The Part of Fives

I've been thinking a lot about this whole past year lately... and several things stand out to me.  How much crazy advice you get.  How many 'just one thing' well-meaning lectures you are subjected to.  How many 'holy crap what if that happens to me' thoughts.  So.. here's the part of Fives to kinda boil it down to the good (or bad) stuff.

The 5 best pieces of advice I got about being pregnant:

1)Drink plenty of water. Preferably, enough so you have a faint sense of having a full bladder at all times (still better than the cankles and the leg cramps, though!).
2)Only weigh yourself once a week.
3)When you think it might be time to take your rings off, it IS. Don't wait.
4)Be active, but not too active. (As in, don't feel guilty about taking a nap, but don't use the 'I'm pregnant' excuse to get out of doing normal stuff; unless you have complications, of course.)
5)Get massages. Lots of them. This may be one of the only times in your life when people will not give you a hard time about regularly scheduled massages.  And they are heaven.

The 5 worst: (mostly from Italians, mind you):

1)Stop walking the dog everyday. 
2)Excessive amounts of landlord-made wine are not bad for you.
3)Don't eat anything.  But, not too little.
4)Wear tights when its cold (55 degrees).
5)Only wear sweatpants (OK, this was from an American, as if you couldn't guess).

The 5 best pieces of advice about having a baby, as in the 'nitty gritty' part:

1)Seriously asses your comfort with pain.  If you are not friends, consider help.
2)Bring your own pillow.
3)Bring extra socks. (don't ask.  Just do it.)
4)Bring a book, or a magazine, or something to read. This might take a while, and you can't count on the hospital to have either reading material or decent cable.
5)Check to see if the ward has Wi-Fi.

The 5 worst:
1)Bring a birth plan. (Because attempting to script an entirely unscriptable event is really only setting yourself up for disappointment at best, and agony at worst.  Why do this to yourself?)
2)Bring your own pillow. (yes, this was above too, but honestly you'll have so much to pack when you leave.... I appreciated having it but not having to pack it.)
3)Bring your mother.  (Seriously? I mean, yes this was from an Italian but I know lots of Americans who do it too.  Mom, love ya but that's what a waiting room is for.)
4)Make sure you have a lot of ice chips.  (Popsicles are SO much better)
5)Bring your own music.

The 5 best pieces of advice about actually having a baby. (At home, to take care of. Yourself.)

1) 'People will tell you that you'll get your groove back by three months.  Those people are assholes; it takes four months.'  I'm so glad someone told me this since I really didn't have my game back until about four months.
2) 'Those little buggers are like a cruel joke at the beginning.  Like your own personal combination lock with a combo nobody knows yet.'  This really helped me feel like other people floundered at the beginning too.
3)Spend time just watching them when they're sleeping.  (This is fantastic advice, if you can stay awake.)
4)Don't let it get you down if breastfeeding doesn't work for you.  Give it your best shot but then make peace with what is instead of worrying about what could have been.
5)Take pictures with size references in them, so you can remember how small they really were once.

The 5 worst:
1) 'Sleep when the baby sleeps'.  OK, you people who have trained yourselves to fall asleep anywhere, anytime (or those lucky enough to just have the skill).  Good for you.  For the rest of us, it sort of morphs into tortured mental battles of trying to force yourself to sleep, which are ultimately more stressful than just doing some laundry with your spare 35 minutes.
2) 'You'll be a natural'.  I know this is well meaning, but really?  That's the one that will play over and over again in your head while you struggle to do any number of things.
3)(From Italians) 'Put more clothes on that baby'.  Because baby ain't happy if he's not dressed for the arctic.
4)'Don't worry about the laundry'.  Huh, because I don't remember any magic laundry fairies showing up.  Somebody still has to do it.  Hopefully, that person will not be you but if you don't pay attention you could walk in on a giant laundry monster.
5)'Don't spoil the baby'.  For the first few months, if you want to hold them all the time, then do it.  Granted, mine is only 6 months old, but I held him a lot when he was tiny and he seems to be doing just fine right now.

The 5 most useful things we bought/were sent:
1)Vibrating chair.  I cannot stress this enough.
2)Ergo carrier.
3)Moses basket
4)Diaper caddy/organizer. (Don't laugh! Super useful.)
5)'Your Baby is Speaking to You' book.

5 least useful:
1)baby socks
2)stuffed animals
3)baby T-shirts.  If it doesn't snap at the crotch, it will just ride up.  So. Very. Annoying.
4)Lullaby CD for the car.  Probably won't put the baby to sleep, but it will work on you in about 3.4 seconds.
5)Anti-Vaccine propaganda.

