Bittersweet

There is truly something bittersweet about sorting through and bagging up old clothes for donation. Especially when they are you maternity clothes for the last time.

During my postpartum periods with Kylie and Lizzie both I just boxed up the clothes and put them away. Yes, I kept a good bulk of my maternity clothes after Lizzie, even though Brian got a vasectomy. I just couldn't get rid of them. Guess my subconscious knew something I didn't.

This time, however, I'm certain. It's time to get rid of everything.

I had felt for a long time that I was meant to have three children. After Lizzie, after Brian had his vasectomy, I was crushed. It was like a death to me because I felt like my third child had somehow died, even though of course he hadn't been conceived.

Accidentally getting pregnant with Will cemented for me that I was meant to have three children. But that's it. Three is my limit. And Micah's too.

So these last 6 weeks have sort of been sad while I go through the laundry and find another shirt or pair of pants that won't be used, at least by me anymore. I liked my maternity clothes this time around. I finally had a professional and casual assortment for both work and home that I hadn't had before.

But finally, this part of my life is over. This baby making time. It's time for the baby growing, teenager teaching, Kindergartner playing time and not time for pregnancy time anymore.

I'll admit I'm pretty excited about that actually. Next year it'll be time for Kylie to get her drivers permit. Lizzie will go to first grade in less than a year. And Will, well, he'll be walking or close to it.

So goodbye comfy jeans and favorite green shirt. You'll be missed. But it's time for me to move on. And you too.

Say hello to the Goodwill pick up crew!

The Birth Story

So please bear with me in the retelling of this because frankly, I was in a lot of pain for a majority of it and so times may be a little fuzzy.

We were told to show up at the hospital at 7:30am and to eat breakfast. I was impressed because this was the third time I had to be induced and the previous two times I had been told not to eat after midnight. As a side note, during my other inductions I wasn't allowed to eat and was only allowed ice chips, not even water. This time they brought me toast when I asked for it and I was allowed all the grape or apple juice I could desire. To say I was impressed would be an understatement.

Anyways, so we got up at O dark thirty and stopped at Village Inn for breakfast. I cried during breakfast and before we left the house. I'm going to own that right now. I was crying because I was scared. Induction is not fun and my induction plan (personally) did not include medication. The reason I chose not to plan for medication was because my epidural failed so spectacularly with Lizzie that I just couldn't do that to myself again and decided I would mentally prepare for an unmediated induction.

So we get to the hospital and it takes about an hour to get my hooked up, settled in the room, and my IV started. My midwife shows up and confirms what I had found out the day before, that I was 2 centimeters dilated and "soft". I almost came off the table during that check and every one after that. They also informed me that while my baby had been facing Posterior (sunny side up or his face was facing my belly button) he was now sideways but still head down. This was good news and we prayed as a group (midwife and both nurses included) that he would turn to be face down or facing my back. It's an easier way to have a baby. I delivered Lizzie sunny side up and it's what made my anticipation of labor anxiety riddled.

At about 9am (I think) my Mother In Law, Leslie showed up at the hospital. Micah started his nap on the couch.

Between 10am and 11am (I think) they started my Pitocin. They started it out slowly and the plan was to jack it up in intervals of 3 (I can't tell you 3 what though) every half hour. Within about 30 minutes of starting the Pitocin I started having menstrual cramps.

Let me stop here for a second and tell you, if you've never labored without Pitocin, you are lucky, lucky people. Pitocin is ROUGH and jacking it up hurts. I knew this going in. I dealt with it when I had Lizzie and while I had some drugs in my IV with her I did okay overall with it. But it hurts.

Micah goes to get Kylie from school around 11am. Things were slow going and I decided we should get her then before all the chaos of birth were to happen. Kylie gets there and promptly falls asleep on the couch until 5pm.

My Midwife broke my water sometime around 2pm. More Pitocin. I was allowed to sit in the rocking chair and was offered to sit on the birthing ball. I chose the rocking chair.

Also, at some point I mentioned to my midwife and my nurses that I wasn't planning on an epidural because mine had failed last time. They suggested I talk to the anesthesiologist if I was open to the idea of it because in all her years of practicing, my Midwife had never seen an epidural fail with this guy. His name was John.

We spent some time discussing why my last one had failed and he gave me some possible reasons and explained how he does the epidurals and how to prevent the failure of them. I decided to think about it.

From here the contractions continued, we watched a lot of Law & Order on the TV in the room and Micah sang to me during contractions. My mother in law talked to me some but what helped the most was Micah singing to me. This was a new preference for me as in previous deliveries I wanted silence during a contraction. This time during the contractions I would breath and lean into my husbands neck and he would sing to me. I just wanted the noise to distract me from thinking or dwelling on the contraction.

At about 4pm my midwife checked me and I was at 4 cm. I wanted to die. I had been on the stupid Pitocin at that point for 6 hours and had only gotten an extra 2 cm dilated. My nurses assured me that getting to 4 was the hardest part and now it should speed up.

