Category

The Pregnancy

Another to Love

So, it’s finally time for that post that explains why I haven’t posted in ages. Yay!

When J and I first married, we were both very certain we wanted to have kids. We had originally agreed on somewhere between 2 and 4 kids, with him leaning more towards 2 and me leaning more towards 4 (interestingly, he’s one of 5 kids, I’m one of 2). After we had Eli and my mental health fell apart for a bit, we both realized 4 wasn’t going to work. But we also both kind of knew that 2 just didn’t feel right. Three was going to be our magic kid number. And the plan was that we would start trying for a baby in the late spring of last year, making Will and baby 3 about 2.5 years apart.

You know that thing about making plans, right?

Eli and Will were first try babies. Hell, Eli was first time not not trying. I have always been aware of how unusual and fortunate that is, but, I still don’t think I was adequately grateful for it. Because baby #3 was not a first try baby. Or a second try. Or a third try. And you get the idea. The trying and not succeeding at getting pregnant happened at the same time Will started preschool and I added extra work hours and life just got really busy. What little extra time I had in the evenings after the kids were in bed was spent trying to figure out why I wasn’t pregnant or trying to get pregnant.

I want to be super, duper crystal clear and not label this anything other than what it was- a slightly prolonged trying to conceive period. I wasn’t infertile or suffering from infertility and that’s why I hesitated to write anything about it here (and also because I know The Internet doesn’t think I should have a third kid and while The Internet is welcome to their opinion, I was not in a place where I could deal with hearing that). I mean, what kind of person with two healthy kids complains that it’s not easy to conceive a third? I might lack self-awareness and be a whiner, but even I know that’s not okay.

So I didn’t write. A few friends knew what was going on and it wasn’t a great few months. It was made tougher by five! pregnancy announcements from coworkers during the time we were not getting pregnant (and there are literally like 15 people at my work). It was a learning experience for me and I think I’m ultimately better for it.

In December I got a positive pregnancy test (baby is due in late summer, more or less on Will’s 3rd birthday) and thankfully everything has gone well since then. Many times between now and then I’ve wanted to write, not about pregnancy but about anything, but I’ve either been too sick or too tired to do so. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the first trimester stuff that you trick yourself into forgetting so you’ll get pregnant again because if you remembered it, no one would have more than one baby.

And so yes! A third baby! We could not be more excited or more grateful.

Last week we got an early extra ultrasound (as a gift from my work) and found out that we are having a boy. A third boy! We are just beside ourselves. I’m sure that girls are delightful and we’d love a daughter, but being the mom of boys has been the greatest gift of my life and having a third just feels so impossibly right. It’s the perfect way to complete our family.

As the fatigue fog is lifting, I’m hoping to be here more. Not just to talk about pregnancy again because I think I’ve said (twice) all that really needs to be said on that topic, but just to be here. To have this space up and running again for those who still read, and for me to write on it. This journey has been far from what I expected it would be, but I think that it has changed us in a good way. We’re not perfect people and not perfect parents, but we are absolutely thrilled to be expecting another boy. Another son to love.

Baby Month!

It’s August 1st, which means that I will officially be having a baby this month (trust me, if he’s over 2 weeks late, I will perform my own c-section before September rolls around). Tomorrow I hit 38 weeks, which means my due date is in 15 days. Which is bananas.

The last time I was this pregnant, I was psychologically a disaster. My OB had assured me that Eli would arrive by the end of April. When May rolled around, I lost it. I was angry and frustrated and more than anything, I was anxious to meet my son. I was experiencing the normal discomforts of late pregnancy, but nothing serious. It was a head game.

This time, it’s very much the opposite. I do want to meet this baby and I am excited beyond description for him to arrive, but I am not, at least psychologically, in a rush. I want him to stay in until he’s ready. But holy crap is this pregnancy physically a lot more awful. (Let’s be clear- none of this is atypical, none of this is worse than anyone else’s pregnancy experience. I have good perspective here, it doesn’t mean that parts of it don’t suck.)

