This baby is so grounded as soon as he’s born

I thought with our hospital visit back in January, we would be able to skip the late night, pre-labor Labor and Delivery run.  I guess that wasn’t the case.

(Obviously, if you couldn’t tell by the title, everything is fine)

After a day of not feeling the baby move hardly at all yesterday, plus not even being able to get to 10 kicks for kick counts (the complete opposite of my usual getting kicked simultaneously in the ribs and bladder), I finally broke down and called the doctor’s phone service.  The on-call doctor told me, of course, to go to the hospital.

We’ve done the drive to the hospital plenty of times for all the classes (childbirth, breastfeeding, CPR, etc.), but this was by far the longest ride, even with hubby running a red light.  Yeah, we’re outlaws.  I hadn’t realized that I’d become so used to the baby’s movements until they weren’t there.  I kept anticipating kicks that weren’t happening.  I felt a little ridiculous waddling up to the ER sign in desk and having them ask “is it time?”.  The nurse asked if I wanted a wheelchair to L&D.  The hubby is usually against that type of assistance (he’s trying to convince me that I should reject the wheelchair when we are leaving the hospital with the baby just to be a badass – which I won’t), but once she explained that it was a really far walk, I told them I would take it.  I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually been wheeled around in a wheelchair before.  It felt even weirder just getting up out of it when we reached our destination – like I was a fraud or lazy or something.

Everyone had to ask me how far along I was.  Since I suck at remembering what month (and I never know if I say the month I completed or the month I’m in), I always answer with what week I’m in.  However, I was also on the cusp on 33 weeks – my weeks change on Wednesdays, and it was quarter to midnight on a Tuesday.  Hubby was less than amused when I would joke that I would be 33 weeks in a few minutes.  Half of it was me attempting humor, but half was also my inability to do anything but precisely follow the rules (which, I think, he knew).

The first hour-ish of my stay involved me laying in a bed with a monitor that kept losing the baby’s heartbeat either from slipping or the baby being uncooperative as usual.  I was given a clicker to document any time the baby moved.  The problem was, with the monitors strapped to my belly, I couldn’t feel much of anything.  Finally, I was walked down to the ultrasound department where we would finally find out what the heck was going on as we really couldn’t figure out the point of me being on the monitors for so long.

Just an aside, I apparently rock at maternity triage, however.  I called 2 things correctly about other patients.  First was an order for “environmental services” to come to a room, or whatever you call the curtained-off area, and I totally predicted that it wasn’t a clean-up – the woman just left and they were resetting the room.  The second one was a bit more impressive.  A nurse came by saying that another woman’s water broke.  I whispered to hubby (the curtain was closed, so I couldn’t see anything anyways) that her water didn’t actually break, but she just peed herself (not that I blame her for that at all!).  Turns out I was right on both accounts.  If I didn’t hate dealing with bodily fluids and injured people and such, I probably could go in to nursing.

Anyways, the ultrasound is where everything went down.  Already long story short, baby managed to turn himself breech since my last ultrasound a month ago when he was vertex.  It probably happened the day before and was most likely the reason I couldn’t feel him kicking all of a sudden.  After passing every test this pregnancy with flying colors, finding this out was kind of like learning that your straight-A, all-star athlete kid is doing drugs behind your back.  I know, I know… plenty of time to move, blah blah blah.  I just don’t want a scheduled C-section.  I want to go into labor.  I want to at least try to deliver naturally before any attempt at surgery.  At least he was moving after being prodded by the ultrasound guy’s cattle prod.  Only half-joking about that – he literally had a buzzer that he would put against my stomach and sound to make the baby jump.  See, baby would move around just fine during all the other checks – breathing, heartbeat, fluid levels – but when it came time for the actual, you know, MOVEMENT part of the exam, he stopped.  This kid keeps proving how much of a pain in the ass he’s determined to be.  Finally, we got some video of independent movement, most of which I couldn’t feel BTW, and were sent on our way back to triage so that we could leave.

