What it's like being me

You know that get-to-know-you game that you played at birthday parties and summer camp as a kid? The one where you go around the circle as each person says their name and an adjective beginning with the same letter as their name that also happens to describe them? Mine is easy, Sensitive Stacey. That is, hands down, the one word that describes me best. It encompasses the fact that I am attuned to other peoples' needs (external sensitivity), as well as my own internal sensitivity - most of my neuroses can be explained by attributing them to one or another of my sensitivities.

For the last year or so I've had a little bit of a break from myself in this 'sensitive' regard. I was taking Zoloft for depression and anxiety. I had thought I could make it through my pregnancy without it, but by the time February rolled around I was a mess. I can recall the moment on the kitchen floor - when I was having trouble getting up because the emotional energy that required was more than I could muster - that I decided what I really just needed was to be medicated. So I just stayed and cried in the little patch of sun that was shining on my resting place up against the cupboards and reconciled myself to the idea that the risks of taking antidepressants during pregnancy was nothing compared to the stress my little fetus probably felt living inside a cocoon of depression.

I've been on and off anti-depressants since I was 18. The off and on-ness of it is because there've been tougher times and not-as-tough times. And in my mind not being on drugs is a more natural, organic state of being, which is the way I aim to live my life. I sort of always felt like it was a contradiction to my being to live in a medicated state of mind. But this time around I think I finally found a way to rationalize it to myself: In a perfect world no one would need anti-depressants because us humans would be living the way our biological systems intended us to be living. We'd be eating wild game, living off of the land, and we wouldn't be in constant contact with pollutants and all the electrical devices (which I think have effected us on an energetic level).

We're not living in a perfect world, therefore, our brains and bodies are failing us. We have to make adjustments (that, unfortunately, are unnatural) to our lifestyles so we can live optimally. And as long as I understand this, and understand the why's and how's of my biological failings, then I think I can accept being medicated without feeling like a hypocrite. Thanks to on-and-off therapy since I was nine years old, and many friends who like to play therapy with me, I do understand myself.

With that said, I stopped taking Zoloft ten days ago. And the forthcoming reason will be completely random to some of you: I have this crazy desire to donate breastmilk. It was something I wanted to do when Jacob was younger and I was nursing him. There wasn't a place around here that it could be done, so I think I never looked further for information. A few months ago I read about a national milk bank in California that can accept milk from anywhere in the country. I do not know why I want so badly to donate breastmilk, but I very much so want to, and it's enough of a desire that I've been taking six weeks to carefully wean myself off of Zoloft (also going slowly for Sabine's safety, so that she doesn't experience withdrawal).

My plan is to continue to donate breastmilk for as long as I can tolerate not being on Zoloft. I definitely plan to go back on Zoloft (which is safe for breastfeeding mothers, but not safe enough for the milk bank because the human formula that is made from donated milk is very concentrated and is given to tube-fed preemies). And when I am done nursing Sabine I will consider switching back to Paxil - which is what I was taking just before I got pregnant with her.

Anyway, now that it has been almost two weeks without Zoloft, I finally remember the reasons why I was on it to begin with. In my most natural state I am a very scared person. I have a very thin skin. Actually, quite literally - I have sensitive skin; just got a sun burn last week (in March!), my knuckles and finger tips have been all chapped and bloody from the cold winter air, I have eczema, light-sensitive eyes, etc, etc, etc. I cry a lot. I obsess about things.

Basically the difference between un-medicated and medicated me is like this: More vs. Less. When I am not on an anti-depressant I am more emotional, scared, clingy, fearful, more sleepless, compulsive. I had a better analogy that I thought of earlier, which I can't recall at the moment. When I am medicated I just feel so much more comfortable in my own skin.

Coming off of medication is a whole different way of being, but I hope it's temporary. For the first week I was incredibly dizzy, vertigo levels of dizzy, as well as nausea with headaches. Now I'm just incredibly irritable and flustered. My brain is foggy and I don't feel like myself. Up until a couple weeks ago, I can say that I had never left anything on the roof of the car and driven off. Well, since I've stopped the Zoloft, I've done that three times. Three times I've set something on the top of the car (three different places) and told myself not to forget it, knew that would be so cliche to actually forget it, yet all three times I drove away only to watch the dish/glass bottle/cup of coffee slide off the car and shatter in the road. My short-term memory is shot, but of course that could just be from the kids.

I'm not the kind of depressed that requires medication to ensure your own safety or the safety of those under your care, I'm the kind that gets so scared driving over a bridge for fear of it collapsing under me that I might possibly drive over the edge because I'm clutching the steering wheel so tightly, thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. And this is what I saw, in my mind, happening coming home from gymnastics two weeks ago.

