Respiratory Something Virus

That's what husband and I called it for a few days before we finally looked-up the pronuciation guide online.  Resiratory SIN-SI-SHUL (Syncytial) Virus put my sweet boy threw the ringer. After a week and a half in daycare, Liam got sick. I was prepared for runny noses, but I was NOT prepared for this.

 It started with a small cough on Tuesday morning.  When he got home from daycare, the cough had turned wet (that's the only way I can think to describe it).  When I was burping him that night, and I heard/felt a vibration in his chest.  Knowing better than to mess with the lungs (especially when those longs are 13 weeks old), we decided to take L to the pediatrician the next morning (by we, I mean Husband was on daddy duty that day).  That night he coughed and snotted, coughed and snotted.

Following directions, Husband turned-off his phone while he was with the pediatrician (most of us would have turned our phone to vibrate, I'm just saying). After an hour and a half at the Peds, and after getting a million panicked phone calls and texts from me, Husband finally calls me with the news.  RSV.  To which I said, "Whaaa?" 

The Peds sent us home with a nebulizer and instructions of what to watch-out for.  The next couple days of my life consisted of watching Liam breathe, listening to him breathe, and trying to watch him breathe through our video monitor (which is really hard, by the way).  More often than not, he was wheezing when he breathed.  If we weren't using the nebulizer (which was every four hours when he was awake), we were sucking snot out of his nose.  Liam was remarkably cooperative with the nebulizer.  Each treatment took about 11 minutes.  By minute 9, his attention span would wane and one of us would dangle a toy in front of him or dance around like an idiot to keep him from melting down.  A couple of times, he had a meltdown anyway.  It broke my heart to see him so upset, but I figured he was taking-in extra medicine with all the wailing. Worse than the nebulizer was the snot by day three.  He was SO snotty.  Half the time he couldn't breathe out of his nose unless we used the bulb (my super technical term for it).  After a few days, his nose was so raw that he'd scream when we used it.  It was awful.  If we didn't use it, he couldn't breathe.  If we did use it, he screamed. 



Grammy trying to distract him.

After two nebulizer treatments on Saturday, he was still wheezing (the treatments usually made the wheezing go away).  It also looked like he was working breathe. We called the on-call nurse, who had the on-call doctor call us.  After five minutes of conversation, the doctor said, "I hate to do this to you, but I think you should go to the emergency room."  My heart has never hurt so badly in my life.  We got ourselves pulled-together, and headed to St. Mary's.  I guess they don't mess-around with babies because we didn't have to wait (as in, we never even had a chance to sit down).  After three hours in Peds (they really did call it Peds. I felt like I was inside Grey's Anatomy.  Minus all the sex and drama), lots of smiling and talking to the nurses and doctors, lots of crying because he was super tired by couldn't call asleep, and lots of refusing to eat because he was too tired, Liam was discharged.  We were now doing the nebulizer every two to four hours AROUND THE CLOCK. 


FINALLY fell alseep

I don't know if you've ever heard a nebulizer, but it's loud.  The Peds doc said we could do the night treatments while he was sleeping (just hold it over him face).  Right.  We'd turn-on the machine and Liam would immediately startle awake.  Who needs sleep anyway.
RSV is very contagious, so we obviously had to keep him out of daycare.  I worked from home some, Husband stayed home some, and Liam's Grammy (my mom) watched him some.  Between the three of us, we were able to keep him out of daycare through to Christmas.  And Husband was off the entire week after Christmas. 

By the Thursday before Christmas we were finally noticing some positive changes.  By Sunday we were cutting back the nebulizer treatments.  By the next Thursday his appetite returned (and we actually think he was in a growth spurt - 7 to 8 ounce bottles every time he ate), we didn't need to use the bulb, we weren't using the nebulizer, and we got our amiable kid back.

Throughout this whole ordeal, Liam remained remarkably happy.  It was amazing. Through all the snot, he'd still smile.  After a coughing fit he would immediately start talking.  He'd COUGH, COUGH, COUUUUGH, and go "UUUURGH!!!" in the cutest little 14-week old voice.  I'm so proud of how he handled it.  And I'm proud of how Husband and I handled it.  We leaned on each other, and we survived. 

Let me leave you with this:  Being a parent is NO JOKE.  You start worrying the second you find-out you're pregnant, and it only gets worse after they're born.  But there is nothing like it. 

So glad to have this kid back to normal!

Two Month Check-Up (a month late)

I'm back at work now (SAD FACE). That means two (of many) things: (1) I don't get to spend all day with the cutest blessing in the world and (2) I have a lunch hour, which means time to blog. Posts have been sparse of as late. When Liam was awake, I'd much rather be hanging out with him (sorry, Followers!). And when he was sleeping there was laundry, cleaning, cooking, and like to tackle. So here's a snipet about his two month appointment, a little late :)

Liam had his two month appointment on November 18th. Driving to the appointment, I remember thinking, "TWO MONTHS?!?! Where has time gone?" And look at me now - 12 weeks, and I'm huddled in my cubicle at work.

I went solo on this trip. When I'm alone, I really appreciate how much easier it is to have a wingman. Mainly to help carry stuff. At two months, his head control doesn't allow me to carry him with one arm, so I took the carseat. And a diaper bag. And myself. Getting in wasn't the problem - everything was nicely packed away. It was getting around once in and leaving that was a bear. Liam's sweet Pediatrican carried the carseat twice for me. Note to self: don't wear calf height Uggs when your kid has to get shots, you'll sweat your feet off.

First up was nakkey Liam and the scale. 14 pounds, 8 ounces. Hello chunker! Liam got a few cat calls from other mothers as we walked to the scale. Cutest moobies (that's man boobies for those of you who aren't down with the lingo) EVER. After the scale, he was measured. 24 1/2 inches. He was 97th percentile for weight and 95th percentile for height.

The pediatrician poked and proded, and Liam just watched him intently. I feel so blessed to have such a happy baby. For once, he didn't poop when his temperature was taken. Woop! And no blow out and related funny story. Thanks, Bud!

