Finding Out

A year ago today, I found out I was pregnant. The experience of that moment is still crystal clear in my mind, and will undoubtedly be reserved as one of the happiest moments of my life. (Also in that category? Matt proposing to me… which also happened on December 2nd in 2006. December 2nd, you have set the bar high.) Shortly after I found out, I wrote down my memories of the day but I didn’t want to post them yet because we hadn’t told anyone – much less the interwebs – that we were pregnant. Here are my thoughts from one year ago today:

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December 2nd, 2011

After the first two months, I went ahead and started buying the dollar store tests. I wasn't patient enough to make myself wait until after I had missed to test, and so I figured there was nothing wrong with testing earlier and more frequently if I was only pissing away a dollar each time. Literally.

We had been trying for a few months, but I didn't really have any anxiety about it yet so testing ahead of when I should was more just out of impatience and curiosity. I'd always feel a little disappointed when the test was negative, but I'd console myself with a glass of wine and thoughts of some trips and travels we could do in early residency with the extra time (and income!) we'd finally have on our hands.

It was the first Saturday morning in December and I was getting ready to go dance at the Mistletoe Race ceremony with my dance trance group. On a whim, I took a dollar store test - even though according to my phone app, it was way too early. A week, early in fact. Eh, why not. I left the test on the bathroom counter and went to make an English muffin.

I came back in the bathroom to do my make-up and did a double take. The second line was very faint, but it was unmistakably there as it never had been before. My heart racing a little bit, I tore into my precious stash of real tests. After testing, I forced myself to set my cell phone for the allotted time and walk out of the room.

Longest 2 minutes EVER. My hands were shaking as the clock counted down.

I walked back into the bathroom as the buzzer beeped and there it was: a plus sign. A plus sign. I started laughing. I went and sat on the couch. Matt was working until 3 that day, and though I've paged him for less significant moments before ("where's the remote?!") I didn't want to break the news over the phone. I sat there in shock. I told Buddy the news. I cried. I laughed again.

I got dressed and drove over the Y. In my head, the whole time I was dancing I just kept thinking to myself "I'm pregnant. I'm really pregnant. HOLY CRAP, I'm pregnant." I wanted to burst and tell SOMEONE, anyone the news... but decided I should probably reserve the first-to-hear-the-news for my husband, so I refrained.

I got home around noon and waited the 3 agonizing hours for Matt to get home. I thought of all the different ways I could tell him and I finally landed upon wrapping the test up as a Christmas present and putting it under the tree. I shoved it into his hands the moment he walked in the door. "An early gift for you!" I said. He looked at me quizzically, then tore the packaging open - and looked at me even MORE quizzically, before the hugging and "holy crap" started in earnest on his end.

That night we went to Lovefeast together - a tradition we've done every year since we've been married. It's one of my favorite Christmas traditions, and it always instills in me such a feeling of peace and contentment. This year was no exception but of course my mind was somewhere else... quickly fast forwarding to how different our next Christmas would be. (Not likely bringing a 4 month old into a quiet, candle-lit sanctuary that's for sure!) I don't know if I will ever forget the markings of that day, but I wanted to write it down and capture it just in case the details grow fuzzier over time. I want to remember the feeling of anticipation as the timer counted down, the quiet shock and excitement at seeing the positive result, the dichotomy of going about my normal day among friends while knowing that life had already started to change and that wonderful moment standing in our kitchen realizing we had just started the adventure of becoming a family of three.

Got Guts: Colitis, Pregnancy & a Happy Ending

When I was first diagnosed with colitis, getting pregnant was the last thing on my mind. I was 20 years old, sick as can be and just wanted an answer to why I felt so crappy (literally) and how I could start feeling better.

Though it took awhile to answer the latter, I finally was able to achieve remission after a few years of trying different drug regimens. At this point, I had just finished grad school and was moving down to North Carolina to be with my boyfriend (hi, husband!) and still wasn't really thinking about how my guts would affect my ability to get pregnant or have a healthy baby.

It wasn't really until 2009, about 6 years after I had been diagnosed and 2 years of marriage in the books, that Matt and I first started to talk about our timeline for having kids and the issue of my colitis really came to the surface. I was fortunate enough to have been under the care of the same doctor for 3 years now - the longest stretch I had had so far - and we both really liked and trusted him. We weren't really ready to have a baby quite yet, but we figured we should broach the subject with my doctor sooner rather than later.

Given that I hadn't put much thought into how my disease could affect my fertility, pregnancy or having a healthy baby, I started to get a little nervous and scared when we first started discussing it. In the literature (which is where science nerds like Matt and I turn to), there are studies that show that women with colitis have higher risk for miscarriage, pre-term babies, low birth weight babies and birth defects, like cleft palates. To make matters even more complicated, the type of medication that I had been on for years - and that I had finally achieved remission with - was an immunosuppressant with fairly little research to either support or deny use during pregnancy. Even if I did stay on it during pregnancy, I wouldn't be able to breastfeed on it which was disappointing and upsetting to me.