It started when I saw one of those big trucks, like a delivery truck, with all white panels and a beautiful picture on the side as that company's logo. It was a picture of the Earth from space, with a beautiful pink, orange and yellow sunrise coming up over the side of the Earth. My eyes shifted to the front of the truck to read the company's name. I can't remember what the name was (so I'll guess), it was what was underneath that which made me shudder. Haskell Brothers: Casket Division. I passed the truck as I was turning onto the entrance ramp for the highway.

Not more than half a mile down the road I had to swerve to avoid an object laying in the middle of my lane. Just as I was about to pass the object the words on it came into focus. Funeral. It was one of those little signs that goes on the lead car in a funeral procession. It had fallen off and was laying directly in my path. I'm the kind of person who believes in signs, as in signs from the universe, so what the hell did that mean?! I wanted to get on the phone and at least tell someone, speak the words aloud so it didn't feel so much like I'd just drawn the death card. I thought better of it because I decided that would be just my luck to get on the phone for moral support, only to cause a car crash by being on the phone. Which would that be, a self-fulfilling or self-defeating prophecy? (Kevin, you will tell me, right?)

But there's more to the story: This past week, coming home from gymnastics, on that very same stretch of road, I came up to a car going slowly with its flashers on. I passed it. And don't you know there was a car in front of that one doing the very same thing (flashers on, driving slowly), and then another, and another, until there were 25 of them stretched in a row with a big black car in front, two little purple flags atop it. Um...

Maybe the hearse was back on that same road looking for the funeral sign it dropped last week? Either that or someone is trying to tell me something. What is going on? I don't know, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I'm kind of nervous to go back to gymnastics next week. Frankly, I'm kind of nervous all the time now. And this is the thing I can't let go of.

I dropped Jacob off with Jamie this morning so that I could finish packing for the weekend (we are going to visit Danielle and Co. - woohoo!). I was in a hurry so I quickly said goodbye and I ushered him inside then I jetted back out to the car where Sabine was waiting. As I was backing out, Jacob was back at the door to say goodbye again. I rolled down my window, blew him a kiss, said I love you. I rolled Sabine's window down so he could yell goodbye to her. And all the while I'm looking at him, taking it all in as if it might be the last time I see him. I'm giving him the perfect goodbye, incase that's the last one he ever gets from me. I want a smile to be on my face in that last image of me he carries around with him for the rest of his life. Because where he is standing is the very spot where I last saw my father alive; I watched him from the house, saw him going down the steps though blurred shades and that was it.

Life changes that quickly and I walk through my days anticipating, almost expecting, something bad to happen. I'm sure of it. The part I'm not sure about it when or how it's going to happen. And so what does an overactive imagination have to do with that knowledge but constantly make up death scenarios?

I continued to drive home with our perfect goodbye in my mind and tears in my eyes - but then thought, wouldn't it be ironic if the thing I'm fearing is the exact opposite. Like the book we just read for book club, My Sister's Keeper (spoiler alert). The whole book is a battle to save one sister from dying because she needs a kidney. Everyone is afraid of that certainty, but don't you know, in the very end, it's the other sister, the healthy one, who's killed in a car accident. So should I really be worrying about Jacob losing me, or me losing Jacob? How cryptic it is to have those thoughts at the forefront of your mind all day long.

And that's what the drugs do - they push back the fear so it's a more normal, rational kind of fear. The fear is still there protecting me from feeling immortal. I'm still me with all the same thoughts as before. The thoughts just don't take over. I have the same feelings, they just aren't as crippling. And my skin gets the benefit of one more layer of protection. I'm me, but a little less.

Definitely not the highlight of my day

I was at the library today renewing something. Standing in line I had the baby on one hip and Jacob was off to the side looking at some books. When it was my turn the librarian smiled at me holding Sabine and said, "You're going to have two very close together." I didn't understand so I turned to Jacob and then back at her.

"Oh, you mean these two?" I asked, gesturing toward Jacob and Sabine.

"No, you're going (emphasis hers) to have two close together."

And then she pointed at my stomach.

Who Knew?

While I was still pregnant I was always rounding up when people asked just how pregnant I was. I was really big and so it made me feel better to fib about the number or be vague about my due date. Now that the baby is here and all I find myself rounding down her age. I took her to a few different public places today and over a dozen women oohed and ahhed over her throughout the day. Then they asked how old she is. And I told them "just two weeks" when in reality she's almost three.

I don't know, there's something magical to people about a teensy newborn. It's like when they get old enough there's nothing special about them anymore. And I was really enjoying the attention from people today. Plus people are like, "Oh my gosh you just had a baby?!" And that makes me feel good because I always wanted to be one of those women who bounced back from having a baby in a day or two. For God's sake it took me longer to recover from having my wisdom teeth out than giving birth au natural.

So if I wanted to be as pregnant as possible while I was still carrying the baby, and now I want her to be as young as possible I guess being right smack in the middle of giving birth is the magic number.

