Day one of intervention

Well, I made the call to schedule us into the hospital tonight. I keep hoping and wishing that something will happen before I get there and labor will start to progress on its own. I hear stories all the time of labor starting the day before an induction. Yea, I keep mentally picturing this happening to me, but, much like mentally picturing my lottery win, I have not been successful.

The nurse is supposed to get me scheduled and call me back. Mr. W has informed work that his FMLA will need to start tomorrow, and then everything will be in place.

I put in a load of laundry this morning, swept the kitchen and laundry room, sat down at the computer to do a little window shopping, check emails, update this little number and then I plan on scrubbing the bathroom, running the vacuum and maybe mopping again. Seems I just can't mop the floor enough for my liking. This is normally something I truly loathe and put off for ages, but this will be the second mop in a week. Part of it is my Mr. Clean mop I bought. I finally splurged on a decent mop and I am so happy to have it. That probably sounds stupid, but I love this thing. It wrings out very well and makes nice controlled mop lines on the floor and I think it really takes up dirt nicely. Something to do with the thickness and density of the mop head makes me happy. Mr. Clean, there's your plug...I will take a check any time you see fit to send one.

I spent some time this morning looking all over for the necklace that Mr. W got me for our wedding day, which I finally found in one of those "safe places" where I tend to lose things. I also put on the bracelet my Mom gave me for my birthday right before she died and I sat on the floor crying because I wish I could talk to her, today. She would be reminding me that she did this years ago with a lot less medical advancement in a base hospital and delivered twins. Not sure what she would have to say about me being induced, as this didn't seem to be a problem for her. I guess none of us were shy about coming out.

I have plans to fix my hair and get makeup on in a bit, since this is something I can plan for as well. You would think I was either going to meet the queen today, or meet my demise, one of the two. The truth is, there is no telling if Mr. T will show up tomorrow or even the next day. It's just not something that I can control but at least I can prevent myself from showing up at the hospital looking like I was drug there by a pack of dogs(which is, incidentally, how I look now).

So I am sitting and waiting to hear back from the nurse about where and when to report.

I guess it is pretty stupid to feel so nervous about all this, but I can't seem to calm down.

I am going to be a mom. Of course, I guess in one sense, I already am, but it gets a lot different once that child isn't attached to you and you can just set him down and misplace him like your car keys or drop him like a dinner plate. Once you hear him cry and know he needs you for something, but you have to figure out what that something is, you take things to a whole new level.

Don't get me started on when he starts walking and exploring and throwing things and asking for money and telling us how we ruined his life. I guess we will have many years ahead of us to take it all with a grain of salt.

Honestly, I think this may be the scariest day in all my life.

Mom, I really wish you were here right now, and to all my other family and friends, I am thankful you are here, because Jen is not nearly as tough as she would have everyone believe.

Day three of eviction

Geez...I really didn't expect you to be this content where you are at my little burnt cookie. I am calling you a burnt cookie, because everyone still likes you, even if you are just a little overdone. I swear this kid is coming out with a tan. The longer he waits, the more I wonder if he will pop out of there with grey hair.

Today is my first day of not working and I am already bored. I would be less bored if there was a baby to take care of, rather than just a baby to speculate. He should be finished with whatever is going on in there by now, but he still won't budge. I walked Target to the tune of 130 bucks last night until my hips and pelvis felt like they would collapse from the pressure. Really, I was in there waddling around, albeit slowly, for probably two hours. I came home and tried moving around a little more and though I had a couple of twinges of discomfort, these are still not contractions. Not a chance. I think I handle pain pretty well, but this is not what I could imagine is pain associated with labor. Just pain associated with a fat old pregnant woman doing a lot of walking.

All my messages are set for work to indicate that I am out on leave, but I almost feel like I am cheating, since there is no baby yet. Granted, after 40 and a half weeks of hanging in there, I should give myself these couple of days without guilt, but it feels really strange saying you are on leave when there is no baby yet. I guess I should get over it, because it looks like he'll be here soon, regardless.

Please, son, show up on your own. Mommy realllllllllly doesn't want to induce. Not that I have no faith in medicine, but I hate to use it when it isn't necessary. When it is, I think it is a wonderful thing! Certainly when I need pain medication, I will be happy to have some medical attention.

Anyway, as for things that do not induce labor...taco bell, walking all around Target, the mall, a pedicure in a massage chair, soft pretzels, soda, coffee, squatting(although it's very hard to get up afterwards), a good lower back rub, a semi-decent upper back rub, Snickers, Reeses Pieces, watching a depressing movie that makes you cry, doing dishes, putting away clothes, and more walking. Everyone who says to walk that baby out has just been lucky enough to start their labor after a good long walk. They come out when they're ready.

Mine still ain't ready.

Well done

Fine, so I like my bacon crispy. I like my hot dogs well done. I like my toast toasty. I guess I also like my children on the well done side.

Today is day 2 of being past due. Today is also the 13th, which is not only my Uncle George's birthday, it is also the other date that I thought this baby would pop out. He started out torturing me with thirteens. Thirteens everywhere, my first two doctor's appointments were both, yes BOTH on Friday the 13th.

His first heart rate was 113 and my shower was on September 13th and there were some other 13s that popped up along the way. His Grandpa's birthday is on the 13th of January, and I'm getting the feeling at this point, that my child wants his birthday to be in January as well.

Sorry son, ain't gonna happen.

He really is the Great Pumpkin and all I can do is wait and try to think of ways to make him uncomfortable in there. Maybe I should start drinking tons of cold liquids. I don't know what else to do. The only thing I can think of is to walk. I will walk walk walk until I can't stand it anymore. Of course, that pretty much means around the block at best, but I will give it a go. I just ate some trail mix, which he seemed to enjoy because he is being a fidget right now. Tossing and turning and poking at my lower abdomen...at least I don't feel like he is stepping on my collarbone, anymore.

The house is clean and if he doesn't make it out soon then Mr. W will have a chance to destroy it again before I give birth, which means I will have to clean again before then and that will make me very unhappy.

*SIGH*

Now starts the approximate 50 something hour countdown until I check into the baby unit hotel to interrupt this kid's playtime. You would think being the big baby they estimate him to be, he might be crowded for space, but I guess not. I must have a very comfortable belly. Lord knows the dog enjoys sleeping up against it.

In other news, in my never ending quest to be comfortable in bed at night, I have driven Mr. W to tell me that he is looking forward to a restful night's sleep on the cot in the hospital. My heart really bleeds for him right now. It isn't my fault that between the dog, the baby and myself we are now taking up an entire half of the bed instead of the quarter that I am usually allotted.

Come out, come out, wherever you are...

Dear Mommy's Little Boy,

Today Mommy went to the Doctor and we discussed ways to interrupt your nap time and play time if you choose not to play along nicely.
You are a day late now which is OK with Mom, and even a few more will be no problem.
Let's talk about what happens if you choose not to come out of hiding.
The doctor told Mommy that tomorrow, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday are all fair game. Now, let's talk about this more. Since you are showing no sign of popping out, they may have to give something to Mommy to make her start to dilate. That means her cervix has to start opening so that your giant pumpkin head can fit through it. This usually does not happen in the course of 5 minutes. I also hear it may not be lots of fun, and involves some contractions.
Then, after waiting overnight for something like this to work, we then have to check and maybe or maybe not start Mommy on a drug called Pitocin. This will make Mommy pretty uncomfortable, and still may not be enough to move you along the way that we would like. They will give me more and more until Mommy is in a lot of pain and you start moving from where you are. This will cramp the quarters where you are sitting right now. Essentially, we are going to shrink your bedroom and start to push you out the door. Then, all the climate control in that bedroom will be ruined when they break the water and you will be rushing around and trying to figure out where to go at the last minute.
Mommy doesn't want that for you, and if you get scared or confused while this happens, they will just cut a hole in the roof and take you out by airlift. Mommy really doesn't want that kind of drama for either one of us.
All this fun will start Thursday night, as it stands, because your Mommy wants to give you the benefit of the doubt and just assume you are running a little behind. Mommy wrestled with this a little because the schedule she is working with was trying to take into account giving you some time to show up on your own, giving an induction time to work, and making sure you are ready to make an appearance somehow before my doctor is not on call anymore. We like him and think he is pretty smart, so we would prefer that he delivers you as opposed to some random foreign med student.
That being said, you have the next three days to lounge around, pack your things, and start vacating the premises. If not, your Mommy will be torn about whether or not she is making the right decision with this.
If you could please comply with these wishes, I can assure you it will be well worth your efforts and you will get to see the world in a timely manner!

