Young Baby Young

Look at my svelte belly — well below 40 inches!  Impressive, huh?

It’s a girl!  And man, is she an uncooperative baby!  Our ultrasound tech said she wins the title for most obstinate baby of the year.  She was very shy about showing her girl parts to us.  She would coyly put the umbilical cord in the way, or squirm out of sight, or fling a hand down.  But our persistent tech finally found the proof she needed and voila: we’re having ourselves a baby E!  It’s a girl! 

(Look at how cute her nose is!)

 (She has quite a dainty foot)

 (It’s a girl!  This was the definitive picture for the lab tech.  Where the arrow is pointing are three parallel lines — apparently those are the female genitalia.  We simply had to take her word for it because we couldn’t make heads nor tails of it (so to speak).)

Oh, and did we mention: It’s a girl! 

Tomorrow is the big day: another ultrasound and gender unveiling!  Woohoo! 

In the meantime, I decided it was time to get cracking on the baby room.  The funny thing is the room was already decorated as a nursery.  If I weren’t so darn stubborn, we could declare ourselves done right now.  But noooo, I have to redo the room in some scheme that we’ve selected together, not what was already on the walls.  So it’s goodbye existing childish wallpaper, hello new childish wallpaper.  (There’s really no arguing with a pregnant woman, so don’t even bother trying.)  Here are pictures of what it was before.  (As of right now, all that’s left is paper adhesive that needs to be stripped with a steamer; the vinyl paper is all gone.)

I had some alarming episodes of Mommy Brain today.  What, you ask, is Mommy Brain?  I asked Dr. Sears about it (not literally; I just checked his website.  Surprisingly, he doesn’t respond to my emails and phone calls…as if being a renowned pediatrician and author makes him so important) and here’s what he had to say:

Many women feel what we label the “mommy brain” – you can’t quite get a fix on what you want to say, you fight harder for simple vocabulary sometimes. You can be forgetful or “spacey.” If you don’t know about this it can be quite alarming, especially if you aren’t sure if you will get your old brain back later.

What had me so distraught today?  Glad you asked.  I arrived at work this morning only to find that we were sans power.  In fact, our entire county and beyond were lacking “the juice”, so people were just sitting around, shooting the breeze until our lifeline was restored.  The lights flickered on around 9am and we all grudgingly went back to our desks, ready to catch up on the missed hour.  My computer was acting up, so after restarting a couple of times, I finally got my Outlook open.  Up popped a reminder: Meet Kim at 8am at the Maine Grind.  Oh noooooooooo!  It’s 9:30 by now…I have obviously long-since missed my appointment with this woman I hardly know.  She’s the new philanthropy officer for the Blue Hill Hospital and she wanted to make time to meet with everyone who sits on the hospital’s development committee.  I had thought this was a great idea.  I called Kim up, profusely apologetic, and we rescheduled for next week.  I’m praying to the powers that be that Mommy Brain doesn’t kick in again. 

But it gets worse.  I continue on with my day, albeit in a state of disgrace, and I proceed to work away at this project and that.  I realize that my desk is a mess and it’s time to take a trip to the fileroom/kitchenette to get rid of all of the extraneous matter that’s migrated to my working space.  Now, I should note that the fileroom is approximately 20 feet from my office.  By all accounts, it’s pretty darn close.  And yet I feel utterly compelled to make the most of each trip, as if making multiple unnecessary trips will force my coworkers to shun me.  (We all know, on some level, that this is not why they shun me.)  If the pile doesn’t reach up to your chin, you’re doing something wrong.  So I stack up the files, the dishes, the checks, the notebooks…anything that needs to leave my office.  A few minutes earlier, I had been enjoying my cup of coffee (decaf, of course) and working on my project.  Now I was anxiously stacking “stuff” and trying to “get organized.”  Apparently, I totally blanked on my activities of moments prior because I grabbed my still-half-full travel coffee mug, set it on its side so it wouldn’t become unbalanced on my trek to the fileroom, and promptly spilled my remaining coffee everywhere.  It’s on me, it’s on my desk, it’s adding some color to the white papers in the files.  Obviously, I do what any normal person would do: I shout out a choice expletive and lunge at the still-seeping coffee mug.  Given that Chris affectionately calls me Gracie, this next part shouldn’t surprise you: my lunge was decidedly overzealous and I managed to knock the mug further away, sloshing more coffee on everything, and knocking multiple things off my desk.  More expletives, more items mysteriously leaping for safety off my desk.  Finally, the chaos came to a halt and I sopped off my clothes, righted the wronged coffee mug, collected the various and sundry items from the floor and restored them to their rightful homes on the desk, and lovingly wiped off each file.