Also, some fun things we learned at the ultrasound: baby is doing his practice breathing (he better be for all of this trouble he’s causing), male ultrasound techs are not nearly as gentle as their female counterparts (especially when he’s pressing directly on my bladder and commenting on how full it is and how I must need to pee really bad), and I also have a fibroid a little over 2 cm wide.  Not quite sure how 5 other ultrasounds missed that, but whatever.

The whole visit was about 2 1/2 hours, which, for a hospital, is probably pretty good.  Unfortunately, that meant that we didn’t get home until almost 3am.  Needless to say, I’m damn tired today.

Also, as a post script, before we went to bed, hubby and I watched the Tupac hologram video from Coachella.  Of course, this is when the baby finally started moving again.  That is all.

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I got knocked up by my prom date

There is a single event that best sums up my husband and my relationship.  Back when we were dating, David and I took a trip to Target.  He was buying some stuff to bake cookies; I was looking for an allen wrench to fix a broken doorknob in my apartment.

David (a.k.a. “The Hubby”) and I met in high school.  I was in 11th grade and he was a senior.  And, before you ask, NO, we were NOT high school sweethearts.  The only reason I get so uppity about correcting people on this is that I know the statistics and perception of couples that dated in high school.  Also, if we had actually dated back then, I’m sure I would have screwed it up. David had a crush on me while I was busy pining over the worst sort of guys… you know, the “the band is gonna make it” type and the selling pot at graduation & hacking into the grading system type.

After he graduated and spent a year at an out-of-state college, I was finishing up my senior year, and, with no date prospects for prom, I posted an “ad” on my AOL Instant Messenger away message (you know, the good ol’ days) for the “Find Nancy a Prom Date Foundation”. David saw this and, from all the way in the midwest at college, asked to take me to prom (still as friends, for those keeping score). He was home for the summer by the time prom came around, so we went together. That led to our first kiss (awwww… or, alternately, gag for the less sentimental), which then led to a tortuous summer alternating between being friends, attempting dating, and flat out not talking to each other for days at a time. By the time I started college, David had switched to a school near mine, so we actually tried dating for real. Of course, I still needed to shake off a bit more of the high school drama queen before we were truly in a relationship. However, by the winter, we were already joking about getting married (something we wouldn’t do for another 6 years).

I think the reason our relationship works so well is for one simple fact: neither of us know why the hell the other one stays with us (and, you know, mutual respect, open communication, blah blah blah). Seriously, for those that watch “How I Met Your Mother”, we have constant arguments about who is the Settler versus the Reacher. We both think we are Reachers (but, of course, I’m right). We will have been together for 9 years starting this fall and married for 3 in December, and I still think Hubby could do WAY better.

To give you some insight into my husband’s psyche – he just found a pic of a baby seal hugging a penguin and literally started screaming with joy. He can quote historical philosophers and Pauly Shore movies with equal aplomb. He wants to teach our son to say “I gotta drop a deuce” when asking to use the bathroom in school. He hangs up ultrasound pictures in his locker, but hates when the girls at his school fawn over him for doing so. He can make even the simplest of errands an “adventure”. He’s an amazing cook but a terrible baker (hates following directions). Also, no matter what he tells anyone, he is kicking serious ass at law school. Now, before I get too sappy, all I can say is how could I NOT want this man to be my baby daddy.

Son, please remove yourself from my bladder

What they don’t tell you about blogging is that it is really easy to write when you are complaining; it’s significantly less interesting to write about how things are going well.

Not to jinx myself, but I’m really pretty good lately.  I can finally feel baby moving or, rather, rearrange furniture via my uterus.  Hubby felt him kick for the first time a little over a week ago and jumped a clear foot in the air.  The petrified look on his face was comic gold, as was him almost falling off the bed (and, yes, I’m horribly mean).  Other than falling asleep at obscenely early times, I actually feel like I can contribute a little to the house again.

Since I’m in such a bright effing ray of sunshine right now, I thought I would talk about some of the good things about being pregnant.