Love, Mom

Thanks for the pizza, Mom, I'm good where I'm at

So I made it to 40 weeks. Starting tomorrow(in about 3 hours) I am now overdue. Every stinking hour that goes by after midnight tonight shall be tracked and rent shall be charged from this kid's first paycheck.
You hear me, Tanner? It's time to come out.
I am going to start a list of all the things that do not induce labor.
Everyone seems to have a great idea about this, so I think I am now able to speak freely about what doesn't work. After all, once you pass your due date, there's not much to do but wait, anyway.
All my little tickers have run out now.
No big chicken hatching out of this egg. My floating baby ticker from "Parents" magazine ended in a pretty uneventful "zero days to go". Yeah, right.
My cute little turtle ticker that was crawling across the beach just hid in his shell. I haven't even looked to see what happened to the butterfly at the end of this page, but I can tell you it isn't a baby.
I am tired of hearing that first pregnancies go late. Not true. Some people just go late, and I am one of them. There are plenty of first time moms out there that had their baby before they hit the 40+ mark. I hate them.
I am glad that I am not "sick", don't get me wrong, but that doesn't mean I feel great. I feel like dogsh*t to be honest. I know things could be worse, so I will just let it go, but let me say that I want him out.
Things that will not induce labor...mopping the floor, moving boxes around, sweeping and bending, doing laundry, cutting hair, eating spicy food, bouncing up and down, taking a walk, taking more walks, walking through a crowded festival to find as many snacks as humanly possible and eating those while walking more. Sauerkraut pizza, sauerkraut on a hot dog, sauerkraut in general, chocolate brownies, and putting the top on a Wrangler. Another thing that doesn't induce anything but drama is putting on one of your big sweatshirts that doesn't even fit now that your Great Pumpkin is the size of a preschooler.
Come out, Tanner...Mommy will give you a cookie.

Nope, he ain't here

So it is now the end of the line and baby is not showing any sign of popping out for a big hello. I am still thinking he may show on the 13th. In fact, that would be great, because I would prefer not to have to induce labor, but I would also prefer not to have to tell anyone I am eleven months pregnant.
I told Mr. W that in a couple days(at 40 weeks), in reality I could say I am ten months pregnant. If every month were February that would hold true.
Today I ate peanut butter toast, cookies, green onion chips, cheese crackers, a whole mess of healthy choices. I also worked what was supposed to be "my last day". I have a feeling I will be reporting in on Monday, anyway. I told my boss I was in for Monday and Tuesday, but after that, count me out. I just can't make it through any more appointments because I have to run and pee every 15 minutes. It makes for pretty useless meetings because someone can only keep my attention as long as the urge to "go" is not distracting me. That gives them all of about 5-10 minutes to get out everything they have on their mind. I also have pregnancy brain, which basically renders me useless at any problem solving, troubleshooting, attention to detail or pretty much anything else that doesn't involve just random chit chat. Basically, everything that makes me useful to an employer is starting to shut down at this stage. I could have stayed in bed all day today, but I didn't. I could have, though. And I bet I would have enjoyed it.
If my elusive pumpkin baby wasn't enough to get me down, the weather is lousy right now. Cold, rainy, ugly, and just generally kind of depressing. Not that I would expect much more out of October, but I could use one of those cheesy Brady Bunch "Sunshine days" in my life right now.
So I guess I may as well go ahead and start selecting new foods to represent the baby in the days ahead.
I am thinking of a burnt cookie, a spotty brown banana, a raisin and prune. Let's see how many of those end up getting used.
That could be the fun game that keeps me sane next week.

Its the great pumpkin, Charlie Brown

So my baby is now officially being called the Great Pumpkin. He's starting to become that mythical creature that rises from the pumpkin patch every Halloween to give candy to all the good boys and girls. And I am Linus. I am Linus, sitting in the patch on November 1. Really everybody, I promise, the Great Pumpkin will come...he'll be here next year.
Yes, I am at the very end of my rope. I just lost it. I want to kill Mr. W just because everything he does and every day he spends not pregnant while I am pregnant makes me want to strangle him. Everything he doesn't do that I ask him to and everything he does do that I don't want him to makes me want to make him sleep out in the car until it is time for the baby to get here.
I am losing my mind.
I cried twice in Hallmark today. Once while picking out a sympathy card for a co-worker and once while picking out a toy for my baby. Both times were because they made me think of my mom, but that doesn't mean much to the people standing around me in Hallmark and I cried again telling Mr. W about my crying spells while I was talking to him on my way home. Then I cried again when I showed him the baby toy. Yes, I am completely spent.
I am not even enjoying eating at this point because I am sick and tired of doing so much of it. It is pretty sad when being able to reach things on the ground and scrub out the bathtub or even mop without a backache are the things I really long to do. I obviously want to see my baby, too. I am done with being patient. It has been 39 long weeks and I am right about to trip the odometer to 40 with nothing to show for it yet. Not even much cramping. Nope, it is just like there is nothing happening in there at all. Every once in awhile the Great Pumpkin wiggles a little, but that about covers it.
I would like to say I will be back on to post about how the labor went, but I have a feeling I will be back to complain about having the only baby in these families that just doesn't want to come out and see the world.

Dear Pumpkinhead

Well, Mommy is growing herself a pumpkin. We went to see the doctor today and had the ultrasound we were waiting for. He's 8lb 8oz by their best guess at this point. That sounds like one cooked baby to me. Time to come out, now, Mr. Tanner. You are big enough. Daddy thinks it would be great if you were 10 lbs. Mommy disagrees and thinks that 8 1/2 sounds just about perfect. There is room for 10% error either way. That means you could potentially be a little over 7 1/2 or you could be a whopping 9 something at this point. In any case, you have baked. Your head is screwed down into Mommy's pelvis and is making it very difficult to walk at this point. It is also putting unbearable pressure on my bladder and while I love nothing more than going pee every 15 minutes for the sake of my little boy, I am ready to stop anytime.
I had a contraction on Saturday night and it took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. This is how I know that it was a contraction and not something else.
That was an hour before the Ohio State game. Seems that when you realized you wouldn't have time to make it out for kickoff, you decided to stay right where you are. Witnessing this event made your dad chuckle. I promptly informed him that would be one way to get thrown out of the birth of his first child. He did quickly apologize and let me know that the look on my face did it to him. He told the doctor today that I looked like I got my "tail pulled". That's pretty accurate. It came from nowhere and it hurt like something I am not looking forward to. I can tell you that. The thought of dozens more of these coming in short waves is painting a very ugly picture right now.
The doctor said you will be coming out by next weekend, so the longest I will have to wait is about 11 days, give or take. The cook-o-meter says you will be done in 6. I suggest you show up before then because every good cookie is just slightly soft when it comes out.
Sounds like regardless, you will have a few fat rolls for us to pinch. Fat babies are the best, so roll on out of there, chubs, so we can get our hands on you.
We got to see your big melon head today and your belly, which look to be about the same size around by the pictures. They said that is normal, so good job with that.
Your little thighs are all cramped up and look like they could use a few feet of space around them. Right now you are working with millimeters so again, I offer you all the space in the world if you will only vacate your current quarters.
If you do decide to stay put a bit longer, I only ask that you do not appear between the hours of 8 and 5 on Wednesday. Mommy is taking her boss to meet some clients that day and is thinking that would be a little much for her to juggle all at once.
So the good news is that we are thinking you may be able to come out without gutting Mommy like a fish. Actually, the only thing that isn't good news is that Mommy is not dilated, which means you will show up when you please. I would like to say that you get that from your father, but neither one of us is the most punctual, so I have to take some of the blame, there.