At about 8pm I was starting to cry when the contractions would start. Because they hurt, if you didn't know. I was still on the Pitocin and it was crazy high and they just kept increasing it and now my water was broken and it just felt like every contraction was going to kill me. Didn't help my moral that I wasn't dilated very far. My Midwife had put on some lavender aromatherapy for me and we had dimmed the lights and she had electric tea lights all over the room and that was lovely and amazing. My mother in law had rubbed my very swollen feet but I was just crying through the contractions and the singing was starting not to help anymore. I asked for the epidural.

John appeared within moments and had me set within 10 minutes I would say. I had a spinal with an epidural chaser which means I felt immediate relief from the contractions but that eventually the spinal would wear off and the epidural would kick in. I was initially numb from my mid-ribcage down but as the spinal wore off my epidural kept me numb from about mid-belly down. Now, please, don't confuse numb with can't feel anything. I still felt pressure during contractions. Which were 2 minutes apart and lasting about a minute and had been since 10am.

I asked Micah if we could name the baby John after my epidural hero. He thought I was joking.

At about 10pm I started shaking and having a bit more pain during the contractions. My midwife checked me and I was at 8.5-9cms. They had John the Epidural Hero come back and top off my medication which was lovely but at this point I knew I was in transition and could feel the pressure of the baby and contractions.

At about 11pm (This is where my memory is fuzzy) I was complete and it was time to push. My midwife told me to give a practice push. I did. The baby was suddenly in my birth canal and I freaked out. Epidural wasn't a failure but it was done wonderfully so that I still had the urge to push and could feel the contractions. I hurt. And I refused to push anymore.

Leslie tells me that I told people not to touch me. I believe her but I don't remember it. I remember my midwife telling me it was time for the baby to be born and she had her gloves and "suit" on for it. I remember people telling me to grab the back of my legs to push and me refusing. I just refused to push. I kept telling people (I think) that I would push with the next contraction and then fighting each contraction that came along and pretending I wasn't having one so they wouldn't tell me to push. (I know now that no one was convinced)

But here's what I love. My midwife let me. My midwife didn't "make" me and didn't force Micah and Leslie to hold my legs for me or anything. She let me say no. And say no I did for several contractions.

The thing with nature and contractions though, is you can't fight it forever. Despite me telling everyone in the room I didn't want to do it and that I had changed my mind and would wait until Monday (My sad attempt at humor), I HAD to push that baby at some point. I didn't have a choice.

So I finally pushed. I don't remember anything else in the world at that point except Micah talking to me. He was encouraging and helping and holding my leg (I did refuse to grab my thighs for the most part). I pushed again. And everyone was silent. Then Micah started talking about the baby's hair and it was curly he said. Then my midwife said, "Now push his shoulders out."

I had no idea his head was out. So I pushed again and felt him slide out but am still a little shocked that I had no idea his head was out until after the fact. Essentially 3-4 pushes for that baby to be born at 11:31pm.

They laid him on my chest and we wiped him down and that child had more hair than I have ever seen on a baby.

During the birth Kylie hid in the bathroom (a pre-designed spot she and Leslie had discussed if she didn't want to witness the actual birth) but she did hear me and I remember looking over to my right and seeing her standing there staring at me and her new brother while he was still connected to my via the umbilical cord. She looked a little shell shocked frankly.

Micah cut the cord, and I asked them to weigh the baby. He weighed in at 8lbs 5 oz and was 20 inches long. The hair on that child probably added at least 2 oz.

So all in all, he took awhile to get here but when he arrived (downward facing, BTW) it was well worth it with all of the not pushing a lot and oh, no rips or tears. Meaning no stitches for me this time, Whooo Hooo!

(I had no rips with Kylie either but with Lizzie, because of the face up position, I had 2. It took me forever to recover from that.)

Nursing took awhile to get established and he had some jaundice which required him to be under the special lights for a few hours but we were able to leave the hospital Sunday early afternoon which I liked.

Overall, happy mommy, healthy baby, proud daddy and adoring big sisters. We couldn't feel happier or more blessed with our newest addition.

Here is Will, a mere hour or two after his birth.

Moms and stuff

Still no baby. Sorry all. I promise he will be here by Friday though, one way or the other. Unless he's stubborn and insists on being born Saturday but he's COMING and I'm starting the process 7:30am Friday morning. Eviction time buddy, sorry.

Truthfully I'm a little disappointed, I had hoped to go into labor naturally and labor most of the time at home with my husband and mother in law but alas, appears not meant to be. And I'm a little scared because I know what's coming next and it's the hurty party. I'm excited to meet this little guy, I feel like I know him but not fully yet but the part where he makes his grand exit? Not my favorite part. Sorry.

ANYWAYS, with these thoughts swirling around in my head I've been thinking a lot about my own mother. I miss her of course and I hope she's in heaven and has been getting to know my little guys spirit up there but of course I'm sad that she wont get to be here for his first bath. Or first diaper change. Or to cook for me. (Yes, I am selfish, what do you what, I'm an only child.)

I don't have a whole lot of pictures of my mom on this computer and almost none of her with Lulu since she passed when Lu was only 8 months old but I thought I would share a few of her that I have.

