Monthly Archives: May 2008

Wish You Were Here!

The man of mystery, his mama and I are off for the weekend to the mountains for mocktails and prenatal massage and pretty views of mountains.

I had a lovely evening with my lady friends tonight.  There were a crazy amount of pregnant lesbian couples all in one room tonight.  Crazy.  And a few new mommies, to boot.  I got to hold two newborns.  They are very entertaining, those newborns.

I just wanted to thank the pregnant lesbian families for listening to me complain about how tired I am. And for giving me turning stories and suggestions. And for putting their feet up, too.  And for the co-moms who fetched food and drinks for me.  And…it was just so nice to be so pregnant with other women who were also grunting when they tried to stand up and rubbing their baby bumps and commiserating about the weird movement pains, etc.  If you’re a pregnant lesbian, I highly recommend getting into a room with as many other pregnant lesbians as possible.

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Man of Mystery and a Possible Omen

Today started off rough.  I work six blocks from my home.  I usually walk.  Today it was pouring, I had a huge bag of report card materials to carry, I’m eight months pregnant and I wanted to drive to my midwife appointment after school.  So I decided to drive.  The battery was dead in my car.  I knew I should not lug the report card stuff to school.  So I decided to take the train to work… one stop.  I went down to the train and sat there for fifteen minutes (did I mention I had about 15 minutes to get to work? It takes seven minutes to walk there.) As six trains passed me going the other direction.  I looked at my watch.  I had one minute to get to work.  A train on my side came.  It did not stop.  Teachers can’t be late for work.  Kids are waiting for them.  I started to cry.  Not hysterically, mind you.  I was just so frustrated because if I were my normal self with my normal body I could have walked and I already would have been there.  When I got there, about ten minutes late, the principal and the assistant principal were sitting in the office.  They didn’t say anything to me.  I ran up stairs and all of my morning program kids were in the neighboring teacher’s room playing board games.  She said, “Why don’t you go get yourself set up.  They’re fine here.”  I had time to go to my room and unpack and calm down.  Then I went and hung out with the other teachers as the kids had a grand old time playing games.

I lost my class list on which I keep attendance and forgot to take the attendance scan sheet from my mailbox in my rush to avoid my boss in the morning.  So I spent a bit of time missing my pre-pregnancy brain cells… until I found the working class list… where it belongs.

It was supposed to be my class picnic.  But it was pouring.  I let the kids have an early recess… since it stopped raining around 11 am.  They had a wonderful time playing with all the toys they had optimistically brought with them for the picnic this morning.

My honey had wanted to come to this midwife appointment and bring Cakie.  So when I called her after work, ready for the whole family to ride on the makes-me-nauseated subway, she said, “Great news!  Our neighbor can jump the car battery!”  All I could think was that I’d been late to almost every single midwife appointment thus far.  Now we have to jump the car?  Of course I said, “Uh.  Ok.”  I tried to remain calm, thinking that the midwife was used to my lateness.  But I was really worried.

We got out of Brooklyn in time.  Every driving choice I made was the right one.  Somehow I got to the office only five minutes late.  Cakie puked all over himself about five minutes before we parked, so my honey had to run to babyga.p to buy him some clean clothes so as to not stink up the midwife’s office.

I got there on time.  My honey got him a very cute outfit on sale.  Everything turned out well. Cakie got to put the doppler on my belly to hear the baby’s heartbeat.

Except my midwife could not for the life of her figure out how my baby, who I will refer to in this post as the Man of Mystery, is positioned.  She felt something under my left boob and said, “This feels like a foot!”  But that was all she could tell.  She said, “You really don’t need to worry about it until 35 weeks.” I said, “Yeah, but if I’m going to try to turn him, I want to do it while he has more room to move.”  She — being wise and wonderful– told me to relax for the rest of this week.  She made a quickie appointment for me to go in on Monday to get the other midwife’s opinion.  And said if the other one can’t figure it out, we’ll schedule an ultrasound.  Everything, again, turned out well.