And then came the shots. Five of them. FIVE. Three in one leg and two in the other. It was awful. The nurse was done in less than a minute, but Liam SCREAMED. My mommy heart burst into a million pieces. I quickly mended it with Elmer's and soothed and shooshed until he calmed down. Thankfully, he fell asleep on the car ride home (that is after he screamed himself silly and sleepy). When we got home, however, he woke-up and started SCREAMING again. He was crying and screaming so hard at one point that he wasn't making any noise. Poor guy was in some serious pain. The pediatrician said I could give him Children's Tylenol. I had Little Fevers. I'm no doctor, so I wanted to make sure they were the same thing. Two calls to my mom. THREE calls to the pediatrician's office, the phone was BUSY EACH TIME. Frantic searching for my SIL's work number (she's a pharmcist), not easy to find online. I finally get her number, call, and find out they are the same thing. All of this is happening while Liam is either in my arms or laying on the bed screaming. He was on the bed because I couldn't hear anything on the phone or I was about to burst into tears and needed to walk away. When I talked to SIL, my voice was quivering and wavering like a leaf in the fall in 25 mph winds. After the medicine, he calmed down, ate, and SLEPT. He got medicine every four to six hours until the next afternoon. After the intial meltdown, he was great. TROOPER!

To compare:

Here's a tasty dose of L Bean for your viewing pleasure:

My Road to Recovery

Warning: Boys, you may want to steer clear of this one. I'm just sayin'.

For me, recovery was far worse than labor and delivery.  When I was in labor, I found sanity and relief in the fact that it would END and it would end soon.  With recovery, there's no telling when I'll be back to normal.  And who's to say that I'll ever feel normal again.  Maybe I'll have to redefine my normal. 

The fluids, oh the fluids.  I spent the first week and a half wearing the mesh panties that hospital gave me (they were so comfortable. I wish it was appropriate to wear them all of the time) and a GIANT maxi-pad.  Every time I would nurse, my uterus would contract and cramp, and I would bleed.  That's just how it goes.  Over the weeks, I slowly stepped down the size of the pad.  I'm a tampon girl, so wearing a pad was awful (although the thought of a tampon right now makes me shudder).  I was also given a steroid foam to help with general healing of my lady bits.  For me, putting a pad soaked in witch hazel on the maxi-pad was really soothing.  My bleeding really slowed by four weeks, and it ended by the end of five weeks.  I was SO glad to see the pads go.  G-R-O-S-S.

Luckily, I didn't tear.  I am so thankful for that.  I didn't tear because my doctor massaged my perineum for an hour.  And by massaged, I mean he stretched it.  At one point he told me that I would be screaming from what he was doing if I didn't have the epidural.  I remember him trying to make room for Liam's head by putting both of his hands ALL THE WAY in my lady bits.  Ouch.  All of that stretching left me bruised and battered.  For the first two weeks of Liam's life, I went from the bed to the glider to nurse and back to the bed.  Thankfully Liam only ate and slept at that point, but I missed-out on really enjoying the first two to three weeks at home with my son.  But I'm not exaggerating when I say I couldn't sit down.  When I could finally sit (on the couch and at the kitchen table), I couldn't sit without a pillow.  Even in the glider (which has a cushion) I used a pillow.  It took me four weeks to get rid of the pillow.  After that, I avoided hard surfaces as much as possible or I would sit more on one side of my butt. Today, I am sore at the end of the day.  It's manageable, and more annoying than anything.  At my appointment two weeks ago, my doctor said it can take up to 12 weeks to really start feeling good, and I totally believe him.

Along with my perineum, my right labia fell victim to delivery. We're not entirely sure how it happened because everything happened so fast, but we think it got caught-up in the vacuum.  Sitting forward HURT.  The labia went beyond uncomfortable and into painful.  It would also bleed.  The only comfortable position for me to sleep was on my side (laying on my back hurt my butt until about week five and laying on my baby feeding boobies still isn't an option), but I HAD to have a pillow between my legs.  The pressure on my labia without the pillow was terrible.  I didn't know this until my doctors appointment at five weeks postpartum, but nursing is an estrogen suppressant.  And estrogen is what heals the wreckage that is your lady bits.  So if you nurse, you heal slower.  My doctor barely moved my labia, and I was squirming and saying, "Ouch, ow, ow ow."  He sent me home with an estrogen cream to apply at night.  I've been doing it for two weeks now, and it has made a HUGE difference.  I actually feel like my labia is healing.  I am so thankful for that, because I was worried that I would be something that I'd have to deal with for a long time.

Other than the lady bits issues, I was exhausted for the first two weeks.  Not sleepy tired, but just physically exhausted.  But I suppose that's to be expected with a new baby at home :)

For me, recovery sucked.  I loved being pregnant, and I love being a mom.  I even love having a newborn around who wakes-up every two to three hours.  For those reasons, I definitely want more children.  But to be honest, recovering again terrifies me.  In the end, it's completely worth it.  And maybe next time the birth won't be so traumatic and recovery won't be so hard.  It's definitely not enough to keep me away from having a second... eventually.

Funny Story: One

Liam's birth story is in draft form. While I'm working on that, I want to share a funny story with you.  The title of this post is Funyn Story: One, which implies that there are more funny stories to come.  If you infered as much, you were correct!  I don't know if you knew this, but babies are FUNNY. Sometimes, the funny really isn't so funny, but your only option is to laugh.  And let me tell you, we've laughed, A LOT. Which for a period of time really sucked for me (I bet you have no idea just how many muscles you flex when you laugh. And sneeze, cough, blow your nose, yell, etc.), but more on that later.  Anyway, here's that story:

Liam and I were released from the hospital on a Thursday.  Our pediatrician wanted us to come in for a weight-check on Saturday.  Our first time venturing out of the house with Booger (by far our favorite nickname for L). How exciting!  Before leaving, Husband and I discussed how awesome it would be if Liam didn't have a blow out on our first trip out.  So we had a quick chat with our new son, politely asking him to be nice and not need a change, and we headed-out.