She was truly a wonderful Grandma and while my children have amazing family and fantastic Grandparents in Nana and Grandma Leslie and Grandpa Rex and Grandma Linda and Grandpa Jerry I'm a little saddened that Lulu and this new one wont know my own mother like Kylie did. I'm especially sad that I wont hear my mother singing her new Grandson a silly made up song like she did for Ky and Lulu or telling stories about how I ate pork chop at 6 weeks old and if it was good enough for me its good enough for .

Back of my Mom's gravestone. Long story about this gravestone but short story is, this quote was perfect. Thank you Nana for finding it.

My mom and Kylie (she's 2 in that picture) watching a movie. Both appear, well, puzzled.

I'm fairly certainly my mom is singing a song to Kylie in this picture. Kylie was captivated.

Me, my Mom, Kylie and Lulu when she was a little over a week old. Why yes, I am still wearing my pajamas. Why do you ask?

Adventures in Castor Oil

This blog post will be short because I actually have a better one in my head. I actually have 2 better ones. The first involves a political lesson I gave my 14 year old recently. Knowing what I do about my readership (hello family!) I have to be careful how I word that so you people don't call CPS on me. (I'm kidding of course. It's just a long post that many of your might want to ignore altogether.) The other blog post will include a birth announcement. But, well, that birth hasn't happened yet. So I can't even begin to write that one. *sigh*

But I did want to share a semi-funny story with you all involving me and my pregnancy induced crazy and Castor oil.

So last Wednesday I went home early from work with contractions that SEEMED like they might be getting closer together. But not fast enough. It was also the day before my due date.

Up until that day I had been the biggest opponent of Castor Oil as an induction method. I knew exactly one person who had used in and gone into labor and her story was so horrific (involved a very fast labor and multiple bowel movements) that I couldn't remotely stomach the idea.

Until last Wednesday. Last Wednesday I was so desperate to make the contractions stop and just get it over with I stopped by the grocery store on the way home to find some of the "magic" oil. I had done my research and one website suggested there might be Castor oil pills. I couldn't find them. But it also suggested that 58% of women who had taken 2 oz of Castor oil had gone into labor within 4-6 hours.

Those seemed like frankly good odds last Wednesday.

I could not find the Castor oil however. So I called my husband and told him if he loved me he would bring me some. And he loves me. So he brought some home and then immediately said he couldn't be a part of it. He felt like it wasn't going to be pretty and darnit, we're still newlyweds.

I decided to go easy on myself and I took 1 oz of the Castor oil in orange juice. Let it sit an hour or so and nothing. So I took the other oz.

Let me stop here and say, taking that second ounce was rough. I knew the texture by that point and while it didn't taste particularly bad it does strange things to juice. Basically it sits on top of it and gets all over your mouth and no amount of orange juice will really help that.

And so I sat. And waited. And I knew what SHOULD come next. The exiting of anything I may have consumed for the last 3 years in a horrible method. But if it brought on labor I was ready for it.

Except.

Except NOTHING happened. NOTHING. No gut wrenching bathroom trips. No nausea. No regrets. No contractions. NOTHING HAPPENED.

In fact, my contractions stopped altogether for the evening.

Disappointment, thy name is Castor Oil.

Which is why I sit here, 4 days past my due date, still at my office job and still not delivered. Not even Castor Oil can save me.

The gift I still need

I am 40 weeks +1 day pregnant. I am still working outside the home. I am tired. I have 2 daughters at home who want my attention. Plus a husband who is anxious to meet his first baby. And two dogs, one of which (Tasha) can not stop checking on me every 2.9 seconds. And a cat that thinks my belly is his personal elevated bed. Even when I'm sleeping.

We are also dealing with some pretty serious issues with Micah's lovely grandmother Jenny. I wont go too much into it here but I will say that this week has seen some aggressiveness and confusion on her part that are escalating and it's hard for us to know what the right course of action is.

People keep asking me what we still need. Do we have everything? What else could we use?

My answer is always "A baby".

(For the record we do have some larger items we still need but I have the money for those items. I just don't have the desire to go by the swing or bouncy seat right now.)

But what I really need right now is patience. This baby will come on his own time. Or by the 20th, whichever comes first. (I have a schedule induction date because no one wants me to be in the hospital over Thanksgiving which is what we will be up against if I go 2 weeks overdue)

Grandma will be okay. She needs to adjust to her new environment and she is struggling with the confusion of dementia. She is now in a closed unit and it's hard for her to accept. Additionally, she wants to sit and eat with "friends" and it's hard to make friends in the closed dementia unit since, well, everyone has some level of Alzheimer's or dementia. We need to be patient and fight for her best interests.

My daughters always need and deserve my attention. I need to be able to explain to them what I need and what I can give. This is the last week that Lulu will be the youngest child in our house. This will be the last week that Kylie wont be "on call" to watch a small infant so Mommy can take a shower for a year or so.

Tasha and Molly and Jason are lovely, sensitive animals that love me. They can tell things are changing in the house and they aren't entirely sure how to deal with them. They need some love as well.

So I just need some more patience. Okay, I need a lot of it. Everything will be okay. Deep breath. It will all be alright. I just need some time. And patience.

And guacamole.

