In oh-so-fine-Twenty-Nine, abandoned pre-moms find their gelid bliss in the lull of pure self-focus, while hubba-hubbas take the baby-moons straight to space. Butterball sniffs amniotic wee-wee, while packing on poundage plucked from her mama. A game of baby-thrones is waged between the stuffed toy hordes in advance of the mighty Fonzasquash's descension into earthly existence. A Bostonian fireball fails the volcano-vixen in its incalescence. Labor plans and coaching rosters gel with some glitter and eyeliner. Torrents give respite before a grand fete of flames on the horizon. Goblin kings get their birth plans on. Internet outages fail the Vampire Slayer, but leave a cozy couple face-to-face with their goals.
Mommy's Night In Dress Rehearsal
Forget being a track widow. Sure that's what I effectively was yesterday night. The bike and chain decided that adventuring away for that baby-moon deserved several pre-baby repeats. As such, he spent the evening off in Redmond racing his bike. Since Daddy Dubya is housesitting in Seattle, he crashed there instead of making the trek home afterwards. A much better solution given that Redmond is really far away. Sure, I could fall into some kind of state in which I bemoan the rescheduling of our date night from Wednesday to the "day after husband stayed up all night killing himself having fun without me, thus ensuring that when he comes back for our belated date night, he will be totally incoherent and sleepy and not necessarily up for anything other than being a log at whatever restaurant we choose..." And with the proper hormonal surge, I really might have!
Instead, I preferred to celebrate that little extra time alone where I could get it. Won't be much longer that I'll be able to squeeze those in. And with me, I benefit oh so much from being purely alone.
I know I've mentioned this before, but when there are others around - even just in the same area - my focus is at least partially poured into that presence. Their well-being. Their experiences. Their little noises and activities. All that impacts mine, in the moment, and distracts from purely self-indulgent focus. In the way that most altruism has a selfish streak, I want them to be at ease, well-cared for, and comfortable. And I want that because their well-being directly impacts mine. And I enjoy the caring and focusing and learning about others. But sometimes... not compromising on the eensy atmospheric details of cohabitated space and experience, not attending to anybody else, and simply being is kind of awesome.
Which is to say, I slept so well last night! Oh my god! I had this perfect coming down bedtime ritual, opened up all the windows and fans to get the air circulating, propped my pillow fortress perfectly in the center of the bed, and drifted away without a single distraction other than the lulling karate kicks of my little tummy creature.
This morning... oh this morning. I stirred at my usual time, took my thyroid pill, and then went back to bed for a half hour. I slowly stirred from bed, lolled in every possible venue. Finished a crossword. Read a little. And still finished breakfast and was out the door before I usually am. It is amazing how much extra time an extra person can add.
And again, I love taking care of my husband. I love packing his lunches and making his breakfast. Stirring him slowly. Our little time at the table together. But since he's very slow in the mornings, I tend to have to speed up to come to a happy middle-ground for both of us to stay on schedule. I find it funny, but not unexpected, that the results of these nights apart seems to be inevitably that I end up better rested and more on schedule and the hubba-hubby ends up less well rested and a little more behind. One of those funny dynamics, but true.
And our social networks, the interdependence, the interactions, the shared experiences are the great enrichments of the life of mankind (a primarily social animal). But a nice little niche of contrast of pure self-containment and focus... well, that's awfully pleasant as well.
Of course by now I'm at the office and well on my way to breaking the spell and enjoying the slight drag of actual interaction (which in cost-benefit analysis is a net positive still, at least with those of my choosing).
Buttery Nut-Ball Fonzarelli's Iron Works
29 weeks! Ok, nobody is gonna dispute this third trimester nonsense now. Not pregnancy sites. Not anybody who sees my perkily distended abdomen and penguin waddle. Definitely not my OB (who really never had disputed my various week-counts)
I'm third trimester, gosh darnit and the little Fonzarelli is getting seriously baby-like.
A few produce analogy holdouts still deem her:
(1) Butternut squash. According to elderly people who knew me as an infant, I was an absolute "butterball" (I was a hefty fatty of a creature for sure). So why not a Butternut? It works. Someday perhaps becoming - like her mother - a nutball?
(2) Cucumber. Still? But only from crown to rump. A cucumber with legs. Very appetizing.
What all this really means is that she is now about 16-17 inches long and putting on fat, probably about 1/2 a pound a week from here out (which is slightly disturbing on weeks where I find I haven't actually gained any weight... sucking my fat stores, little one?). And this isn't that boring old brown fat she was adding before. This is the nice puffy white fat that stores energy. Yes, energy stolen from me.
She is slurping me dry this week. First the fat. Then the development of a spleen and marrow to ensure a functioning cardiovascular system. And that means what little iron I had left is getting slurped right into the blood of my blood.