It's official

Sabine has a new middle name. I'm sorry I didn't tell you all last night, I have so little excitement in my life these days, well except for watching a baby sigh in her sleep and all those heart-stopping things. It was fun keeping everyone in suspense, if only for a day.

So her name is Sabine Clarise. I spoke with a woman at the county today and it was very easy to do over the phone. She said, "And take Lorelai completely out?" And for a second I thought to myself hey what's wrong with two middle names?

Sabine Clarise. That fits.

Dont order that monogrammed receiving blanket just yet...

I think we're going to change Sabine's middle name. Sabine was never a question but I really struggled with the middle name. I went into the hospital with a number of possibilities and figured that when we saw her we would just know which one fits. Well that didn't happen before we left the hospital and the last thing I ended up doing before we could leave was to go back through the birth certificate papers and write in 'Lorelai' because that had been the front-runner for the span of my pregnancy and we figured we'd treat it as the default name since we weren't getting a particular 'feeling'.

In the few days that we've been home with her, Sabine just doesn't seem to evoke a Lorelai vibe. We love the name, but for some reason it doesn't suit her. The one that keeps popping into my head is one that was mostly a fleeting suggestion. I am a person obsessed with baby names so this decision is one that is very important to me and I have put way too much serious though into.

In the beginning of my pregnancy I decided that I wanted my baby to have the same first two initials as me because our last names would be different. I am Stacey Leigh, Sabine Lorelai would be perfect. The second syllable of Sabine is stressed so the middle name needs to have a certain ring to it to make up for the flat sound of the 'ine'. Also, Zach's last name has a beginning sound that makes it awkward to use a name ending in the long 'e' sound or the short 'a' sound. This eliminates a great number of names. Lorelai works as well because that would give she and Jacob the same number of syllables in all their names, 2-3-3. I like when things work out that way.

The new middle name does not start with an 'L' and it is only two syllables. Who cares, right? Well I'm trying to get over that. Those are my only reservations. The name I think we're going to go with has meaning for me on a number of levels. That pretty much makes it a tie, but the thing that's got us seriously thinking about changing it is that Zach and I both came to the conclusion independently of one another that Lorelai just doesn't fit and we didn't say anything to each other until a few days later.

Anyway, that's that for now. A lot of people ask about where Sabine came from (and they mispronounce it - which I actually didn't think would be an issue - it's Sa-bean). There was an ancient tribe of women in Italy called the Sabine Women, but I first became aware of the name when I read Griffin and Sabine as a teenager. I rediscovered the book when Jacob was a baby. I had planned to name him Olivia Grace if he was a girl and would have used that name this time but it started getting popular after he was born. I was in search of a very different name and then I came across the trilogy while we were in Barnes & Noble. So that's where it's from. Sabine is the German version and Sabina is the Italian version (unless I've got that backwards).

Meet Sabine

Here's my little girl. I've finally gotten around to posting pictures! Isn't she freaking cute? I know I have to say that, but c'mon, seriously...

I think back to over a year ago when I was baby-craving, and I wrote this. It almost brings tears to my eyes because Sabine is everything I imagined. It's like the story was written before it even started. I pictured the outline a long time ago and now the details are just beginning to be filled in. I feel complete.

I also know how that will probably make some people want to barf, but I have to say that I am just one of those people who is completely fulfilled (at least in this moment) by motherhood. And in the interest of appreciating what I have, living life to the fullest and all those other cliche sayings, I am so lucky that I have a life where I am doing the thing I most want to do.

Sabine

Where do I start? I have a little girl. She was born on Sunday, June 22nd. I got to the hospital at about 5:30 and she was born at 6:46pm. We named her Sabine Lorelai (Sabine with a long E sound), although her middle name took some consideration and we're still not sure we're really married to it. I supposed as she grows on us, the name will become a part of her and then it will be too late to change it. Boy am I glad not to be pregnant anymore!

Anyway, I've been wanting to post this for a couple days but I'm without a computer as it is being repaired. I suppose this is a good thing because it's nice to not have much to do but sit around with my new baby. I basically just want to hold her and look at her all the time. When she's sleeping (and she seems to sleep more than Jacob ever did) I miss her and want her to wake up so I can look at her eyes. When she's awake she is very alert, and this is not just coming from her mother, everyone says so.

The other two things that everyone agrees on is that she has great neck control and that she's freaking beautiful. How did I get so lucky??

We didn't plan it, but right away we started calling her Beanie and it just seems to fit. Whenever Zach calls her Sabine it kind of jars me because it's weird to think of her as having a name already. It seems like she should be 'the baby' for a little bit longer. For so long it was like, "If it's a girl we'll use Sabine." I wanted something different that no one else will have.

She spits up a ton (something we are used to from Jacob's baby days) and sleeps well. Although that is that most I will say of the latter because I feel like there should be a parental code where those who have good sleepers never talk about it in order to not jinx it, as well to not rub it in the faces of the parents who don't have children who are 'reliable' sleepers.

