The Land of Milk and Poo

Not yet

MP, my daughter who is now two and a half, is getting mouthier and mouthier by the day.

Witness:

Harried mom: "MP, please go get your shoes so we can leave."

MP: "Not yet."

Harried mom: "MP, have you finished pooping yet?"

MP: "Not yet. Go in the other room."

Harried mom: "MP, have you put your fifty thousand small wooden pieces of food away in their respective illustrated tins?"

MP: (Mixing a stew of wooden biscuit, sausage, peas, and chocolates) "Not yet."

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In every one of those scenerios above, you might notice that "mom" is "harried." For some reason, I've been especially touchy recently. Despite the fact that I'm terrified of premature labor (short and stubby cervixes have a much higher chance of this, and we all know that my cervix is diminutive) and that my outside-of-home life has been increasingly stressful, I am acutely aware that I only have four and a half months left to shower my daughter with only-child love. My heart just about breaks every time she says "mommy play" and I'm just to exhausted/ crampy/ busy to play. Add to that the fact that I can't really pick her up much anymore, and that my belly is getting big enough that it's hard for her to sit comfortably on my lap, and that Random has been incredibly busy at work and hasn't been around much, and I feel like the shite mom of the year.

Oh! And did I mention that we've been living in our new house for four months now and there are still boxes in three rooms? And that every single one of our books is sitting in boxes in the garage, and that this accounts to about twenty boxes? And that my living room is empty except for fourteen pairs of shoes and some plastic bags filled with dry cleaning (sitting there since September?) Yeah, find out you're pregnant two weeks after you move into a new house and this might happen to you. Then again, you might be much better at this kind of thing than me.

To continue the non sequitor-esque feel of this post, I no longer fit into my maternity jeans. Yep, apparently my thighs are also pregnant. I bought these dark, dressy-ish jeans specifically because I claimed I would be able to wear them throughout the nine months ("and beyond!" said nodding enthusiastically) and here I am at barely 20 weeks unable to wrench them up my couch-like (also coach-like) butt. Instead of running out to buy new ones, I have decided to permanently tattoo my black yoga pants onto my body and pretend that those are indeed "chic" workwear. When paired with the laceless Chuck Taylors I've been sporting these past few weeks (nope, no pointy toed shoes, alas--my feet are now a WHOLE SIZE BIGGER than they were pre-pregnant) I look entirely pro-fe--sh--ee--oh--nal.  Oh, hell, I've got that diaper bag to pull the whole outfit together (for those of you jonesing, I got it at Babystyle).

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Last night I had a terrifying dream about breastfeeding. I do very much want to breastfeed, for six months at least, and this will require me to pump at work, which I know will be hard. I am already starting to feel a bit of anxiety over this; among the usual stuff, I don't want MP to feel left out. In my dream last night, my right breast was actually coated in crunchy breading, like a piece of fried chicken. I held the baby to my chest and drizzled formula on my fast food boob, perhaps to entice where salty fried breading wouldn't (?). Instead of latching on, MP's face suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and she began munching quite contentedly on the crumbly bits that coated my breast, grease covering her cheeks. I was horrified to discover that there really wasn't a breast under the delicious coating; it was just all fried topping.

I'm not sure what this dream means. And I'm not sure I want to dwell for too long on it, because, quite frankly, it's kind of weird.

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So that's the NO Cheek roundup--finding ways to be a better mom in the next four months or so, getting used to my expanding self (and soon-to-be expanded family), and educating myself on breastfeeding so that I feel comfortable and not like I might be on an extra-value menu. Not to mention childbirth classes, getting the nursery ready (we're using all of MP's furniture and getting her all new stuff, but there's all of that to do, and decorating besides--like painting! Since our entire house is the same toasted almond color, which is great for one or two main rooms, but every room, floor, and tile? Nah)--knowing when you're going to give birth (approximately) is a completely different ballgame than waiting for your daughter in China, that's for sure. The days bring you closer and the date stays where it started. A completely novel concept for this family.

And now I have to go tend to my beautiful daughter, who is currently standing glazed in front of Playhouse Disney yelling out "OH TOODLES!" I can't answer "not yet" to her when she asks if I want to play anymore this morning. And Rockette is clamoring for some banana stuffed French toast. And there are about fifty thousand wooden green beans on the floor just waiting for a frisky dog to chew.    

Cervix: Okay for now. Baby: Sucking its thumb. Gender: You'll have to read to find out.

So I'm back and settled and MP is singing to herself in bed.