For the past 6 weeks I’ve had pubic symphysis pain like I did not know could exist. It feels basically like someone kicked me in the crotch all day long. It’s good times. On top of that, the headaches that have been so delightfully absent since the 2nd trimester blood volume increase have come roaring back, almost daily. And, because that isn’t fun enough, I can’t feel 3 of my fingertips on my right hand, because apparently you can get carpal tunnel from pregnancy. THE MORE YOU KNOW.

This morning my OB sent me over to labor and delivery to be monitored because the baby has been minimally active and my fundal height/weight aren’t increasing the way they’d like. Happily, the baby looks awesome (and he sucks his thumb!), and despite having contractions every 3-5 minutes, a cervical check showed that I am clearly not having this baby imminently. Wah wah.

In the meantime, we’re continuing to try to get Eli excited about being a big brother, which so far is not going well at all. We bought him a baby doll, hoping it would increase his interest in babies. Let’s just say, it did not. He does not want the pretend baby to touch anything of his. He does not want the pretend baby to be near him and there is absolutely zero chance that he will considering holding or intentionally touching the baby.

He did get marginally excited about the prospect of being a big brother after reading a book where the big brother saved the little brother last night (Come Out and Play Little Mouse), but that’s about it so far. I know he’ll come around, I just feel bad for the way his life is going to change, even though I know in the long term it’s going to be great.

So now we wait. And hopefully soon we’ll have more excitement to report. Let’s go August!

Second Verse

I think I have been in a bit of denial about the impending birth of my second child. The first trimester was so long and so slow and I wanted it to go faster and now that I’m at the end, I am trying desperately to find more time. Despite the fact that I’m having another boy, things could not feel more different this time.

I’m less nervous about the birth than I was last time. That’s just a product of it no longer being an unknown. I know that it is going to hurt like hell and that epidurals are amazing. I know that the pain will be temporary and I am trying to not forget that the contractions don’t stop when the baby is born, because that made the second day kind of traumatically upsetting last time. I’m told it’s worse this time, but even that is short lived, I know.

I am much more nervous about breastfeeding, and then also less nervous about not breastfeeding. With Eli I was a disaster. He was born, they put him on my chest, he wiggled his way to my breast and then he did nothing. Did not root, did not suck, did not have any interest in any of that for anything other than a pillow. For two hours of bonding time we tried to convince him and he was not having it. The nurse tried to stimulate his rooting and sucking reflex and…nothing. He didn’t eat a thing for almost 24 hours.

I carry some guilt about this, because I was trying so hard to be relaxed and not one of those crazy new mothers that I didn’t ask for the help I needed. I just went with the, he’ll figure it out, and when he didn’t, I still tried to stay calm. I let lactation consultants discharge us when we weren’t anywhere near ready to be independent with feeding and then when it didn’t work out, I got so obsessed with succeeding on some level that I cried when I had to supplement with formula and I pumped 6-8 times a day for a year.

Let’s say that virtually none of that is going to happen this time around. I’m going to try to be relaxed, but I’m going to advocate for us. I’m not going to get caught up in the formula is evil for only my baby mindset and am going to feed my child however works best for us. I want breastfeeding to work, but not at the expense of my sanity. I lost so much time with Eli to pumping and crying and worrying and I will not do that this time.

While I was sure I was going to go early last time and was instead 6 days overdue, I still have a suspicion I won’t make it to my due date with this one. Partially it’s just a weird gut feeling, and partially it’s that I was already dilating and effacing at 26 weeks and have contracted all the live long day since then. If these contractions strengthen the uterus, mine is an absolute beast by now.

Eli was an excruciating 6 days overdue and I was awful. I was homicidal. I hated everyone and everything. I won’t do that this time. This time I will remember that Eli was only 6 pounds and 15 ounces after being overdue and it’s clear my body waited for a reason. If this baby doesn’t come early, I know it’ll be for a reason. I know my doctor will monitor me and make sure everything is safe and then I have to trust that my body knows what it’s doing.

And while all of that sounds like I have things mentally in control, that’s…not entirely true. I am terrified of the transition from 1 to 2. I feel like Eli is going to struggle and it makes me sad and scared. I’m worried I won’t be able to take care of them both alone, which I will have to do a lot of and, which is not a surprise, obviously, just a fear. I fear the sleepless nights followed by the toddler mornings. I can’t even talk about how scared I am to go back to work when this baby is only 14 weeks old (I know many people have it tougher, I just had a bit more time with Eli). For all the knowns this time, there are still so many unknowns left.