Overall this is a very different experience than I had with Jacob. Things are completely opposite. Nursing has come very easily. I am more confident. We're just relaxing into being the parents of this little girl. Jacob is in love with her. He's as big a helper as we suspected he would be, but we can also tell it's hitting him hard. When he acts out, he really acts out and it's started to feel a little like walking on eggshells around him. But more on that another time.

I wanted to post pictures but I'm still having trouble uploading them because of the no computer thing and I haven't had enough time on the bits of borrowed internet I'm getting at my mom's.

I've never been on time for anything in my life...

...why should childbirth be any different for me? Jacob was eight days late, so this waiting is becoming all too familiar. All along I've been assuming I was going to have a June baby. It is just hitting me now that I could possibly have a July baby. Yikes.

Well, the gathering yesterday went well. It was so nice having the moms here and being around all that maternal energy. I really thought all the estrogen might kick the other hormones into action. Also, I got to hold a new baby. He smelled sooo good. That alone should be enough to generate some contractions.

I haven't been keeping count but a rough estimate of the babies born to people I know in the last three weeks is probably eight or more. Two of them were born yesterday. On my due date. I know of four births this week alone. Why is it when you are having a baby, suddenly the rest of the world is too?

Anyway, it's mostly sitting around from here on out because walking, driving, cooking, basically anything ending in -ing, has become difficult. So today I walked around the backyard taking pictures. If my computer doesn't die between now and the next ten minutes, I'll post some of those...to be continued...

Third time's a charm

I've previously set two dates for the arrival of this baby, but it has failed to abide by my wishes. I have decided that this Saturday will be the day. My midwife is not on call this weekend, but she will be at another local hospital and she said if she's not delivering any babies there that she'll have them call her and come deliver my baby. Yay!

So this weekend is good. Saturday is the solstice, that is definitely significant. I would love to have a baby on that day. Also, I am hosting the book club at my house tomorrow. I love having everyone over and it seems appropriate to host my favorite activity on my due date (which is tomorrow), and it's one of my favorite books that we're reading, To Kill a Mockingbird. There will be 10 moms and I figure 18 children here tomorrow. If that's not enough excitement to get this baby outta me, then I don't know what is.

Here's to a speedy delivery...I really hope the next time I write won't be for a while because I'm too busy being in the hospital and all...

Getting some things off my chest

It's Tuesday. I'm still pregnant. For two weeks now I've been having all sorts of crazy pains that I didn't have with Jacob. It's not normal pain and for the first week of it I thought for sure I was in labor. It's pain that changes me, I get mad or weepy, I can't concentrate on anything, and sometimes it knocks the wind out of me. Stuff is building up inside with nowhere to go, I previously had all this positive energy built up in my reserves but now it is running dry. The midwives tell me all the pain I'm describing is normal, etc, but no one I know can relate to feeling this way when they were pregnant. And I've been asking a lot of people. This is frustrating.

On Saturday a wise friend told me to stop doing things, clear my schedule, relax, and then it would happen. I tried. It's just not me though. I can't sit still to save my life. I keep doing things, keeping the house immaculate because I want to come home from the hospital to a clean house, washing more baby shit, making room. Making to-do lists and then not finishing them. So I'm convinced that I just need to finish these last few things and then the Universe will reward me.

I had putting off filing half a year's worth of paperwork for the longest time. I finally did it last week. I've got a couple little business-y things that are 90% completed that I need to finish up. I have a gift for a friend that needs to be shipped off to Virginia. I really need to write the thank you note to the vet's which is three months late. If I could just clear these last little things from my to-do list I'm sure it would happen. So you see I can't settle down. Writing this post is one of the things on my list too. It's not really anything I think anyone is interested in, more for my record.

So here's some other random stuff: I was lamenting to Zach the other day how much I miss my clothes. I said I go and visit them in my closet every once in a while and dream about when I can wear them again. He likes to tease me about how fat I am. It has become a joke in my family to make fun of me. But the one thing you should never say to your 9 month+ pregnant wife, "Gee, do you think you'll ever be able to fit into them again?"

I mentioned above that at times I have been getting angry and impatient. It's a hormone thing. Last week I had to pick up something at the library, a different library than my usual one. A library I've written about before in a negative way. No matter how many times I give this library a chance, the nasty librarians there never fail to prove me right. My theory is this is the library they send all the ones who couldn't get a job at a nice library on account of the sticks up their butts.

I'm waiting in line to pick up a couple Clifford books for Jacob that he'd been asking for. Zach was in the car with Jacob, who had just fallen asleep. I knew I had a two dollar fine awaiting me, but that didn't matter, you don't have to pay your fines right away. They always politely ask if you want to take care of your fine today, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, and that is just fine with them. There was this lady leaning up against the front counter with a giant list of "all her summer reading" written on the back of an envelope. She was standing there having the librarian look up each and every book to see if they had it, and if they didn't, going through the process of requesting it from another library. Two feet behind me stood the computer with the catalog in it. I felt like ripping the list out of her hand and saying, "Lady, lemme just look them up for you over here." Seriously, she couldn't do it herself? The worst part was that the SECOND librarian was sitting on her butt at the desk behind the counter. I was being totally rude and I kept walking around to the side of counter and staring at her. After like 10 minutes to first librarian, in her squeaky voice said, "Bonnie, can you come help this patron here?"

