Posts Tagged ‘
belly shot ’
Tuesday, January 17th, 2012
Today at the dentist’s office, the hygienist asked when I was due. “The 29th,” I told her. “Of this month?” she asked.
Look at me, you guys. How sweet is she? I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear she regularly slips me extra floss.
Very happy to have made it this far. That crazy hour or two of contractions last Wednesday got me thinking that I’d go into labor much earlier than I’d like. They made me feel delicate, a state to which I am unaccustomed, pregnant or no. It was suddenly apparent that I need to rest and relax and maybe not carry my toddler, plus his diaper bag, plus a couple of shopping bags, across whole parking lots like a pack mule. A really pregnant pack mule.
So I let the pendulum swing in the opposite direction on Thursday and became Officially Serious About Taking It Easy. I cut out my morning walk. I picked Roy up as little as possible. Rested on the couch. Drank more water. Thursday proved uneventful, so I continued in this manner.
Then Friday, as I was getting ready for dinner with a bunch of girlfriends, the contractions came back. They were up high on my belly, just as they were on Wednesday, not low in the period-cramp region, where I remember my true contractions happening two years back. So I did not panic. I did, admittedly, feel a little sorry for myself for having to miss my big night out. I drowned my sorrows in a can or two of sparkling water, which I sipped on the couch while watching bad Friday night TV. Why is Friday prime time programming so godawful? Do not homebodies, antisocials and those who’ve fallen ill or pregnant deserve viable viewing options?
Anyway. The contractions stopped later that evening. I haven’t had once since. Knock wood.
What else was I going to report? Had a whirlwind organizing/nesting weekend, which only made me realize how much further behind I am this time than I was last. Two weeks out from baby #1, the nursery was ready, my bags were packed, the house was spotless, the back-up route to the hospital was mapped out. This time, the nursery is not even close to ready, the house is full of half-finished baby-related projects, and I’ve pulled my suitcase out, but not yet gotten around to packing it. Oh, what a difference one child makes.
Little girl is the size of a bunch of celery, according to Parents.com’s week-by-week babytracker. She seems to have cut out some of her daily tai chi sessions, for which I’m appreciative. Her activity level last week was so high it was a little unsettling (as well as distracting). Maybe she was thirsty? At my appointment today, everything checked out well. The doctor said that her head felt lower, and I am dilated a little bit more, to an “almost one.” But there’s been no thinning of the cervix. Which means I’ve probably still got some time. Though Doc did make a point of saying, “No guarantees.” Noted.
My money says I’ll be around at week 39 to improve upon that tired-looking pregnant photo up top there.
We’ll see what Baby Girl has in mind.
Celery bunch image credit: iStockphoto
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Tuesday, January 10th, 2012
Today when I was at the doctor’s office, he said that next time, if I want, he could sweep my membranes. Move things along. I immediately told him no, thanks. I’m in no hurry. I’m excited to meet her and all, but I’m in no rush. It’ll happen. We can just leave those poor membranes alone.
At 37 weeks, she’s as big as a bunch of Swiss chard (according to the babytracker), and she’s done. Meaning she’s likely big enough, strong enough and formed enough to survive just fine, whenever she decides to show up. Which is to say: Any day now. Any day.
It’s kind of a strange feeling, knowing that at some moment very soon I will go into labor and come out the other end with my little girl. It could start tonight, while I’m sleeping. Or tomorrow, after lunch. And then everything that’s at the forefront of my mind—that deadline, that dinner with friends, Roy’s upcoming birthday party, that closet clear-out project—it disappears, replaced solely with Have Baby.
Then again, it could happen three weeks from now. That would be completely reasonable as well. It’s hard to be prepared without being anxious; excited without being antsy. It’s hard to just act as though something huge and amazing isn’t about to happen. Because it is.
As you can see, I’m big enough now that my planetary presence communicates exactly that. Strangers regularly comment on the event, so clearly impending. This makes it difficult to go about life as usual, but I don’t mind. People seem genuinely excited for me, which is so incredibly sweet and keeps me psyched. My favorite recent bout of enthusiasm came from a young gas station clerk with inky hair and awesome Cleopatra eyeliner.
Her: When are you due?
Me: A couple of weeks.
Her: I’m so excited!
Me: Yeah, well, it’s exciting!
Her: I can’t wait to have one, too. But I’m going to wait. Probably at least until I get married.
Me: That right there is a good idea. A really, really good idea.
Related: I love doughnuts. Suddenly and passionately. I gained two pounds last week. And guess what? Don’t care.
Relatively unrelated: I’ll be doing a Q&A on American Baby’s Facebook page on this Thursday, January 12, at 2:30 EST. My fellow pregnant Parents blogger, Jill Cordes, goes on at 1:30—she and I have pretty differing mindsets regarding our upcoming births, so it could be fun to throw the same question at each of us.
On to week 38.
Swiss chard image credit: iStockphoto
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Tuesday, January 3rd, 2012
Hello, 36 weeks. Lovely to see you.
Just for reference, let’s revisit 26 weeks:
And, for good measure, 16:
Aw, sweet 16. So tiny. So mobile. So, so, so long ago. My, how things have changed.
Went to the doctor today. He did a quick check to see if the Braxton-Hicks have done anything whatsoever, and reported that there was dilation enough for a fingertip’s passage. A fingertip! He actually touched her head. This made me an eensy bit jealous—is that weird? Regardless, things are happening, no question about it. I go in weekly now. And the doctor felt the need to let me know he’s going out of town for a few days. “Not that I think anything will happen,” he said. “But just in case.” In case I go into labor, that is. Holy. Crap.