It was our first trip to the pediatrician, so I had some paperwork to fill-out.  We were sitting in the waiting room filling out the paperwork when we heard Liam let one blow.  Every time (EVERY TIME) my son poops, I hear it loud and clear.  Sometimes the walls shake, for real.  Husband and I both laugh, but all I'm really thinking is, "Thank GOODNESS I'm filling-out this paperwork."  So Husband takes him back to the bathroom for a change.  Of course one minute later the nurse calls Liam's name.  I tell her that my husband took Liam back to change him.  She goes to wait for Husband after she takes me to the exam room.  I settle-in the and finish the paperwork.  Five minutes later, Husband is still gone, and I'm starting to worry.

I head to the bathroom where I think Husband took Liam, and there are two nurses waiting outside the door.  I knock on the door saying, "Josh?"   I hear, "Yeeees."  "Do you need help?" "Yeees."  Mommy to the rescue!  I open the door and immediately start laughing (and holding my lady bits).  It looks like a tornado touched-down in the bathroom.  Liam is naked.  There are baby clothes and wipes EVERYWHERE.  And Husband looks a little panicked.  I say, "What happened?!?!"  Liam pooped, a lot.  And then Husband was changing him, he pooped more and everywhere.  And then he peed all over himself, the changing pad, changing table, and Josh. .  Josh has ONE wipe left (We had packed at least 20), and he had gone-through a few diapers.  All the while, Liam has this look of, "Did I do that?" on his face.  Again, laughing is all you can really do. 

We made it home without further incident... Other than the little man meltdown on the way home.  Someone was hungry, and someone wanted to eat RIGHT NOW.  It was the first time we really heard him wail.  My heart broke.  And of course we hit EVERY red light.

For Funny Story: Two, I'll explain this picture:

Happy 39 Weeks, L Bean!

Well, Labor Day came and went without any labor.  How poetic would that have been?

I had a doctor appointment last Friday, and I had my first internal exam!  Friend Sarah tagged along for this appointment.  She's seen me naked or half-naked more times than I can count, so her being present for the internal exam was al natural.  I thought for sure the exam would be very uncomfortable, but it really wasn't so bad (I'll spare you the description I gave my husband - you're welcome).  Doc checked-out L Bean's heartbeat via ultrasound first.  All was well.  He also took a peak at the placenta, which was visibly maturing.  And then he tried to measure his head.  I say "tried" because his head is so low in my pelvis that he couldn't get a good read.  I won't tell you how low the ultrasound wand was while he was trying to get the measurement, you can just use your imagination. 

After the ultrasound, it was internal time!  I'd been feeling pressure on my cervix all week, so I was hoping that SOMETHING was happening.  According to Doc, I was 1+ centimeters dilated and VERY effaced.  So THAT'S what I had been feeling all week.  Neither of those measurements mean all that much, as many women are dilated and effaced for weeks before they go into labor.  L Bean is very low in my pelvis - good job, little man!  Doc told me that he thought I could go at any time.  ANY TIME.  And sooner rather than later.  After the exam, there was some bleeding. This is totally normal, although I did waltz right back into Doc's office to have this confirmed.  About to get TMI, avert your eyes boysss: The blood was mucusy, so I was hoping that Doc dislodged my muscus plug.  No dice.  It's still plugging strong (so gross, but I couldn't resist).

I'm now convinced that L Bean is stubborn like his momma, because he seems pretty darn comfortable.  An induction date (no, I'm not going to let you in on the secret) has been set if I don't go into labor on my own.  There IS an end in sight.

The weekend was spent like this: Wait.  Wait. Waiting. Clean. Wait. Laundry. Wait. Dinner with brother and SIL. Wait.  Clean (things that had already been cleaned). Wait.  Dinner with brother, SIL, and mom (spicy food).  Wait. Wait. WAIT.  We threw-in another labor inducing trick over the weekend, but that's PRIVATE.

Oh, and did I mention that I'm sick?  Husband was sick all week, and it finally caught-up with me this weekend.  So really the weekend went like this: Wait. Blow nose. Wait. Wait. Drink water to sooth throat. Blow nose. Sniffle. Wait.  Try to sleep. Wait. Fail to sleep AT ALL. Wait.  Husband moves to couch because he's coughing.  Wait. Try to sleep.  Fail to breath through nose.  Day dream about taking Benadryl to help me breath and sleep. Wait.... you get the picture.  39 weeks of being healthy, and my immune system picks NOW to get lazy. 

My emotional climate this weekend was like a roller coaster.  My poor husband.  The waiting is excruciating.  I don't know how women stay sane when they actually PASS their due date.   Not feeling well and not being able to sleep magnifies every emotion.  And then add-on a healthy does of general discomfort from being very pregnant.  That Dairy Queen Blizzard last night made me feel better for a bit... and then I felt bad for a different set of reasons.  My spirits seem better today.  I stayed-home from work in an effort to jump-start feeling better and to catch-up on sleep.  There's nothing good on TV and the house is already spotless, so I may go a LITTLE crazy by the end of the day.  I keep telling myself that I need to enjoy these last days of having L Bean all to myself.  I am truly going to miss being pregnant, so I'm trying to switch my attitude.  Easier said than done, but progress is being made.

At dinner this weekend with brother, SIL, and mom, we went-over our expectations for the hospital, visitors, and updates.  And then being home, visitors, and updated.  And the phone calls and texts to update.  It's so hard to coordinate something that is such an unknown.  For once, my Type A self has a "well figure it out" attitude.  Aren't you proud?!?!  Crazy, I know.

No Much Happening Around Here

I haven't written much in August as there hasn't been much going on.  I totally predicted this would happen.  We tore through all of our baby prep, and now we're twiddling our thumbs and stalking the calendar.  I'm so thankful (and a little surprised) that we stuck to our "get it done early" goal.  I can't imagine trying to finish projects at this point.  It would all fall on Husband's shoulders (and he's already taken over the following duties: picking-up things off the floor, pulling me out of the laying position in bed, carrying the laundry basket EVERYWHERE, and even getting my phone when it rings if I'm propped-up on the couch - seriously, how lucky am I?).   


