Special Delivery

Thirty.

Six.

Weeks.

This is another milestone to me.

It means I can start saying “nine months” instead of the number of weeks when asked how far along I am.

It means I can say I’m due at the end of the month instead of listing out the month and day.

It means Squish could come at any time.

It means I’ve been thinking about labor and delivery.

A lot.

Like, a lot a lot.

Months 7 and 8 probably brought the worst of the anxiety, but  somewhere in the last couple of weeks, I decided I was just about done being pregnant and ready to just do this.

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I’ve been doing lots of reading to alleviate some of my fears and P-Daddy and I also took an online lamaze course.

What?

Isn’t everything online these days?

Truthfully, I was disappointed with the course but maybe it’s because it didn’t offer me anything my yoga practice hasn’t already given me in the last few years.

But it’s really been the desire to give birth naturally that has pushed me to start really practicing the breathing and movements seriously.

I’m flexible enough to recognize that medical intervention may be necessary (or even requested) but I still want to prepare my mind for the whole process.

I’ve also been practicing a whole lot of visualization since that’s been helpful for me in the past.

And if childbirth is a marathon, then I was going to need a mantra to help me along the way.

I pondered this for a few weeks until the right one floated right into my brain space.

Well, more like it was given to me like a gift from God.

I say small prayers throughout the day when I’m having a tough time or even when I just want to thank God for my blessings.

And for nine months I’ve been praying that God would help me through this whole pregnancy and parenting process.

It’s scary to me.

But I think Phillipians 4:13 sums it up nicely:

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. 

I actually prefer the NIV version which says:

I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.

I like the NIV version better because, while I don’t believe I can do ALL things, I do believe I can do all THIS.

At least, I can with Jesus as my spiritual wing man.

While listening to my cousins regale me with their birth stories at a family gathering a while back, my Dad leaned over to me after about the 5th story and whispered,

“It only hurts until God takes over.”

And then he went back to eating his nacho cheese dip.

That moment has stuck with me.

I know HE will be there with me, but I also needed a tangible reminder.

A reminder to use my mantra.

So I ordered a bracelet that I could wear from now until D-Day reminding me that I have the strength to do this.

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And thankfully, after a good pep talk from my sister, excitement is finally starting to edge out the anxiety.

The nursery is ready.

The crib is fitted with a brand new sheet.

The clothes are washed and hung in the closet.

The pack and play is nestled in our bedroom.

The book shelf is stocked.

And I even practiced putting on the new baby carrier I received, courtesy of my Grandma.

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Ross Barnaby approved.

I hope Squish does too!

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NINE MONTHS! 

 

The Name Game

In the beginning, there was a Peanut.

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Peanut was little more than a dot on an ultrasound tucked cozily into a tiny gestational sac.

And then the Peanut morphed into a wiggly, little Fish.

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The fish would swim and thrash around the fish bowl, fluttering and flapping its new, little fins excitedly.

Most recently, however, Fish has turned into a Squish.

Squish is big and strong and likes to squish everything in it’s immediate surroundings.

My lungs are squished.

My intestines are squished.

My stomach is squished.

My ribs are squished.

I’m pretty sure Squish has lodged itself into my right ribcage.

Every once in a while things go from Squishy to stabby in there.

I’m not really surprised Fish turned into a Squish, though.

You see I have a nose that certain family members like to refer to as squishy.

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So squishy, in fact, they have to give it a good smoosh every time they see me.

Well, imagine my surprise when some baby pictures of P-Daddy came in the mail last week, courtesy of his Grandma.

Guess who else has a squishy nose?

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That’s right.

P-Daddy.

So, I’m pretty sure the Squish is gonna have a smoosh-able nose just like Mom and Dad.

It’s hard not to wonder what other features the Squish will inherit.

P-Daddy and I are pretty much polar opposites.

He is tall with dark hair.

I am short and was born with bleach blond peach fuzz.

He was also a teeny baby weighing in at just around 6 pounds.

I, however, tipped the scales at well above 8 pounds.

So, who will Squish take after?

Perhaps it doesn’t matter and Squish will simply be Squish.

Squish does have a real name, by the way.

But Squish is saving the surprise for the Birth Day party.

Which I kind of hope is sooner rather than later!

35 WEEKS! 

Little Things

All of the little things are starting to fall into place.

Except the belly.

That is as big as ever.