Don't worry, she's giving back: she now urinates about half a liter a day. Into her amniotic fluid. Then she eats and breathes the same fluid to begin the cycle anew. No wonder kids are always peeing in the same pools in which their marinating.
But all in the name of making my disgusting little piss-huffer so much cuter... that wrinkly transparency is filling out into a newborn kinda plump. Or will be over these next months.
I may be getting more bumpy and less adorable as my cutie cute-ens up. Itchy red rashes. Three times the blood volume means bulging veins and even more frequent flushed everything. If only this baby were a winter baby, we'd save so much on energy costs. The house would be at 50 degrees and I'd be comfortably in work clothes (while poor Andrew invested in a parka and got some of my electric slippers on I suppose). Ah well. Thank god for air conditioning. Things would not be pretty if not for that modern marvel. They still aren't always super comely, but it's all relative.
I may also start leaking! I've been advised to buy "breast pads" just in case the colostrum practice bouts get out of hand. We won't discuss any other leaks, but needless to say with all the swelling, I could spring a leak anywhere with the slightest pinprick.
I also am disappointed to hear that my body is a liar. Apparently my "birthing hips" are actually no indication of whether I'll have an easy or hard birth. Dammit mother nature, I was really relying on this. But, well, I think I'll just snort whatever rainbows and unicorns nonsense my mother had when she was giving birth. She seems to remember it being a magical experience.
The usual symptoms persist. Nothing too new on the horizon except more more more. The shortness of breath is definitely rearing its head these days, probably partially exacerbated by the higher heat and humidity kicking in around now. But at least last night, I'll just claim it's that my husband takes my breath away! It was a date night after all. Despite all doomsaying, he was in a very good mood and we had a lovely evening together in a nicely air conditioned restaurant (followed by a nicely air conditioned upstairs enclave).
And work... work obviously leaves me breathless. The sheer magnificence of all that we do for people. Food, mostly the best thing we do for them is give them food. At least, if you're hosting a Collaborative Divorce "Joint Session" and Adella works at the office legal help = FOOD. I laid out brownie brittle, trail mix, several drink options, crackers, pita chips, and raspberry pound cake. Needless to say the meeting went well but nobody ate much of anything. Leftovers... darn.
Oh and speaking of work, I'm legally eligible for maternity leave! Or would be, if i worked at a bigger company. Hmmmm, hey mombossa, how about paid maternity leave from now until ... well at least until after that summer trial we've got going on?
Brilliant idea.
Sit-Saturday and the Raging Butternutball
Our Fonzasquash will have no dearth of comfortable seating. She currently has three carseats (one is in Mombossa's possession because she got excited at the prospect of "just in case" sometimes driving us around in her car), a pack and play with a built in bassinet, two swings, a boppy chair, and now an Inglesina physics defying travel chair. Well, at least she could have these things if she's willing to bargain with all the toys who got to these items first. But they're nice toys. I think they'll share.
I'm excited for today. Today we are going to a nice (knock on wood) air conditioned movie theater where there will be a loud flashy movie. The Avengers, I do believe. I know Joss Whedon's creativity was hobbled substantially by the need for five billion interweaving plotlines and producer over mucking, but I'm still thinking I'll enjoy. Again, air conditioning.
Yesterday we went to Boston's Pizza, which is typically air conditioned beyond belief. It had gotten up to 80 degrees, which is hot in Adella-land on a non-pregnant day. I suspect that I revved up the hot flashes in advance with a walk across the parking lot, and a jaunt through an actual (gulp) maternity store. Needless to say, the climate control was comfortable... comfortable enough for my mom to wear her t-shirt. Which is code for "Adella may not actually light into flames if she continues to douse herself in water and melt ice cubes on her head." The food was good. I was pretty well bathed for the week by the end. Really, this is ridiculous. I admit it. I can't help it. And it will just get worse. The end. Where is my refrigerator room already???
But yes, you did hear me correctly, I went into an actual maternity shop. And believe it or not, I even got up the gumption to buy something. On clearance. Without trying it on. It doesn't really fit that well. But it's a nice color so there's that. I think I'm going to revert back to my morning-after-chic oversized men's dress shirts. They're awfully accommodating and much less difficulty to handle.
As I've announced elsewhere, I'm currently in the process of getting ready for the big labor-a-go-go. At this point, it could happen with little warning. Hopefully not for months, but this is no longer outside of the range of possible, and the baby would almost certainly survive without long term chronic ill effect (other than haunting medical bills for all the care she'd need to get there and some brain issues that would make her fit right in with the rest of our crazy family).