I have 5.5 weeks left until my due date and I know most of this stuff will play itself out one way or another, but I am both totally ready and not even a little bit ready. Life is crazy that way. I’m horribly uncomfortable and exhausted, but I’m also comfortable with life as I know it. And we all know that change is never a good thing. I guess unless it’s tiny and cute and a baby.

Baby Sex Predictions!

Our big anatomy ultrasound is in a week, which both feels like it has snuck up and also like it’s still a million years away. And I can honestly say, while I am so very excited to know, I absolutely could not care less about the sex of the baby. Truly. But I want to know noooooow.

When I was pregnant with Eli, I thought I wanted a girl. Not because I didn’t want a boy, but because I had grown up with girls. I had a sister, a half sister and 3 step sisters. My female cousins outnumbered the male ones 3:1. I just didn’t feel equipped to have a boy since I never really knew any young boys. And yet, now I find myself the very happy mother of one. And it’s funny because I kind of quickly adopted the boy mom mentality, and now I find it challenging to picture having a daughter. Again, not because I don’t want one, just because now, ironically, I don’t feel equipped to have one.

But, since day one of this pregnancy, I’ve felt strongly that this baby is a girl. I know every pregnancy is different, but the levels upon which this pregnancy differs from Eli’s only serves to convince me of that more and more. And so I thought it might be fun to do some of the old wives tales to predict the sex just to see how right/wrong they are.

I’ll start with the Chinese Gender Chart (which yes, should be sex not gender. But I didn’t make it, so I am not responsible for the name). Based on my due date and birth date the baby should be a boy. It correctly predicted that Eli was a boy.

Mayan prediction– the myth is that Mayans predicted gender by looking at the mother’s age at conception and the year of conception. If both are odd or even, it’s a girl. If they’re different, it’s a boy. I was 30 when I conceived this baby and the year was 2013, so boy. Just for fun, I was 28 when I conceived Eli and I got pregnant with him 2011, so he would also be predicted to be a boy.

Carrying height– the old wives tale is that if you’re carrying low, it’s a boy. If you’re carrying high, it’s a girl. I’m definitely carrying higher than I did with Eli, but still relatively low. I think this one is kind of a wash, but since it’s higher than I was carrying with Eli, I’ll put it under girl.

This is me with Eli at 18 weeks:
18 weeks

This is me now, at 17 weeks, 2 days (and let’s be real, I’m about 10-15 pounds heavier now than I was then, but a few months ago, my stomach was SIGNIFICANTLY less protrude-y than my boobs. Also, OMG I miss my body.):
photo-7

Heart rate– Eli’s heart rate was consistently in the 160s throughout my pregnancy. This baby started in the 160s and has dropped to the 140s. If we’re going by same v. different, I’d predict girl, but per the old wives tale, it means a boy. So.

Cravings– the myth goes- sweet cravings are a boy, sour means girl. With Eli this was pretty true. I did have some sour cravings, but I also ate cinnamon rolls for breakfast every single day for almost 3 months, so I’d say sweet was more prevalent. This time, my sweet tooth has been super mild, in fact, I’ve not wanted to eat sweets a lot of the time. I’ve craved sour and other strong flavors- this week mostly goat cheese and balsamic vinegar. So I think this one goes to the girl category.

Morning sickness– the tale says that more morning sickness means a girl. In which case, I’d like to say that this is the girliest girl there has ever been. Because at 17 weeks, I’m still dry heaving every morning. It’s pure misery.

Skin– the myth is that if you’re breaking out, it’s a girl (because she’s “stealing your beauty”) and if you’re not, it’s a boy. I’m not glowing (unless you count the excessive sweating all damn day), but my face is totally clear. So again, boy. And my skin was similarly clear with Eli (to be fair, and so not to brag because I take absolute shit care of my skin, I have always had relatively clear skin and this is largely due to wonderful and entirely fortunate genetics. Please don’t hate me.)