Bonnie came over, retrieved my books from behind the counter and swiped my card. She told me that I had a two dollar fine and I said, "I know, I'll have to take care of that next time," and with my wallet secretly stashed in my pocket I added, "I don't have any cash on me today."

"Well, you can't check out your books today then." Are you kidding me? Are you really going to say that to a pregnant woman who has been waiting in line for a damn kids book for ten minutes?!

"Oh, really?" I played dumb. "Is that just the policy at this library?"

"No, it's like that at all the libraries." Why would she lie to me like that? Do I look stupid? I frequent to libraries at least twice a week. I know all the damn rules. If you're a crummy, miserable librarian eager to pull a power trip, why do it to me, then? Why not pull that crap with someone who deserves it?

I wanted leap across the counter and do something unspeakable to her. Instead I gritted my teeth, dug my nails into my wallet and said, "Well, I'll have to go run back to the car then." So I walked back to the car with my blood boiling and approached Zach. "Here," I thrust him wallet and said, "I have to pretend I'm getting money from you to pay the late fee." Then I opened my wallet, took out a dollar (I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of paying the whole fine) and proceeded back into the building. When I got there, instead of having all my books ready to go, she then started scanning then at a snail's pace. The lady with the list was still hanging around reading off titles, by the way. I didn't think it was going to be physically possible for me to leave there without blowing up, but I did. It probably took an hour for my blood pressure to return to normal though.

Oh, so the late fees. They came from the latest movies I watched. The first being Stranger Than Fiction (not worth it) and Waitress which was adorable and charming and I didn't mind paying the late fee for because that meant I got to watch it twice. I never used to like Keri Russel but now I totally love her just because of this movie. Thanks Anna for writing about it! I can't find the exact post right now though. In between those movies and then last ones I wrote about we also watched Catch & Release, which was cute and we liked it because it was set and filmed in Boulder.

Well, it's about that time of night where I need to start praying for contractions. My widwife is on call tomorrow and that would be a fantastic day to go to the hospital...

Baby Waiting

9 months pregnant + 95 degree heat = this totally sucks.

All I could think today is If I go into labor right now, then I get to go to the hospital where it's air conditioned!

I pretty much checked out this weekend. The cleaning hasn't really gotten done, cooking is very minimal. No more mowing the lawn for me, or even exercising. Getting hot flashes is bad enough, try having one in 95 degrees. My brain must literally be turning to mush because I can't think very well and remembering little details is difficult. That's hard for me to deal with because I am the details person of the universe.

I'm to the point where I look so crazy fat and whacked out in the small amount of clothes that still fit me, that I don't even want to leave the house anymore. I had to force myself to go into public twice today and I felt like an idiot. At the grocery store I was so afraid of running into someone I know. I actually saw a girl I went to high school with and I ran in the other direction. I swear after this week when Jacob's end-of-year things ('Spring Fling' at gymnastics and 'Moving Up' at playschool) are over I'm going to commit myself to a voluntary exile.

I'm melting...I'm melting!

There were many different titles I was considering for this post, but right now quoting the Wicked Witch of the West seems most appropriate, because, quite literally I am melting. It is really hot and I am here, still pregnant. I had hoped today would be the day. In fact, I have been telling the baby, willing it for months now to be born on this day. There isn't much significant about June for me so I figured a birthdate of 6/7/08...get it, numerical order...would be the best I could hope for.

Anyway, the only positive thing I can see in the situation now is that at least I won't be like this all summer. And of course that I still have a baby, whether it's out there in the world yet or not. Through all my complaining I am secretly always thinking of my friend who lost her baby a year ago this month. And no matter how miserable I am I am not taking the aliveness of the thing residing inside of me for granted. And I'm also secretly fearing that something will happen to the baby. I think that must be what I am most anxious about in all this waiting. Sure I want to have a little baby to hold and love, but mostly I want to know that it will be ok in the end. And I'm always feeling a desperate aching for my friend.

Hm...not what I was going to write about. I can't even remember where I was going at the start...oh yeah, something like I'm really pumping myself up for having a baby and trying to fill myself with positive energy, and right now I feel totally ready and psyched...and nothing is happening and all that energy is building up inside of me making me crazy. So crazy that I just want to scream and throw things around the room. And I'm afraid that the energy is going to build up so much that it will eventually begin to dissipate and then I will have none of it left by the time the baby is ready to show up...

Erg...the waiting...