Of course that means checking in with Andrew about this labor coach gig ("Ok, are you sure you won't freak out? Are you really ok with being strong while I hurl objects and scream with head whirring like Linda Blair? Do you really want to commit to learning about all the stages of labor and what my needs are? Can you handle the blood and gross and oh the things that will be coming out and squishing around all the way around everywhere?? Are you sure that you will be able to do this and still sometimes find your wife attractive and appealing?"). He insists "yeah," but man I'm not sure what's in store and he even less so.
I figure if he just approaches it like when he tries to get a friend to ride a bike, we should be fine; awash in obsessive foreknowledge and research and full of assertive motivation and clear courses of action when things go awry.
I've also got my back up labor coach in case he gets stuck in Mukilteo for a while - "mombossa who will kill anyone who gets in the way of her daughter's wishes when she is in pain." This is good because Andrew is not always home these days between work and crazy cycling events. I have her on standby for quick retrieval if something goes awry.
And I'm poring through template birthing plans learning all about the various medications, positions, and procedures I'll have to have strong opinions about before getting into this. Yeesh. What a pain! Glad we have our childbirth preparation class coming up soon. And another visit to the OB in a week or two.
But I do have this much drafted: (1) the room had better friggin' be climate controlled; (2) I want my own food and drink; (3) I would like to limit the number of people in the room; (4) we will watch the majority of the Fast and the Furious series while waiting for labor to get super intense; (5) Andrew will dress up in his Jareth the Goblin King costume (tights, absolutely, those tights he had); (6) He will sing Dance Magic karaoke-style to me repeatedly when I start pushing.
I think it's a pretty sound plan so far...
Happy Saturday. Hope it's cool in all the right awesome ways for you. And just as beautiful as you can stomach!
Ducky Toesies and the Monday Moonwalk
We have a mobile. As in the kind of thing you hang from ceilings and not the kind of thing you hook up in an RV park. Apparently it is one that Andrew had when he was a wee baby, so kind of neat. A mama duckling, some normal ducklings, and the ugly duckling itself (him/her... can't recall, but swans seem like overwhelmingly masculine creatures when they aren't secretly princesses under thrall of a super-fabulous evil own-wizard).
Hopefully the little creature appreciates it as well. At least as soon as her eyes are canny enough to focus on things outside of her near-vision.
Things I think she does not appreciate as much: Loud movies! Ok, maybe I'm projecting here, but we went to see The Avengers this weekend. The sequel, that is. And there's - spoiler alert - a loud fighty type scene near the end. That lasts roughly an epoch or twenty, and which features several BOOMS and BANGS and bass so loud that the seats were shaking, and I may have had my first long spell of Braxton Hicks contractions.
I wore earplugs, luckily. I forgot to bring some for The Fonz. Given her entire home environment was quaking apocalyptically, I'm not sure the earplugs really would have helped, poor kid. Maybe I'm wrong and she was just really excited to be rooting the Avengers on to kick some generic and endless robot army shiny-metal-buttocks. But I think she was more freaking the frig out. There may be small baby-fisted holes in my abdomen. I didn't realize our baby could move like that, but I'm definitely thinking karate and brick-breaking is in her future.
I actually found myself (yes, the mommening is overwhelming), rubbing my stomach gently and cooing "shhhh, shhh, it's ok sweetie, it's ok, it's all ok." I'm not crazy, I'm just pregnant! Because there's a distinction between the two, right? Anyways, whether she enjoyed or not, the craziness through my stomach from all those vibrations has encouraged me to lay off movie theaters until I'm good and ready to give birth (to a deaf and spazzed out baby). Maybe art films at the Pickford. They are gentler with the volume and the internal-organ-addling.
Things I think she likes a lot even if it's also based on an ambiguous read of increased movement and my projection of personality: Lindy hopping to blues music. Ok, I don't know if it's just that the four o'clock hour is one of her more active times. I think it might be. Along with "mommy's bedtime" and about 9 a.m. Those are party-times. Naptime typically equals "whenever daddy puts his hand on mommy's tummy," but even she can't keep still long enough not to give him a good hello these days. I'm also convinced that some mornings she hears me say "good morning, baby" and punches in response.
I'm enjoying the mad delusions and crazy kicking now, because I have a sense that it will be a lot less charming when the Fonz is kicking and punching me from outside... just an inkling. And at least right now, she's completely unable to yank my hair or earrings. Savor the sweet little belly bumping moments...
It was a truly lovely weekend, one with shockingly little in the way of external commitments. A rarity. We actually had both weekend mornings to linger over. We got to do our run/walk on the trails behind the house. We even had down time in the afternoon for me to blast every fan in the house and for Andrew to hunker under several layers of warm clothing while we looked at a catalog together.