The ring test– Tie a ring on a string and hold it above your belly. The tale says if it swings in a line it’s a boy, if it swings in a circle it’s a girl. I’m putting absolutely no stock in this test because it sounds completely ridiculous (because all the others make so much sense, I know), but also, I did it with my 8 dollar Target ring (my wedding ring does not fit right now) and on a necklace chain instead of a string. For what it’s worth, it swung in a line, so, boy.

Family predictions are overwhelmingly girl, with the sole exception of my dad who says boy. My grandfather, who predicted that Eli was a boy from the very start also says girl, with great confidence.

The final tally is, girl 4, boy 5. Interesting. The same tests would’ve favored boy 7 to 1 with Eli (didn’t do the scientific ring test with Eli, tragically), so it’s definitely interesting.

Regardless of the outcome, I’m so ready to know. Guesses?

The Second Time Around

Depending upon how you count it, I either made it to the second trimester 2 weeks ago (developmental timing?), last week (normal math) or this week (weird math). I don’t really care how you count, I am just glad to be moving to this next phase and running away from the last one.

I can’t even begin to explain how different this pregnancy has been. I don’t want to categorize it as bad, because I know that in the global scheme of pregnancies, it’s not bad. I haven’t had to have IV fluid, I haven’t needed a trip to the doctor besides my normal check ups, no bleeding or scary complications, several normal wonderful ultrasounds. I mean, this is not bad. It’s just so different. And I think what I’ve realized is that it has felt very difficult to me because I was not prepared.

With Eli I was vaguely nauseous a few times in the first trimester, had contractions through the entire third trimester, was homicidal the week before he was born and had a relatively easy labor and delivery. And that was it. It was easy. The contractions were obnoxious, but once we realized they weren’t doing anything, they were just an inconvenience. No real nausea, no real fatigue, not one single headache. I thought I was born to be pregnant.

I was mistaken.

This time around, I have struggled each day for the past almost 9 weeks with nausea. The first 6 weeks of it were brutal, to me. Partially because I wasn’t prepared and partially because I do not handle nausea well at all. I mean, AT ALL. So dry heaving all over my living room, throwing up whole Zofran or stomach bile all over the parking lot, not being able to even take a bite of dinner or watch my child eat a meal was rough. Again, not horrible or dehydrating or scary. Just really, really unpleasant. It is finally letting up a lot and I could not be more grateful. I’m still queasy in the mornings and need to move slowly, but the evenings are good more often than not, and the afternoons are easy. I still haven’t gained an ounce, but I’m not listing that as a negative at all. I have 20 Eli pounds to help cushion this baby, I can stand to not gain a ton.

And then there’s the headaches. Before I got pregnant with Eli, I had nearly constant headaches. They were awful and I spared no detail in whining about them (sorry I’m not really sorry). And then I got pregnant and they just stopped. I mean, completely altogether stopped. My neurologist could only guess that the increased blood volume improved my pressures and that was why, but regardless of the reason, it was amazing. And I told my husband I was just going to get pregnant over and over if they came back. And thankfully they didn’t ever get back to their prior awfulness, but I had some here or there, mostly related to hormones.

And then there’s this pregnancy. Holy hell. I have had almost constant headaches for the past 2-3 weeks. It seems to be primarily the pressure from dry heaving that triggers them, along with the stress on my neck (they’re really cervicogenic more than anything), but dude, they’re awful. I finally resorted to a category C migraine medication on Friday because I was on day 3 of what started as a pressure thing and ended up as a migraine and I was ready to lay down on the freeway and let cars run over me. It worked and has been a little better since, but I’m pretty sure that this baby is made primarily of Zofran and Tylenol.

I’m also visibly pregnant already. My uterus has some kickass muscle memory.

It’s just so very different this time, and I was not prepared for any of it. I am thrilled to be having this baby, and finally starting to feel like I’m slightly in control of my life again, but it’s been really surprising the whole way through. I started having painless contractions this week, but for now I’m just trying to ignore them and take it easy. My hope is that this sort of rough first trimester will pave the way for an easy 2nd and 3rd. That seems likely, right?

Either way, I know that in the end it’s worth it and that I really just need to adjust my expectations. I need to not expect the remaining 25 weeks to be a repeat of Eli’s gestation because that’s not the case, and the sooner I get that fact in my head, the better for everyone. I do have to say that I hope the outcome is the same though, because I have the best little kid ever, and I’ll take 40 weeks of nausea and fatigue and headaches if I’m lucky enough to get another wonderful little person like Eli in my life. He’s beyond worth it and I’m sure this one will be too.