Healthy Obsession

So I know I've mentioned my love of guacamole on this blog maybe once or twice before. But I think Sunday may have alerted my husband to a growing problem I have with it and he may be forced to act on it soon. As such I am coming clean now in an attempt to abate his possible "Guacamole Intervention".

Sunday my Mother In Law Leslie and I went to Holiday craft fair. We walked and talked and did some minimal shopping for about 2 hours. I had one contraction and it was a faker. *sigh*

I dropped Leslie off and realized that I was very close to my favorite restaurant of all time, Carlos Miguels. It's a Mexican restaurant in Lakewood/Littleton and I live somewhere between 30-40 minutes away from it. I called Micah but he had eaten and wasn't interested in going out.

So I called them for pick up and got some dinner on the way home. A chimichanga. Yum. And also fresh "tableside" guacamole just the way I like it, to go.

I had every intention of sharing the goodness of the guac with Micah. I really, really did.

I discovered instead though that Carlos Miguels wants to destroy my marriage. The container for the Guac of Life happens to fit the cup holder in my car. And the waitress, when she noticed I had tipped for a pick up order, loaded me down with warm, salty chips.

So I did what any pregnant, ravenous, guac loving woman would do. I drove down E-470, I-25 and I-225 going about 65 miles an hour eating guacamole from the cup holder in my car. I meant to just have one or two bites, I really did. I swear.

But I got home and Micah greeted me and I'm sure he was thinking he would enjoy a little guacamole too. But alas there was MAYBE 2 bites of it left in the container and I would have eaten those too had I not been busy licking the rest of the guacamole off my shirt where I may have dropped it. While driving.

So, my name is Lacy, and I am a Guacaholic.

That baby.......

As I round the corner into my 39th week of pregnancy I'm starting to field a lot of questions about "When are you going to have that baby?".

Mostly from Micah.

But co-workers are also kind enough to ask, as well as strangers and even Lulu. Lulu is exceedingly worked up about when the baby is coming.

You see, way back when, we explained a timeline that made sense to her. First there would be her birthday (Sept. 26th), then Halloween (Oct. 31st) and then the baby would come after that but before Thanksgiving.

Well, we've had a birthday, we've had Halloween and she's starting to see Turkey decorations all over the place. It's time for the baby. So where is he?

He's still inside me, that's where. And I think it's beginning to frustrate her just slightly because she has taken to asking "How many more days until the baby?" about every 1.8 seconds.

Kylie, on the other hand, has no issues about when the baby is coming. She's old hat at this frankly, becoming a big sister at the ripe old age of 9 for the first time, and so she knows that the baby will come when he comes. Besides, she has more important things to worry about, such as, where is her black eyeliner, will I buy her more books and does she get to skip school when the baby is born. Priorities for a 14 year old.

Yesterday, I started having Braxton Hicks contractions about 9:30ish in the morning. I knew they were fakey's, as I call them, so I stayed at work and was able to work through them for the most part but it's kinda nice to know my body is finally DOING something towards getting the baby here. Because lately? It's been kinda lazy on the contraction front.

I don't think Micah can clean anything else in the house, his nesting instinct is so pronounced and if I change my budget one more time it's going to result in a Wall-Street collapse, I'm sure. (I nest in dollars, he nests in household stuff. That's why we make a great team.)

So any day now William, any day now......

Why do they care?

I'm often surprised at how much people give a crap about my reproduction. I shouldn't be, I am, after all, a product of the internet generation and I use the internet to fuel all of my research ever, and yet, random co-workers and people on the street asking me questions and then telling me the "right" and "wrong" thing to do still amazes me.

1. When I found out I was pregnant and I finally started to tell people I had no less than 5 co-workers ask me how that happened.

My 14 year old knows how that happened. I assume that adults my own age or older know how it happens too. If you need me to really tell you we have some larger issues at play.

2. When did it happen?

Really? People REALLY want to know this? My EX-HUSBAND asked me if it happened while we were in Mexico (Micah and I, not he and I). I told him no. But why would you ask?

3. Do you know what you're having?

Okay this doesn't bother me so much. I'm having a boy. It's the follow up questions that come with it. If I'm lazy and say no people ask if I'm going to find out. If I tell them it's a boy, they ask if it's my first. Second? Third? First Boy? And then, THEN, I get the comments about "I bet you're glad it's a boy finally." That is possibly the most insulting thing I've ever heard. I had my heart set on a girl if you must know. But whether it was a boy, a girl or a monkey it's the last baby that is exiting my body. The suggestion that I'm relieved and don't have to keep trying for a boy tells me that strangers really will say the oddest things.

Also, before we knew what we were having people would try and lobby for me to either a)find out or b)not find out. EVERYONE has advice on this subject. When I would tell people we planned to find out I got some really adamant people telling me what a bad idea that was for any myriad of reasons. My favorite was "It'll make you push harder to find out."

I've had 2 kids. The last thing I've EVER had on my mind while pushing them out was the gender. My last child my only thought while pushing was my then husband's vasectomy.

4. What are your plans for delivery?

My midwife asking me this? Totally fine and appropriate. My husband and Mother In Law asking? Also fine. Close family members I'm also okay with.