Single digits...still no Tanner

Ah yes, at last, instead of waiting for it to only be 3 months, 12 weeks, 9 weeks, blah, we are down to single digit days before this little man has truly overstayed his welcome in Mommy's belly. He has been pretty quiet so far this morning after being a small tornado in there the last few days. Perhaps he is getting frustrated, too?
Last night was the big hospital tour for Mr. and Mrs. W, followed by a trip to the Chinese buffet that had me up in the middle of the night in tears. I am not even sure what did it. I guess the garlic. I really didn't eat much that was exotic. Some pot stickers and won ton soup. A few pieces of chicken, crab rangoon and a spring roll. Oh wait...the spicy mustard. That had to be it. I can throw back some hot mustard, but this was really hot. Even Mr. W agreed and he doesn't think that much is spicy, so I know it wasn't just "pregnant me" talking. I put a ton on a spring roll, took a bite and about lost my breath. My eyes were watering. That had to be it. The mustard is guilty. It actually tasted a lot more like wasabi than mustard.
So the hospital tour is the real subject today. Let me start by saying it was probably not a bad idea. It didn't take long, they showed us where everything we might need will be, gave the rundown on what you can and can't do, visitor info, rules for "Dad"-which is basically not much, showed us where the natural birth people, c-section people and epidural people go and the temp nursery. The one thing I managed to retain is that we do not allow anyone without a yellow badge to take the baby. The one thing Mr. W retained is that there is a bar open on the corner that serves food. He also retained the fact that they want me to walk in from the garage while I am in labor and not be dropped off. Sounds very pleasant. It better not be pouring rain or this new mom will be pretty unhappy.
We also found out that Dad can give the baby his first bath right there in the room. We can actually have a nurse give him instructions on this. Maybe he will be more open to taking instructions from a medical professional. Sounds great to me.
I just can't wait to watch him try to scrub off some "tar" poop, too. I think Dad will also need diapering instructions from the nurse. Yep, having someone else tell him how to do some of these things correctly is just about the most ideal situation I could have hoped for. Once we get him home, of course, all bets are off and I can see Mommy handling 95% of these tasks, but again, it's good for him to know how.
So our group was fairly small. There were a total of four couples. Mr. W and I were both pleased that we were the younger half of this group, even at our ripe old age of over 30. They gave us plenty of material for discussion once we were out of the building, too. Couple A was the youngest of the group. They probably were in their early to mid 20s. I couldn't help but be amused as you could certainly tell that this was not a planned pregnancy(no rings, the guy looked like his dog had just died...there are ways of telling), and what do you know? They are having twins. Girls, to be exact. The girl let us know that even though she is due next month, she is 3cm dilated. I now also have a visual picture of her cervix, so that's helpful. I also hate her because she will probably beat me to the finish line. I think these must be small twins, though. She really didn't look all that big.
Next we have Couple B or more specifically, couple B and their 4 year old. Mom looked like she was probably about my age, maybe had a year or two on me. Probably younger to be honest, since she already has a kid to make her age. Mr. W, however, was a good bit younger than this father to be, who looked like white Urkel. Pretty much a goof. Mr. W swears they are Jewish. Not sure how he came to that conclusion, but fine. They are having another girl. They already have one that doesn't pay attention, talks a lot, climbs all over stuff and wanders off without her parents in a new, strange place. Good luck to them.
Finally, we have Couple C. Jackpot. When we made it into the garage, we immediately found out that we both thought they were grandparents when we walked in. Mr. W had them pegged at 40 and 45, I was thinking 45 and 50. Somewhere in between was probably most accurate. This woman is due in 5 days and the sooner they get that baby out, the better. I can't believe they haven't induced her, yet. Good Lord, where do I start? Dad looked like a new grandpa, or maybe the father of the most white trash kid you knew in high school. Mom looked like a short frumpier version of Winona Judd. They are also having a girl. Mr. W said she was his mistress, but I disagree. I heard her asking about what they would do with his kids were she to have the baby late at night. You see, they have a certain amount of people allowed in delivery, but after that, when they move you to your room, if it ain't visiting hours, the crowd has to leave. That sounds great to me. This woman was trying to figure out what they would do with his spawns. I forgot to mention that they told us that this is her first and his fourth. He promptly interjected with questions about how many people can be there, do they get the sports networks in the delivery room, and a few other things I tried to ignore. As we loaded into the elevator, I noticed her feet. My feet have swollen, but I have never seen anything like this. This woman had ankles the size of my thighs and only a wrinkle where her heel started. She looked awful and I kept wondering why in the world someone hadn't gotten this baby out, yet. She also told us that she herself is getting jaundice and Mr. Judd told us the baby was 9 pounds. Yep, TMI from Couple C right out of the gates. As we went down the hallway making stops here and there, I heard her panting and gasping for air and realized that despite my hips feeling like they are dislocating, I wasn't winded at all. For that, I was thankful. I was so glad when the tour was over because I didn't have to worry about her collapsing right there.
So that sums up our trip to the hospital and the other couples that we could be. Yes, I was quite proud of who we are when we walked out of there. Only a few days to go(at least, I certainly should hope) and if he isn't here by Monday, we'll get to check out his size and figure out what comes next with the doctor. Did I mention how much I like my doctor? After seeing the Judds and that woman's condition, I can say with certainty that he would not let a patient get to that point. How do I know? Because he told me what he would do to help me out, and I just realized how healthy I am and how healthy this pregnancy is. Does that mean I am wanting to go past my due date? Not really. But if I do, I will think of Winona and know it isn't that bad.

10 more days to vacate the uterus

OK, so we made it to October! What does that mean? It is time for Mr. Tanner to make his appearance. Anytime, any day now would be great. No worries that he hasn't cooked long enough. No worries about not planning on him in September. Nope. Come on out and get ready for some Buckeye football this weekend, kid. Or next weekend. You will not be permitted to miss the following weekend game.
Mommy's pelvis is screaming. It hurts to walk because it feels like I am going to crack right down the middle. He was moving around a lot in there yesterday morning and gave me the feeling that he might be trying to nudge his way down into "the stance". I believe they call it "engaging" but it wouldn't be right if I used an official medical term. Either way, there was more moving around down there than I have felt in awhile. This little guy is getting bigger with every bite of food that I ingest, and he's fighting for space.
Mr. W came with me to the store last night because, inconveniently, Mr. Tanner has waited around long enough for the frost to pop out here in Ohio and his mommy can no longer venture out in public with shorts and capris. I had to suck it up and get some jeans, along with some other things we needed around the house. TP, fabric softener, bags of Halloween Snickers, candy corn flavored gumdrops, all the essentials. I should be set to hibernate until labor but I have pants in case I need to leave the house.
At 9 months pregnant and beyond, a girl just doesn't look right in anything she puts on. I stood and pondered the options last night until Mr. W nearly went into a tailspin. I finally picked out a pair of jeans based on deduction and when we got home, I went to try them out. Mr. W had a laughing fit and I wanted to cry. I should probably explain that the options, of course, are limited. There were 2 kinds of jeans with a full panel available. At this point, I need that panel in case my shirt decides it needs to ride up my giant whale belly. Easy choice, right? Not really. There were a pair that looked absolutely GIGANTIC. Huge, belled out wide legs were not exactly what I had in mind being as frumpy as I am feeling, currently. The other option was skinny jeans. That is an oxymoron for a pregnant woman, but I felt that they would be better suited than the circus tent option so I decided on those. I looked like an egg balanced on two toothpicks. The legs were tight and really fitted to the point where they may as well have been denim leggings. I realize that this is the "in style" to some extent, but whatever happened to classic straight leg jeans? I have to think that the most flattering thing for a super pregnant woman to wear would be something proportioned to fit her in a classic way. I am not "trendy 19 year old new mommy". I am also not ready for "mom jeans". Where does one go to find a conservative pair of jeans when they are ready to explode? The answer is not Target. The sad truth is, I spent about 60% more on that pair than the two pairs I just exchanged them for at JcPenney. Again, I ended up with boot cut and skinny jeans, but at least they are not to the extreme that the highly praised Liz Lange has released for her high end discount store line. I tried them on. They both fit, and much better than the ones from last night. Although I am not looking forward to spending much time in them, I am, at the least, relieved that I have pants to wear out of the house. I will be leaving the tags on one in the hopes that little guy comes out quick and I have an option to return a pair, but if he waits it out until Thanksgiving, Mommy has pants.
In other news, tonight is the night that Mr. W and I head in to the hospital for the "tour". I guess they just show you where everything is, where to go, special facilities for those jacuzzi birth weirdos, and all that jazz. Let me clarify that there is nothing wrong with wanting a natural birth and a jacuzzi birth sounds pretty wonderful in theory. What I can't get past is the idea of crawling into one of those things knowing what has happened in there! EWWWWW. I do not care how much sanitizer is used, how much Lysol and bleach you scrub with or how many toxic chemicals you add, that is naaaaasty. Nope, unless they use a fresh tub for each and every customer, count me out. Hell, I would rather eat a bowl of soup from the litter box than get in someone else's "placenta tub".