I'm sure there are many more 'Part of Fives' still to come in our lives.  These will have to do for now, but stay tuned!

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

OK, people.  If one more person asks me if my son will have a brother or sister, it is highly probable that the questioner will earn themselves a stare of disbelief.  Really?  All that bundle of joy stuff, as it turns out, is pretty much true.  But guess what else is true?  That bundle is a crap-load of work.  Work that is simutaneously euphoric, mind-numbing, and frequently repetitive enough to make me feel like I could begin to understand what a broken record might feel like. Work that comes after the equivalent of a school year of physical, chemical and hormonal changes which are still coming to resolution (well, those that can come to a resolution).  Work where your new business partner speaks some sort of weird language that you don't understand. So it might just be time for a run-down:

Pro: You will have a revised sense of personal modesty and more comfort with your body.
Con: Because everyone in the hospital saw everything you have to offer, multiple times.

Pro: Nobody will be telling you that you are 'all baby' any more.
Con: Because it is now clear to all of you that they were lying before.

Pro: You will feel amazingly rested on 4 consecutive hours of sleep.
Con: Because it happens to be the most you've had in a month.

Pro: Your bladder will have plenty of room to expand.
Con: But will have a mind of it's own as to when to empty.

Pro: You will lose weight quickly.
Con: Not enough.

Pro: You won't mind doing laundry.
Con: Because it's more enjoyable than changing diapers.

Pro: You many start to save money on hair products.
Con: Because it will all start to fall out anyway.

Pro: You can no longer do Jumping Jacks.
Con: Because if you do, you will pee on yourself.

Pro: You will need to go shopping for clothes.
Con: Because you can't stand the sight of maternity wear any longer and your old clothes don't fit.

Pro: You no longer have to protect your stomach from stranger groping.
Con: You will be able to recite your baby's stats like you are planning on adding them to your fantasy baseball team.  Yes, that is how many times people will stop you to ask about your baby. Even when you look delirious as you are trying to use the last of your energy to procure groceries.

Pro: You could spend hours staring at your sleeping baby.
Con: Because you know that as soon as you fall asleep, he will wake up.

Pro: You will never have to read any parenting magazines.
Con: Because everyone around you will drown you in advice and you'll become an expert at weeding out the wackos.

The Betty Ford Center for Placental Withdrawl

Opening night is over, curtain is down, and you have made it through.  You think the hard part is over, right?  You silly, silly girl.  Sure, you've got that cute new baby (sorta like a great review in the NYT) and some serious hormones pumping through your veins.  But sit down, remember it's not your fault, and that we love you.

This is an intervention.  You're addicted to placenta and the happy hormones she's been slipping you.

At first, it won't seem like such a big deal, but we're going to take you off that placenta cold turkey.  In a few hours, you'll be a little shaky but you expected that as a symptom of withdrawl, right?  Turns out that the old girl has been keeping you pretty happy, what with the progesterone and all.  She's been trying to keep you as contented as possible, and here you thought you were just handling the end of the pregnancy calmly by yourself.  You might also feel a little faint here or there.... since you didn't realize good ol' placenta has been helping to regulate your blood sugar and appetite too.  Most people get by blaming this on being tired from 'just having a baby'.

You might be thinking 'Whatever, that stupid thing was 3 or so pounds I needed to drop anyway', and believe me I sympathize.  But when you start feeling a little touched in the head, when you start thinking that doing something completely ridiculous is the best. idea. ever., and when you're pretty much convinced everyone else is frickin' crazy, I've got news for you.  All those other people are fine.  YOU are crazy.  But not in a bad way, it's just your body chemistry betraying you as it tries to get back to normal. Why you ever thought you'd be able to just bounce back to the old you in 72 hours is beyond me.

And that's what we're here for: to talk you through. Withdrawl is not easy, whatever your drug of choice.  Just because progesterone is natural, doesn't mean it's not powerful.  I mean, nicotine is natural too --  see my point? Instead of a 12 step program, it might be easier to think of this as a recallibration.  After all, you were a capable human being before, and you can be that woman again.  First though, it can be good to realize that what you've just done is a pretty big deal.  Sure, anyone can run a marathon.... you just took a couple of cells and used them to grow a human.  And, birth it.  No wonder you're tired, and no wonder you need that happy hormone more than ever.  Bummer about the timing.

So if you find yourself feeling a bit off kilter, remember that the first step is admitting you have a problem.  Then find someone to talk about it with, and I mean someone with clear communication skills.  Your baby does not count. If that doesn't work, talk to your doctor, because even marathon runners get a massage or new sneakers after a race, and all they do is run 26 miles.  Give yourself a break, realize its normal, and get some help.  All you need is someone to get you back on the map of life, pointed in the right direction, so you can enjoy the ride.