Co-workers? Strangers? People in line at Wal-Mart? Stop it. Seriously.

Also, when I tell you my plans please, for the love of all that is holy, do not try and argue with me about my decision, whatever it is.

I'm choosing to go medication free. I have a reason for this. I also have 2 other children so it is possible that I've thought about this maybe once or twice. For what it's worth I've had both a medicated and an unmedicated birth. My unmedicated memories make me want to vomit with anxiety because I remember how bad it all hurt. I remember calling my Dr a liar because it hurt so bad. My medicated birth was, by far, so much better for me. And YET, I am still choosing to do this unmedicated. Really, I've thought about it. Telling me that birth hurts does not help.

Also, conversely, when women tell others to bring the epidural on in month 8, I don't blame them either. That stuff hurts. For REAL. So don't try and talk women OUT of medication if they choose too, I don't care how uninformed you may think they are. I'm going to say it again, labor hurts. It's not easy, it's not "fun" and while it's well worth it in the end, judging someones ability to tolerate pain is just plain mean.

5. Are you going to circumcise/vaccinate/eat your placenta? Etc........

WOW, really? REALLY?
Again, friends and family I'm cool with. If you're close to me. And close to me means I'd call you at 3 am for bail money.

If not, don't ask. These questions have no right or wrong answer except to the individual making the decision. They are bound to start controversy and I have no desire to hear about your cousin who either a) had to be circumcised at 5 because it wasn't done when he was an infant or b)your cousin who was scarred for life and became a serial killer because he was circumcised (or vaccinated for that matter) as an infant.

For the record, no, I wont be eating my placenta. I don't care how much protein it has in it.

Can you tell I'm grumpy? Sorry. But I am. I'm still pregnant and so done with it that I can't stand it.

You know you're 36 weeks pregnant when....

1. Your 5 year old knows the routine in the morning involves putting Mommy's socks on for her
2. Your 14 year old's routine involves Mommy's shoes
3. Your coat struggled to zip up over your belly
4. Strangers start saying "Getting close now?"
5. Your appointments become weekly
6. and involve you taking off your pants
7. People start asking what you're doing to help labor along...and wink at your husband
8. You realize that doesn't sound like a bad idea if you could figure out how to get your belly out of the way
9. Your socks leave marks on your legs
10. Getting your leg over the bathtub is exhausting
11. You want to get a pedicure but aren't sure if you need one since you haven't seen your toes in 2 months
12. You also haven't shaved your legs in that length of time
13. The dogs no longer fear your hunger, they know you can't eat more than an M&M at a time
14. You're co-workers beg you not to take on too much work as they don't want to have to do you're stuff when you're out
15. You rework the budget 15 times in one day because that's your idea of nesting
16. When people ask if you need anything you ask if they can go to the bathroom for you as you're tired of spending all your time in there
17. You wake up tired every morning and realize you lost count of the number of times you visited the bathroom
18. Getting out of the car requires assistance..and occasionally a fork lift
19. Slip on shoes never looked so good
20. You have a countdown calendar going on and you tell EVERYONE about it

Maybe a bad example

As I approach the end of my pregnancy I have begun to take to my bed earlier and more frequently. Micah was kind enough a few weeks ago to give me his vibrating heating pad for my back and it has done me a world of good.

Like a caring and loving daughter, Lulu has noticed that I seem to hurt a little more and when she comes in my room and sees me using the heating bad she'll get a very concerned look on her face and ask if my back hurts. I generally tell her yes, a little bit and she gives me a hug.

So you can imagine my laughter last night when I came into my room to find Lulu on the bed looking like this:


She said her back hurt too. And then couldn't stop talking because she's so little the vibrating made her sound funny when she opened her mouth.

I've created a monster.

*and yes, I really do sleep with all those pillows plus 2 more you can't see. I'm a freak.

30 weeks down....

So Thursday marked the beginning of my 30th week of this pregnancy. Here is a belly picture for you.

I don't like having belly pictures taken of me. I'm already a big girl and while I know people can TELL that I'm pregnant I still feel very self conscious. Especially now that I seem to keep bumping my belly into things like doors, walls and people.

I still feel generally very good. I occurred to me though that we have a little over 2 months left to get ready for this baby. And uh, yeah, I got nothing. Well, that's not true. I have a silly amount of clothing for this baby. Few sleepers but a lot of very cute outfits. But I don't have a car seat, diapers or even a wipe in this house.

I'd like to tell you that I'm always this relaxed and cool when it comes to getting ready for a baby but, well, I'm not. I'm just busy. Hazard of being the third child I guess. I have a teenager I have to worry about, I have an almost 5 year old who is starting to feel a little left out and a new husband to navigate marriage with. I have an full time job outside the home and what should be a full time job INSIDE my home (But certainly isn't getting the attention it deserves). I have PTO, friends and family to play with and that severely limits the amount of time I spend preparing for this baby. Poor little guy.

I have been informed that I will be having a baby shower. I certainly hope those people have the good sense to know what I need because honestly, at this point? This baby may have to come home with a t-shirt tied around his waist in a loaner car seat from the hospital but in a very cute Gymboree outfit.

