she did not look like she wanted to switch places with me. She was like, oh yeah, I remember that one time I was so humongous that I could barely move and my body turned against me and basic functions like breathing were impossibly hard! I traded that in for a screaming infant and my life is so much better now! Oh, and she had a 2 year old.
Come to think of it, that's probably why you're pregnant for so long. So when you you are elbow deep in baby poop and you've lost your hearing and you are operating on a Charlie Sheen level of sense-making because of sleep deprivation, you'll think back to being pregnant and be like "I love this! Babies are awesome!" I'll let you know if that works out for me.
Things That Are Awesome About Being Pregnant
1) It makes people smile. I catch so many people just involuntarily smiling at me after seeing my big belly. I'll admit, it is usually a mixture of "happiness and pity" as Jon has described it, but I still like it.
2) Everything you do becomes sitcom material. I realized this today as I was ranting to Jon in the grocery store about the lack of Girl Scouts in our area. I need my Samoas! Midtown Scouts are slacking! Then I spotted Cadbury Eggs and got so excited I jumped up and down. Now, this is just normal seasonal behavior for me, but now that I'm fat and pregnant...hilarious for everyone! See also: buttoning my jacket, fitting through narrow spaces, etc.
3) It's a great excuse. What? It is.
4) It makes my husband even nicer! I hate to even mention this, because honestly, Jon already does all the cooking and pretty much lovingly does whatever I ask. But I am 100% guilty of taking full advantage of his selfless devotion during this gestational period. I had this theory that because I let my husband do so much for me in normal life, I would do a 180 in pregnancy and have some need to prove I could do it all myself. My theory was WRONG.
Things That, Seriously, No One Told Me
1) I have heard a lot about constipation during pregnancy. Let me just tell you that you can have the opposite problem. 'Nuff said.
2) Half the stuff that conventional wisdom says you can't eat, do or think is just not true. Every doctor should have a myth-debunking pamphlet that they hand you at the first appointment.
3) Delivering the placenta: Ok, why are there five million TV shows about people giving birth and not one of them ever shows this? I know it's gross, but babies are kind of gross too, at least on the way out and they still show that!
Eh, there's probably more, but thankfully I planned ahead and was born in the 80's so that I could give birth during the Age of the Internet. You can pretty much Google yourself through any tricky situation. And if you want to see a placental delivery...there's a YouTube for that.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
What We Are Signing Up For
I've been slowed down in the posting department. On the one hand, I find my situation (read: being comically large, comparing my pregnancy symptoms to Bella's in Breaking Dawn, etc.) quite hilarious and I mostly just want to write about the ridiculous hilarity of my symbiotic relationship with the Ginger Ninja. On the other hand, life has just not been that funny lately and the somber nature of reality makes the silly things a little harder to focus on.
This little spaz inside of me is right now, a squirmy lump about whom I know very little. I know she has hair (I saw it on the 3D ultrasound and the insane heartburn tipped me off as well). I know she's crazy active, kicks like a horse and is exceptionally advanced in all areas. Just trust me on that last one, I saw her grabbing her umbilical cord in the ultrasound. Her motor skills are phenomenal. But I don't know her. We don't know her. She's about to emerge into the world, a whole person, a whole little stranger. She'll be so much more than a non-verbal pile of poop and cuteness. And this parent thing is...big.
Obviously, every new parent gets that on some level. But I had two heavy reminders of just how big it can be this week. A young friend of mine ended up in the hospital with some very scary prognoses. His parents, some of the most loving, generous and just generally awesome people I know, have spent the week praying, keeping watch and being faced with some very scary possibilities. In a situation that no one could be truly prepared for as a parent, they have displayed strength and faith amidst the desperation and fear they must be struggling with. I never feel ready to display this kind of courage in the face of tragedy or crisis, but I hope that if I ever have to live through something like this with my own family, I will have a fraction of their grace under pressure.
I also attended a funeral this weekend. The funeral of an amazing woman and mom who I was lucky to know even a little bit. You can read more about her here. Her kids are important people in our life and I felt privileged to hear their stories and share in their joy as they celebrated her life. As we laughed and cried over a life well lived, a heart well-used, the endless flips and kicks of my little ninja took on a new and nearly overwhelming meaning to me. Lorraine succeeded as a parent. She succeeded because she saw her three babies as individuals meant to be encouraged and loved into their unique identities. The result: three incredible adults, flawed but equipped to live well in this world. It's too easy already to imagine this kid that lives inside of me will be an extension of myself and of Jon. To assign her traits I believe she will have or hope she will learn. It's almost impossible not to have preconceived ideas and expectations. The most beautiful thing would be to let her trample all over them on her way to becoming an unexpectedly delightful person--a person I could never predict or control. Here's to hoping we can let that happen.
Pray for Grant
This little spaz inside of me is right now, a squirmy lump about whom I know very little. I know she has hair (I saw it on the 3D ultrasound and the insane heartburn tipped me off as well). I know she's crazy active, kicks like a horse and is exceptionally advanced in all areas. Just trust me on that last one, I saw her grabbing her umbilical cord in the ultrasound. Her motor skills are phenomenal. But I don't know her. We don't know her. She's about to emerge into the world, a whole person, a whole little stranger. She'll be so much more than a non-verbal pile of poop and cuteness. And this parent thing is...big.