We’re concerned about my well-being.  Given that a normal day in the life of the E involves tripping, stubbed toes, jammed fingers, eye pokings, pen markings that are invariably in indelible ink, and reminders of meals gone by on otherwise-nice clothing, we’re thinking that Mommy Brain is going to be a very bad thing for this already-full-fledged space cadet.

Carrie brought up an excellent point: how can she monitor the nose-spreading sit-chee-a-shun if I have not provided any pictures?  Damn, why didn’t I think of that?  Accordingly, I have supplied some pictures for my faithful readers.  I won’t tell you which is which, but one was taken in January and the other was taken, oh, 10 minutes ago.

We scoped out these old wives tales and think that perhaps Baby E is actually a Baby C….

It’s a boy if:

• You didn’t experience morning sickness in early pregnancy (it came and went by week 10…so what does that mean?  Did I or didn’t I?  Dang, are all of these questions going to be so difficult?  Giving me LSAT-quality questions doesn’t seem fair.)
• Your baby’s heart rate is less than 140 beats per minute (heck yes, it was 130 earlier this month.  Gooooosh.  (Did you read that with a Napoleon Dynamite voice?  If not, go back and try again.  It’ll be funnier that way.))
• You are carrying the extra weight out front (and how!)
• Your belly looks like a basketball (the Boston Celtics would be hard-pressed to tell the difference.)
• Your areolas have darkened considerably (TMI, I know, but yes.)
• You are carrying low (true dat, true dat.)
• You are craving salty or sour foods (Eh, sometimes.  I did early on; not so much now.)
• You are craving protein — meats and cheese (I can’t get enough cheese, especially cottage cheese.  I saw Chris digging into my container of Cabot cottage cheese goodness and so I eyed him suspiciously until he stopped.  Then I wrenched the container from his hands and scoped out the damage.  Luckily, I caught him in time to save the majority of it; he hasn’t had the chutzpah to try it again.)
• Your feet are colder than they were before pregnancy (it’s summer…how would I know? I’ve noticed nothing.  Ask me again in December and I may be singing a different tune.)
• The hair on your legs has grown faster during pregnancy (alas, there has been no incredible Chia Pet growth here.  I did try adding water, per the instructions, but still nothing.)
• Your hands are very dry (affirmative, although I wouldn’t have noticed it had it not been pointed out here.)
• Your pillow faces north when you sleep (huh?  Let’s see: Never Eat Soggy Waffles…the sun rises over there…my pillow faces that way….  Dude.  I think my pillow faces east.  I wonder what THAT means.  I think we’d best be painting that room yellow, just in case.)
• Dad-to-be is gaining weight, right along with you (he does believe that he’s in his 24th week, whereas I’m only in my 18th, and he’s encouraging me to catch-up.)
• Pregnancy has you looking better than ever (I might be a bit biased, but I think so.  After I put a few coworkers in headlocks, they also readily agreed.)
• Your urine is bright yellow in color (often true.)
• Your nose is spreading (no one has commented on this one…yet….)
• You hang your wedding ring over your belly and it moves in circles (we refuse to get involved with this witchcraft mumbo-jumbo.  Chris thinks it’s like a Ouija board where the user dictates the movements.)
• You are having headaches (eh, I’ve had a few, but I don’t know if that follows the spirit of this comment.)
• You add your age at the time of conception and the number for the month you conceived and the sum is an even number (29 + 3 = 32…which be even…which means…it’s a boy?)