On the way home my honey and I were talking.  So many things today seemed to be going horribly wrong.  So many things were nerve-wracking.  But they all turned out for the best.  We’re hoping this is what will happen with my labor and delivery.  Now I’m worried.  But when I get there, it will be on time, with a little puke, but a new outfit on sale  and boardgames  and recess.  Or, at least, not a c-section?  One can hope.

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Baby Gift

I’ve been going to my prenatal yoga class since I was five weeks pregnant. (Aka, one week after my positive pregnancy test.) I love my teacher, who is also a doula, as well as her business partner who often tells you to use your abdominal muscles to “hug your baby.”

We weren’t sure what to do about a birthing class, since I’ve already been through my honey’s whole class. So we opted for a one-day workshop by my yoga teachers on yoga positions for labor. That’s what I remember least from our birthing class anyway. We took the class last week. It was pretty good, but my teacher who is a doula couldn’t attend because she was attending a birth. It also wasn’t in Brooklyn, which…I’m very provincial. Everything seems better in Brooklyn. The one in Manhattan is two separate parts, one day for birthing positions and one day for post-partum recovery. I was really interested in the post-partum portion of the workshop, but we’ll be living it up in the Catskills during the second part, so I was also missing that.

During class today, I started thinking… maybe I should take it again. It is so close to my due date, that I could actually already be postpartum by then. But I asked my teacher about it. After everyone else left, I was still there gabbing away (true to form) and she said, “Please come to the class as our guest. Since you’ve already paid for it, you can come for free. We’d love to have you.”

Now that is a baby gift!

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Turn, Turn, Turn

At my last midwife appointment, on the same day as “The View– Lesbo Style,” I was told that my fetus is no longer head down. He was head up. Head in the clouds. Like some people I know.

I was only 31 weeks. The midwife said I didn’t need to worry yet, but I could try acupuncture or some chiropractors do a technique called “The Webster” to turn breech babies. Or I could do the pelvic tilt — that makes you goooo in-sayayayayain. But he’d probably turn before I needed to worry about it.

Being given the choice to worry or not is problematic for me. I tend to the worrywart side, but that said, it did seem a little early to be calling my chiropractor. I tried the pelvic tilt a few times. I also tried some other things in a list I found on the internet. Positive visualization was top on this list. I’m sorry, but if positive visualization worked for my nether regions, I would have gotten pregnant eleven tries earlier than I did. I have that visualization of egg meeting sperm so fried into my brain that I think it burnt a few neurons and now I see an after-shadow. Has that stopped me from imagining my littlebaby doing a fetal sommersault? No. Do I believe it will help? No. I feel vaguely silly doing anything, since as she said, he could just turn on his own.

Tomorrow I’ll be 33 weeks along. She told me at 34 weeks, we would need to get more proactive. Do I start worrying now? Should I go further and coax the little guy down with classical music and a flashlight and my partner’s voice as spoken through a paper towel tube to my pelvis? Put ice on the top of my bump to scare him away? Do I really want to scare littlebaby while he’s still inside? And what happens if he already turned? Will he turn back around? (My yoga teacher says no, but I’m not convinced.)

I do think he might actually be turning right now. I felt something like toes go up my left side. That fluttery feeling has only occured in my plevic region thus far. And I keep feeling movements that almost hurt. Like he’s stretching after a long nap. Maybe? My next appointment is on Tuesday. Until then, I think I’ll try to remain calm.

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A Cakie Story

Ok, so sometimes I do double-post.  This time I’m being even lazier.

There’s a funny Cakie story on my other blog.

It won’t take you but a moment to read.  Cheers.

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Pause Button?

Now I’m starting to remember my honey’s eighth month of pregnancy.