I had my 37 (and 4 days... but who's counting) appointment last Friday.  All is well in Liamland!  My BP is normal.  My urine looks good (and no, we're not talking aesthetically).  L Bean's heart rate is good.  I was sent-home with another 4D picture of his adorable little mug.  Oh my goodness. THAT FACE.  His cheeks look chubbier than last week.  And he has the cutest chin - to whom in the family it belongs, we have no clue.  Full lips (mom).  Cute little ears and button nose (dad).  And what look like big eyes (mom).   It was the shortest appointment yet.  Maybe five minutes.  Doc came in and gave me a big hug hello.  Have I told you how much I love my doctor?  I could put him in my pocket and take him home.  If nothing happens before next Friday, he'll check me (we're talking internals, people) to see if I've dilated.  Holy cowsers. 


I can't believe I'm sharing this, but I promised honesty.  Saturday I noticed some stretch marks.  Not on my belly (thankfully).  I won't tell you the exact spot because I'm still in denial.  There's one in particular that looks pretty angry - I call it Murphy.  Luckily, they're not really visible to the general public.  Hopefully with time (and body shrinkage) they'll get smaller and less angry.  I have no one to blame but myself.  I've mentioned this before, but I'll tell you again.  I've gained some serious poundage during this pregnancy.  It may not look like it to you, but trust me - there is at least 40 extra pounds on my frame (I don't know the exact number.  I literally cover my eyes when I get weighed).  I was a smidge underweight for my age and height when I got pregnant, so some of the weight gain was needed for a healthy pregnancy and baby.  But certainly not all of it.  I've pretty much consumed whatever I felt like whenever I felt like it.  Especially these past few weeks.  This is my only regret throughout this entire pregnancy.  I wasn't active.  My food self control was non-existent.  Thankfully I'm at the end, so it can't get much worse.  I will tell you - this weekend was an all-time pregnant self-esteem low. 


We met baby Jax (Jack for long) last week!  He was a week and a half old and so cute you could eat him.  We took the family dinner, and in exchange we got to snuggle their sweet boy for a bit.  Husband was swoonworthy.  He cradled Jax so naturally, and he kept stroking his little arm with a single finger.  His face told the story of what was going through his mind - he's SO ready to hold his own son.  My heart reached the near explosion level.  Jax's mommy looked AMAZING.  She has just given birth a week or so before, and she was just glowing.  I wasn't expecting her to look rough, but I wasn't expecting her to look THAT great.  She wears motherhood so well.   It was so fun spending an hour in that kind of emotional climate.  We couldn't help but feel the love.


This past weekend Josh had a soccer tournament.  His team won!  I baked cookies and banana bread.  I cleaned and did laundry.  I napped and rested.  The weekend passed by WAY too quickly.  I went to Target and got my "after birth" goodies (the ice packs are already in the freezer).

I figured it wouldn't be very nice of me to send Husband to the store to buy HUGE maxi-pads and hemorrhoids pads.  Hopefully I won't need the hemi pads, but I'd rather be over-prepared than under-prepared (Who, me?! NEVER).  I also got some big 'ol cotton undies.  I'm not much for regular underwear, so it'll be interesting wearing those pad-hammocks for a few weeks.  When I brought them home and showed them to Husband, he said, "Sometimes full underwear is really sexy.  You know, like boy shorts."  To which I said, "Honey, these are NOT boy shorts.  They're sole purpose is to hold a pad in place.  Think granny-pantie."  He stopped smiling after that. 

Today my feet are swollen.  Husband even noticed.  We're keeping an eye on them to make sure it's not happening really quickly, as that's usually not a good thing.   I've definitely noticed an up-tick in activity this week.  More contractions.  More uncomfortable contractions.  Longer contractions.  A general dull ache in my lower belly from time to time.  I'm exhausted; although I think this has more to do with work than anything.  I plan to stop working when I pop or until my due date, whichever comes first (that's nine more workdays, max, but who's counting).  As each day passes, I realize that working until my due date will be tough.  But we have a big deadline coming-up, and it's too important that I contribute.  At least it's a desk job.

My dad booked his flights to come visit right after L Bean is born.  I can't even tell you how excited I am.  I can't wait to see the tears :)

Just for fun, here are two pictures of our oldest kids:

They're ready to be the best big brother and big sister to L Bean!

Breastfeeding and Calendars (Unrelated)

Have I ever told you about how I thought I was a week or so more pregnant than my doctor? True story.

When we got pregnant, I wasn’t on birth control. We knew we wanted to start a family sooner rather than later, and we didn’t know how long it would take my body to adjust to being hormone-free. Because I wasn’t on the pill, I kept a calendar. Kept a calendar of what, my two (maybe) male readers ponder? Monthly lady details, my friends. If you’ve ever been on birth control and then stopped, you know why I kept a calendar (here’s another hint to my faithful male readers: everything is JACKED-UP). I’ll spare you my notation details, but my Type A peeps would be proud. On that calendar, I kept track of EVERYTHING (she blushes coyly). You know, just in case. Well, Just in Case’s name is Liam, and he’ll make an appearance in a few weeks.

Because I kept track on said calendar I know when, YOU KNOW, happened. So when I was asked for the first date of my last cycle, I cited my calendar and cracked some joke about being meticulous and date of conception (totally inappropriate, nervous Betsy joke). Doctor laughed. I knew I liked him for a reason. Based on my dates, my due date would be September 8th. Based on what Doctor saw during that first ultrasound, my due date was set at September 14th. And there it has remained. Due dates are based on average cycles. Revisiting my “jacked-up” comment above, there was nothing average about my cycles. They’d be long and then short and then long and then long and then short. It was SO much fun. L Bean is measuring right-on-track for a September 14th due date, so obviously Doctor knows best. September 8th sounds pretty awesome right about now, though.

On a different note, Husband looked at me last night and said, “It looks like your stomach has grown since this morning.” We measured. It hadn’t. But it sure feels like it. Clothes are getting TIGHT (and not just around my stomach, sad face).

We had our last baby class last night: breastfeeding basics for couples. Yes, Husband tagged along. I’m going to need his help/support. Plus, they showed a video (I kid, I KID!). 

Before I talk about our class, I have to share something swoon-worthy with you. The past three classes we’ve taken have involved baby dolls. One per couple. As each class progressed, Husband would sneak the baby doll into his lap or he’d hold it in his arms. Someone’s excited to be a daddy!