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But each week, small to-do’s get crossed off the list.

We met with a couple of pediatricians and chose the one who will take care of Fish once its no longer in the bowl.

The office is very inviting, fun, and even had two waiting rooms (one for sick kids and one for well visits) which I was very appreciative of. The doctor was funny and friendly and we just felt very at ease. Plus all of the staff were incredibly welcoming and kind.

We also had another check up and  took the opportunity to ask lots of questions about labor and delivery.

The midwife patiently answered them all and assured us we still had plenty of time to ask questions.

It may feel like plenty of time to her, but I feel like we need to get ready now. 

But still, this weekend was all about having fun.

We cashed in a gift card at a local baby boutique and picked up some stylin’ gear for the little one.

I was on a mission to find baby aviator sunglasses and was excited to see they had Babiators  in stock.

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And we couldn’t resist a tiny pair of Toms to go with them.

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Fish is already way more fashionable than either of its parents.

The best part of the weekend was the little shindig my friends threw me.

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It was a small, relaxing affair and I spent a perfect afternoon picking the brains of my Mommy friends and feeling blessed that I have such an amazing group of women in my life.

I’m not much of a cryer, so perhaps it wasn’t obvious to them how much I appreciated the whole event, but it was truly everything I envisioned  a baby shower to be.

A small group of women enjoying really good food, decorations, conversation, and just spending an afternoon together.

And it doesn’t hurt that I got some SWEET gifts as part of the whole deal.

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I’m an incredibly awkward gift recipient so I can only hope each of them knows how much it means to me that they took the time to make me feel so special.

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For a moment I was sad that I didn’t take more pictures, but I’m actually more glad that I spent every moment just soaking up every moment.

I couldn’t feel more blessed or more loved.

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34 Weeks!

Tough Mother

I’m starting to think that these women that say they “enjoy” being pregnant are really just masochists.

Or maybe I just think that because this third trimester has  been trying my patience.

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The bump is officially large and in charge.

It’s in charge because it completely dictates my capabilities and range of motion (or really the lack thereof).

Case in point: It took me so long to tie my shoes one day that P-Daddy asked if I was alright.

Oh, sure! Just trying to figure out how to find my feet! 

In the past week, my movements have slowed considerably and have become much more restricted.

It doesn’t seem all that bad in writing, but when every movement requires concentrated planning and effort, it tends to become a bit tedious.

And because the bump has become so large, I swear it has pushed my stomach into my throat.

I can tell because everything I eat stays there for 4-6 hours.

Yep, the 6 ounces of water I just drank is hanging out in my esophagus just waiting for the one cup of fruit I ate yesterday to clear the arena.

Which is especially fun if you have acid reflux.

So now I’m choking on an acid bath of salad and fruit from lunch well into the wee hours of the next morning.

You know, when I’m supposed to be sleeping.

Except I don’t sleep anymore.

I truly have never experienced insomnia like this.

Oh, I have had my share of difficulty falling asleep and frequent night waking, but this…….this is the anti-sleep olympics.

Some nights I lie awake tossing and turning from about 9:00Pm until 2 or 3:00Am.

WIDE AWAKE.

Completely aware of every thought, movement, and sound.

Is there anything more frustrating than spending hours trying to fall asleep?

Yes, yes there is.

Add some more wicked acid reflux, rib pain, and uncontrollable restless legs to top off that sleepless sundae.

I thrive on seven hours of deep sleep each night.

I probably slept a collective of 7 hours all last week.

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Yes, somehow, SOMEHOW, my brain still works during the day.

It’s tired and cranky, but it works.

And then I lose my shit by Friday.

Which is probably why I slept a glorious 14 hours this past Friday night.

And by glorious, I mean I woke up at least once every hour but was right back to sleep within a few minutes.

I complain so much that I think I’ve convinced P-Daddy that pregnancy is the equivalent of water boarding.

It’s really not.

It has it’s perks.

Ain’t nothing better than having a dance party right inside your abdomen.

I swear it’s like a disco tech in there sometimes.

With some hip-hop pop and locks to round things out.

Sometimes the whole darn thing just rolls in waves of movement with a nice rib shot for the finale.

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Movement always makes me happy.

It reminds me that the fish is still swimming along in there.

Speaking of swimming, I need to give a huge shout out to P-Daddy for completing the backyard Oasis this week.