SOOOO BIGGGG

One of our favorite blog posts (Our being Micah and I) from someone else is Elisa's post about Sophia being SOOO BIGGGG. I think every parent on the planet has seen/done that with their kids at one time or another but I tend to forget that this is Micah's first ride on the roller coaster.

For those who don't know what I'm talking about, my Cousin Eric's sweet wife Elisa has a blog and last month she posted a video of their newest daughter at about 6-7 months old giggling and doing the SOOOO BIGGG arms in the air movements while Elisa says SOOOO BIGGG.
It's incredibly cute and if I wasn't already pregnant, well, I might have gotten that way on purpose just based on that video.

So Micah and I watched it and it was cute and we loved it.

Last night I was sitting in the dining room chair. Micah was picking up the kitchen and I was reading a recipe guide for my favorite appliance of all time, my pink kitchen aid mixer. That I haven't used yet.

Micah walks up behind me and lovingly hugs me while rubbing his hands on the side of my belly. My pregnant belly.

And says,

SOOOOO BIGGGG in the high pitched voice.

I cracked up. And kissed him.

Never had a man as excited about a baby as this. Or as eager to give belly rubs.

*I promise to post a 30 week belly picture soon. I just can't access them from my computer right now.

Hello. My name is.....

Hi, my name is William Raul. I'm not due for a few more months still but my Mommy and Daddy (and big sister and Grandma and Great Grandma) decided to take a look on Saturday to check me out. With the magic of technology they got to see what I look like.

Yes, I am making a frowny face. Attila the Hun was beating me up with her wand. I was very, very sleepy.

That is my foot in my eye. I am essentially folded in half and I like my toes in my face apparently.

This is pretty much a portrait of me. I look like my Daddy when he was a baby.

10 weeks 3 days until my due date, according to my Mommy. Which she also says means probably 12 weeks until I make an appearance. Can't wait to meet you all.

Follow Up Ultrasound

So today was my follow up ultrasound to the one I had in July that showed baby Nacho to be decidedly small. Too small. Which caused a flurry of activity and 2 more ultrasounds, one of his heart and one to measure him.

The fetal echo cardiogram went well. His heart is structurally sound.

Today was my measurement ultrasound. He is about 6 days behind my due date but overall they are happy with it and so no change in due date at this time and overall he looks healthy.

He weighs, according to the ultrasound 2lbs 8 oz.

He also was head down with his arms and hands above his head. I pray he doesn't try to come out that way. Ouch.

7 months down, 3 months to go

I had my 28 week appointment yesterday (even though I was only 27 weeks, 5 days). And I brought Lulu. Cute and bad idea all at the same thing.

Lulu was WOUND up and could not comprehend that I wasn't sick, she wasn't sick, her stuffed monkey that she brought (aptly named Monkey) wasn't sick, it was just a check up. She was certain we were bringing home a baby, especially when we got to the hospital. She was, of course, disappointed.

I gained no weight. Which actually means I lost weight. Because I wore my shoes for this weigh in but I didn't for the other apparently. Shoes are like 8 lbs right? Or not, but they do at least weigh half a pound. Both the nurse and the midwife actually expressed surprise which irritates me for reasons I'll talk about in a minute.

My blood glucose test came back fine, I don't need to repeat. Basically this means I don't have gestational diabetes. Also, my thyroid rocks. I'm positive for Group B Strep but I already knew that and so will need antibiotics in the hospital while I'm in labor. Meh, whatever.

My blood pressure was 112/70. That's really great.

She asked if I had already made my High Risk consultation appointment at which time I just looked blankly at her and said, "My what?"

As a few people already know but I haven't yet shared on the blog, my baby is measuring behind his expected due date according to my mid-pregnancy ultrasound. At the time they told us that he was 8 days behind but since then my midwife has told me that the ultrasound actually said 11 days behind. Which is significant. Which is why as I had a fetal echo cardiogram last week (Heart is fine) and why I have another ultrasound for next week.

After some discussion she agreed that we would play the whole high risk thing by ear until after my next ultrasound. Great. As if I needed to worry more about anything.

Then she measured me and had Lulu assist which I wish Micah had been around for because that was the cutest thing ever. I'm measuring at 30 weeks. Well my uterus is. That's 2 weeks ahead. Then the midwife (Jessica) let Lulu put the Doppler on me to listen for her Baby Brudder's heartbeat. That kid is a natural. She put it on one spot on my stomach and lo and behold, there was his heart. Beating in the 130's. Excellent.

We left feeling good and positive and while I'm happy I'll get to see the little guy again next week I'm pretty sure we aren't at a scary high risk type of place.

BUT, something that does irritate me, as I mentioned earlier, is the assumption that I should be high risk or should be gaining weight at a disgusting speed or should be diabetic etc.

The fact is, I'm chubby. Hell, I'm obese. I eat less than any person in my household and in the past I used to walk up to 2 miles a night. As mentioned, my thyroid is good, my heart is healthy, my blood pressure is perfect. So why do medical professionals always assume I'm going to be high risk or unhealthy or gain a disgusting amount of weight?