Okay, back to breastfeeding. When I first got pregnant, I knew I wanted to breastfeed. I also felt totally scared and weird about it. L Bean was the size of a poppy seed, so there wasn’t much mother-son bonding going on, and I had a hard time imagining a baby on my breast. As I’ve gotten more and more pregnant, I’ve gotten more and more excited about breastfeeding. After last night’s class, I’m more excited than ever. And for the first during this pregnancy, I’m confident and FAITHFUL. Did you know the average weaning age in Europe is three years? A year ago I would have said, “UGH! No way. That’s a TODDLER.” By no means so I plan to nurse until L Bean is three, but I get it now.

I had a breastfeeding epiphany last night: If L Bean is anything like his father, he’ll be a breastfeeding champion (I won’t reveal details, but Husband weaned a bit late).

35 Week Update

35 weeks means there are 5 weeks left. 5 WEEKS. FIVE WEEKS. FIIIIIIVE WEEKS.

I’d like to start this post with a funny (at least I think it’s funny) story: So I’m in the drive-thru at Taco Bell today (and yes, it felt soooo good to be soooo bad) talking to Josh on the phone about what the VW Estimator Man said about the damage to the back of the Passat (more on that later). It’s lunchtime, so there’s a line, and I get stuck next to the Bell’s windows for an extended period of time. I’m holding the phone with my left hand, which is the hand closest to the windows. I randomly peak towards to windows, and I see Weird Guy staring at me. And then Weird Guy proceeds to nod (you know, the upward nod that just screams, How you doin?”), WINK (who are you, Simon Cowell?!?!), and then smile at me. And I quickly averted my eyes. I wanted to get out of the car, tap on the window next to his face, and point-out the obvious that my seated position inside a car was hiding. Swollen fingers, so my wedding ring is around my neck. And big ol’ 35-week baby belly. But hey, thanks for making me feel like I’ve still got it, Weird Guy! On a slightly different, yet still related note – I guess I forgot I was pregnant because I ordered a Number 8 combo (3 hard tacos, since I know you’re curious). That’s all I ordered. If you’ve been pregnant or you’re currently pregnant, then you know what I’m getting at. That’s not even CLOSE to enough food. I easily could have packed-way three more. In hindsight, a Crunchwrap would have added nicely to the meal. And my ever-growing butt thanks me.

Anyway, what’s new this week?

I. Am. Uncomfortable. Please save me from this misery! I kid, it’s really not THAT bad. Although, last night I was whining like a little baby. But for reals, things are getting tight in MA BELLY, Baby is growing something fierce, and my feet hurt constantly. On average, I wake-up 3 times a night to pee (up from my old average of 2 times per night). Sleeping makes my body stiff and sore. This morning, I literally felt like I had run a 10-miler this weekend. I inquired with a work friend and was told this is normal, this is expected, and is what the last five weeks are going to feel like.

I have a doctor’s appointment. How is this different, you wonder quietly to yourself? For the most part, it’s not different. My twice a week schedule will transition to weekly after this appointment. I’ll pee, they’ll test. They’ll take my BP, which I’ll get nervous about and then worry that it’ll be high because I was nervous. He’ll ask how I’m feeling, if I have any questions. I’ll get to peep my little guy for a few minutes through an ultrasound. And here’s where it’s different. It’s the week of my Strep B test. The nurse told me last time to expect the test, and I asked the doctor some general questions about Strep B, the test, reasons for the test, etc. (because I’m a good little patient). There are three words that I really remember (it was EARLY in the morning, and I’m PREGNANT): Penicillin. Swab. Rectum. Okay, okay, SAY WHAT?!?! My tired, pregnant brain couldn’t process the heft of our conversation at the time, but you better believe the wheels were spinning later in the day. I’ve read a few things online, and swab + rectum seem to be a common thread. Feel badly for me. And hope that my assumptions are incorrect.

Oh, hey there, Contraction.  I still get a handful of Braxton Hicks Contractions every day.  I used to only notice them because my uterus tightened-up like a vice grip.  Now I can actually FEEL them.  As in, hi, you're kind of uncomfortable.  It's doesn't hurt, but it's not comfortable either.  They last anywhere from 10 to 20 seconds.  There have been a few times where I've had three in an hour, which put me on high alert.  Usually the high alert count is 4 in one hour.  Last night in our newborn class I had two within 20 minutes of each other, which was an eyebrow raiser.  But that third and fourth one never came, so we forgot all about it by the end of class.  Husband was so cute during our class break.  He said, "So you had one at 7:10 and 7:30 (I wrote the times down on the papers in front of us), but no more after that?  Okay, good."  Somebody was paying attention!!

No more kicks. I’ll get an occasional kick from my sweet inhabitant, but it’s mostly movement now. Space is limited, so he can’t wind-up like he used to. But the movements, OH THE MOVEMENTS! I think I’d prefer the kicks and punches. Sometimes it feels like he has his hands and feet on my spine and he’s pushing his back and butt out against my belly as hard as he possibly can. You picture that and smile, but it’s not pleasant. And lately he’s been trying to reach a foot or hand around my back. I’ve got news buddy, NOT possible. He’s still trying to stick his hands OUT of my lady bits, which is still closed for exit. And a few times a day he’ll do something that makes me go, “OOH! “ or “OUCH!” or “AAAAHH (sound of breath catching on my throat).” Husband had a stern talk with him last night about not beating-up Mommy, so he’s been a bit calmer today.

The nursery is complete! No more projects. No more painting. No more planning (what am I to do with my time?!?!). No more spending money, HOLLER!! I had a shower this weekend, so there’s stuff in the nursery too. It no longer looks like it’s staged for a magazine cover. It looks READY. And I peak in there every morning before work

Daddy is coming to visit! I just found-out that my dad is planning to visit after L Bean is born for a few days. A few DAYS! A day a meetings will be scheduled in there somewhere, but the other days will be spent hanging out with his grandson. SWOON. My day was made when I heard this news.

I’m tired. Doc wasn’t kidding when he said that Energized Pregnant Betsy would give-way to Exhausted Pregnant Betsy around this time in the pregnancy. Lots of naps have been had.