Quick update

Not that this deserves its own post but I wanted to correct a theory I had yesterday. Despite not consuming the spoiled chocolate milk, I was fortunate enough to vomit violently in the middle of the night last night, and I can say with certainty, it did not start labor.
I told my sister when I talked to her earlier, and she wanted to know what I ate. The answer is pot roast. Just plain meat and potatoes. Nothing that should have caused such a thing. Of course, I had some chocolate through the evening, as well, but again, not what one might consider risky.
What caused it? I can only assume a foot, a hand, or some smashed digestive organs that are getting overworked and underpaid at this stage in the game. Every day that he stays put brings me closer to the next battle with the toilet in the middle of the night. Last night I thought I was done but wasn't and couldn't make it past the sink.
I let Mr. W know that some drain opener may be in order in the next few days.
If had a way to do it right here and now, I would flip the bird to everyone who has ever said they loved being pregnant.
Bah.

Movements

Baby movements at this point have become eerily similar to every horror movie I have seen where some creature rips open a person's belly and climbs out. They are basically just pressure and rolling back and forth on the inside. The little fellow doesn't have much room to move and from what I am feeling on the outside, it is a lot like when we give the dog a bath or wrap the cat in a towel to take him to the vet. They writhe around with all their strength to try to break free at some point by looking for an arm or a leg hole in that towel that just isn't there.
I have become addicted to chocolate milk in the last week and have found that enjoying one right before bed eases some of the heartburn discomfort that still shows up by about 3am, of course, but it only wakes me once a night instead of two or three times. I never thought I would enjoy chocolate milk again in my life. I really didn't care for it much when I was a kid, other than the chocolate making it more tolerable to ingest. Right now it tastes like the most delicious Rolaids in the world, so that is cool. I imagine Mr. Tanner thinks it is pretty good, and it certainly isn't bad for him, so I have been downing one about every evening. While I was out today, I picked up a bottle only to get home and realize it was expired. Thankfully, this was before I started to drink it. Had I tried drinking sour milk at this point, I am pretty sure I would puke everywhere. Actually, though, that might help to start contractions, so maybe I screwed up by reading the date. In any case, Mr. W has been assigned the task of picking up a new one on his way home from watching the sucky Bengals game at a friend's house. He is on cloud 9 right now because his horrible team actually won the game. If there is one thing I cannot seem to get into, it is the Bengals. I can see it now. He will inflict that awful team on my child and lead him to years of watching with heartache while his team sucks their way through season upon season. I would like to think that they may be a decent team again some day, but since I was not even in my teens the last time they were any good, I am not counting on it. Of course, he will already be cursed with being a Buckeye fan, which at any given time can provide the same blistering heartache, so I guess there is no point in trying to prevent it. I told Mr. W that instead of hating the Yankees, he should try liking them. At least they win a lot. He pointed out a few big losses they have had in recent years, but did have to agree, pound for pound, they have stomped on the Reds for many years. We had a similar discussion while watching Florida beat up on Kentucky last night in college football. I just don't understand how all these farm boys in Ohio and Kentucky are not stomping all over the southerners in sports. Maybe it has more to do with brains than brawn. I don't know.
We also decided that we would really like to see Tanner grow up and play something really well. Then I could be an obnoxious cheering mom and he could be the proud potbelly dad that we would be so good at being. Embarrassing our kid from one game to the next. It could be fun times. I prefer that he plays football, mostly because I enjoy watching it the most. Mr. W says he doesn't care. The only downside would be the injuries, so I need to keep drinking that chocolate milk so my little man has strong bones. Yep, watching my baby trample someone else's kid sounds like a fair shake from the heartburn and backaches of these recent days.

Anytime, now

I went to see the doctor yesterday and he told me not to come back. He said he will continue to tell me this for the rest of my pregnancy. In other words, the baby is done cooking. He can come out any time. I know, because he is his father's son, that he is perfectly content in there, relaxing, while I do the work. Everything in my body is being pushed up my throat, so it is time for him to let it go and get ready to show up. Really, anytime is OK. There are only 4 days left of September, so he should be getting ready to pop out and say hello. The day we hit the due date, I will probably lose my mind.
The report at the Dr. was as follows. No progress, aka no dilation, I was negative for Strep B, which means no antibiotics while I deliver, so that is cool. Other than that, poop. Nothing to report except we are scheduled for an ultrasound on the 5th, followed by my appointment. At that point I will be 39 weeks and 1 day. I will be begging for mercy and to schedule some sort of induction, too. I can go another week. No big deal. The not knowing part is tough, though. Sitting here, wondering if he may decide to do something more dramatic and show up at an inopportune moment makes one hesitant to go do much of anything that wouldn't be considered necessary. Now, I know that a good majority of women never have their water break until they are already waiting to deliver at the hospital. There is always that other group, though, and being out in public with a massive flood falling from my pants scares me just a little. It is hard enough to not pee your pants at this point, but adding insult to injury with a flood that might not go unnoticed by anyone in the area is a pretty unhappy thought. I mean, what do you even say if that happens? I have come up with a lot of clever responses to embarrassing situations in my life, but that one leaves me high and dry. My initial thought is that I would run to the nearest door, hoping that no one spots me, while some poor teenage kid has to get out a mop and do a cleanup in aisle 4. Would I have the moxie to tell someone that there was a puddle in need of a mop? I am thinking no. Putting my head down and waddling away as quickly as possible seem to be the only viable solutions I can come up with.
And to that point, I know you can have "contractions" for weeks before things really get going. I am now at the point where I can't tell the Dr. if I am having anything because I have cramps and lower back pain off and on, but certainly nothing that I would say was strong or frequent enough to require medical attention or even much discussion.
For example, this morning Mr. W was a little alarmed because I was having some pretty bad chest pains on the left side. I noticed after shifting my body around a little that they went away. "Please do not have a heart attack" he says to me. OK, I will do my best. Instead, the big bundle of joy repositioned himself and now the pain is in the right side of my lower back. I think, from this point on, there will always be pain. If I can keep it away from my vital organs I may be able to prevent any alarm and continue about my days without much drama. From what I can tell, that pain has 2 arms and 2 legs and a healthy size little butt and head that require their own space and they are getting a little cramped. Lucky me that my body seems to be so good at carrying a baby that I will just keep going and going like the energizer bunny until every millimeter of space is used up and my small intestines start to protrude from my nose.

All I wanted was my Mr. Pibb

I am done. I just got off the phone with Mr. W. I called him at work and started crying and he laughed. I was getting ready to have lunch when I knocked my Mr. Pibb off the desk and onto the printer, down the side of the desk, and all over the new carpet. My belly did it. As Mr. W said, the baby knocked over the Mr. Pibb. The baby also prevents me from moving the desk, to get to the printer, which is in very tight quarters, picking up the printer with any authority, and cleaning up the sticky mess that is settling down there right now. I waddled off to grab a towel only to realize how futile my efforts were and just started to cry. I am done.
I was able to get most of the ice pulled out of the crack between the desk and the printer table, but I know what a disaster is forming down there right now and honestly, it is a little more than I can handle at the moment.
Most things are a little more than I can handle right now. I have hit the end of my rope. I know I only have a few weeks left, but those may as well be months right now. Every day brings a new challenge or ache or accident caused by my awkward belly, hips, swollen feet or whatever else makes it impossible to function normally.
That Dugger lady is an idiot. Who in the world could do this 18 times and give it another go? Sorry, but you have enough kids, lady. You are a moron and must be truly masochistic. I want to smack her, and if I were around her, I would.
Even as the little bubble in my belly pops around, probably giggling because he knows mommy is at her wit's end, I think how much I want him out. I just want to hug him and then start telling him how much he put me through. "I carried you for 9 months". Oh yes, there is a reason women say this. For me, the biggest reason is month 9. 19 more days according to the ultrasounds we had earlier in the pregnancy, so that will be quite enough, thanks. To be honest, 8 or 9 more days would do just fine. Get me to October, and then get the pumpkin out. My last set work appointment is on September 30. That gives him the 1st through the 11th to show up on his own before I start trying handstands and other crazy methods. Not to mention Mr. W's mom heard by him or me that the doctor could induce at 39 weeks. She now has this set in her mind as the baby's birthday. I guess she thinks this is like ordering a Big Mac. Not exactly. My guess is that the doctor will choose not to schedule me for a Sunday induction, anyway, but there is no point trying to explain this to her.
Meanwhile, my heartburn is trying to eat a hole through my chest and I have to sleep nearly sitting up. My ankles look like there are weights on them, but there aren't. They are just big and fat and scary. I want to go lay down right now, and even though I should be working, I think I may. I just don't have it in me today. Maybe tomorrow I will, but today, I feel like giving up.

If only brith were so easy...

