Inside Out Underwear and Adam

I did not purchase the watch. (Applause accepted). I need a bit more time to strategize about my holiday gift-giving and even if I do decide to buy for all siblings, then I shouldn’t spend as much as the watch was going to cost. So – for now – settled. Baby agrees – I asked, he/she kicked.

I just realized as I sat down to write this (because sitting down – well, really any switching of positions – takes a lot of physical adjustment these days) that my underwear are on inside out. I felt the tag and when I went to fix it, I discovered my error. I could have cried. I have on skinny jeans and boots. You women who have been pregnant can probably appreciate the effort that took me this morning and the thought of taking it all off so that I can right-side-out my underwear was enough to bring me to tears. So another command decision – I am not fixing it. Today, my underwear will be inside out and anyone who doesn’t like that can kiss my inside-out butt. (Now I have to pray all day that I don’t get into a car accident or go into early labor or have any other reason for medical personnel to have to cut my pants off. I’d die of embarrassment alone.)

So with some very trivial points out of the way, I am sitting here writing but, honestly, am a bit distracted today. I am waiting for my nephew, Adam, to arrive any minute. He’s five years old and has the BEST personality in the world. He was born with a cleft lip and palate. Talk about earth shattering news – my sister and brother-in-law were told at her 20-week sonogram that the baby had this cleft and it felt as if our world stopped spinning. I quickly became an expert on babies with clefts – I read everything there was to read about it online. When I ran out of online material, I bought books and read those. I joined online chat and support groups. This was very new to our family and we wanted to be prepared. When this little guy arrived I was in the delivery room. Michele asked me to go in with her and Jay and although I am the biggest baby you will ever (ever) meet, I could not say no because I knew she wanted me there to reassure her that he was adorable and would be loved by all. I was scared out of my damn mind. Then, he came out. I could have died – my little “Squishy” I started calling him. He was (and I am not just being biased) THE cutest newborn baby you ever did see. He was perfect and then he had this small little opening between his nostril and his mouth on one side of his nose. I remember staring at that hole – the cleft – and thinking, “this is what all the fuss has been about?!” He was running his tongue in and out of the cleft and I thought, immediately, that it was the cutest thing I have ever seen and that he, of course, was a genius. Not in the least bit subjective.

Fast forward five years and the little guy has undergone numerous surgeries, cosmetic and medical, to correct the cleft. If you saw him on a playground today, or even years ago, you’d never know. His doctors at NYU were the best (because of course that was part of the insane amount of research and preparing done by Michele and Jay) and this guy is such a fighter. A happy, loud, carefree, honest little boy. Today he is back at his dentist – Dr. Campizi, the best pediatric dentist in the area – getting a palate expander put in. It will connect to an outer piece of headwear that Adam will need to wear every minute of every day (except for when he’s at school) for the next 6-8 months. I don’t know how he’s going to take it. He’s old enough to not cooperate and to voice his dislike and discomfort but he’s also too young to really rationalize with if he doesn’t do well with it. My heart aches for him. I swear I would wear the damn thing twice as long if I could do it for him. He’s been through so much and he’s so positive and so happy…this is just another obstacle for him to overcome. He called me about an hour ago from the waiting room. “Hi Aunt Bissy – I’m here waiting!” I told him to be brave and he told me he is getting the “magic air” again (sweet air) and he actually sounded excited. I hope he does well. So, as I write this, I am staring out my front window waiting for them to get here so I can see him and hug him. I hope it goes well for so many reasons. Michele is due with her fourth baby in 16 days and if Adam gets upset, she might just break down and lose it (which happens much less frequently with her as it does with me). Fingers crossed my little Squishy takes this well.

If I love my nephews this much, how much am I going to love my own baby? Hard to fathom.

82 days to go!!!