We're getting REALLY excited.  With each day that passes, the reality of what's going to happen (soon) sets-in a little deeper.  I had a baby shower this weekend that we'd been talking about for months.  Kerry and Caroline came for a visit, which we'd been talking about for months.  The nursery that we'd been working on for months is completed.  The rooms in our house are painted.  The kitchen is organized.  There are strollers in our dining room.  A carseat on the dining room table. The only thing left to do is to refinish the cradle (it's about 25% complete).  Oh, and have this baby.  I was talking to my Dad yesterday, and I said something along the lines of, "I can't believe this weekend has come and gone.  We talked about it for so long, and now it's over."  To which he said, "Yeah, now all you have to do is have this kid!"  Wow.  Just wow.  He's so right.  We've planned and prepped.  Now there's just one thing left to do - have a baby.  And let me tell you, we are SO ready to have this baby.  We took a newborn class last night (just a quick 2.5 hour class), and each couple was given a baby doll to use (for diapering, bathing, feeding, holding, etc.).  I kept peaking at Husband, and he would be holding the doll.  Just holding it (it was a her - we were a little bummed).  I couldn't help but smile.  He's going to be the best dad.  And I think together we're going to be great parents.  This past 35 weeks have been the fastest and best of our lives.  But I bet it won't even compare to the next few months.

I have ankles!

I had an appointment with Doc (I actually met with his NP because he’s on vacation) on Friday, and all is well in Liam Land. My blood pressure and urine are good (side note: I had to pee so badly that once I started I amost forgot about the cup part.  I had to scramble a little.  Don't worry, I washed my hands). His heartbeat sounds good. And he’s still head down (please stay that way, little guy!).  NP was impressed that I still had ankles.  Why, thank you.  She also told me that I certainly didn't look like someone who was 31 weeks, and to essentially shut up and take the compliment.  Yes ma'am. 

I learned a valuable lesson that morning: DO NOT ask if the doctor can tell if the baby is still head down if there’s no ultrasound machine around. I asked. And NP proceeded to place both of her hands on my belly and push around REALLY hard. I was caught off guard by her force (homegirl was TINY and practically stood on her toes for this maneuver), and totally unprepared for the pain that made my breath catch in my throat. I wanted to say, “Hey NP! There’s a baby in there, and you just shoved him into my SPINE and any organs that haven’t been pushed-up into my chest (yet).” After the assault, L Bean was none too happy. He quickly jabbed back at her with a foot to MY side. Um, hey kid, while I can appreciate your frustration, that’s your momma you’re pounding! In all fairness, I asked for it, so I suppose it was deserved.

What’s new this week? L Bean must be going-through a killer growth spurt because I am spent. Like, I ran 7 miles yesterday but only slept four hours last night, spent. I have bags under my eyes (thankfully, no one has pointed them out to me). Come 2:00 pm, I contemplate putting my head down at my desk. This kid is still sleeping through the night like a champ, though. They say your baby’s sleeping habits while he’s cooking somewhat mirror his habits once he leaves the oven. YES, PLEASE. Believe me, I’m not banking on it. I just have my fingers (and toes) crossed.

We toured a child development center this week. It’s at a church that’s a ½ mile from our house. Score. We both got a really good feeling when we were there. The women who work with the infants are all older, so it’s like dropping your kid off at Grandma’s. I love that. There were four babies lying around and fighting over toys (these two were twins), and I wanted to pick-up and snuggle each one of them. Especially this one little chunker. She kept waving, smiling, and putting her hands up in the air like she wanted to be picked-up. I probably would have thrown my back-out trying, but man did I want to snatch her up and run. We’ve added our name to the waiting list, and as of right now there’s only one other baby on the list for care starting in December.

Did you know childcare is REALLY expensive? And we’ve found somewhere “cheap.” Also, did you know that you have to pay tuition even if your kid isn’t there? Holidays, vacations, sick days – you still pay. It makes sense, but it still sucky poos. One the good side, there are a few instruments available that provide some savings. There’s a child care tax credit. And you can set-up a dependent care FSA. Still, we’re talking A LOT of money. Sad face.

We still haven’t set-up interviews with any pediatricians. I have, however, created a (super awesome) list of pediatricians and questions. I just need to make the calls.

A tour of L&D at the hospital is also in the works. I called Thursday to inquire and schedule, but the office was closed. Hopefully I get a return call sooner rather than later. I also want to try and pre-register as much as possible – fill-out paper work, etc. I’m not a big fan of hospitals, so I’m not looking forward to the tour. Or the stay in two months. I bet having a cute baby to play with will make it ALL better though. I keep forgetting that we get to leave the hospital with more than what we arrived with. So. much. more.

During our birth class Thursday night, I looked at Mr. H and said, “Are you going to remember all of these breathing techniques? They are going to be the last thing on my mind, and I’ll probably need you to remind me.” No pressure, Husband! He nodded, but I wrote them down just in case. Last night was transition breathing (What’s transition? You go from 8 to 10 centimeters really fast with the help of really painful contractions that come really often. I guess HELL would have been a more concise description). I’ll probably just end-up panting and moaning (or screaming), if I’m not numb from the chest to my knees, that is.  If an epidural is going to happen, my goal is to at least get to 6 (preferably 7) centimeters before begging for (more like, demanding) it.  Epis can really slow things down, so I want to be as close to transition as possible.  I don't want any narcotics, because they seem to only slightly dull the pain and make you feel loopy/drunk.  Plus, they cross the placenta (aka - baby gets a dose).  I asked Mr. H what he thinks my pain threshold will be. He thinks I’ll be pretty tough (but he HAS to say that). I hope he’s right.