So I had made an appointment to see the dermatologist today about a couple little surprises that have popped up since being pregnant. Primarily a lump on the side of my nose that I at first thought was a zit, only to realize a month later was not. Now, I had some cysts removed a few years ago...ok, maybe several years ago now, from my earlobes, so I am thinking that is what this is. Not really painful other than where it chose to locate itself being kind of inconvenient and intrusive on my nose and sinuses. I also had the glorious appearance of skin tags to thank little Mr. Tanner for. While most stayed out of the way, and very small, there was one that really bugged me in the center of my neckline, right about where my necklaces hit, and of course it was larger than the others.
I set up to see the dermatologist thinking I might get looked over and schedule a removal for after the baby is here, however, after about 15 minutes in the office with my new favorite Doogie Howser clone, it is gone, and the cyst on my nose is being attacked by lidocane.
This guy looked all of 18, but when he said that he could do a few things to me while I was pregnant that would not hurt the baby, I just about hugged him. He also warned me the shot to my nose would probably hurt like hell. I braced myself, but to my surprise, it certainly wasn't any worse than having an eyebrow wax. If only childbirth were going to be this easy. I imagine it will not be.
Yes, the new Doogie is the best. I have to wonder how old this guy is. I know I had to give him a look when he walked in the door. I didn't mean to, but damn. When your doctor looks like he could be your kid and you are pregnant with your first kid, it kind of makes you wonder what the hell you have been doing with all the years in your life. Needless to say, since he is part of the largest and most well respected dermatology offices in the city, I trust that he must have a clue. I will report back to let you know if the cyst is dissolving and my newly clear neckline is to my liking. As of now, I am overjoyed, as anyone who can make me feel like less of a frump at 9 months pregnant is my hero.
Go Doogie. I already have the paperwork for Mr. W's first appointment. He has a fear of these things I think, but he needs to suck it up for comfort and self esteem benefits.

We made it...

So we did it. Today we are official at 37 weeks by all counts, and that means that the little man on the inside is fully cooked. He may make an entrance as he pleases. In one way this is sort of a relief, on the other hand, I now have the next 4 weeks to wonder about when he will decide the time is right.
I have stuck to my feelings that he will not be early, at least not by much. October 3 and October 13th are my betting numbers. One, because 13 came up so much at the beginning of the pregnancy, and two, because I just kind of had a feeling about the 3rd. Realistically, though, the Dr. wouldn't induce until the 4th, and would induce by the 18th, based on what he tells me, so we have a window there of many possibilities if Baby W decides to remain low profile for the next month. I have a lot to do, so he really kind of needs to stay put for another week and a half, at the least. I would prefer he stay put for 2, only because I imagine the last couple days before he rears his head, I will be feeling pretty lousy.
Walking has become such a hassle. I was trying to waddle around the grocery today and it literally took all the energy I had to push the cart. By the time I was putting everything away in the kitchen, I could hear the theme song from Rocky playing in my head and could practically see Mickey and Apollo in the back of the refrigerator when I was bending over to put things up. "You can do it" they were saying. They have all the faith in the world in this fat, pregnant, tired, swollen woman. The good news is that because I was able to accomplish my task at the grocery, I now have many options for snacks later on when I get hungry, including but not limited to brownies, cookies and some Halloween candy bars. Nothing like finishing up a pregnancy around Halloween when the treats are bountiful.
I feel like I want to do nothing but sleep all day. If I could, I would. Seriously, I have never felt such a closeness with my bed and pillow as I do now. I tried scrubbing the bath and shower yesterday and realized that my inability to bend for more than a few seconds has pretty severely hindered my ability to clean with any degree of effectiveness. I noticed streaks in the tub today and just couldn't get the motivation together to get in and re scrub it.
I really need to mop the floor but the thought of pushing a mop around makes me want to throw up as I sit here, typing. Maybe if I have a cookie and rest for a little bit, I will change my mind. meanwhile, I will leave Baby W where he is to bake and drop down into launch position.
Be it in a day or 4 weeks, he will be here soon. Mommy is ready.

What's worse than being 9 months pregnant?

Being 9 months pregnant with a sinus infection. That was me just last week. Thankfully, I was able to get some antibiotics from the doctor which improved the situation right away. It didn't clear it up, I am still filled with snot and all that good stuff, but at least I felt like a human being again. I had no idea the amount of miserable I could be until last Thursday. There I was, going to a work appointment because I felt like I had to, trying to keep my nose from dripping on the table, hurrying to the bathroom on my way in and out the door, breaking out in a sweat that may have been due to fever or to pregnancy, I really can't be certain, and also, realizing that my boobs have started leaking on top of the watering eyes that I had from my sinus pressure.
Could I have been more miserable? Maybe, but it probably would have involved a critical illness, serious injury, or some form of torture.
Speaking of that, I can tell you what is worse than being 9 months pregnant with an awful sinus infection. I saw a show on the History channel the other night, I think it was. They were illustrating several Roman torture devices. One that stands out is a giant wagon/Ferris wheel that they tied people to, spun them in circles and had either metal spikes or a fire pit at the bottom. That would be worse than the pregnant/cold combo.
Also, there was a giant "human press" that they used. It worked about like it sounds. Two giant flat boards that would be screwed together to smash a human inside until it would actually crush bone. Heinous, alright. Not only is it shocking to imagine that these were actually used, I have to wonder what kind of sick f*cker came up with that. Seriously.
Now that is someone having a very sucky day. That trumps me for sure.

My baby is spoiled

And he has no clue. He just floats around all day, jabbing at my organs to fight for more room. He really isn't that bad at this point, other than the fact that I feel like I have a baby whale stuffed in there. Watch, he probably only weighs 4 pounds or so.
So the girls had a shower for me this past weekend and let me tell you, if I ever felt bad about getting gifts from people, I am beginning to think that the tendency for people to go above and beyond for babies makes me feel even more spoiled than I could have even imagined. The shower was really nice with all the Dr. Seuss characters being represented and a surprise cake appearance by baby Shrek, as well. The cake, by the way was delicious, and to be honest, I may have to stop typing here in a minute just to eat some before dinner while Mr. W is away at the gym. Of course, he is so neat and mature that he dug his fork into it, rather than to trouble himself to cut off a piece, so I have to cut around his little "rat nibbles". Disgusting. And I am getting ready to add another man into this household. God help me.
I got so many nice things for this baby I am starting to forget that it is for him and not me. In fact, some of his little toys are so charming, I want to pull the tags off and have a go at them. Not to mention the blankets. The baby blankets these days seem to be made of the softest fabrics I have ever encountered. I want a giant one for my bed.
Seriously, though, I was very impressed and touched and feeling the love this past weekend, so a big thank you to all the girls for ringing in this baby with me. Only a few weeks left, and he certainly won't be needing for anything if he arrives sooner!

Almost done...

We are finally done "building" the room for the baby. What I mean by this is that we have moved everything heavy and big and bulky into the room at this point and are now on the way to just putting things "in place". Mr. W and I went out and bought a glider Sunday and everyone seems to think it belongs to them. Not to be an attentive husband to his 8 month pregnant wife, Mr. W stomped his feet and moaned when I sat in the chair as soon as it was in the room. We got the cushions on it and I put his little matching blanket over the back and plopped down into the cushiness to give it a go. I think we definitely made a good choice, since it seems like a chair I could easily pass out in during the middle of the night. Speaking of passing out, I feel like I could easily take a nap right now.
In fact, I feel like taking a nap most of the time, most days. It doesn't help that I really want to get a few more things done at work before I become worthless and check out. Unfortunately, right now I have a cold, which I am seriously hoping is not the swine flu, to overcome as well.
Mr. W and my sister keep saying not to joke about it. Well, if I don't joke about it, I will be as paranoid as they are about it. Being pregnant in the middle of an outbreak of a killer flu during flu season with a lowered immune system and not very many options as far as what is permissible to take is not exactly a picnic. I did get some fast acting Tylenol Cold or Tylenol Sinus and I have to admit, they help a little. A little is a whole lot more than nothing right now, so I am thankful that these were on my list of things to take. I also have cough drops and nasal spray and antibiotic ointment. Not that the ointment will help much, but just in case I get a nasty cut, I can handle that, too.
Right now I have no fever, and am generally just feeling miserable, so I guess that is a good thing and maybe it can be attributed to sinus issues. I say I don't have a fever, but I haven't actually taken my temperature. Mr. W and I both agree that I don't feel hot. I do have a thermometer I could use but that would require digging it out of the medicine cabinet, so instead, I sit here waiting for the next dose of Tylenol to kick in.
The bad news is that I have absolutely no desire to clean anything or get anything ready for the baby, so I hope that this passes quickly because I don't have the time to wait around for a slow going virus or infection to make its way through my body. I think a hot shower sounds wonderful right now and will probably drag myself into one here, soon.
So I have to say, we got that glider just in time. Mom needs a break and some time in the bed. Of course, I will still be doing work when I can so I don't have more catch up to do or waste any sick time I may need later. I also have my shower this weekend and it would be nice if I am able to go. If not, I guess I will have to send Mr. W on my behalf. It would really be a shame if that happened and I wasn't there to witness it.