All Day Long

So look. I’m going to complain a bit here. If that bothers you, I would politely suggest you look elsewhere for a day or so. I don’t plan to make this a regular event here (hilarious concept, I know), I just need a little time to vent.

This pregnancy is rough. And let me just say, I have a good sense of perspective here. I do not have severe morning sickness, I do not have hyperemesis gravidarum. I don’t need IV fluids or hospitalizations. I know very clearly how much worse this could be, really I do. But that is not changing that fact that currently the morning sickness is zapping my ability to be a functional grown up and making me miserable.

Every morning I wake up sometime in the wee hours of the morning and take a Zofran and go back to sleep. Without this step, the rest of the morning is an impossibility. Then, when I get up around 7 (any earlier and I can’t really even get out of bed without dry heaving endlessly), I can sit in bed and feel totally fine, but the instant I stand up to go get Eli, the nausea hits. And 9 times out of 10, I spend at least 10-15 minutes dry heaving, trying to stay calm as tears stream down my face (not crying, just retching makes my eyes water like whoa) and waiting for it to pass.

Most mornings it’s better by 8. This morning I had a second session when I tried to pack myself some snacks for later in the day. I don’t know what it was about chocolate covered pretzels, but it wasn’t pleasant and I was almost late for work. Again. Thankfully my boss is also pregnant and very understanding. So far I haven’t been late for a patient, just late for set up.

Once I manage to eat breakfast, things usually improve. And for a few hours, I feel pretty normal and it is delightful. I look forward to 8:30 to 11 every day. Lunch is sometimes easy and sometimes a struggle, it just varies day to day. Last week the thing I wanted for lunch so badly also almost made me hurl and I was saved by a dissolvable Zofran I had been saving for several months. I have no idea what was different that day just as I have no idea what makes one day better and one day worse. It’s just a nausea crapshoot.

Late afternoon is hard. I usually get nauseous before I get hungry and it reaches a point where it’s hard to talk because that makes me gag, which is really tough when treating patients. Today I actually canceled my last patient because I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it through their session. I rescheduled them and I feel horrible, but I know they don’t want me gagging on their kid, even if non-contagiously. And this is with 8mg of Zofran pretty much 24 hours a day. Most nights dinner is followed by sitting completely still for a half an hour because that is the only thing that makes me not feel like puking. And then it’s on and off for the rest of the night until I go to sleep.

At this point in my pregnancy with Eli I had gagged maybe twice total and had gained like 8 pounds. So far I’ve actually lost a pound and have yet to have a single day in the past 3 weeks where I don’t spend a significant portion of my morning retching. And while this is manageable and not the end of the world and I KNOW that, as someone who hates vomiting more than anything on the face of the earth, it blows. I know that this experience is typical, but I feel so blindsided by it because the nausea was so mild with Eli, I just assumed that that was how I tolerated early pregnancy. And hey, I was wrong. So that discovery kind of sucks anew every day.

I keep reading that it should be letting up and it just isn’t yet. I find myself dreading going to sleep at night because the mornings are so hard and I just feel like there’s no end in sight. I’m afraid it’s not going to go away and I don’t know how I’d last 29.5 more weeks.

I really have to say, the one truly wonderful thing in all of this is my husband. He has gone above and beyond to help with diapers, picking up things I casually mention sound edible and just being all around amazing. He has given way more than his share of baths and dealt with messes that would normally be my job without complaint even though I know it sucks. I could not get through this without him and I am going to have to buy him something really shiny when this is all over. Or maybe I’ll just get him a baby.

Anyway. That’s what’s going on here. It’s why I’ve been more quiet than usual. I’m working on sucking it up. It’s not going well so far, but I’m trying.

An Open Letter to my Uterus

Dear Uterus-

I should begin by thanking you for doing a good job for the last 9 months. Aside from being kind of bitchy and unnecessarily contract-y since 25ish weeks, you’ve done a great job of housing my son. I could not be more appreciative of that. If you had hands, I’d high five you. You’ll have to settle for an imaginary fist bump.