Baby Clothes: Check

This morning Jacob and I went through the baby clothes, just the 0-3 months for now, pulled them out and washed them. This is what I did with them:


All of a sudden I had the urge to spend 10 minutes laying them out like this and take a picture. Before that I kept sorting them into different piles: Onesies, sleepers, socks, 'outfits', sleepers and onesies with stains on them. Then I would change my mind and shift them all around again. I am starting to go a little batty. I am completely restless and antsy!!

All I do now is find crazy things like this to do, and then get too irritated to continue and end up throwing something across the room. I alternate between the restless mood and the really, really irritated mood where everything bothers me. Sometimes I am restless and irritated at the same time, which actually is better than one or the other alone. That way I have something to be mad about (the fact that am restless) and the restlessness is somewhat alleviated by the fact that I am pissed off.

I've been organizing random things all over the house, which is a good thing. I'm not really sure you could call it nesting. If so, it's some form of insane hyper-nesting. Nesting gone awry. Nesting they could make a reality TV show out of.

Jacob wanted some peanuts so I scooped out a handful and put them in a bowl for him. he asked me, "Why did you give me that amount?" and I lost it. When I was done freaking out I looked up and saw Zach staring at me in wide-eyed bewilderment. Yeah, it's partly that I can't cope with little annoyances, but it's also partly that Jacob has been asking really, really obvious questions lately, perhaps just to hear himself talk? I don't know why Jacob, because that is the amount that fits in my hand when I reach into the container and scoop them out. I mean, is it just me, or is that kind of constant questioning really bothersome?

You know, maybe he's just getting restless too. That actually kind of makes sense. I'm doing things that have no purpose and he's letting loose with the non-sensible questioning...

Anytime now....

I'm pretty much full-term now. I'd like to be done with this already. The only thing I was really worried about was missing the season finale of LOST last Thursday. That is over now, I can have this baby anytime.

Jacob's hospital bag is packed and ready to go. Mine is a different story. I've never really understood how you pack a hospital bag when there are so few clothes that still fit you and those are the only clothes that you will be fitting into after the baby as well. So with two pairs of pants that I alternate between, it's not like I can pack them away in a bag that sits by the door ready to go to the hospital. I just have to hope that the laundry is clean on the day I go into labor.

A few days ago I got the baby's carseat installed at AAA. Baby Honey is riding around in it for now. I've gotten together all the cloth diapers I have leftover from Jacob and bought a friend's used ones to complete the collection. Other than that I can't really do much more to get ready for the actual baby. I suppose I will pull out the newborn sizes of Jacob's old clothes and wash them. This is not to be confused with nesting. I am not nesting. Nesting is pretty much something my whole life is made up of because I am just that kind of person, but in this case I am forcing myself to do this stuff.

I'm going to get my hair cut for the last time in God-knows-how-long this week. I'm cutting up the remainder of my maternity clothes Flashdance-style to make a 'summer wardrobe' out of them because I have nothing appropriate that still fits me. I suppose I will get around to filing that huge stack of papers (at least 6 month's worth) that's been building up because it's taking up room on a table in what will be the kids' room (not to be confused with the kids' bedroom, it's just the room where Jacob's stuff lives). Lot's of spring cleaning has been going on here with help from my mom who loves to clean just as much as I do - no, really, we like to clean.

I gave the dogs a bath today. I'm organizing everything I can, clearing space wherever it's still possible, trying to get caught up on uploading pictures, updating the photo album, filling the freezer. And I'm growing more tired by the day. It's amazing how you think you can't be more exhausted, but then the next day brings a new level of tiredness. I can't wait until I have the excuse to lay around all day and have people get me things. Going to the hospital seems like a vacation to me at this point.

Spent

I'm done. I'm done with this being pregnant. I can't wait to start losing weight. I am tired and bitchy all the time now. I'm getting sick of the questions. Zach's really starting to be nice to me now and spoil me, I think he has in mind to keep the baby in there as long as possible. He's in the middle of a big painting job and has a couple more things lined up before he'll be ready for the baby. When the baby is born, he will have two weeks off from work, and more than having him here to help out, what it means to me is that some of our household projects will get done. That will be my reward for giving birth. A new deck off the back of our new addition.

Some of the stuff that is starting to piss me off: The people who ask what I'm having. Mostly I just tell them I don't know and try to say something polite, but sometimes I just feel like being snarky. I'm kind of a stickler for proper grammar and literal meaning of things. So lately when someone asks me what I'm having (as opposed to are you having a boy or girl?) I've started to say, "Well, we're keeping our fingers crossed, but we're pretty sure it's going to be a human!" I also take issue with the fact that they assume we know what we're having, as if everyone in the world finds out the sex ahead of time just because they can.