I’ve actually never received more compliments on how I look than I am getting in my second trimester.  Based on my history with weight gain, I expected to blow up when I got pregnant.  I thought that I would just become round and bloated, being 5 feet tall and all.  Instead, I’m pretty much all belly, which suits me if I do say so myself. This is part to the fact that the baby has literally wedged himself UNDER my hipbone (as my bladder likes to remind me now by refusing to actually hold anything) – according to my hubby, my hips have actually moved UP an inch rather than spread.  Leave it to my kid to completely mess with the simple process of how to lay in a womb.

Also, it’s pretty much the only time in my life where I’m asked by almost everyone I see how I’m feeling.  I definitely need to be careful about this ego boost – I don’t want to get into a Duggar situation just because people seem to like me more when I’m pregnant.  I don’t think my husband’s heart could take it.  Speaking of which, it is absolutely hilarious to have hubby speak to my stomach; this is mostly because he chooses his words very carefully so as to shape the baby’s mind in a certain way.  For example, he spent half of the Super Bowl shouting at my stomach “Tom Brady sucks!”  The indoctrination must start early.  On the bright side, we shouldn’t have any problems with the baby sleeping because hubby has a lot of theories and knowledge to impart to his offspring.

Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day everyone!

This was going to be my $0.02 on SOPA/PIPA

I started to write a post on my feelings about SOPA/PIPA while I was at the doctor’s office a few days ago.  Unfortunately, I’ve learned that drafting something on my phone is not a good start to a post.  So, after a quarter of the way through my musings, I was finally called back for my ultrasound and all interest in that topic went down the drain.

So, in short, I think Congress isn’t outright trying to censor the Internet – they just have no idea about intellectual property OR technology, which are kind of important when making laws concerning the two.  I also think the lobbying groups (namely, the MPAA & RIAA) really need to learn that when people share things online with each other, even if it technically “breaks copyright law” in their mind, it is also FREE ADVERTISING, morons!  Generally speaking, any ideas that these groups come up with to protect against real pirating is about 5 steps behind where those pirates are operating.  People know about IP addresses versus domain names.  Get ahead of the technology – stop trying to catch up.

Ok, now that I’ve gotten my topical BS out of the way, back to talking about me me me!

Update on the doctor visit: doctor told me, basically, that I looked like shit and prescribed me some antibiotics.  Baby’s heart rate was still fine, and my blood pressure was as low as ever.  Going back in for a retest of my white blood cell count tomorrow, but I’m already feeling tons better, so hopefully I get the all clear.  Went in for an ultrasound the next day since the doctor was still concerned about all the pressure I was feeling & wants to tell me to just suck it up but couldn’t without one more look at my innards.  Luckily, and I quote from the doctor at the ultrasound facility, my “cervix is long enough for triplets.” Everything was in its right place and as it should be.  Plus, we got to find out…

I'm a Boy!

Yes, that arrow is pointing where you think it is...

I get to post pictures of my son’s peen across the interwebs now!  The only sad part was that the anatomy scan was scheduled for this week when the hubby could be there.  I had to call him on the phone so that we could find out together.  All together, though, baby weighed approximately 12 oz as of that sonogram and measured about 3 days ahead of schedule (I was at 20 weeks exactly, he measured 20 weeks, 3 days).  On the individual measurements, he has a huge head and short legs.  Taking after his mom already, I supposed.

And for one really cute story: hubby just found out that someone he knows read the same story to their little fetus everyday before it was born.  Then, whenever the baby heard that story afterwards, they would always smile.  The only difference is that hubby’s idea of a “story” is to read the Declaration of Independence, complete with his personal DVD commentary (which, as I tried to explain to him, completely throws out the whole notion of reading the SAME story every day so that the baby will know the rhythm of the words).  Still, it was very cute, and I know I’m lucky to have such an involved daddy-to-be (commence gagging… now).

So, next for the neuroses, provided the doctor’s appointment tomorrow goes fine, is that I still haven’t felt the baby move yet, at least that I can know for sure.  Between normal pregnancy gas and antibiotics killing almost anything in my stomach that would aid in digestion outside of acid, there is way too much action down there for me to tell what is another person poking at my insides.  Here’s to hoping I figure it out soon.