Countdown: 9 Weeks to Baby

Last night I slept for about five hours. It was my first night of discomfort from having a growing baby in my belly (so I guess I should say that I’ve been pretty blessed). First he got the hiccups. Then he got annoyed by his hiccups and started thrashing. Then he just wouldn’t settle down. I slept from midnight to 5:00 am (we went to bed at 10:00). I was COMPLETELY awake at 5:00 am. I laid there and listened to Fiona breath, then lick her cone, scratch at her cone, then breath some more. The previous night, the area on F’s jaw where Phantom Snake rocked our (my) world leaked a big puddle onto a pillow. It used to be filled with very hard, solid gunk, which gave-way to soft, gooey gunk. I compare it to a blister that gets so full that the slightest bit of pressure and splat! The spot doesn’t seem hurt her, I think it’s just itchy and annoying. I mean, how would YOU like it if you had a bump the size of a walnut on your cheek? Oh, and you weigh 10 pounds, so that walnut is ginormous in comparison to you. Anyway, I got up to check if she was leaking again (like a stupid blister, it filled back-up some). And then I had to pee. And by now Josh is getting restless and thrashing to get comfortable again. I manage to fall back asleep until the alarm clock blasts a song that goes, “PUT ME OUT OF MY MISSSERRRYYYY” at 6:00 am. How appropriate.

I am officially very pregnant because I go to the doctor every two weeks now. I have an appointment this Friday, and I find myself thinking, “Wait, I just had one of these.” Five weeks from now, I go to ONCE A WEEK. Oh, and around that time Doc will be sticking his arm up my who-ha. So psyched.

Did you know what women usually gain a pound a week in the last trimester (about half of which is baby putting on that adorable chub)? I haven’t discussed this in blogverse yet, but I’ve packed-on some poundage. I was five pounds over my usual when I got pregnant (stupid holidays), and then it was busy season (hello eating, sympathy/stress eating, no time to exercise, and more general eating). I’ve stopped looking at the scale, and I’ve requested that Mr. H not look; however, he deliberately disobeys each time, and then I end-up asking him about the damage anyway. As of my last appointment, I’d gained 33 pounds. I’ve never seen the scale so high in my life. I’m 20 pounds heavier than I’ve ever been. I know, I’m PREGNANT. It’s still alarming to see the numbers. So, if you figure-out a pound a week for 13(ish) weeks… I cry.

It seems like it took forever for my uterus to finally pass the height of my belly button, but now it’s flown past it. It won’t be long now until L Bean is sticking his feet in my ribs.  He's already trying to stick an arm out of me for ventilation.

I have a faint linea negra forming below my belly button. I first noticed it a couple weeks ago. No stretch marks (PLEASE stay that way). My belly button is still hanging tough as an inny, but I’m not sure how much longer it can hold-out. It looks like the timer could pop any day now.

I was in the kitchen at work getting coffee this morning (yes, I drink a cup of coffee a day. Yes, it is allowed. No, I don’t care what you have to say about it), when someone asked, “When is the big day?” To which I reply, “Mid-September.” I usually don’t tell work people September 14th because that’s the day before a big deadline, and I still feel a little guilty about it. He replies, “Hmmm, September, huh? I don’t knoooow. I’m not sure you’re going to make it that far!” Okay, what does that MEAN? Does my belly really look THAT big? I assure you that it’s not. I have serious belly envy of the women in my birth class. We’re all around the same due date, and they’re bellies would whoop my belly in a fist fight. Are you referring to my shelf of a butt or my luscious thighs? If so they don’t appreciate being talked about as if they’re not in the room.

If I hear, “I bet you’re LOVING this heat!” or “I bet you’re just DYING in this heat!” or “I bet you’re just MISERABLE in this heat!” one more time, heads are going to roll.

Funny story: At the beginning of my pregnancy, my mom told me about the benefits of rubbing something rough on your nipples to shape-them-up for the abuse they’ll take. A rough terry cloth towel will due. She did this and had no discomfort breast feeding. Her friends did not do this and were miserable (I’m paraphrasing here). She calls me a few weeks ago and leaves this message on my cell phone: Have you been rubbing something rough on your niiiipples?!?! Something about it really will help. Love you, talk to you later, bye. I just about peed myself. Aren’t moms the best?

Fiona Update and Actual Baby Stuff

I’m going to actually write about something baby-related today, after I update you on Fiona’s condition, of course.

She’s spending the day with her Auntie Sarah, who generously offered to watch/love Fiona for the day. We will not doubt get-back a very sleepy Fiona this evening, which means she’ll sleep through the night (and so will I). I received the cutest picture of F sitting atop her pillow throne on the couch while Sarah’s dog Talbot delivers her very best stank eye. F and T are typical female-dominant characters, so it’s always interesting to see who wins. Usually it’s Talbot since her morning poop weighs more than Fiona, but I have a feeling F may be today’s champion. You know, it’s the cone, the icky eyes, and that sad face that only an ailing 10 pound dog can deliver. Today, the game is mental.

Okay, now on to baby stuff. You know, the reason I created this blog in the first place.

We had an appointment with Doc last Friday morning. The plan was the do the usual and then do a 3-D (or is it 4-D?) ultrasound. Being the stubborn kid that he is (he’s already taking after his mother; if that’s the case, we are in TROUBLE), he kept his face covered the whole time. Jerk. He’s not shy about his little boy bits, but he’s apparently not ready to flash us his mug.

Back-up. What’s “the usual?” It consists of: (1) Pee in a cup. (2) Get weighed (sad face). Every time I ask Mr. H very nicely to please not look. Every time he looks. Best husband ever. (3) Blood pressure. (4) How are you feeling? (5) Any questions? (6) Wanna see your baby! HECK YES! Quickie ultrasound. (7) Set-up next appointment. (8) Pee in the bathroom in the hallway because it’s been 10+ minutes at this point.

When the nurse took my blood pressure, we were discussing something that got me excited (it had something to do with boobs, that’s all I’m going to tell you), and my BP was higher than usual. She came back at the end of the appointment to re-take. Back to normal. Phew. I was a little nervous when she took my BP the second time, so I was worried it would be high again. High BP at this point is an eye-brow raiser, and I like Doc’s eye-brows right where they are, thank you.