Gas. Pains. (Enough said)

Gas pains. Was gas pains on my original list of Reasons to NOT Love Pregnancy? If not, add it. Holy good Lord, last night I was fine one minute: sitting down to eat dinner with my parents, Michele, Jay, and the boys and the next minute – shoot me. I had such pains. I had to get up from the table and walk around rubbing my back and as much of my belly as I could without feeling like I was suffocating poor Baby. I gave in and took two Gas-x about 20 minutes later and ahhhhh (angels singing), they helped within fifteen minutes. I wasn’t even able to enjoy the chocolate on chocolate cupcakes I had baked for dessert after dreaming of them all day. Sigh. They’ll just have to be breakfast today :) That was probably the third or fourth time that has happened in my pregnancy. Cross everything that it was the last. I blamed it on the sugary drink I had to have for the glucose test. My mother blamed it on Jay who got into a heated discussion with me before dinner about politics. He did get me extremely agitated but that’s only because he knows how to push my buttons so well. He was saying ignorant things like, “What has he done for us in the past four years?!” Ugh. I screwed up the brownies I was making at the time because he had me so worked up (yes, I apparently had a sweet tooth yesterday). He’s just jealous because I have a crush on Obama.

Today is a new day. I actually had some pre-pregnancy sleep last night (ahhhhhh – more angels singing). I try to soak that up and store it somehow because I know, in less than three months, I will never sleep this way again. Ever. So I woke up as refreshed as one can be when you are growing something inside of you for close to 200 days. But now I am back to stressing already. Here’s my dilemma: Christmas. More specifically, Christmas shopping. I am a spender. I have been since the moment I started making my own money. There is nothing I love more than to buy gifts for others – it truly makes me happy. So Christmas, for me, is usually an extremely fun time of year. Typically, I am done Christmas shopping by Thanksgiving and already have everything delivered to my apartment (now, house) by then. I almost never go to an actual store, but do all of my shopping online. This year, I have not purchased one thing as of today. Actually, I  am lying. I ordered a package of books from Groupon for Jared (youngest of my nephews, at least for another week or so until Michele pops). But besides that – nothing. Nada.

My siblings and I began a new tradition a few years back wherein we choose a night and we go out to celebrate Christmas together – no parents, no friends, just us (significant others are included). This was supposed to be in place of gifts. Not all of my siblings can afford to shop for four other siblings (and significant others) so we thought this would be a fun way to recognize the holiday together. Every year, however, I break the rules and buy for everyone anyway. But that’s mostly because I have been in a position where I was able to do that: I have been single, have had a good job, and have no responsibilities besides myself in life. My other siblings don’t make as much money or they have grown-up things like mortgages and babies to worry about. So you can maybe see where my dilemma comes in this year….I am now (gulp) a grown up! With grown-up responsibilities! I have a mortgage. I need a roof on my house. I am pregnant. I am going to be a single mom. So maybe it’s not responsible for me to go out and spend the hundreds upon hundreds (maybe thousands) of dollars that I typically spend on Christmas. But that makes me sad. :(

Today on Groupon, there is an awesome (almost un-ignorable) deal on a man’s watch that I love. My brother Matthew is obsessed with watches – he has many (many from me). I looked at all their selections, researched the watch, added it to my cart and then right before I clicked “BUY”…the crisis of conscious. If I buy this gift for him, then I need to buy for everyone else. Should I do that this year? Part of me says no – to stick with our “sibling tradition’ for once and save the money. The other part of me convinces myself that using Groupon is so responsible! It saves money – it has great deals! I don’t know what to do. The watch is sitting in my cart, on an open tab in Google Chrome, as I type this. To buy or not to buy…. Help!

83 days to go!!!

Third Trimester AND Obama Victory!

Oh happy day!! Are you ready for all of this fantastic news?? (1) Today begins my third trimester. Finally!!! (2) I only gained (drum roll please….) 1.8 pounds since my last appointment. I patted myself on the back. (And I had on a lot of jewelry that probably tipped the scales) ;) (3) The baby’s heart rate was “high 160s” and I choose to believe the old wives’ tale that a high heart rate signifies…my GIRL! (4) I completed my glucose screening without throwing up or passing out – both victories for me. I am a baby. (Fine. For full disclosure purposes, I will also tell you my mom was there to hold my hand during the blood draw. Literally. But still – I made it.) (5) And speaking of victories… the President I have a crush on is still President. Besides the God-awful Nor’easter happening outside, this is close to the perfect day! (And before you roll your eyes at me, there are many more intellectual and critical reasons I support our President than my having a crush on him, but that trumps all of them right now. Especially since I am sleep-deprived after waiting up to hear him speak last night.)