Then there's the questions directed at Jacob. "Oh, are you going to be a big brother soon?" He's mostly sick of these questions now so he'll ignore the person and I'm left to say something in response. The other day I was very close to telling the woman, "No, actually he's not, I'm just doing this for the cash -- I'm a surrogate!" It's getting so tempting to say outrageous stuff like that. But it's pretty fun killing time by thinking up what other random things I can come up with like that.

A few times recently acquaintances have asked me if I'm having a home birth. I really appreciate this because another thing I don't like is presumptiveness. I don't like it when people assume you're going to have your child in a hospital. If I weren't such a chicken about the pain then I totally would have a home birth. I'm that kind of person, and I appreciate that people get that about me. So whenever I ask someone something like that I always say "Where are you having your baby?" Not "What hospital are you having your baby at?"

Well, we're home for the next few days because it's a holiday weekend and I can't go anywhere. There's nothing left to do here but housework and yard work. I mowed the lawn today in the hopes that the vibrations would shake the baby out. No luck with that yet.

She's something else

The phone rang a little while ago. Jacob answered it. From his end of the conversation I could tell it was someone calling to ask about the baby status. Yup, those calls are starting to happen. Or maybe it's not the actual purpose of the call, but it's the first thing the caller wants to know when we answer.

Anyway, it was Stella. "Did you git your baby?" She quipped.

"What?"

"Did you go git your baby?"

"Huh?"

"I saw you go out late the other night in the green car. I said to myself I bet they're going to git the baby!" I guess she thought I was in labor and that we were headed to the hospital to 'get the baby'. So, what...we go to the hospital to meet the stork who presents us with our new child? Just like that?

She'd been spying on us again and saw the car leave late one night, but she can't remember what night and didn't know exactly what time it was. The best I can figure is it was the night (Monday?) that I sent Zach out to get fudgsicles. He must have taken the Civic for some reason. Either that or Stella is hallucinating.

Papaya enzyme = Magic hearburn killer

I really shouldn't be raving about this until after I've had the baby, lest the karma Gods take away the magic of the papaya enzyme, but this is too good to keep to myself. If I can help even one suffering person with this post, then the risk is worth it. I told the midwife the other day that if I could take away just one pregnancy symptom, it would be the heartburn. It sucks so much. I told her I'd just read about aloe vera juice as a solution to heartburn and what did she think about that. She said that would be fine to for me to take but her recommended remedy is papaya enzyme chewables.

So I bought them and they work like magic. They are tiny, taste, you know, not like you are chewing a stick of chalk (Tums) and the effect is lasting, dare I say even cumulative? Anyway, if you have heartburn, try them.

8 months

Earlier in the week I officially turned eight months pregnant. I now have a legitimate reason for being as big as a cow and I can say "next month" in response to someone's query about when I'm due without their eyes growing large and the supplemental comment of "My God you must be having twins!" I consider this the final stretch.

I may have gained a ton of weight, but I think I'm doing pretty good for myself. I mowed the whole lawn this week, the moms and I took the kids for an hour and half long hike the other day, I've been throwing around the baseball with Jacob and Zach, lifting weights and today I did a cartwheel just to see if I could still do it. Sure, I saw stars for a while afterwards, but I landed on my feet. I haven't tested my ability to do pushups yet, but last time I tried (when I turned 7 months) I could still do 10 real ones.

I took this picture while we were at camp

last weekend.

This is a picture of me in the same window as
the one above, just about a year earlier.

I just have to keep reminding myself that I
used to be not-fat, and that I'll be that way
again and able to do normal things again,
and it will make this last month a lot
easier to stomach.

More pregnancy fun

There are some advantages of this pregnancy thing. One of them being that I have a nifty new shelf upon which to place things I need to keep close at hand. This new feature of my body is particularly exciting because I can no longer do the bending over thing that humans are designed for. Without my little four year old ankle biter accompanying me everywhere I go I would have no one to pick up dropped items off the ground for me. Anyway, the most useful way 'the shelf' has served me thus far is that is provides an excellent book holder. At night when I am tired and can no longer sit upright, but still want to read, I just plop the book atop my stomach and it is the perfect distance from my face. I don't have a picture of the 'book shelf' mode yet, but here is a random example (from two different angles).


Here's another example of what it's like being eight months pregnant: The heartburn is so bad round the clock now that I travel everywhere I go with a bottle of Tums. Last week I just had my little emergency pack in the car and I'd already downed most of it, save for one. We'd just gotten to the mall where I had a couple quick errands, so with my LAST Tums in hand, I was trying to hurriedly get Jacob out of his car seat. In the process, I dropped my last Tums on the ground - the mall parking lot. I watched it falling in slow motion and let it sit there for a few seconds before deciding what to do. But the heartburn was too bad to let my last Tums go, so I picked it up, brushed it off and ate it anyway.

The pictures that follow this last account are a bit graphic and may not be suitable for young eyes, but if you have a husband who doesn't believe how hard the baby kicks you, then these pictures would be a good example to show him so he will believe you.