As it turns out, my OB office received a brand-new hi-tech 4-D ultrasound machine and flatscreen today, with DVD technology (they must've known I was coming, yo). I was only the second or third time they used it, so the tech who installed it was there to coach the normal u/s tech on what to do--and my OB came in as well to check things out, so there was a full house present. We got to see baby in full on 3 and 4-D. At 19 weeks (I measured 19w2d) it's hard to identify stuff in 4-D unless you baby stays stock still (which is not my little trooper), but we got to see the heart beating away in 4-D, a perfect little skeletal hand, the baby's face (contemplative), and baby sucking its thumb. The pictures I had seen of babies at 19 weeks in 3-D looked a bit Jack Skellington, but ours just looked peaceful and not at all freaky. The rest of the scan was like looking at pictures of the surface of the red planet. We kept on waiting for a big eyed alien to pop up and start hopping around.

After a while of switching back and forth from 2-D to 4-D, I let the techs and my doctor know that at any time soon, dudes, we would be happy to hear gender. At that point they started actively looking. After about five minutes we were convinced they knew exactly what it was, but were just trying to find a good picture on 4-D, which we didn't really need since it all looked confusing and blurry to us. (Finally the machine tech (who was there to show the other tech how to use the machine and was standing off to the side) said "there! See it?"

At the mention of "it" I thought, ohhhh, a boy, but then the tech said "see the labia?" And I said "it's a baby girl?" And everyone said "yup!" at the same time. So there you have it--a baby sista for MP!!! A Rockette!!! One singular sensation!!! (I don't even know if that song goes along with the Rockettes.) But girls are awesome. Now they can share everything. Heh, heh, just wait'll MP finds out how much she gets to share. (It's not her favorite thing.)

After the fun stuff we measured my cervix and it's shorter than last time by .3 cm, which was not great to hear. My doctor likes to see LEEP patients with cervixes between 2.5 and 4 cm in length, and currently mine is 3 cm. She said I'm fine, that my little girl isn't going to just fall out, but she's checking me in two weeks again. And of course the minute I got home I googled "incompetent cervix and 3 cm" and it appears that 3 cm is on the low end and that 2.5 is the minimum docs like it, and of course I got myself in a tizzy again despite my doctor reassuring me. A friend of mine with a cerclage has already suggested I stay off my feet as much as possible, avoid sex, and preferably rest in bed. Um, yay. Easier said than done with a full time job and a toddler. My doctor didn't suggest any of this; she looked largely unconcerned and isn't one to ignore problems, so I'm torn as to what to feel.

Mostly, I feel elation. Baby is fine, I am fine for now, and Random is thrilled that he gets a house full o' princesses.

On the way home Random remarked on the tech's comment about our girl's parts.

"He talked about her labia!" he said. "I mean, I was like 'buddy! That's my daughter you're talking about!'"

Upon arriving home we told MP she was going to have a sista. "A sista" is what she has responded 99% of the time that we've asked her whether she wants a brother or a sister.

"NO!" She replied, shaking her head. "A bruvvvaaa!" And then she ran off to proclaim another thing "mine."

That's my girl. And having two of them is going to be sublime.

Rocky or Rockette?

Today we find out whether MP will have a little sistu or a little brovah.

It's a good thing that I have an ultrasound today, too, because I've been feeling this weird pressure these past few days and I'm terrified that my cervix is going to open prematurely. As a jaded infertile my relationship with the Internet is a dangerous one--I'm hardwired to want to know everything I can--and, unfortunately, I end up believing most of it will happen to me. Although the risk of incompetent cervix is low (1-2%) I was in that bracket for getting pregnant to begin with, so I've already beat the odds once. And ever since my LEEP surgery ten years ago, doctors have commented on my cervix (some said the job slicing off infected tissue was done "very nicely," one said I have the cervix of a woman who has had five children, one said my cervix was so mishapen that I couldn't wear a diaphragm and refused to fit me for one, one said my cervix required "special order instruments" to view correctly, and a good number told me I had a "friable cervix" and this was why I bled all. the. time. "Even now!" they'd chuckle, "I'm barely touching you! And you're bleeding like a stuck pig! Hahaha!")

So yeah, I'm nervous that my cervix is short and stocky and wants to spill its secrets. Today's ultrasound will be good not just because we learn whether Rocky/Rockette will be doing kicks in a leotard or with big honking combat boots (haha), and not just because it is the official "fetal anatomy scan" and will do things like measure spinal bones and count fingers and toes, but because it will make Mama feel a whole lot better (I hope) about my durn Nervoux Cervix and its capability to hold its precious cargo strong.

Ultrasound at three. Stay tuned.