We’ll just have to keep on speculating because we won’t know until the 28th — and that’s only if the baby is cooperating!  (Of course, any child of mine will be highly cooperative and eager to please, so I’m sure we’ll know more on the 28th.)

It’s a strange thing to realize you’re not special.  I was reflecting on how not unusual my pregnancy complaints have been.  Part of me finds relief in this, of course, but part of me realized how classic textbook my case of the preggers has been.

My coworker Tori loaned me the Jenny McCarthy book on pregnancy.  I found myself chuckling quietly here and there and nodding knowingly to myself throughout the book.  For example:

I was going to the mall yesterday because I’m reaching the point where my clothes don’t fit.  I haven’t gained much poundage yet, but I clearly have something growing that is forcing once-respectable outfits to look rather Humpty-Dumpty-esque.  (In Jenny’s book, she has a chapter on this clothing phenomena called Where in the Hell Can I Find a Muumuu?  (Nothing to Wear).)  As I drove to the mall, listening to the radio, the song “Daughters” came on by John Mayer.  Sure enough, I was a sobbing mess as I listened to the lyrics.  (Jenny’s chapter on this: The Crying Game (Hormonal Blues).)  I recovered, shaking my head at myself, and headed on autopilot towards I-95 North.  Suddenly, my brain kicked in and I thought, “95 North?  I don’t want 95 North!  Gosh, that was stupid of me!”  As I sailed past the exit, smugly proud of averting tragedy, I realized that I actually did want 95 North.  What the heck is going on with my brain?!  (So, Anyway, Like I Was Saying…Wait, What Was I Saying? (Wandering Mind).)

I got off at the next exit and wound my way back to the mall.  When I got off the freeway, I got in the turn lane.  When my light changed and the guy in front refused to budge, I was enraged.  (It’s a tricky exit with one straight lane and two right turn lanes.  It’s totally counter-intuitive, but I would guess that’s why they put a gazillion street signs up and painted the road with arrows.  First car in lane was apparently exempt from looking at said signs.)  I was so mad that this car refused to move and instead made 10 other cars behind him miss the light.  I couldn’t help myself: I became crazy roadrage driver who laid on the horn and muttered angrily about bad drivers.  (Psycho Chick (Hormonal Rage).)

I finally got to the mall and headed quickly for the restroom.  (I Can Either Pee On You or You Can Get the Hell Out of My Way! (Frequent Pee Breaks).)  I then beelined straight for the lingerie section because neither bras nor underwear fit anymore.  As my friend Kelly noted, at least we don’t have to worry about my baby starving to death….  (Hi, Porn Star! (Engorged Breasts) and Granny Panties (Letting Go of the G-String).)  I found what I needed and headed on my way.

After all of this hard work, I was ready for some ice cream.  This has been something of a craving for me lately.  I’m especially fond of mint chocolate chip, but other flavors can and will do.  (Can I Have a Mustard Sandwich with Pickles, Anchovies, Peanut Butter, and a Little Cottage Cheese? … Oh, and Throw a Few Fish Sticks on There! (Cravings).)  As I sat on the bench in the mall, watching people walked past, I was once again amazed by the incredible amount of obesity.  No wonder no one thinks I’m pregnant — I just look like every other young woman in the state who is perpetually in the middle of her second trimester. 

I went on to purchase some good staples that should bring me through the pre-maternity-wear stage.  Then it will be on to elasticized waistbands and blouses made for two.