Next week will be much less uneventful. That's the weekend of THE PARTY. Which went from "what the heck, let's do something, but not like a real shower or anything... how about a BBQ in the park?" to "wow, extended family is flying out and it involves catering and holy hullabaloo apparently this is a deal to people, maybe I should dress less like a hobo or something! With a side of "oh crap, it's supposed to get up to nearly 80 that day; I'm going to burst into flame unless I get that ice vest.
Weekend after that is our intensive Childbirth Prep Intensive Weekend class. Finally! Answers to my questions from the real birth plan template. Maybe. Or at least an overwhelming load of information. Then some big race in Canada for Andrew. And then the big wedding in San Francisco. And then and then... well the Tour de France starts, so I'm aiming to be up and watching every morning asap, but there may be some other things in the way of that. Like, I'll be pretty far along so a preterm birth isn't out of the mix (stay in baby, stay in...), especially if I give in to any hankerings to see another summer blockbuster.
So, yes, thank goodness for this lazy and relaxed weekend. And thank the weather gods for sending a little gray and cooler breezes our way. It was really generous of you and I'm sorry to everyone who isn't me who probably was a little bummed by the weekend weather. You'll get your stupid sunny and hot next weekend (bah!) while I submerge myself in an ice tank for our big party.
Juneuary Jig The respite rollicks in preggers land with Pacific Northwest Weather's brief return
I once again apologize to all those non-parturient-un-bog-creatures who were enjoying that nasty hot and humid spell. Sometimes the weather gods must look favorably upon us pale and sulky creatures, and our magma-ears. And the last two days have been a little treat to make up for another upcoming weekend of blechy warm and sunny.
I am somewhat dreading the next weekend, as this is the weekend of our grand DINKs Last Stand party. It is, of course, going to be at a park. With a back up room that has no a/c. And the high is predicted to hit upper 70s, which typically means actually lower 80s. This gives about a 99% predictive likelihood that I will be overheated for the entire day to a painful degree, and will thus be completely unable to focus on all the wonderful friends and family flocking me and feting this blessed baby-thrashing event.
But to live in the moment, I shall merely appreciate a day in which it is actually possible for me to (1) get cold with the windows open, (2) wear an actual shirt without exploding. Gargantuan mercies really. I may even be able to consume spicy food without having a three hour flame-face. Who can say?
Last night, we had quite the dramatic event: Comcast went down! Our internet was dead! Gasp! Just as we were set to watch the last episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ever made. After confirming that it was a longterm outage, Andrew suggested we switch back to Serenity, which I considered. But then I thought that maybe it was an opportunity to shuffle forwards with the persistent hope I've had that we might be able to entertain ourselves together without reliance on screen-time.
Several months ago, the mommening hit in various ways. The most angst inducing being my realization that if I can't limit my screen addiction, then our daughter has no hope. I tried my darndest to apply certain rules to my usage. Not to use while other people are around. Keep social media closed except for certain deliberate usage times. Cut back on relying on netflix for mutual activity. I got quite excited about trying out radio and podcasts and (perish the thought) maybe having us both read together.
But it's hard, period. And harder when you are attempting to go it alone. Andrew agrees in theory that it would be better not to be glued to our devices in front of our baby. But to him, we're not in front of our baby yet (I beg to differ after that Avenger's thrashing experience, and given I'm constantly reminded that she is a living, thrashing, and very reactive personality). I get that, but it is really hard to impose limits for yourself in a world totally beholden to the soft blue glow of the world wide everything. I have a few ground rules that I stick to: no phones when we're at dinner together or during our breakfast time and weekend mornings. These don't stick wonderfully, and I find myself having to remind myself and my hubba-hubba that it's really important to me that we keep those times cell-free. He seems to prefer a reminder to my tutting "AHEM!" even if I think the latter is still far more effective.
Sometimes at work, I minimize my internet distractions. But it's easy to fall back into thrall. And the handy dandy accessibility is tough to avoid. And again, all the people around me are looking through their magic portals. And I'm curious and want to be part of their experience.
Meaning that of my experiments, this is the one that leaves me the most skeptical about success. But I really do want to minimize my habits so that I can focus on the baby when she's wee.
So last night we went with the internet downage for a little while and read a catalog together. It's easy for us to have wireless parallel play (reading, crosswords, staring at walls), but it's really nice to find things we can do together to unwind that don't involve the boob tube. We'll work on getting daddy to read to the bumping belly. I think it still weirds him out a bit even when I offer that he can read his engineering manuals.
The internet is back and we won't have time for that finale of Buffy for a good long while with upcoming events. But it will be there for us eventually. I have hope. In the meantime, we'll watch the weather, and thank the gods for their little mercies.
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