Lastly, I have to share about the painful baby movements at night. The baby moves all day long and like crazy, which I know is a good thing, but when I was at my midwife appointment the other day she told me that I was having a contraction, just a Braxton-Hicks, but that makes sense. Maybe that is what is happening at night that makes me so unbelievably uncomfortable. Why it feels like the baby is moving in eight different places at once and I am doubled over in pain. Maybe it is, I'll have to ask around to some of my mom friends. I'm not sure though, I'm still willing to bet money on my own little theory. Here is what I theorize is getting ready to happen to my body:

Blacklisted

For every good doctor visit, I guess there has to be a bad one. At my prenatal visit two weeks ago I was seeing someone other than my regular midwife and it didn't go so well. See, I'm in a different hospital than I was when I had Jacob and I'm looking at this whole birth thing in quite a different way as well. I'm seeing a midwife specifically because I want to have more control over my experience.

At my first visit to this new office I arrived armed with a magazine that had an article written by someone who had one of those lovely, natural births for which she made the decisions. This woman talked about how they didn't weigh her at her prenatal visits, they could tell just fine the baby was growing by measuring her stomach thank you very much. Wow. That thought had never occurred to me, that maybe I didn't have to be weighed. I hate being weighed. I haven't weighed myself in years and it's one of those self-preservation things. There used to be a time in my life when the numbers on the scale dictated whether or not I allowed myself to eat that day. So it's much healthier for me to be blissfully unaware.

When I was pregnant with Jacob I turned around on the scale and warned them not to tell me the number. But I let them do it nonetheless because it just never occurred to me to say I didn't want to be weighed all together. But one time I had a different nurse and she slipped and told me the number. That was not a good day for me, and it probably wasn't a good day for Jacob because suddenly I had the weight issue on my mind and not the issue of what was best for my growing baby. That's a dangerous situation to be in if you're a fetus.

So when I went to this new office and told the nurse I didn't want to be weighed she just looked at me like I was an ignorant. "We have to weigh you so we know the baby is growing, dumbhead." I added the italics part, but I could see her thinking it. So when I got to see the midwife a few minutes later I brought it up with her. She's new to the office so she wasn't sure how they'd feel about it there, but she totally understood my point and was in agreement with me. She said she'd check in about it at their next staff meeting.

When she told me at the next visit that she crossed off the line with the weight on my chart and patted me sweetly on the shoulder I started to cry and wanted to hug her. It really means that much to me. It just represents something I can't explain.

For the next visit the nurse led me right on by the scale and I was so happy. The the next visit I was seeing a different midwife. It took 45 minutes at the start of rush hour to get to the hospital,which made me 15 minutes late. Jacob fell asleep and I had to schlep him over my shoulder and carry his butt across the giant parking lot in the 80 degree heat and into the office. When I got up to the counter they told me they might not be able to take me since I was late. I'd never heard of that, and the thought of having to turn around and do the whole thing over again the next day almost made me cry. So they told me to wait while they decided if they were going to be bastards, or take pity on me and my sorry self.

That's when Jacob decided to wake up. He's ordinarily very good in public, except he was hot, tired and apparently hungry. How did I know he was hungry? Well, he told the entire office staff and waiting room in a very loud cry (over and over again) that he was hungry. He cried all the way down the hall when they came to get me, he cried while I was standing at the scale arguing with the nurse that I didn't have to be weighed. I guess this other midwife was against me not being weighed and without Kelly there to defend me they just kept getting snappier. I was beginning to make a scene repeating that I didn't have to be weighed, I had tangible evidence, Kelly wrote it on my chart. Chart shmart they decided. "Please get on the scale." the nurse demanded through gritted teeth. I was hot, tired and needed to attend to my now screaming child so I finally obliged, but to me it felt like such a violation.

I honestly didn't know if I was being a baby or if I had a real case. I couldn't process it then. Looking back on it I kinda feel like no one should be forced to do anything against their will and that I was not in the wrong.

So I got on the scale and that's when I finally burst into tears. And I just kept on crying because of the whole of the situation. I got my visit over with real quick and with Jacob still crying I crept out of the office with my tail between my legs.

So when I was there the other day for my 34 week visit Kelly was back and she'd heard about my last visit. She mostly acted normal through the visit but was really 'careful' with me. My case had come up at a staff meeting, which she said was a good thing because it forced them to talk about the issue of weight, or choice or whatever. She explained to the others that she feels in my case it's in the best interest of the baby for me to not be weighed. I had to make a compromise in order to not be weighed in the future. And at the end of my visit she whispered to me, "I know you wanted to meet the other midwives before you deliver, but you should probably just make the rest of your appointments with me." Oh my God. I keep replaying that in my head. Does it mean she has a soft spot for me, or does it mean that everyone knows about the crazy, crying, scene-making lady and that they've all refused to see me?

Am I on my way to being blacklisted by all the area midwives?