One thing that is a little special (although not good) about my experience is that I keep suffering from congested ears.  They say that many women have runny noses through pregnancy because the mucus membranes are working overtime to prepare for baby delivery time, but swimmer’s ear is a little less common.  That’s what the books say, anyway, but I googled it online and found a ton of other pregnant experiencing the same thing.  For me, it comes and goes, sometimes affecting one ear or both, and is really irritating.  I can’t stop yawning and there’s really no comparable torture to hearing your own breathing so distinctly.

My coworker Sylvia is leaving us on Friday, so we had a little dinner party at a local Chinese restaurant last night.  I perused the menu, looking for just the right mixture of foods, and finally found the one that satisfied my desire for crab rangoons and yet was nutritious enough to be a meal.  I ordered a combo meal of orange beef, spring roll, and crab rangoons.  Sounds delicious, yes?  Much to my surprise, they brought out this heaping platter of fried foods.  Zoot alor!  What is this?!  Where’s the beef that’s supposed to be sitting in some sort of orange glaze?  Is that it, under the mounds of fried dough?  And the beautiful veggie-filled spring roll that should come in an opaque wrapper…is that that deep-friend thing?  And did you really bring me fried rice with this meal?  You don’t think that white rice would have done the trick.

Needless, to say, I was rather disappointed and extremely bloated when I got home.  To make myself feel better, I gizoogled a pregnancy site and had a good laugh.  Fo shizzle.

We went to see the doctor last Monday and had an excellent check-up.  Everything is coming along just fine.  Blood pressure is good, weight is fine, no signs of gestational diabetes, etc.  We got to hear the baby’s heartbeat and that was pretty darn cool.  Mine was this slow ka-chunk, ka-chunk; baby’s was a rapid chaca-chaca-chaca.  Like every parent-to-be, Chris and I were delighted and were, of course, sure it was a sign of our child’s superiority over other fetuses at this stage.  The doctor gave me lots of practical information: don’t eat salmon [oops], tuna [oops again], swordfish [ooooh, oops yet again]; get lots of sleep [you don't have to tell me twice]; stay away from high heels (she was totally unimpressed with the kitten heels I had on: “You don’t wear those everyday, do you?”); drink lots of water [I'm considering moving my office closer to the bathroom...or better yet, somehow converting my desk chair into a toilet seat...more to come on that innovative idea].  She told me to eat practically and not pay too much attention to all of those pregnancy books that strictly outline your need for 4 glasses of whole milk, 3 slices of whole wheat bread (or the equivalent), 12oz of lean protein, plenty of vegetables, and so on.  She told us that as long as we were sensible, everything was going be alright.  (I waited for Bob Marley to start playing in the background, as if my life were a movie, but it didn’t happen.)

Given the holiday nature of this 4th of July weekend, the practical eating guidelines that we had just solemnly sworn to uphold a few days earlier were religiously ignored.  There was consumption of pepperoni pizza, ice cream, fried haddock sandwiches, onion rings, cheesy omelettes, M&Ms and popcorn, and probably more.  Mmm, delicious! although not so good for my regular clothes.  I do believe that Baby E is making his/her first appearance.  I thought others were noticing this too when friend Paula saw me and said, “Well, I GUESS you’re pregnant!”  I proudly showed off my growing belly when she corrected me and pointed a little higher on my torso.  Oh, those.  Yes, those are growing, too.  It’s going to be a long 5 months…. 

The doctor became very strict during our visit when she suddenly looked up over the rims of her glasses and sternly said, “And whatever you do, do_not_watch_baby_shows_on_TLC.”  Too late!  Where was that advice when I needed it a few weeks ago!?  I’m emotionally scarred, people!

By the way, here are some stats on Baby C: he/she is five inches long, the size of a turnip, and weighs a whopping 5 oz.  There has been no movement yet (to my knowledge), but that’s supposed to start happening soon.  Gender will be known by the end of the month.  We all feel great, although a bit tired and easily-winded.  Normal clothes still fit, but they’re getting a little snug.  The doc said I probably wouldn’t show much for a while given my height and build.  We’re at week 17 now — nearly at the halfway mark!