According to Parents.com’s week-by-week babytracker, she’s Crenshaw melon-sized. Apparently this is a Crenshaw melon:
I think they’re running out of fruits and vegetables. Perfect timing, as I’m running out of weeks.
Crenshaw melon image credit: iStockphoto
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Wednesday, December 28th, 2011
We have arrived at 35 weeks. I tried to pose a little better this time, so you can get the full effect of The Tummy:
Yep. I’m pregnant.
So how was your holiday? Ours was lovely, thanks. For us, the season starts with a big bang on Thanksgiving, when we host 20-some, then is peppered with all sorts of out-of-town celebrations, then nearby celebrations, ending in a pretty quiet Christmas Day at home. We love it from top to bottom. Roy just adores all the action and seeing all his people, whether it’s an evening with a houseful of aunts and uncles and cousins or a quick run by the neighbors’ to drop off some holiday snacks. Talks about it for days before and after.
According to Parents.com’s week-by-week babytracker, little girl is the size of a honeydew. Even though I’m bigger by the day, and even with all the holiday action, I’m still feeling better than ever, physically. Mentally, though…. After things wound down and I looked at the calendar and saw that the 29th was this week, I went into a bit of a panic. I’m due the 29th of next month. Which means that we’re not having a baby “in January,” we’re having a baby this month. That’s a shockingly small amount of days in which to accomplish all the things I’d like before she comes. Thankfully, “like” and “need” are two very different things. I keep reminding myself of that.
On one hand, there’s that feeling of having so much to do, and the over-the-top excitement of finally getting to meet our little girl. On the other hand, there’s a mellow sort of sadness about losing what we already have: our little threesome. I want to prepare for what’s to come, but I also want to hang out with Roy as much as possible, to soak in all this focused time we have together before it doesn’t really work this way anymore. I’m sure I hug him too much. Request kisses too much. Gobble his bellybutton and tell him I love him and ask for a quick cuddle, please, too much. If there is such a thing as too much of any of those.
As Christmas night was winding down, we decided to sneak in a walk before bedtime. Boo to unseasonably warm temps for stealing our white Christmas, but long, ice-free strolls do make for a fine consolation prize. Roy begged to take the wagon. Pleeeease? Pleeeease? Clint complied; dug the wagon out of the garage and loaded it down with blankets and pillows and then tucked his tiny bods in, so all that showed was a little stocking hat-topped head. We wandered up the block in the dark, toward the neighborhood’s best light display, looking at the stars and moon above. After a couple of silent minutes, I glanced back at Roy and caught him grinning ear-to-ear under all those covers, beyond happy at the holidays, the sky, the wagon, his family. I wanted so badly to bottle that moment up and keep it forever—just the three of us in that perfect slice of time.
I can’t help but feel a little sad that there won’t be moments like that anymore.
I can’t help but hope that the foursome version we’re trading it for delivers similar ones that feel just as amazing. If not, doubly so.
Honeydew image credit: iStockphoto
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Tuesday, December 20th, 2011
Another week down. Pow! So crazy to finally be nearing the end of this journey. Those first months took forever. Now, each week closer to forty seems to slip on by in record time. In a month, we’ll be at the “any day now” phase. One short month.
I think I’m experiencing Braxton Hicks? (For the uninitiated, these are, basically, unproductive contractions.) I’m not completely sure if that’s what I’m experiencing in part because I don’t understand online descriptions of Braxton Hicks, such as “labor pains without the pain.” Wha? So then, labor? Labor that’s technically not labor? Right. OK. That’s makes some sense, but without the sense. Exactly.
So what I am feeling is a sort of tightening of the stomach, towards the center. Other times, I feel pressure, really low and really deep, that takes my breath away just a little. Neither are uncomfortable. They’re just interesting sensations. But aren’t they all at this point? The kid is growing, so there’s not a lot of room in there, and she’s apparently taken up tai kwon do to pass the time because I often catch my stomach jerking in one direction or another with the force of her movements. Often, as in many times a day. Which might worry me if it weren’t so consistent. Which is why odd tightening and pressure didn’t strike me as anything but Sissy training for her blue belt. So, Braxton Hicks? Definitely maybe.
Parents.com’s week-by-week babytracker says she’s cantaloupe-sized. Closing in on 5 pounds. The bigger she gets, the bigger I get and the more excited Roy is. He still calls her Juni, and will often give her hugs goodnight and include her in conversations about who’s happy or whom he loves. Once, he made me sit still with my shirt pulled up as he held his construction trucks in front of my bellybutton, articulating their proper names: Dumper. Loader. Excavator. You know, giving her a little heads up about the important things in life.
Since we’re getting closer to the due date (January 29th), and since his birthday is in January (the 26th) we’ve started telling him that January is when she’ll arrive. Not that he has any concept of when January is, but whatever. It’s true. And it’s another talking point for all of us on the subject. “Juni come outta Mommy’s tummy in January,” he’ll say. Or, on impatient days, “Juni come outta Mommy’s tummy today.”
Hearing that possibility said out loud does cause a knee-jerk flutter of panic. But I read yesterday that babies born between 34 and 37 weeks generally do just fine, with no long-term health issues. There’s something reassuring about that. Like it’s another hurdle cleared. Like the finish line is truly, finally, in sight.
Cantaloupe image credit: Blaine Moats
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