Doc switched-back to the regular ultrasound, and he took some measurements. It was a toss-up between almost vomiting and almost passing out when Doc measured his head. On the day of the appointment, I was 29 weeks, four days. L Bean’s head measured 33 weeks, 4 days (and my lady bits shudder). Doc measured other things like “the belly of the beast” and his spine, which both measured just a little big. Doc estimated his weight to be 3 pounds, 9 ounces. The caveat with ultrasound weight estimates – they’re always wrong. Let’s say the estimates are +/- 8 ounces (or a half pound). General estimates for a baby at 29 weeks is about 2 and a half pounds. So he’s measuring a little big all around. No surprise here (have I mentioned before that Josh was 8 pounds FOUR WEEKS EARLY? And he’s also 6’4”. Add that to my 5’9’ and 7 pounds, 8 ounces two weeks early). Keep-on growing, kiddo! Just remember that you have (yes, I am putting my foot down for the first time as your mother) to exit via my vajayjay, so don’t go too crazy.

I also asked what position L Bean was in because sometimes it literally feels like he’s laying horizontally. He’s head-down, and I’ve politely asking him to stay that way. So what I thought was his head pushing out against my belly button must be his butt. He’s not kicking my bladder, he’s punching it. And he’s not trying to stick a foot out of my vagina, he just has sweaty balms that need some air.

We started our childbirth class last week. Mr. H almost fell asleep during the first hour, as the Nurse Lady went through the class syllabus in DETAIL and depicted my cervix as a budding rose and contractions like waves in an ocean. Mr. H got to practice relaxation/touch techniques on me for 15+ minutes. Meaning, I got a 15+ minute massage without having to ask. SCORE. His night was made when Nurse Lady told us to switch places, and Mr. H got a 5 minutes rub down of his own. We’ve been instructed to bring loads of pillows and two towels to tomorrow’s class. As long as Nurse Lady doesn’t have me hee-hee-hoooooing, we’ll be good. Oh, and we get to watch the video. You know, THAT video. I can’t wait for the awkward, heavy silence that will undoubtedly overtake the class (all ten of us). I’m going to bring my camera tomorrow. Hopefully I can sneak a few pictures of the experience.

What's orange, 10 fl oz, and has 50 grams of sugar?

This little gem: 

At my last appointment (four weeks ago), my doctor told me about the glucose tolerance test that I would undergo the following appointment.  And because I'm a "responsible patient" (Um, do what?), he sent the sugar cocktail home with me with specific instructions.  If you eat breakfast, eat a VERY light breakfast.  My blood will be drawn an hour after drinking, so time consumption accordingly. No food or drink after drinking (which was REALLY hard.  Do you know how thirsty pregnancy makes you?!?!).  It must be consumed in five minutes.  He said, "Drink it as fast as possible, it gets a little rough towards the end."  AWESOME. 

The drink is moderately carbonated, so my plan was to drink it with a straw.

Side Note: Have you ever realized how easy it is to drink something through a straw?  A straw is perfect for making sure you get enough water during pregnancy.  A straw is not good, however, when you're at Chile's and you order a pink lemonade with free refills.  Hello calorie overload and frequent bathroom trips (well, more frequent that normal... which would be every five minutes, instead of every ten).  This is my pregnancy best friend, we go everywhere together:

We got the venti size, which is 20 fluid ounces.  The powers that be recommend that you drink 48 to 64 ounces of water a day, and this bad boy makes 80 ounces easily achievable.  We loved the first one so much that we quickly snagged another.  A third is being contemplated just in case the others break down.

Anywhobe, the straw made it so much easier.  I drank it in two minutes, and while it was bad, it wasn't THAT bad.  I told the nurse and Doc this morning, "Tell EVERYONE to drink it with a straw!!"  My blood was drawn and Doc did a quick Ultrasound (did I mention that Doc is the BEST?).  I had questions this time. He laughed gently when I pulled-out my list (Uh, pregnancy brain.  If it's not connected to me or written down, then it's gone and forgotten).  All looks well.  We're on the books for an appointment in three weeks where he'll do an "official" ultrasound.  This one will be in 3D, and since my little man is boasting some fat now he won't look like a skeleton.  Woot! 

After this appointment, we go to bi-weekly appointments.  WHAT?! You know what that means?  I'm in my third trimester.  The THIRD, as in the LAST.  Um, DO WHAAAT?!?!

I recognize this scene from Species II

I cannot get enough of Liam’s kicks. When he’s pushing eight pounds and round-housing my bladder, I imagine I’ll politely ask him to stop. But right now, I revel in every. single. kick. To be honest, before I’d felt that first flutter I thought it might freak me out. Think about it – something, that’s living by the way, is kicking you from the INSIDE. That thought conjures Alien and Species images. However, real experience was quite the opposite. We bond over these kicks. That’s all we can bond over. And Josh bonds with Liam through the kicks. And Josh and I bond with each other through the kicks. Last night we spent five minutes just watching my stomach twitch and bulge. We were exclaiming, “Whoa!” and “Good one!” the entire time. It doesn’t get much sweeter than this.

We had a check-up this morning (these happen every four weeks right now). My mom tagged-along. All is well with Liam! Doc said my fluid looks good (no, not THOSE fluids, amniotic fluid), my blood pressure is good, Liam’s heart rate is normal, and he informed us that he looked at the results from our anatomy work-up two weeks ago and all looks well. My glucose test (aka they take MORE blood... did I mention the time they took SEVEN viles?) is scheduled for 4 weeks from now. An hour before the test I’m supposed to drink a 10 ounce drink they sent home with me. Those 10 ounces contain an obscene amount of sugar. Doc’s advice: drink it as fast as possible. They load you with sugar to see how your pancreas reacts. This gives them an indication of your susceptibility to gestational diabetes.

Our plans for the tonight: the first stage of operation Prepare for Liam. We’re cleaning/clearing-out the office. It’s still going to remain an office, but it’s been a catch-all for crap. Nothing feels better than throwing away bags of crap and donating bags of usable “someone else’s treasure.” Stage two is moving Josh’s clothes into the office closet (yes, I took-over the entire master closest). Then we need to remove the bed and bookcase from the to-be nursery. Then we PAINT. I finally pulled the trigger on Liam’s bedding. I can’t tell you how many times I added the items to my cart online. Diapers.com must know a secret that other online companies don’t because I ordered it this morning at 9:00 am, and by 11:00 am it has already shipped. It’ll be here TOMORROW. Maybe we can pick-out paint this weekend. I keep repeating: We will not procrastinate, we will not procrastinate, we will not procrastinate. I’ll let you know how it goes.