Yesterday was my mother’s birthday and so we had dinner altogether at Michele (the twin I am jealous of because she’s likely giving birth within a week or so) and Jay’s house. I stopped and picked up the family’s favorite “chocolate sprinkle cake” from Tilda’s in Rocky Point. Baby and I could have eaten the whole cake ourselves but I had to share. I wasn’t feeling well last night (ugh – pregnancy-related stomach issues. Again.) so I made an early escape, went home, put on sweats and my heating pad (my lower back has been killing me) and switched from election results to my DVR’d shows. Baby was extremely active last night and it was actually quite nice. I could enjoy it on the couch. I explained the voting process to my belly (yes, I am a dork) and relished in the few hours I was actually enjoying my pregnancy. It does happen occasionally.

And speaking of enjoyment…I purchased for myself a pregnancy massage this morning from Amazon Local. It was a deal I couldn’t turn down – a one-hour pregnancy massage for $29 at Exhale Medical Massage at Stonybrook! I have never been but my back pain convinced me to try it out. I will be sure to let you all know when I make my appointment – don’t be too jealous. It’s my congratulatory gift to myself for making it to the third trimester – I think I deserve it!

84 days to go!!!

First Permanent Thing (Gulp!)

I don’t know if I’m ready… today I find out how much weight I have gained since my last OB appointment (cringe). I have been thin all my life (well, except with the “freshman 15” I put on my first two semesters at BU – those Raman noodles were cheap and easy to make, in my defense). My weight has probably fluctuated about three pounds since I am 19 years old. That is, until my last OB appointment. My starting weight at the doctor had been 108. I first gained just under 3 pounds and it was suggested I put on more before the next visit. I then added around five pounds. The total of eight didn’t bother me – it actually made me feel proud, as if I was doing what I was supposed to. But then….the last appointment happened.

I stepped on the scale* (a different one than they had used for every previous appointment, in case that comes into play) and the nurse kept sliding that metal bar over further and further to the right. One hundred and twenty-six pounds. I stared at it. She walked away to write it on my chart. I mumbled, “Um, excuse me – how much did I gain since my last appointment four weeks ago?” “Ten pounds.” Gulp. “That’s a lot. Right? That’s a lot?” “Yes. That’s a lot.” Then she walked out of the room. I was still standing on the scale. The doctor alleged that this was fine, totally normal. But he then explained that I could cut back on salt and fruit juices, etc… So clearly he agreed this was a lot. (Right??) That was 19 days ago and I go back tonight. I am scared. I have been eating a lot of ice cream. And hot chocolate. With sea salt.

It’s not that I don’t intellectually and rationally understand that I need to gain weight in order to have a baby. I guess it’s more the fear of what will happen afterwards. If I was assured that it would all come off and I would go back to looking and feeling the way I did pre-pregnancy, then I truly wouldn’t care if I were a beached whale until I delivered. But I don’t know and I cannot be assured that it won’t stick! Plus, walking by a full-length mirror naked right now jars me every single time. I have a little booty! I have never had a booty. My mother said it’s to balance out my belly and boobs – I laughed but I suppose she is correct.

My brother-in-law said something to me last night that I blew off because my brain was too tired to properly analyze it, but it’s stuck with me. He said he was thinking about me and the baby and he realized that this is the first permanent thing I will ever really do in my life. Besides purchasing my house seven months ago, he’s correct. I have always been able to (and have taken advantage of the fact that I am able to) change my mind – in careers, relationships, homes, etc… I have never allowed myself to become pinned down anywhere or with anyone. Even the puppy I got when I lived and worked in Manhattan wasn’t permanent. I intended it to be, of course, but worked such long hours at the law firm that she was alone all the time and I felt guilty so my aunt took her. I didn't even stick with the puppy.

Once this baby comes, there is no turning back. There is no more picking up and moving. There is no trading the baby in for a new baby. And my aunt certainly won’t take the baby from me, as she took my puppy, if it becomes too much (I asked her, just in case) ;) I got slightly scared thinking of this, but then I felt my resolve. I literally felt it – my back gets straighter and I find myself thinking, “Yes. This baby IS the first and most permanent thing in my life. And it’s perfect. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Baby and I are going to be just fine.” (Right?) Baby and I are now off to vote for our President…

85 days to go!!!