That said, as much as I am enjoying the painful, irregular contractions that are doing NOTHING to dilate my cervix, it’s time for you to get your ass in gear. And by ass in gear, I don’t mean 19 hours of regular contractions that evaporate into thin air. Because that was not my favorite day. I mean, real labor.

You were designed to do just this. Your mission in life is to gestate and expel a baby. You’ve done the first part, now it’s time to do the latter. I am losing my mind. My parents are waiting by their phones, practically doing labor dances, waiting for this baby to show up. People are counting on you.

IT IS TIME.

LET MY PEOPLE GO.

I realize that my official due date is still a little over a week away. Please do not feel required to go that long. The baby is fully cooked, he’s running out of room and out of fluid and his mother is running out of sanity. Everyone keeps insisting that once you do your job I’ll be miserable and not sleeping, but SURPRISE, I’m already miserable and not sleeping, so I may as well have a baby to obsess over while I’m awake all night instead of just painful hips and contractions. Not that those aren’t super fun.

If you cannot be persuaded to get this show on the road, can I at least request that you then simmer the hell down? I really feel like you shouldn’t be able to have it both ways, and another week or two of these contractions, without actual labor, might make me lose my mind. Which I know is of great consequence to you.

In closing, thank you again for holding onto my son for 9 months, but it’s my turn now. I am never going to be prepared for the pain that lies ahead, but waiting is not making it better either. Let’s get this party started. Like now.

Love,
Katie

Updates and Things

So, yesterday was a really super duper fun day.

It started at midnight with contractions that got progressively more painful and closer together and made me convinced that holy crap, I was going to have a baby.

Spoiler alert: I’m still pregnant. Also grumpy and tired.

Throughout the day yesterday the contractions were reliably every 7 minutes for 19 hours straight. And because contractions aren’t fun enough, I was also horribly nauseous most of the time, which meant I didn’t eat or drink enough, which just made me feel more lousy. And then around 7:30 last night, the contractions stopped. Like, I maybe had 1 after 7:30, but that was it.

And today I’ve had like 2 (oh, had another one while writing this, clearly he disapproves of my contractionless braggery), and while they were absolutely freaking awful (I love that the hurt from my boobs to my thighs, yay nerve distribution), they certainly aren’t indicative of labor anytime soon.

I have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday morning and have to get an ultrasound later on Thursday to check my amniotic fluid levels (they’re low, so I’m basically just supposed sitting at home right now, drinking as much water as possible), but I’m pretty sure this kid won’t be making his appearance anytime soon. Especially if it’s up to him. Though he seems to love torturing his mother, he doesn’t seem to be eager to join the rest of the world outside my uterus.

In other less ranty and painful news, I did post pictures of the nursery, but never came over here to link them. There are more pictures here that you can click through to show the progression of the nursery from start to finish, but for your trouble, here are a few here too.

Nursery!

Nursery!

Nursery!

And that’s pretty much all that’s going on. We’re just waiting, impatiently. Basically, I’m being held hostage by a baby.

Why We Can't Go Back to Childbirth Class

So, yea. I need to preface this story with the fact that I am not proud of our behavior. We are children, of this I am quite aware. But I also know that my husband and I are jovial people. We laugh a lot and even if we have the senses of humor of 12 year olds, I still love that we laugh easily and heartily. Just maybe we need to work on our timing.

So childbirth classes. My husband was not thrilled with having to attend these classes from the start and I won’t lie, I wasn’t enthused myself. But knowing that drugs are off the table for us, it seemed reasonable that we should try to educate ourselves on what was going to happen and a few non-medicinal ways to manage the excruciating pain that I’m about to face.

The woman who teaches the class is…nice. Like, one of those super touchy, feely nice people. The best way I can describe her is that I can imagine that her house is decorated exclusively in Precious Moments paraphernalia, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

So she introduces herself, tells us she is a nurse who has worked extensively with pregnant women. She goes on to describe all the areas of the hospital she has worked in and then admits, casually, that the only area of maternal medicine she hasn’t worked in is labor and delivery. Um. WHAT? My childbirth instructor has never worked in labor and delivery? Sweet.