Over the road and through the highway, to the...hospital we go

It's been an interesting few days.

Friday night I started feeling really, really sick. I couldn't get comfortable at all--sleeping has become increasingly difficult for me as I can't lie on my back without pain, and both my left side and right side make my hips and legs hurt badly (despite the Boppy!! Not even Bop can take away all my gruntles...) Anyway, Friday night was terrible. I tossed and turned and felt like I might throw up (and morning sickness has been mostly gone since around 15 weeks) and finally I came downstairs at 5 am and decided to try it out on the couch. I got some ginger ale and took a small sip and sat on the couch.

Literally thirty seconds later I was running to the bathroom. I didn't make it. I threw up in my mouth.

Then I threw up about twenty more times. And it was really, really, REALLY nasty.

Then I had to use the bathroom, and it was not good.

Then I woke up Random. "Get up," I said, "Something's wrong." He bolted upright in bed and I added "not with the baby, with me." He turned on the lights and I told him about the puking. Generally, my history with throwing up has been that when I do it immediately after taking an innocuous sip of something things are not good.

We went downstairs and I called a nurse service. She asked me questions and told me I needed to follow up with the doctor soon.

Two hours later I took a tentative sip of water and was running to the bathroom again. (No, I didn't make it. Yay for me!) I abused that bathroom like nobody's business.

I called my doc and she said she wanted me in the hospital for IV fluids. So off we went to labor, where I spent 8 hours getting IV fluids (after three tries with the needle, hurrah, during which excuciating time I made many interesting faces, according to Random) and Zofran to stop the puking. The nurse checked the baby and after a minute we heard the heartbeat on doppler nice and strong. Later on, I developed a fever over 100.2 and the doctor guessed it was a particularly mean stomach flu.

So Sunday and Monday has found me eating here and there, very carefully, very sporadically. And my glorious bump, which I was sporting on Friday (and which had people who did not know I was pregnant congratulating me and saying how "beautifully" I was carrying, which you know had me grinning like a maniac) was much deflated, making me realize that said bump is mostly still water and bloat and whatnot, because without that stuff I only look a tad pregnant. I guess I haven't really popped yet after all.

I'm almost 19 weeks, and Thursday is my big ultrasound where we will find out if Rocky is a girl or a boy. I'm excited because it will make this pregnancy even more real. And, of course, I can finally start working on the nursery. The only thing I've bought so far for this baby was a nursing cover (which I bought today), so it will be fun to start decorating again.

And, oh yeah....I finally used some of my holiday present money and bought a new diaper bag that I can also use as a purse. I was able to get some money off of it, too, so it wasn't soooo expensive--but how cute is it? So cute.

  I'd love to hear your guesses on gender----everyone around me thinks it's a boy except for my mom, who thinks the ultrasound pictures look like a girl. (Not the goods part, the head part. Um, okay, mom.)

THANK YOU FOR THE POOP. And now I need some assvice.

In Two Parts!

The Pregnancy Part:

Oh, YAY. After reading 30 some comments about pooping on the delivery table I took my horrified self to Random and told him how all of you confirmed my fears. He cackled and waggled his eyebrows in glee and informed me that yes, indeed, he was going to make sure I not only knew if I pooped on the table but that I remembered that fact forvevah, courtesy of Him Truly. SO GREAT. And yeah, I'm worried about it now and maybe I won't be when I'm worrying about things like BLOODY SHOW (holy moly, why does everything have to sound so frightening? Can't we call it COLOFRUL FUN MOMENT or something like that?) and placentas and cords. But really, I don't allow him to see me go to the bathroom. Even when I was at death's door on my honeymoon and was Exorcist vomiting non stop and had to be taken to a St. Lucian hospital (complete with a squadron of flies dropping from the ceilings) and had to use the potty, he was instructed to LEAVE IMMEDIATELY because I could handle it all myself, thanks. He protested but I'm glad I made him skedaddle because honestly he'd still be ragging me about it today. When I am in the bathroom doing my "biness" he paws at the door and pretends he's our cat (who has been gone a while) because she used to do that. And then he says to MP "Where's Mama? Heh heh heh."

ANYWAY. So I'm not going to think about any of that for a while. In the meantime, I have some v. important questions for all you pregnant-knowing people:

1. Diet soda. I am an addict. Up until I got pregnant, I drank 3 cans a day. That's the only caffeine I have. I'm down to one can--it took me this long to cut back--but it's not the caffeine I finally caved for...it's the artificial sweeteners. I'm not really worried about aspartame; my body seems to be fine with it and I've done some reading on it. But I'd like to hear from you addicts out there--what did you do? What did your doctors say?
2. Do you think I'm safe to color my hair (as in highlights and root lift)? I'm 17 weeks.
3. When did you start to feel the baby move, and what did it feel like?
4. When did you start to show so that other people noticed you were pregnant without you telling them or prompting them?