No one said there'd be popsicles!

After all that.. it's the day.  We know it's the day because of my pregnancy complication (cholestasis), so we saunter into the OB department at 7:20 for the fun and games.  First, it's time to do an amnio to figure out if the little guy's lungs are mature enough to make his debut.  As he's a feisty little beast, I anticipate that he's going to be territorial, just like last time.  So, the doctor finds a good spot for the stick and starts making preparations... and I warn her that now that she's announced her intentions, he's likely going to move in to thwart her.  Which he does. 

Long story ends with mature lungs and a walk upstairs.  I'm not going to lie to you, having a reasonable expectation that this was going to be the day made the planner in me a little bit happy, and a whole lot calmer.  I like knowing things... like knowing they are going to happen, like knowing a little about what's going to happen, etc.

Since this is going to be an induction, the doctor asks me how I feel about my 'birth plan'.  Now, I've had lots of people in the medical field (several L&D nurses, a couple doctor friends, even a midwife) refer to these as 'tickets to the OR', so I was determined to go with the flow.  It doesn't hurt that the closest I get to religious faith is an utter trust in science and a belief in the overwhelming good intentions of modern medicine.  The poor doctor was a little taken aback, I think, when I told her that I didn't expect much; just a Unicorn in a rose petal strewn delivery room and an appropriately timed rainbow at the moment of delivery.  See, keep those expectations low, right?

But seriously, the only things I really wanted were: pain management and a healthy outcome.  And, ultimately, I ended up with both.  But first, a note on those popsicles.   There were popsicles!  But they were the icky kind I thought were gross even when I was a kid.  You know the type, the fake fruit flavors, the sticky 'syrup' and freezer burn on the paper wrapper, and the lame, punny joke questions that only reveal the punchline once you've finished the treat.  So, my initial joy at the discovery of frozen treats was tempered by the actual frozen treats.  Luckily, they let Jack bring in some yummier ones he bought at the commissary.  Everyone was happy.

There is a whole lot that I could write here in gory detail about the process, but you know what?  We don't know each other that well, do we?  I'll just keep most of that to myself then.  I will say that, when we were preparing for this day, attending another of those very interesting classes for preggos... the anesthesiologist was asked by some crazy woman "How big is the needle for the epidural?".  I thought this was ridiculous at the time and now I REALLY think it was a stupid question.  Because: 1 )you can't see it and 2) it sure isn't 10 cm or more, which is what you should be worried about!  Also, if you want an epidural, you should likely consider what your goal is, and that is pain management.  If you are worried about how much a tiny needle is going to hurt after they inject some local anesthetic, then you clearly need this product (again, not thinking that far down the road here are you?)  and should just suck up the process of having it inserted.

Women are torn on this issue, and regularly engage in heated discussions and the laying on of guilt trips, and really I don't understand why.  Because, are you going to birth that baby for me?  No?  Then shut up.  I'm not going to tell you to get one, so I don't want to hear you tell me not to.  This is a very personal decision, and don't we all judge each other enough anyway?  (Full disclosure here: I know I do, but not on this topic.) Some people want to be natural, others choose to opt for pain management. This isn't a right or wrong decision... it's your decision and ultimately only that matters.

And, at the end of the day (literally -  time of birth 2357) there were three of us, and we were all healthy.  Tired, but healthy.  But I don't remember seeing a Unicorn...........

Coming soon

Coming soon, the next installment:

"With your main course, the Maitre'd reccomends the Epidural"

Don't tase me, bro

Yesterday, we went in for an OB appointment.  I say 'we' even though the kid clearly has very little say in where he goes at this point, so for all he knew it was just another trip to the store.  Pretty soon, mommy was gonna have some 'splainin to do.

As part of the appointment, we were scheduled for an ultrasound and a non stress test, or NST.  An NST is a fantastic procedure where you sit in a chair with a couple of monitors strapped to your giant belly (Spherical yet pointy in parts) while the machine records baby's heart rate and your contractions (if any), and everyone comes in to look at you.  Basically, you are like one of those giant tunas at a fish market, strapped to a slab, being checked out for your fat content.  It's awesome!

Now, when your kid is uncooperative (go figure!) and isn't giving the kind of readings they want to see, things get fun.  First, someone will come in and apologize before 'touching' your belly- i.e. poking it around a little (I can do that myself, thanks!).  Then someone will shake it. Yes, shake it.  Like a polaroid picture, to quote a little Andre 3000.  Meh, says the kid.  So they break out the taser.