Birthing Class

This morning in the shower I started to wonder how my mornings will change in just a few short months. Likely no more lingering in bed to check Facebook and BabyBump and cnn.com on my iPhone before making the bed, ironing clothes, checking email and then taking a long, hot shower. I probably won’t be able to make a nice tea or hot chocolate before I get settled down at my laptop for the next seven to ten hours. I doubt my lotioning/make-up/jewelry/hair routine will hold up. All of which is fine with me but the unknown does frighten me a bit.

I will have to continue working after the baby is here, of course, and yes, I am incredibly lucky that it will be from home and that I can mostly do it on my own time. However, my bank account is used to me finding anywhere from 50 – 60 hours a week to work and I am afraid they are going to disappear! I haven’t yet had an explicit “what’s going to happen with work” conversation with my boss – I suppose that should be done rather soon. I need to prepare a good, lawyerly argument for whatever it is I will be asking for. (Problem is, those don’t work so well when you are dealing with other lawyers…)

On another note, F and I went to a birthing class this Saturday! To let you know what a chicken I am, I really wanted to back out on Friday night. Like, really. I was so anxious about it. Reason? I am not the typical person. And I’m slightly crazy. I admit this. The typical person likes to know everything about what they are getting into, especially medically. I, on the other hand, would rather be kept in the dark. I usually tell the doctor, “please don’t explain – just do what you need to do and get out.” Mind you, I have been in the labor and delivery room with my sister twice. I have watched her push out two children. I have three younger siblings and innumerable younger cousins. I have grown up holding, changing, feeding babies. I intellectually knew that there was probably nothing that was going to be taught at the class that I didn’t already know or haven’t already seen with my own eyes. But I was still stressed about going. I did not want to hear something that I wouldn’t ever be able to UN-hear. (I also have this thing with feeling ‘trapped’ somewhere. But that’s a whole separate entry one day. And yes, I realize for those of you analyzing me, that this may be related to my relationship issues with F. Yes. I know. Back off. ) The only reason I didn’t back out was because of F – I knew he wanted to go because, as far as child-exposure, he is the complete opposite of me: has never held a newborn or changed a diaper, etc…

It actually was a good class. The instructor was terrific – lots of humor, moved things right along – right up my alley (Carolyn Bittner, a L&D nurse at St. Charles Hospital). The breathing techniques were probably the only really new thing for me and I think they will be beneficial. At least for the first two contractions. I can say I tried. But I think everything was very eye-opening for F. When we were practicing breathing, the men were to be timing us and coaching us, we were to be breathing. So we begin and I feel him breathing on the top of my hair (he towers over me). I whisper, “I am supposed to be breathing. Not you.” He says, “I’m helping you.” I thought, "Oh dear God, no you are not helping me. You are breathing on my hair.” And I wasn’t even in pain. God help him. When we were practicing the ever-famous “hee-hee-hee-who” breaths, F was breathing in with every “hee” instead of out. I cannot tell you how this drove me nuts. I was afraid he was going to hyperventilate right there. I mean, who doesn’t know that a “hee” is a breath out?! For the rest of the class, I couldn’t get the picture of him doing that out of my mind and it was making my skin crawl. You know when something small like that drives you crazy? (Please say yes).

Other than that (and him raising his hand to ask about when he can bring me the champagne I have demanded – who asks that?!! I kicked him) it was a good experience.

Now the mean part: I felt so much better about myself when I left there! Honestly. There were 5 other women in the group. Four of them have let themselves go to hell (assuming they were semi-presentable before pregnancy). I mean pink-sweatpants-red-shirt, dirty flip-flops, no-brushes-used, put-on-sixty-pounds hell. I couldn’t believe it. They looked like they fell into the hamper that morning and whatever stuck, stuck. The one other girl looked normal, thankfully. But one of the gone-to-hell girls is due in twenty-somewhat days and she only found out she was pregnant 7 weeks ago! HOW in God’s name does that happen? She was 6 months along, allegedly, before she knew she was having a baby. You can’t make this stuff up. She was traveling in Hawaii, she said, as if that explained it. When I walked out of the class, I thought, “you’re not doing too bad, Elizabeth.” Then, yesterday, the 17 year old at my butcher hit on me as usual. I could have hugged him. I am almost 7 months pregnant, was wind-blown as all hell, and he still hit on me. I don’t care that he’s 17. That made my damn day.