I gained 25 lbs in my last pregnancy. With 3 months to go I'm up to 7.5lbs gained. I'm on track to gain less than the 20 lbs my first OB recommended. With my last pregnancy I had to do the glucose test (3 hour test by the way, not the fun 1 hour) twice. This time apparently no one caught it until after I was too close to 7 months to just ignore it and do the standard 1 hour test anyways. Which, have I mentioned, was perfect. My blood pressure has not been anything but perfect, my pap smear was happy and healthy and I have 2 healthy vaginal deliveries with no real complications in my past.

And yet I constantly get surprise when I gain little weight, when I pass my glucose test, when my blood pressure is that of a much skinner person. That irritates me. Could these people at least PRETEND to not be surprised?

I know that overweight people on average have a higher risk of being higher risk. I get it people. But before you judge me and decide how my entire pregnancy is going to go could you at least look at my records people? Please?

Okay off my soapbox for a minute.

As a side note it turns out that my midwifes daughter names her monkey the same thing that Lulu named her monkey. Monkey. Weird coincidence, right?

25 weeks down, 15 to go Random Thoughts

Or so. As I said, I plan to be pregnant forever + a week so, you know. That's all a guess.

I am officially 6 months, 1 week pregnant. I miss eating. Micah starves me.

Actually, I just don't WANT to eat. I find that I am hardly every hungry except in the morning when the dogs and small children fear me (still) and my mad look of hunger. Aside from that, I generally can get by on a small meal for lunch and then eat something for dinner without too much problem.

Nothing though really appeals to me and those in my house have learned that if I say I'm having a craving for something it's a miracle and we need to eat it RIGHT THEN. Otherwise everything else just sort of turns to ash in my mouth and I choke down a slice of pizza before declaring I'm full.

No swelling really although I complain about the big belly I seem to be developing. I complain in fun because hello, THAT is a big belly.

People at work have started to NOTICE the belly more. I had a race yesterday down the aisles with a woman with a broken leg. She beat me. I blame the waddle. She was doing her victory lap when I mentioned my belly and her face deflated. She told me she hoped I had just put on weight because beating the pregnant lady at work doesn't have the same ring to it that beating the fat chick at work does. Apparently.

To my defense I was wearing sandals too. That doesn't help.

Lulu and Micah have both felt the baby move. Kylie has not. I think he snubs her.

These last 2 weeks or so the movements have come more often and are more defined. If you want to feel him move feed me and then wait about 10 minutes. That's prime moving time apparently.

3.5 weeks ago I had gained 4 lbs. I have a Dr appt today. Let's see what I've added since then. My diet has largely consisted of pistachios and Dr Pepper with watermelon and Chocolate milk chasers this last month. I'm sure that's considered healthy right? I mean, I've got protein, dairy and fruit at least.

Micah's sweet grandmother forgets how pregnant I am but keeps asking in a super nice way. Things I often hear are "3 more months?" "2 more months to go?"
Sadly I often slump my shoulders and say "4 months."

Lulu is totally preparing for the new baby brudder. She insists she will hold him, bath him and change his diaper just as soon as I throw him up. She believes he is supposed to come out of my mouth. I haven't broken the news to her yet. In other news she still has a fish in her belly that steals all her food too. Especially Popsicles. Which is why she always wants 2 apparently.

My boss casually asked me yesterday why I space my children so far apart. (9 years between the first 2, 5 years between the second and third) My response?
"A 5 year old can change a diaper and a 14 year old can babysit."

We have a name and we aren't afraid to use it!
Name selected: William Raul

William because we both like it despite it's placement on the top 10 boys name list since forever and Raul after Micah's Grandfather who passed away almost 3 years ago. Apparently he was a big fan of grandkids and would have liked to have had some great grandkids before he went. Hopefully he and my mom are getting their play time in now with little Will.

And there are your random 25 week pregnancy postings.

What a difference a Dad makes

I'm not sure why but I seem to have, in my previous life, attracted a lot of men who were pretty oogied out by the pregnancy process. Yes, that's the scientific description, oogied. As in to oogy. Of course.

Tom probably felt Kylie move around once or twice. He was more fascinated with WATCHING her move inside me. She was a very strong kicker and he would get hours of entertainment watching her kick things off my belly while I was laying down. Things like remote controls, glasses of water, plates, furry animals and a VW Bug. She was, as I said, very strong.

Brian, on the other hand, was completely grossed out by all things pregnancy. He would not hesitate to "moo" at me while I was pregnant, despite gaining only 25lbs that pregnancy. I don't believe he ever felt the baby move on purpose. He might have accidentally brushed up against my belly once and the baby moved but I can't be sure. He told me he pretty much thought that was gross. Luckily, Lulu was not such an involved kicker. She was much more mellow and generally lazy when it came to kicking. She would just rather not. We had to go to the hospital once because she apparently fell asleep for 2 days while in utereo and moved not once. No orange juice, no sugar, no nothing would wake that child up.

Last night I was laying on the bed feeling my belly. As with my last pregnancy, this child seems concentrated on my left side which is where I feel more movement but also there is a discernible bump. Micah came in and I told him to feel my belly. He very gently started touching it, pushing a little bit at my urging to feel the difference between baby and no baby.