Many of you are pretty familiar with the TTC roller coaster: inseminate, wait, experience phantom pregnancy symptoms, test/bleed, repeat.  The pregnancy trip is a little different.  There’s the three months of quiet excitement (quiet, that is, if you have chosen not to tell others until the end of your first trimester) and possible fatigue, puke, sore boobs, no pity from unsuspecting onlookers, etc.  Then the loud and proud stage, in which everyone can see that you’re knocked up, but you feel so good (if you’re lucky) that you even forget you’re pregnant.  You get reminded when people offer to carry things for you or ask you how you’re feeling.  Or when your belly knocks someone sitting in a chair on the side of the head as you walk by.

Then comes the eighth month.  That’s when you’ve been pregnant so long, you forget what not pregnant feels like.  Sure, you are still thrilled at the upcoming new member of your family.  You want to keep cheering, but the pompoms are so damn heavy… and your ankles are swollen. You stumble across a picture of yourself not pregnant and are taken aback.  Who the hell is that woman with the waistline? Your baby kicks so often, that you (or maybe it is just me) find yourself having conversations with your navel.  Mine sound like this: Dude, easy on  the bladder.  What the hell are you doing in there, man?  Littlebaby, I thought I asked you nicely enough to keep your foot out of my bowel region.  We need to have a serious talk…

Eight months is like spring of your sophomore year of high school.  You’re a little sick and tired of it all and the rest of your time there just stretches out like a road in Nevada that keeps going until you can’t see it anymore.  32 weeks is too far from 37 to imagine or visualize the baby coming any time soon.  Each day feels like it is three days long.  So even though the baby could actually come at any given moment ( I hope not so so soon), you feel like you have a whole nother trimester in front of you.  At least in high school you really do have an idea when it will end.  This here baby could come as early as five weeks from now (he’s not allowed to come any sooner, I’ll send him right back to his womb) or as late as ten weeks from now.

I’m not complaining, exactly.  I’m just telling you.  Those of you who are TTCing, one day you’ll be sitting with your football-shaped feet up on a chair, wondering what your belly looked like today.  I hope.

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Dear Thoughtful Colleague or Passerby:

I know in my heart of hearts that it really is quite sweet and thoughtful of you to say, “How are you feeling?”  It means that you are recognizing my huge belly and the fact that it is probably making me feel a certain way. I do feel incredibly happy about being pregnant.  I do.  It was hel1 getting here.  And I am grateful for your acknowledgment of the current state of my body.

Yet… I get the feeling that you don’t really want an answer.   I last week, when I had not slept and I thought I cracked my rib from coughing so hard and yeast had pretty much taken over my entire body, my response was, “Great.  Thanks for asking.”  This week, I’m just too tired to lie.  So if you ask me how I’m feeling, I will start on a rant (luckily the yeast has gone back to its normal balance!) about how tired I am.  I am dog tired.  Bone tired.  Give-a-dog-a-bone tired.  I’m tired and surprised.  (I will tell you this, as well.)  I was not expecting to be more tired in this trimester than I was in the first.  I was expecting discomfort.  I was expecting to be out of breath.  But I did not expect that I would be too tired to cook.  Too tired to walk to work.  Too tired, even, to open the can of cat food for the recently-turned-good cat who just decided to stop waking me up every night at 4 am for no good reason. I’m sure my honey is tired of hearing about this particular tiredness. And I’m annoyed at this fatigue because I know full-well from prior experience that it is nothing. NO-THING compared to the tired I will feel once this baby comes out.

I will tell you all of that.

Then you will look at me, as several people have so far today, and smile sheepishly, and say, “Well it won’t be too long now.  And then you’ll be really tired.”  I will try to chuckle.  Weakly.

I would like to suggest as an alternative comment: “Wow.  You look great.  You don’t even look pregnant from behind.”  It would be better for you to lie than for me not to.

XOXOXO,

thebigbelliedsleepysleepyoneofhismoms

PS I’m 8 months (32 weeks) pregnant today.  How cool is that?  Belly pictures TK soon. ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..  Gay marriage decision reversed in CA… yay! zzzzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz…

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