In the way

A blessing of pregnancy that I haven't commented much on, with good reason, is certainly due its mention at this point. The reason it hasn't come up until now is that the farther along you get, the more noticeable it becomes. I am talking about the baby bump, aka the enormous blob sticking out front. Many pregnant women lovingly refer to this as a bump, I call it a blob or my giant belly, but never a bump. At least not anymore.
It is very odd having something like this grow so quickly off the front of your torso. At first it is just the little things, like your pants getting tight, not buttoning, can't see the old toes anymore, and other things like that. Then it progresses into new territory.
As an example, one of the first things you realize is that your balance is completely off. I stumbled backwards on a flat surface one day for no reason. You find yourself placing your hand on your back or under that "bump"(if that is what you want to call it), to take a little stress off of the rest of your body. You skin begins to tighten and itch and the stretch marks come out to say hello. A lot of women, I think especially young girls who get this, find it to be very upsetting. I am not really worried since I will not be in any bikini contests in the future and likely won't be modeling underwear. For me, they came at the very bottom and top of my belly. A lot of women get these around their belly button. Mine aren't showing there yet, but that doesn't mean they won't. All I can say is that they itch like you have some sort of filthy disease and the ones up top are a little disturbing because I didn't really expect any around my rib cage.
If you get past them with no problem, there is still more fun around the corner. One of the great experiences is when you realize just how hard it is getting to breathe or eat because of all that baby stuffed up in your ribs. Sitting up has never been so hard since I was in 4th grade gym class being timed. Not being able to bend at the waist and hip area makes it tough to do those little things you take for granted like getting out of bed to pee in the middle of the night or picking up laundry from the floor.
These were all things I sort of anticipated, though, so I know it is just a matter of toughing it out for a few more weeks and I will be able to breathe and sit up again.
What is getting on my nerves is the things I never thought of. At least twice now, I have slammed the car door into my belly when I tried shutting it. This is pretty unpleasant and results in a nasty little bruise. Part of the problem is that I have two cars that I drive regularly, and both are pretty lousy for a pregnant woman to get in and out of. Normally, I hop right in and Mr. W is the one complaining. Not anymore. I can either crawl into my Celica or hoist my giant self into my Wrangler. Actually, the Wrangler isn't so bad to get in and out of, the challenge there is getting the top on. When it starts raining suddenly, I have to climb onto the foot rails and hold on for dear life to get the front lip of the top tucked in. The first time I realized this was a problem was after doing so, when I was driving on the highway and noticed it was coming loose. I am here to tell you, it is a very scary feeling knowing that the roof of your car is peeling off while you are doing 65. That was a few months ago, and it is now Mr. W's job to make sure that is tucked in safely when I put it up, since he can still reach.
I also have knocked over more than one cup of coffee while leaning over my desk. This is a double insult because I then have to try waddling around quickly to find a way to clean it all up. Fitting into a booth at a restaurant is no longer easy. I never know when my belly is going to be smashed up against the table, which is not only humiliating, it is also pretty uncomfortable when you are trying to eat.
Fitting through a tight space has never been tougher. Your first instinct is to always turn sideways. At some point, I have realized that this is no longer a good idea and that I have a better chance of fitting with my arms up over my head and my hips angled just a little. I realized this when I nearly ended up pinned between a wall and a woman at a buffet line in a church basement. She was way too busy with her plate to make an effort to shrink herself.
Yep...a lot of people call this thing a bump.
A speed bump, maybe. One that keeps me from doing anything quickly or without an extra step involved.

Big baby or big mommy

So I went to see the doc today and I am now officially on the weekly visit schedule.

I remember when that seemed so far away.

Not anymore.

And after my visit today, I am thinking he may be here sooner than I thought. I was expecting him to stay tucked away in there until I cried and begged for induction at 3 weeks past my due date with a Halloween pumpkin baby. Now I know that the doctor will let me be induced at 41 weeks. I also found out he may be here a little sooner than that.

Part of the routine visits involves a measurement taken from the top of the uterus to the bottom.

This has always been uneventful until today. It started with him taking the measurement about 3 times or so, which I attributed to him not getting the tape quite right or tight enough. Then, as he walked over to check his notes he said "how far along you are again?". "Is something wrong?" was the first thing that came out of my mouth. Now, he didn't specify as to how big I was measuring, but basically told me I would be getting a scan at 38 weeks to check the baby's size. He then pointed out that I could not be induced until 39, but that if there is a linebacker in there, we needed to know.

Um, yea...I might rather not know now that I think about it. He then made a point of letting me know that they would do the scan and make sure we discussed c-sections if that may need to be an option. Um, what?

Just how the hell big are things looking, here? This was coming out of the mouth from the guy who was joking about people asking and planning for a c-section about 5 minutes earlier. At that time, we were both in agreement that it was not the way to go. What kind of measurement called for this quick change in attitude on that subject? I had already told him I had no desire to have a c-section if it could be avoided. His comment to me was that we needed to know what we were dealing with and plan ahead in the event that I would like to be able to pee normally again.

I am keeping with the idea that my baby is normal and that my belly is what is growing. I have nearly one chocolate bar or brownie or some other sweet treat every day, now. Maybe that is the culprit. Did I mention I have a fear of being cut open? I also have a fear of healing from surgery while I have to watch Mr. W be in charge of caring for our child. I also have a fear of additional time spent in the hospital.

Come on, Tanner...get as fat as you want, but please please please, wait until you are out of diapers to grow shoulders like your daddy...

Due next month

So September has finally arrived and now I can say I am "due" next month.
It has certainly seemed like an eternity, but now, things continue to speed up, and the realization that being "mom" is just a few weeks away is really starting to settle in.
I know I am going to be so tired and frustrated and overwhelmed I will want to give up by day 2, but as I was telling Mr. W today, even though I can say "I am tired of being pregnant" all day long, there is no reprieve from being "mom". It is what it is. In a month or so, I will head off to the hospital, shoot out a baby, and they will just pack him up and send him home with me.
Sadly, the pet adoption process is more rigorously supervised than new parenting, from what I can tell.

Today I had a very interesting moment, as probably all new moms do at some point. I was finished with work, and after having eaten some tacos with the urgency of someone who hadn't seen food in days, I found myself sitting and folding tiny clothes and putting them into a drawer, in a room that is empty and waiting to be filled with an owner. It was a very strange feeling. I was putting clothes away for my baby who isn't here, yet. It was nesting, but at the same time, it was scary, because it makes you feel like you are all too sure that everything is OK and will go as planned.

Of course, I have to do these things and get them taken care of while I can still get around, so I am trying to be productive, even if just a little bit at a time. Probably in the coming days the kitchen floor will be scrubbed, and the bathroom and all the deep cleaning will be on the chore list so that by the time I can't walk, I will only need to stand long enough to wipe some things down.

Mrs. W is getting tired and the baby knows it. Just so long as he waits until October to show up. I really want him to have an October birthday. I really wish my birthday was in October. It is in crummy, snowy, January. I also have a lot to do here in September, so he needs to just sit tight until then. One of those things is take a nap. That is something I should do right now. I could do baby stuff, but I don't think I will. There will be plenty of time for that in a month.

Assembly in 6 easy steps

Were you aware that the holy grail is actually a drawer from a small piece of nursery furniture made in Brazil?

We weren't either until this weekend.

This is the weekend that Mr. and Mrs. W took on the daunting task of preparing furniture and a room for our new addition to the family. Now, we had already partially cleared the room and painted, and had been "gathering" things for awhile, but we really hadn't made much commitment as to where either him or his stuff was going to go in that room. Being as how we are late getting started in the child bearing game, we have many, many friends who have been there and done that and were more than willing to pass on a number of items they are no longer using. It's actually pretty great because even though we are buying a lot of new things, we have "backup" replacements all over the place for when we forget something somewhere, break it, or whatever the case may be. The best part being that we know the parents and kids that used the stuff, so there's no fear of cooties.