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In between massive amounts of overtime (he already works 24 hour shifts), he has spent every day at home working in the backyard to get ready for our summer of fun.

At first, I thought the inexpensive, Wal-Mart special pool was going to be an eyesore in our small yard, but P-Daddy managed to make it incredibly inviting.

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The only contribution I made was the purchase of Fish’s very first swim diaper.

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So even when I’m complaining about every physical ailment under the sun, I realize how lucky I am to be physically and mentally able to enjoy such niceties in life.

Even though 70 degrees feels like 107 because I am my own personal heater.

And when I’m especially complain-y, I remember just how much our mothers sacrifice for us.

Maybe those moms that enjoy pregnancy aren’t masochists after all.

Maybe they’ve forgiven and forgotten all of the pain they went through and only look back with fond memories of baby belly kicks and the exciting anticipation of becoming a mother.

Today is Mother’s Day.

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I’m still mostly anxious (ok, entirely anxious) about becoming one, but that’s when I stop and think about all the awesome Moms in my life.

The tough-as-nails but love-you-to-death women that make mothering look easy.

The ones that tell me not to worry about a thing, because I’ll be great.

But the truth is, I’ll only be great because of you.

I’ll only be great because of what you taught me, what you showed me, and what you instilled in me.

I’ll only be great because you loved me so much that I have the capacity to love the way I do.

I’ll only be great because I know you are with me heart, mind and soul.

I’ll only be great because you made me that way. 

Thanks especially to these Moms for their contributions:

My Grandmothers

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My Sister

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My Sister (she’s worth mentioning twice)

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My Aunts

My Cousins

My Step-Mother

My Mothers-in-law

and the greatest mother of them all:

My Mom

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Happy Mother’s Day! 

I totally get why you all need your own holiday now!

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Cheers!

33 weeks!

Crazy Eights

We got the baby a bathtub this week.

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I mean, we might as well take the other one off the registry because we pretty much just plan on dipping Fish into the new backyard fish pond and calling it clean.

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Just add water.

And fish.

So, this week.

Honestly, the rest of this post might just contain a bunch of gibberish because I haven’t slept in, oh, about a month.

Seriously.

If there was one thing I was really good at, it was sleeping.

Every night was exactly the same.

Book.

books

Popcorn.

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Fall into deep, deep sleep until 5:00AM.

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Even if I woke up, I was right back to sleep in about .5 seconds.

Maybe this is my own fault.

I had been praying that I wouldn’t revisit the first trimester tiredness where I couldn’t even look at a pillow without losing consciousness.

So now I just toss and turn and throw pillows around until about 3:00am in which I fall into a semi-stupor for about 2 hours until I have to get up for work.

Somehow I manage to function during the day, but night time has become absolutely anxiety provoking knowing that I am going to sleep in fits for at least 5 hours.

I also have restless legs syndrome (RLS) which is apparently quite common in pregnancy.

I used to have restless legs in high school and college but I don’t remember it being painful. 

If you’re not familiar with restless legs, its when your legs go bat-shit crazy and you get uncontrollable urges to kick and flail them to relieve super intense hurt-y-ness.

There’s totally a medication for that but it’s not safe during pregnancy, of course.

My mid-wife suggested increasing potassium to combat RLS but holy shit, did you know bananas can cause heartburn and reflux so bad that you have to sleep vertically?

Oh wait, EVERYTHING causes heartburn and reflux so bad that food has become completely repulsive.

Oh sure, that strawberry smoothie sounds great until it tries to crawl back into your throat and kill you.

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Ditto for peanut butter.

And chocolate, which I am certain might cause death at this point.

What a cruel, cruel joke when they tell pregnant ladies to “eat healthy.”

Please, if I can eat anything that doesn’t repeat on me for two days, I consider it a wildly healthful accomplishment.

The good news this week is that we have started bi-monthly prenatal appointments.

Fish is swimming along at 150 beats per minute and kicking P-Daddy in the face when he lays on my stomach.

Today marks 32 weeks which is officially 8 months.

This feels monumental to me.

I am finally ready to take full advantage of pregnant lady status.

As in,

Could you please do all the dishes, laundry, cleaning, pet-care, car care, house maintenance, and anything that requires any type of movement because my abdominal muscles have separated and I can no longer get out of this chair.

Thanks. 

32 weeks! 

or

8 FREAKING MONTHS!