All of the sudden his eyes got big. Big like a child in a candy story. Which is not to say that my belly is a candy store. While the two may occasionally be in the same place at the same thing there is certainly a big difference. Lack of licorice is one of them.

He looks at me and says, "I felt that!"

Indeed, the baby had just expressed some displeasure at being pushed on and had kicked right where Micah's hand was. While I had felt it I had assumed he would not because, well, just because. Micah felt around a little more and then felt another couple of kicks and was hooked. Like a 3 yr old on chocolate, he could not get enough.

I asked him if he was grossed out. He looked at me like I was crazy. He said, "That's my baby in there. That's my son." But with the tone of "Duh" behind it.

I'm not saying I cried. Because I didn't. But I can't help but think, what a difference a man makes. Not only for me, but for the baby too.

Now maybe I should work on getting some licorice in there.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

So today big changes happening for the Pregnancy.

I'm switching care providers.

Over the weekend Micah and I watched "The Business of Being Born". There was a lot of information in it (and a lot of babies coming out of vagina's. I had to point that out EVERYTIME it happened. As if Micah wouldn't know.) some of which I didn't know and some of which I did. Believe it or not, back in the day I used to have "issues" with infertility. Birth research was just an extension of infertility research for me and I love nothing more than to research the hell out of something.

But the funny part of me never really put two and two together. So I had my first child with a midwife. Who was lovely. Her name was Bonnie. I cant say more nice things about her without getting all emotional. I had an epidural. I also labored forever. She slept on the couch in the hospital while I was getting closer so I wouldn't have to have the next on-call person deliver me. She rocked. I had an 8lb 12 oz baby and walked to my shower 15 minutes later.

My second child was delivered by a Dr. Looking back, it wasn't a fantastic experience. I delivered almost flat on my back. With an oxygen mask on my face. And I pushed for about an hour. My first time I had 3 pushes. I had a 7lb 6 oz baby and didn't do so hot afterwards. I had stitches for the first time and was sore. My Dr was good but I think some of the stuff I did was maybe unnecessary. I would have liked to have gotten out of bed at some point but was unable to.

So after watching the show, comparing my own information and talking it over with Micah, we decided to switch. I dumped my Dr and am headed back to a mid-wife. Now, don't get too excited, I'm STILL delivering at a hospital. Just one that allows for a water birth. And apparently provides a Doula. Plus an epidural if I lose my cool.

There were things at my Dr's office that just plain bugged me. They were very much into procedures. They (my dr specifically) didn't take time to talk to me about pro's and con's of tests or go over my unusual ultrasound results. The lecture I had about weight gain has proved to be, well, unfounded and unneeded and have I mentioned the hour wait with no reason plus rescheduling 2 appointments. At the last minute. And not because of delivering babies. Because she's taking vacation days. Or something.

It's the blood work that got to me honestly. There is an elective blood test called the Quad Screen. I've done my research. I know the false positive rate on this rest is ridiculous. (80-90% depending on your research.) and you're almost guaranteed a positive if your, well, chunky. Which I am. I elected not to do the test but to have a level II ultrasound instead. My Dr's office was not receptive to the idea and in an effort to reassure me, advised that if I had received a positive on the test I declined, I would have been given an amnio. Did you know that aminos can have a .5-2% chance of leading to miscarriage and terminating a pregnancy? Not for an almost guaranteed failure rate, no thank you. Not for me.

I dont want a lot of procedures. I don't want a lot of intervention. I want to move around. And walk. And squat to deliver. If I want to. I want options. And I wasn't getting that at my Dr's office.

Oh and the Dr. didn't think Micah was funny. Which I find to be criminal. Dude makes me laugh so hard I am constantly afraid of wetting myself. So if she can't find him funny (or you know, talk to him when he's in the room with me) then I don't wanna be anywhere near her.

Smart Man

Conversation this weekend:

Me: Hey, just an FYI, I bought some maternity clothes. They should be here this week.
Micah: Ok
Me: Just wanted you to know, I'm not asking permission or anything.
Micah: Ok
Me: It's just that I'm really starting to get sick of my clothes already and....
Micah: Babe, it's fine. Frankly, I wish you would buy more clothes.

Me: *Mouth hangs open*

Micah: I don't think you have enough frankly.

I love that man. That is the sexiest/smartest thing I've ever heard in my life.

A list of things that don't sound good at all together

.....but that my tape worm parasite fetus commands me to eat. RIGHT NOW! BEFORE I WITHER AND DIE YOU HEARTLESS WOMAN! Oh, don't cry mommy. Let me rub you with my head/butt/back/face/knee/hand so you'll feel better. Ahem

1. Pasta salad swimming in mayo & Tropical fruit starburst + Dr. Pepper
2. Turkey lunch meat dipped in mustard & skittles + Dr. Pepper
3. Tomato soup & dill pickle + Fanta
4. Rasinbran ceral, milk & processed american cheese
5. More pasta sald in mayo + skittles

You can see what I'm dealing with here, right? No wonder nothing really sounds good to me. When something does sound good mentally, I'm replused by myself.

PS. I have a UTI. I love pregnancy.