86 days to go!!!

Will My Baby Put Out an Electrical Cord?

This hurricane has truly put things in perspective. Some things I see make me incredibly proud to be adding a child to this world – people putting out messages to come for warmth and lights; electrical cords with signs saying “use our power to recharge your phones.” These acts give me faith. Then I see some other things that make me hang my head – people fighting at gas stations over gasoline or their place in line; others attacking electric companies, police, and anyone else they can think of to blame for something that should be blameless. I want to raise the child who puts out the electrical cord and opens his/her doors to anyone in need. How do I ensure I do that?

Last night I had a dream that I was a terrible mother. The baby was a newborn and we kept having to walk places (with Barack Obama at some point, mind you). However, I kept forgetting to pack and bring a diaper bag. I had no food, no bottles, no diapers with me. I would cry and tell my mom I had to go back home because I forgot. I was so ashamed. This seemed to happen on repeat. This dream is the first sign of anxiety about becoming a mother. I have been so focused on the pregnancy and so scared of the delivery that becoming a “mom” hasn’t, for one day-lit second, stressed me. What if I can’t handle it? What if I blow the most important job I will ever have? What if I’m not as equipped and prepared as I have been thinking I am? I don’t want to be perfect. I don’t want my child to be perfect. But I certainly want to raise a child who would put out the electrical cord.

Thank goodness, there are still…

89 days to go!!!

Made it 'Til November

November!! I never thought I would reach this month…three more solid months to go. That sounds like a year to me…maybe this is why I woke up with my head spinning. First of all, I remember feeling ‘pretty’ in my dream last night – ahh, what an unfamiliar feeling! I think it was because I wasn’t pregnant. I was trying on outfits and they all looked so cute! Ugh – maybe one day…

F came over last night to use the shower and soak up some electricity. The house he rents (with three friends) has not yet been restored – neither has his parents’. I told him he was more than welcome to come and he took me up on it. It was good to see him, but as always, it got my head spinning. I think – well I pretty much know – the problem lies with me. I have such high expectations for people. For F. I want so much and when they don’t live up to that, I am disappointed. I’m disappointed that the first time he came over, before or after the storm of the century, was to shower. Not to make sure my house was secure or to bring in gallons of water or to check on me…things like that. Those actions would speak volumes to me. He says he wants a lot of things – he says he wants to get married, live together, have a family. But his actions have not changed. And yes, I know I stopped all of that. I know I said I wasn’t ready and didn’t want it – but if he still does, you would think he would show it. I want to feel that I would be taken care of and I do not feel that way. I feel I would have to shoulder a lot of the worrying, a lot of the responsibility. And I am willing to do that, but I want to feel like I don’t have to do that. Does that make sense? Example: my aunt ordered a glider for me for the baby’s nursery. It’s sitting in my living room in a huge box. He never mentioned it – never said, “oh the glider came?” or “do you want me to put that together?”. I just wish he had. So I go back into my defensive stance of I-will-take-care-of-it-myself (which, unfortunately, at this time, usually means I find someone else to do it for me). But I will have my dad put together the glider. I called my friend and asked him to send landscaping guys to clean my yard. I will do it. I don’t need him. It would just be nice if I could depend on him.

A lot of thoughts, I know. And to top it off, I woke up – again – wondering if I should ask the baby’s gender at my OB appointment on Tuesday. If it’s a girl, I wouldn’t feel the surprise was ruined. I would be thrilled. If it’s a boy – I don’t know if it’s better for me to know now and deal with it or just wait til it’s in the moment and I may be just fine with it. I truly don’t know. If I decided to ask, that means they would have to have the gender in my chart, which I am not sure they do. And then I would have to keep it to myself for the next 85 days. I’m still tossing this one around. [My mom told me not to find out. She thinks it will leave me time for disappointment whereas, if I wait until “the” moment, there will be no room for disappointment and I will love my child fully and with zero upset. I might have to trust her on this one. I hope she’s right! Thoughts???]

90 days to go!!!