The Adoption Part   

I've been trying to subtly introduce MP's adoption story through photo albums that we have. So I'll say, "this is when we were in China!" "This is the day Mommy and Daddy adopted you, we were so happy!" I know she doesn't understand what adoption is yet, and doesn't seem to have grief associated (yet) with it, from what I can tell. But with the arrival of a new sibling, I am even more concerned that she might develop some issues, especially around not having grown in my belly. She does like to play "baby" now and then and climb into my lap. She's pretty needy and affectionate, too. So here are my questions for all you adoptive parents:

1. When did your child begin to understand what adoption was and what it meant?
2. Did your child feel grief? If so, when did that begin?
3. How do you address the adoption story?

Thanks for any and all assvice.

Leave the poop out, please.

Something Intelligement Will Arrive Shortly, I Promise

The last few weeks have been some of the tiredest of my life. At my parents house all I did was sleep. Literally. I slept hours every day, and so did MP. My parents remarked about how different I was--instead of wanting to go shopping, or take walks, or be outside in the beautiful Southern sun, or tutor entire villages of children, I wanted to curl up with my full body Boppy (which I have married, BTW) and sleep. I can honestly say I did nothing but sleep. (That Boppy. *Sigh* Last night Random says to me, "what will you do after you have the baby when you can't use Boppy anymore?" And I says to him, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, BUCKO--You don't have to be pregnant to love a Bop."And with that I curled around my new amore and we snuggled and whispered together far into the night.)

Now at the grand old hefty belly of 16 weeks, I finally find myself with a tad more energy, and an appetite that can only be described as frightening, and a stack of to-do at work and home that is towering over my pea sized head. Which is perched on my decidedly non-pea-sized belly. Which is beginning to do what bystanders are calling "popping," especially after I eat mammoth amounts of food and shove the baby outta the way.

Today I went for a 16w1d checkup for cervical length. Everything measured up on that front. Random and I were jonesing, hard, for a gender shot. Me and my big fat mouth told everyone today might be the magic gender day, so all rested on the sweet tech who was performing my u/s. He promised he'd do his best, told me that he had found out gender twice at 15 weeks--that was his record--and lathered me up. Baby appeared, beautiful and giant-headed (my polar opposite still, as those of you who have read me before know that I am She of the Wee Pea Head) and waving. I gaped in my usual awe, unable to still believe that this little creature is part of me.

But the blasted tech couldn't get a shot of the goods. So no answer today...I'll have to wait three excruciating weeks, January 24, for the "big u/s." He promised it then. And I'm holding him to it. Otherwise I'm lathering HIM up.

Other than that, everything is peachy. I think I feel movement, if your insides twitching around like a school of fish is movement. MP is counting to ten and can sing the entire alphabet, and cool, is currently burying my feet in blocks. She HATES the laptop with a passion, which is partly why I am not posting so much--every time I turn on the computer I suddenly become her fave person e-vah and she has to touch everything or rest her hand on certain "keys" and when I tell her "no" she says "yes, MP touch here. Here. Okay?"

And she is having MINI ADULT-PERSON TYPE CONVERSATIONS. Witness:

MP: (Yelling upstairs) Daddy, can you get MP's bottle?

Daddy: Okay, where is it?

MP: It's in MP's room.

Daddy: Okay, hold on.

MP: Throw it down.

Daddy: No. (Walks down and hands it to her.)

MP:Thank you!

This is my girl at 2 and a half years old, yo.

I plan to write something soon about adoption and pregnancy and how they are alike and how they are different and how they all entwine and whatnot but it's such a complicated subject for me overall. I mean, I still can't really believe this is all happening--I watched my first episode of The Baby Story ever last night and sobbed hysterically. What the hell? I watched the birth through my fingers. What the HELL? I have a lot to learn, grasshopper. And a lot to get used to. (Like: IS IT TRUE THAT SOME PEOPLE POOP ON THE DELIVERY TABLE???? OH GOOD LORD.)

MP is now stepping on the blocks which my poor foot is buried under, so I will be wrapping this one up, but soon I will be back with something mildly thoughtful (I hope) because I have so, so much to say about all of this and how it is changing our lives and how it is revising everything I thought I had (HA! HA HA HA!) already figured out.