To be fair, this is not actually a taser, but a device that produces some sort of 'auditory stimulation'.  But seriously, it looks like a baby taser, and it had a similar effect.  Luckily the nurse thought it was pretty funny when I actually said "Don't tase me, bro" before she put this little device to my belly and pressed the button.

Holy Pissed Off Baby, Batman!  Let's just say there was some thrashing around before someone decided that what had just happened was not cool.  Apparently the genes from my side of the family are alive and well in that boy, because 1) he has a temper and 2) he can hold a grudge.  From this moment on, he became a sworn enemy of the heartrate monitor and began to literally attack it.  Punching, kicking, etc.  'Well', said the nurse, 'at least that got his heart rate up where we wanted it'.   For the next 15 minutes, the kid would systematically wage all out baby war on the monitor, even finding it if it had been moved to continue the pummelling.  Most of the salvos actually hit their target, visibly moving the monitor. 

Maybe we've got a future pro baseball pitcher on our hands.... as long as he can find more appropriate motivation than shocking stimulation that is.

Disabled? I don't think so.

And now a word on something that I seem to be in the minority on:  My utter opposition to treating pregnant people like they have a disability.  A special disability, that you can plan for, achieve, and that is ultimately rather fleeting.

I'm talking about the special parking...... and I realize that lots of you will disagree with me on this but, seriously?  Did you not make a choice to be pregnant?  Why yes, yes you did.

This stuff has bothered me for years; the pregnant lady parking, the 'with small children' parking, etc.  If I have a dog, it is my responsibility to take care of him without relying on special treatment from society.  If you have a kid, that doesn't mean that you should expect to command plush parking spaces.  Sorry but I've always thought, and still do, that your kid is your responsibility, and part of that responsibility is to be conscious of possible negative impacts on others, not to expect special treatment.

As soon as I hit the third trimester, the room tech in the OB department was thrilled to tell me I now qualified for the (apparently much coveted) Third Trimester Parking Pass (or TTPP).  She started to whip out one of these passes but before she could fill in the blanks, I ruined her morning by informing her that I did not want one, thanks.  "What?" she asked, obviously thinking she hadn't heard me correctly.  "You're eligible for one now."  Great, I told her, but you can keep it.  "I'm pregnant, I'm not disabled."  She continued to try to talk me into taking the pass, and I continued to tell her no.

Here's the thing:  I made a choice.  A choice to get pregnant.  This choice was well thought out, and is, ultimately, quite temporary.  I do not think that I should be granted the special priviledge of being able to park at the front of the lot because of a deliberate action on my part, end of story.  I've said these things before.... before I ever thought I would be pregnant.  Some of my friends said things sort of like 'well, you'll change your mind if you ever are pregnant' and, funnily enough, I haven't.  Sure, I walk a little slower, but if we start giving out parking passes for preggers, is it only a matter of time before we start giving out 'fat passes' too? I mean, it's hard for the obese to walk the extra distance to the store, often because of choices they made.  My theory is that if you can walk yourself around the store, you can walk yourself up and down the parking lot too.  Gasp, it might even be good for you to move around a little more.

Now, every time I go to an OB appointment, I am asked if I've changed my mind.  Do I want the TTPP? They still can't believe it when I turn the thing down.

No, thanks, I'm fine.

As the clock strikes 12.....

OK So, as soon as that third trimester showed up I have really started to feel like Cinderella's carriage at the stroke of 12..... yep, I am turning into a pumpkin all right.

First to go? Ankles. of course, it didn't help that I had been flying but I looked down one morning and found me some cankles. And damn, are they ugly! Disconcerting, too, especially when you are used to some sort of shape to your lower leg (other than that of a Pringles container, that is). So what to do? Suck down plenty of water, which will make you realize that your bladder is shrinking daily, but at least it will give you some definition back.

Just in time to go shopping for some comfy shoes. I had to go shopping for supportive, comfortable shoes. I also wanted some with some style, so that took a while..... luckily I had my new best friend with me.

That would be Tums. Tums are my new best friend... since on the stroke of ten my less-good friend Reflux decided to come for an extended visit. Tums and Reflux spend so much time talking with each other they forget you are in the room, and in this case it is quite lovely to be ignored. It's been a couple weeks now, so I am sad to admit that I have some flavors that I like more than others.

The pregnancy pillow is another one of my good friends, since I have a whole new appreciation for what it means to have a comfortable night's sleep. This really big, really ugly thing is the only thing standing between me and insomnia most nights.

Not to mention my growing resemblance to a pumpkin.... and I really am not so pleased with the deal that fairy godmother talked me into. Now, if it had just come with some housecleaning mice......