I also attended a funeral this weekend. The funeral of an amazing woman and mom who I was lucky to know even a little bit. You can read more about her here. Her kids are important people in our life and I felt privileged to hear their stories and share in their joy as they celebrated her life. As we laughed and cried over a life well lived, a heart well-used, the endless flips and kicks of my little ninja took on a new and nearly overwhelming meaning to me. Lorraine succeeded as a parent. She succeeded because she saw her three babies as individuals meant to be encouraged and loved into their unique identities. The result: three incredible adults, flawed but equipped to live well in this world. It's too easy already to imagine this kid that lives inside of me will be an extension of myself and of Jon. To assign her traits I believe she will have or hope she will learn. It's almost impossible not to have preconceived ideas and expectations. The most beautiful thing would be to let her trample all over them on her way to becoming an unexpectedly delightful person--a person I could never predict or control. Here's to hoping we can let that happen.
Pray for Grant
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Not Chocolate Chip Cookies
Actually, they are chocolate chip cookies. Don't let their little turd-like appearances fool you.
I like to bake and I'm generally not terrible at it. I used to cook before my husband turned into one of those dudes who fantasizes about getting their own show on the Food Network and is also a beer snob. Ok, I think that "those dudes" are just mostly him. Anyway--I don't cook now unless there is a stuffing shortage at Christmas or Thanksgiving. He's just way better at it and more territorial in the kitchen. I find it's better if I just wait for my food and occasionally do the dishes/make fun of the way he non-organizes the drawers and cupboards.
So this Saturday I was on the brink of death. Or, at least that's how it felt when my weak, immune deficient pregnant body started to feel a cold coming on. So I chugged Emergen-C and Tylenol and stayed in bed all day. Saturday evening I could tell I had avoided the full weight of Death Cold, so to celebrate, I decided to make some cookies. I usually make my famous Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies. They are the only thing I know how to make purely from memory, and I am a legend in my immediate family for their greatness. My mom lost the recipe card for them years ago, so my sister calls me and asks how to make them sometimes. Last time, she wrote the recipe down and assured me she would make them for everyone after I die. THANKS. You are only eight years younger than I, but surely, you will live forever.
I had no oatmeal, so I decided to try a Martha Stewart cookie recipe. It turned out great except for this one part: I was watching Party Down on Netflix Instant while I made the cookies. That show is hilarious and awesome and way better than stupid Monk, which my husband has decided is his new favorite show. Maybe after he watches the infinity episodes of Monk on Netflix, he can discover new brilliant fares like Murder, She Wrote or Columbo. Seriously, Monk is so dumb. And it has the worst theme song in the history of television. It's stuck in my head forever now and I'm mad.
So, I was drowning out Monk with some hilarious Party Down and I was laughing so much that I forgot to add the flour mixture I had set aside into the cookie dough. Martha, that's why I list the dry ingredients last instead of first. Setting things aside is just asking for problems. You could learn something from me. I noticed the dough wasn't thick enough, so I did add some flour, but not enough and no baking powder. Things were sticking together fine until I put the cookies in the oven. I spotted my bowl of dry ingredients and ran to pull the cookies out. Cookie soup on trays. I salvaged it by stirring the goop into the dry ingredients. The chocolate chips were all melted, so that's why it all turned out such a pleasant shade of brown. They taste pretty good, not great (thanks a lot, Martha Stewart!) and many lessons have been learned. I think, primarily, that Monk is a terrible show. Can anyone think of a television theme song more infuriating than this?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Not a Mommy Blog?
Hopefully. But I guess we'll just see about that. There are two driving forces behind my resurrecting my bloginess ("blog" is still your worst invented word, Internet):
1) I'm a writer. I am! I swear! I may have epically failed at NaNoWriMo this year and I may have left my Lit/Writing degree a distant 4+ years in the past, but it is my passion. So I am ambitiously claiming this as the end of my writing dry spell. No turning back. Unless I feel like it.
2) I'm knocked up. Nothing like having a kumquat in your pudding to motivate you to better yourself. My little fetus monster (we call her The Ginger Ninja because she has mad skills and I'm hoping for a redhead) punches and roundhouse kicks me all day every day as if to say, "I can already tell you suck at remembering to take pictures and upload them. I'm not even holding out hope for an awesome baby book, so how about you clear out some internet space for me before I get here?" Well, Ninja, it's taken me almost 30 gestational weeks to get the ball rolling on this, so I would say, expect the birth announcements to go out with your wedding invitations. To save on postage.
So, like I said. Hopefully not an insufferable mommyblog. But my goings on may be so Ninja focused that it turns into a bit of that. Ooops! I'm one of those people now.
1) I'm a writer. I am! I swear! I may have epically failed at NaNoWriMo this year and I may have left my Lit/Writing degree a distant 4+ years in the past, but it is my passion. So I am ambitiously claiming this as the end of my writing dry spell. No turning back. Unless I feel like it.
2) I'm knocked up. Nothing like having a kumquat in your pudding to motivate you to better yourself. My little fetus monster (we call her The Ginger Ninja because she has mad skills and I'm hoping for a redhead) punches and roundhouse kicks me all day every day as if to say, "I can already tell you suck at remembering to take pictures and upload them. I'm not even holding out hope for an awesome baby book, so how about you clear out some internet space for me before I get here?" Well, Ninja, it's taken me almost 30 gestational weeks to get the ball rolling on this, so I would say, expect the birth announcements to go out with your wedding invitations. To save on postage.
So, like I said. Hopefully not an insufferable mommyblog. But my goings on may be so Ninja focused that it turns into a bit of that. Ooops! I'm one of those people now.
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