So Saturday night, pregnant Mrs. W and Mr. W went off to the neighborhood Baby Depot in search of, at the least, a dresser for our baby. We had a couple of crib "options" from friends and family, but we learned pretty quickly that with a 14-16 week wait on anything ordered and a difficulty level of 10 in actually matching furniture pieces while we were in the store, we were best off just buying our little guy his very own set from whatever we could find that was in stock.

That was challenging enough. We identified 2 matching pieces that were listed as in stock, and went to the front to pay, while Adam, our friendly neighborhood furniture finder went to the back to bring them up. Nearly 10 minutes later he came back to say they couldn't find the dresser, only the crib, and that he could call another store to see if it was in while they continued to look. As Mr. W started to show the same sense of urgency toward this project that Mrs. W had several weeks ago, we agreed to let him call. Meanwhile, there was another couple trying to buy the same dresser and being told the same thing. As events unfolded, we found that there was one left in the back for us, and breathed a sigh of relief. After finally getting home and spending about 2-3 hours on assembly of this coveted item, we discovered in step 13(basically the end) that one of the pieces was broken. Now, this furniture came from Brazil, and while there was a customer service number on the packaging, we already knew that a 14 week turnaround would turn into 24 weeks if we called ourselves. We were pleased enough when we went back the next day and took the one, and I mean one drawer on the floor model that hadn't been broken by shoppers in trade for the broken parts. Just knowing that the 300 screws and parts wouldn't need to be removed and repackaged for a return made us want to cry with joy.

The crib went together with a little less drama, but the directions were a little bit skewed. You see, on the diagram, they had, from what I recall, 7 steps listed. Each step had about, oh, 10 or more additional steps within that step. For example, step one might have been, put the 30 wood pegs into the slots on 14 of the random crib pieces in the box. Step 2 might be, attach piece 1-20 to each other, with 4 "a" screws each, in all four corners. Only it was all on a tiny diagram, not written out, so we just had to hope we picked the right pre-drilled "courtesy hole".

I have attached a photo of what the dresser looked like when we were finished with it at 1am on Saturday.

There's nothing like the feeling of finishing a project like that only to know that despite all of your efforts, the thing just isn't finished.

When we had that final drawer in hand and Mr. W slid it into place on Sunday evening, it was like a thousand tons of weight lifted off our shoulders.

Mr. W says for Tanner's first birthday he is getting a toolbox and putting the rest of his stuff together from then on. I immediately envision my baby riding his first bike down the street as the pedals and wheels fall off.

I will have to remember that and buy him the knee pads and helmet.

Happy Birthday, Mom

So today is my mom's birthday. She isn't here anymore to call or visit, but I still think of her on her birthday, and this year, I have a whole new respect for that woman.

The diapering and feeding and work hasn't even started, but I am still trying to figure out how she actually went through with having four kids. Now, I think maybe it helped a little that she only had 3 pregnancies. She won the twin lotto out of the starting gates with my brothers. She was also young when she started out, so I guess she had more energy. Well, I know she did. At that age, I had a hell of a lot more energy than I do now. That being said, within a year, she had 3 infants to juggle and I have no idea how she did it. Somehow, my brothers and sister grew up fairly normal and without any real sense of being wronged that I am aware of. From what I hear they had a pretty happy early childhood. I think part of that came from having each other for entertainment and also as scapegoats, which I hear stories of pretty frequently.

My sister, being the youngest and of course the only girl at the time, feels like she got blamed for everything. I have to think that part of that also had to do with the manipulating skills of my brothers. I know I can be pretty naive when it comes to random things, and she has that same sense of trust. I can envision it now. One of the boys told her to do XYZ, and little diaper butted baby sister did it.

I have been told that my mother's journey into motherhood was pretty interesting. Some of the most often told stories of those early family years include my brothers disappearing into the fields as tiny kids looking for parachuters(I am guessing these were soldiers, as my dad was in the military at that time and they were on or near the base), my sister drinking gasoline, the neighborhood kids spending a coin collection at the drugstore, and setting a field on fire. The last two tend to be blamed entirely on the most convenient scapegoat, someone else's kid.

By the time I arrived, 15 years or so later, I was little challenge for anyone's wit, just energy. With siblings in their teens, Mom and Dad had mellowed out quite a bit, already had a little "built in" assistance from Tom, Tim and Beth, and were starting to realize that raising a little kid might actually be easier than raising a teenager, in some aspects.

Mom always talked about how pregnancy was fine and having kids was wonderful and how we were all such a blessing to her and a great joy in her life. It was only right before she passed away, when she learned that I was engaged, that some truth started to slip. You see, Mom was really excited for me to have a child, and was looking forward to seeing things come full circle in her family. She had one grandson that was nearly raised, but her baby was potentially going to have a baby soon. One of the last times I was with her on a visit before she died, I remember her letting it slip that childbirth might just be a little bit harder than she had let on all these years.

Now, I don't remember exactly what her words were, but let's just say she eluded that giving birth was not comfortable or painless(as she had let on for 30 years), despite it being rewarding.

We didn't get into that much, since the big news of the visit was that a wedding was being planned. It was the holidays and there were lots of other things to talk about. I wish I would have questioned a little bit more, now. Within a month of that visit, she was gone.

That was over two years ago, and I haven't missed her as badly since we first lost her than I have in these last few months. Being a hormonal wreck and just wanting to hear her say that I can do this and will be a good mother would soothe me in a way I cannot even describe. I would give up anything I have in this world for her to just be there long enough to see and hold my son.

Since I know I can't have that, it makes it easier to know how excited she would be that he is on the way, soon.

I also can't give her a card or a hug, so this is probably the best gift I can offer her this year. I am just thankful that she gave me the understanding of how important a mother and her love is to a child and taught me how to be a good mom, even though I have to try this out on my own, without my "coach" there.

At least as my child grows, I will know to hide my valuables, the gasoline can, any matches, lighter or flammable substance, and to keep an eye out for paratroopers.

Happy Birthday, Mom...6 weeks to go.

I peed

This morning, in a cup...again. I get to visit the doctor again this morning, and as the routine goes, I had to "go" in a cup. I only wish I'd had that cup with me yesterday when I let loose on the car. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. Suffice to say it wasn't planned. In fact, I didn't even know I had to "go". Mr. W is now threatening to wear a rain slicker to bed. It is a long, drawn out story, but the ultimate punchline results in uncontrollable coughing and a wet spot on the car seat. I am not sure when I was last humbled to this extent. I had an appointment that I needed to get to, and nothing to change into, so let's just say it was a very quick appointment where I may have rushed through a few things to get out the door and back on the road for my hour drive home to change clothes. Thankfully, I had on black capri pants in a ventilated area, so I think I may have avoided any scrutinizing.
It really says something for those countries where having a family is looked at as a necessary part of life, and not a choice of burden, and women take 6 months of maternity leave, starting at an early time in pregnancy. It would be great to not have appointments all over the state right now. I guess I should keep a change of clothes in the car. Of course, this is not a normal occurrence, in fact, it's never happened to me in all my life, so I didn't know to plan for it.

The great benefit to driving out to these outlying areas is the amount of time spent on country roads in the middle of nothing. I had the chance to stop at a tiny little farmer stand the other day and finally got to buy the August tomato that I had been craving since February. Now, it might look as if it is the tomato's fault that it is hacked up, but this is the kind of slicing job you get from a desperate pregnant woman who has been craving a tomato that was just out of reach for 6 or 7 months. It was just as ripe and delicious as it looks, and although my intentions were to buy bacon and have BLTs with these tomatoes, half of them were devoured yesterday on wheat bread with smoked swiss and mayo. I made a couple for Mr. W and he didn't complain. I have a feeling he snuck meat onto them in the kitchen, when I wasn't looking, which is just fine. I didn't want any dead animal tainting my delicious tomato, so I let him know that choice was his. I still have two left and have a feeling that BLTs will be in order tonight. Oh, I forgot to mention that before I made the sandwiches, I ate an entire tomato plain, sliced with some salt sprinkled on it. I don't know if the baby liked it, but at least it didn't give me bad heartburn.