Later she tried to tell us that if no one signed up for snacks there would be no snacks at the next several classes, but she got flustered and said sex instead. Which of course made me laugh (I know), but I did it silently and covered it up with a cough. To which the person in front of me turned around and said, “you’re coughing.” How do you respond to that? It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t concern, it was like she was narrating. I wanted to reply with “water is wet” but she turned back around and instead took to asking the instructor the same question about doctors breaking water 800 times because if she kept asking it, eventually the instructor would know the answer.

It kind of went downhill from here.

They cleared out the chairs and had us get on our yoga mats on the floor, turned out the lights, turned on some Enya and had men start massaging the women. My husband, being a doctor, was struggling with the jaw massage and was instead kind of assessing my lymph nodes, which was NOT relaxing. That was when we started laughing.

A moment later, Enya still playing, the instructor had all the women get on their hands and knees and the men knelt behind them. Lest you think we are the only awful people, the couple next to us laughed at the awkwardness of the positioning because, uh, this is not something people typically do in public. And then the men were instructed in a massage technique for the women’s hips. In a soothing, almost seductive voice, the instructor said, “don’t worry, she’ll let you know if she wants it harder.”

And I lost it.

I know. I’m terrible. It was the combination of the position, the tone of her voice, the music. Everything. I didn’t just laugh, I straight up snorted. And then I died of embarrassment.

After the awkward all fours massage, we meditated. The women leaned against the men, we all closed our eyes, and the first thing the instructor said was, “You’re feeling very heavy…” and that was when my husband lost it because she was talking to a room of giant pregnant women. And he just never got himself back together. The instructor tried to get us to imagine a beach and by the time she asked us what we smelled in our meditation, my husband was completely done. I’m not going to pretend like I wasn’t laughing, but I was at least doing it silently. He literally had to leave the room to get himself together.

10 minutes later the class was over and we waited until coughing lady began asking the instructor the same question for the 300th time before we ran snuck out, embarrassed and hysterically laughing.

Not only do we have 3 more weeks of this class, but the instructor is also our breastfeeding class teacher. You guys, we are so screwed. I’m pretty sure that if our instructor has any say in it, we won’t be allowed to bring our child home, on account of the fact that we are in fact, still children ourselves.

Ahead and Within

I don’t know if it’s because I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel of this clinical (THREE MORE DAYS) or if it’s because I realized that the weeks of pregnancy are rapidly winding down, but I am finally rediscovering some of that happiness that I remember from months past.

I wrote at Babble this week about the things I’m going to miss about pregnancy, and the more I’ve thought about it since then, the more I’ve realized just how much I’m going to miss this stage. Yes, it is uncomfortable. Yes, my sleep is pretty crappy. But the good parts are just so good that the rest doesn’t seem to matter.

I was talking to my husband last night and trying explain to him what I was really going to miss when the baby arrives. Yes, I’ll miss (even crappy) sleep. I’ll miss our time as a couple. But moreso, I’ll miss the relationship I have with the baby.

Right now, it’s him and me, together, all the time. I feel him stretch, kick, hiccup. I feel him sleep and squirm. I know my husband can put his hand on my belly and feel some of his movements, but no one can feel it the way I can. No one can feel the tiny movements, the little stretches. No one can feel the tiny little foot in my ribs.

It’s just him and me.

In a few short weeks, it won’t just be us. It’ll be him and me and the world. I’ll have to share my son, have to let everyone else see and feel what I already know. And so I am doing everything I can to cherish every single moment I have with him inside. Every moment that’s just the two of us. I don’t ever want to forget these days. The feeling of happiness that I have when I feel my son kick. When I think about all that lies ahead of us.

I’m truly enjoying life in a way that I haven’t ever.

There isn’t a day that goes by now that I don’t think about the weeks to come, or the tremendous changes we are about to experience. Sometimes I sit on the floor of the nursery and imagine all that will take place in that small space. There is so much future there, so much that will develop and sometimes I can practically see it ahead of me. I see the victories and struggles, the sleepless nights and the naps in the rocking chair. A room of memories waiting to be created.

And I feel happy, and whole. I feel loved and needed. I feel the way I always imagined I would feel some day. As though I am finally where I always knew I was meant to be.