Over it

Pregnancy, that is.
I think there must be a point that every woman reaches where the end is in sight, but just out of reach, and she is feeling like crap, that she just wants it all to be done with.
For me, that time is now.
Just get on with it. I am ready to hug on my baby and clean up after him and be tired all the time. I will trade the nausea and hot flashes and cankles and heartburn. I am already exhausted, but being exhausted while having my body and mental state back would be ok.
Bring on the diapers and bottles and laundry and all that stuff. Give me my snugly little man.
I am truly not cut out to make babies.
"I love being pregnant" people are idiots with bad memory. They only remember the attention or whatever else they selectively want to remember. They certainly are not remembering my current state.
I feel like an emotional, forgetful manatee that just ate a gallon of jalapenos and grew fat little legs. Wait, maybe not. I don't think manatees can sweat. Anyway, if they could, I would feel like a beached one lying on 120 degree sand and sweating.
Awww, the baby is kicking me. He said "it sucks in here...let me out".
I won't go into the details of losing a pair of shorts that I had in my hand, wearing only one giant hoop earring to see a client who probably now thinks I am a pirate, or crying at random in the bagel shop and Golden Corral. Suffice to say I am done. If the baby shows up tomorrow, so long as he is healthy, that would be just fine.
Right now he is working my kidneys and lower back, so I probably need to go lay on my side and hug a pillow for awhile, as I count to myself how long I have left until I meet the little buddy that is in there pounding around and then accuse Mr. W of turning the AC off when he didn't.

Progress

Just like the saying about losing weight after pregnancy...you know...9 months to put it on, another 9 months to take it off, I am feeling a parallel to this with our home.
5 years to trash and clutter this place, 5 years to clear it out and clean it.
I spent this morning on the floor of the bathroom cleaning out all the stuff in the cabinets and drawers and medicine chest, etc. In that same amount of time, Mr. W managed to clean out two desk drawers and pile everything on top of a tv/entertainment center in our office.
Now he likes to say I piddle and call me slow, but damn. Seriously. At the rate of one drawer in an hour, I am a little in awe over just what it was he was doing while I was rummaging around on the bathroom floor.
Needless to say, the bathroom is looking much better. The desk is ready for the trash and our stuff is ready to move into or is already in the new desk. There is only just a short amount of time left before we will be making the old office into the nursery. We have the paint and Mr. W is picking up the crib while I type this. Uncle Eric is supposed to help with the wiring(which had me so frustrated yesterday I nearly cried) next weekend, and before you know it, we'll have a room ready to go for this little guy. It's a good thing, too, because Mommy is losing her sanity and is really wanting that out of the way so she can start throwing more things away and scrubbing around here. Nesting. It has finally set in. I only wish it would have started 6 weeks ago when I had more energy and motivation.

The baby gets what the baby wants

So this whole craving thing. Let me put it into my own perspective. I think that there are some cravings that are strictly just an answer to "your body needs...xyz", so if your sugar is low, you may crave something sweet or starchy or if your iron is low, you may want dark greens or some meat(or dog food).

I hear about the people who want to eat soap, dirt, detergent, chalk, paste, and what not. This is a condition known as pica, and thankfully, not something I have experienced that I can tell. Nothing too terribly odd on my list.

There is another kind of craving in pregnancy which I think is pretty common. This is one that I have had on a few occasions, thus calling for fish sandwiches with ketchup, ketchup in general(which I never normally eat at all), blue icees and similar foods. These are when nothing else is what you want. These, for me anyway, tend to be because everything else around me is making me sick. The thought of any other food doesn't appeal to me. Frankly, a year ago if someone had told me I would be eating ketchup straight from a packet by choice I would have said they were out of their mind. Now, even though it sounds nasty, it sounds totally feasible.

The only other type of craving I have had is one that requires you to eat the same thing over and over either because it tasted so incredibly wonderful the last time you had it, or it gave your baby much joy. What I mean by that is there are certain things that the baby really gets moving for. My first of such discoveries was a chocolate, peanut butter and banana sundae I happened to order at dinner one night. He was banging around for an hour or so after I finished. I hadn't really found something specific other than sweets that he liked until yesterday. Mr. W was out at a ball tournament and I got to choose my own dinner(always wonderful for me, since I am not the carnivore that he is)

I hadn't done my "veggie" shopping(yes, I shop for groceries in specific places based on what I am buying and the selection or prices at various stores). I have plenty of meat and microwave foods, but no good vegetables to speak of in the house, so instead of shopping I did what any pregnant woman would do at 8pm and stopped to see the Colonel at KFC. We had green beans and corn and mashed potatoes for dinner and the belly dancing started. I could sense the excitement in my uterus, and so, here I am, eating the same thing again for lunch today. This weekend I will be heading to the store to stock up on some fresh vegetables and, if I am lucky, I might hunt down some good tomatoes at a farmer's market. Maybe I can find that ripe August tomato I have been craving since March, since it is now August. Maybe I can even have the BLT I have dreamed of for months. Whether the baby wants it or not, he's getting it if I find it. This is a relationship built on compromise at the moment.

On another note, I keep losing the remote in our bedroom. It falls off of the bed at night and keeps ending up right beside it. After looking last night I couldn't find it and made Mr. W look. He got out of bed, and with a few grunts and frustration handed it to me and said "it is right here next to you". I then had to explain to him, that based on the fact that I can no longer see my own feet, I also cannot see what is right underneath my feet. Hopefully the dog will stay out from under me for the next 9 weeks or he'll get a crushing blow one of these days. Thank goodness he is pretty quick to move. The cat, on the other hand, is another story.

It all happened when the sky opened up...

Yes, today should go down in history. I guess it kind of will, at least it will have a legacy.

You see, today is the day that we finally decided to agree on a name for our baby. *cue the singing choir and sky opening up*

After being asked over and over and over and over and over and over...I think you get the point...I finally told Mr. W today that I was sick and tired of our baby not having a name and having to tell everyone we hadn't decided on anything yet. "Can't we please pick a name for this baby?" I pleaded when he walked in from the gym. I had been throwing around a few in my head that I hadn't remembered him shooting down or the two of us ever discussing, and was prepared with a few suggestions. Little did I know that one of them came straight from one of his favorite movies, which he thought was incredibly cool. It goes against a rule I had, actually 2 that I was trying to avoid, but I have decided to overlook them, because I think it is a fitting name for our kid.

A friend of ours had said more than once, I think, that one day, it would just come to us. I think that was today. It isn't like this name never crossed my mind. I have always liked it, but thought Mr. W wouldn't, I guess, so we never really talked about it much at all.

At the end of the day, though, it is really a name that I think suits both of us, for whatever reason. Not really indulgent, not fancy, not too cute, not too long, not hard to spell, yet still a little unique in it's own little way.

So I guess I should go ahead and spill the goods.

The movie that I mentioned is The Bad News Bears. I always loved this movie, too, but I am terrible with remembering who was who in just about every movie unless I have seen it 100 or more times. When I found out which kid he was, the name just seemed all the more perfect.

Our son's name is Tanner. Tanner Chase.

75 days to go

I made it to week 29, only to have more reasons why I am ready for the next 10 weeks to move along. Last night I was lying in bed, contemplating whether it was less evil to endure the heartburn or to get up and find the Tums, thus exposing myself to the gloriously disabling lower back pain that now comes along with lying down.

Mr. W is on my last nerve complaining about his own ailments(his back, his hip, his ankle, his foot, his leg...Jesus). He has brought this all on himself with his softball and weightlifting, and to be honest, I can't hardly stand to hear him talk about it. I just want to shake him and tell him he has no idea. I think if I could live in a cave right now, I would. It's amazing how very bitter I am becoming.

All I can say is that I am looking forward to an end to this. The pain and, to top it all off, feeling like I have to pee on the floor with every step that I take are jumping up and down on my last nerve. I will leave out the details of the mattress sitting halfway between my kitchen and living room, the piles of laundry Mr. W keeps throwing on the sofa(since they fold and put themselves away), the box springs that are stacked against the closet door in the other room, the office that needs to be ripped apart, and the fact that my baby has no place to sleep or call his own yet, other than some space on the top of Mr. W's second dresser. Yes, his second dresser.

It isn't any emptier than the last time I wrote about it. He hasn't thrown out one stinking thing that I know of, and today, I jumped online to take a peek at our registry.

I quickly noticed that Mr. W, who had the job of scanning everything, which should have been his only contribution to the efforts, had decided to put sooooo many funny things on the registry.

Let's see. Similac, toddler sized Transformers pajamas, infant sized sandals for our baby who will be born in October, a "foam bullet" gun, a Nerf football...yes, I was highly annoyed and not even lightly amused by his antics.

I probably sound like a hateful pregnant woman right now. I probably am. I am losing my patience with everyone and I am starting to feel exceptionally crappy, which isn't helping the situation. Mr. W will likely be coming home to a hateful woman today, and he has no idea.

Mommy is losing her sense of humor.

Another thing no one mentioned about pregnancy.