To keep a long story (relatively) short, the next couple of years brought some frustrating setbacks. First, I tried to taper down and then eventually go off my immunosuppressant. It didn't work. I had my first flare in over 4 years and it took two rounds of prednisone to get me back under control again. My doctor was supportive of my "experiment" but when all was said and done, we both agreed it was pretty obvious I needed to stay on the medication. I also ended up changing OBs after this when, despite the obvious setback from my health, the doctor I was currently seeing sent me to a high risk specialist and both of them basically spent the entirety of every appointment reading all the risk factors of colitis and pregnancy to me and never offering any support.

When I met my new OB and explained my situation and her response was a very reassuring "So you'll stay on the drugs, we'll monitor you, we'll monitor baby and it will all be okay" I could have cried from relief. In fact, I probably did. Once I had my OB and GI on the same page and my drug regime established, we finally felt like we were in a good place, medically, to have a baby.

I was healthy when we got pregnant, and my GI had told me anecdotally that people tended to stay in the same state they were when they got pregnant. Healthy women stayed healthy, women who were flaring tended to stay in a flare. I hoped he was right.

I had an amazingly easy pregnancy and felt great throughout most of it, minus a 2-day bout with morning sickness around week 4 and the normal discomfort and some nausea at the end. Around Memorial Day, I started having symptoms of a flare and panicked... but they went away within a day or two. A normal GI bug, my doctor concluded, or maybe just one of those random inexplicable symptoms of pregnancy. There are lots of weird ones, so I'm told.

Despite my easy and healthy pregnancy, the worries lurked in the back of my head about pre-term and low birth weight babies. I refused to let my mind think about anything worse. When I passed the end of the first trimester, I breathed an initial sigh of relief. When I passed the 37 week mark, I breathed another sigh of relief.

When my early baby showed up and weighed a whopping 8 lbs 1 oz and had all ten fingers and toes and a perfect little face, my sighs of relief became tears of joy.

It's easy to take health for granted, and even I can do that when I've had years of being in remission. It's easy to take a healthy baby for granted, after the initial exams confirm that everything is perfect and you're home and in the midst of sleepless nights, making bottles and changing diapers.

Yesterday I went to my routine quarterly GI visit, with my healthy 12.5 lb baby in tow with me. As soon as I was checked in to get my vitals done, I had about six different nurses flock over to me and cluck and cuddle Bo. They tucked us into our room to wait for the doctor and as I sat there in the quiet room waiting for my appointment - the kind that I happily refer to as the "good boring" appointments - I suddenly felt very reflective. I thought about reading all those research studies 3 years ago, tampering with all my medication doses and the 9 months of the quiet low-intensity worry that was always present - and how quickly it all disappeared the moment I laid my eyes on my son.

And I thought about how I hope, never ever, to lose sight of the gratitude that I have for his health and mine and for the journey it took for us to get to this "routine, boring" appointment.

Happy Birthday, Bowen!

When I wrote my last post and I wondered if my life would change tomorrow or next month, I didn't actually think the answer would be tomorrow.

Babies. They're kind of charge of things, huh? I haven't really figured out much in the few days I've been a momma except that one truth.

I had a doctor's appointment that Friday morning and my doctor told me since I was full-term, they'd welcome me with open arms anytime I went into labor. After dance trance the Tuesday before, I had started having Braxton Hicks and felt like maybe I had felt him move down lower.. but still, none of these things really made me think that I'd be meeting my baby boy that very night. She told me I was 2.5 cm dilated and 90% effaced, which I didn't take too much stock in - I've known friends who have walked around dilated for weeks and nothing happened. I went home and went about my day, cleaning the house, getting a manicure and working on a project for the nursery. All the while my BH contractions continued, and I started to notice that they felt a little bit different throughout the day - more like a cramp than the hardening of my stomach that they had been the last 2 days. Matt was on his way back from Wilmington from a golf trip and I was updating him by text about my contractions. I was just starting to think that maybe something could be happening, and his persistent questioning - how long were they? how far apart? - made me realize that maybe I should pay a little more attention to them.

I downloaded an app around 4:00 that afternoon and the whole time I worked on a project for the nursery, was clicking "start" and "stop" on the contraction timer. By the time Matt got home, we decided maybe it was a good idea to install the car seat. Just in case. At this point, my contractions were all over the place from 15 minutes apart to 8 minutes apart. I really didn't want to go to the hospital only to be sent home for false labor, so we just went on with our night. Matt went out to pick up dinner, we ate and started to get ready for bed - all the while I was clicking "start" and "stop" on my app and watching the time start to even out to a consistent ten minutes apart.  Then 8, then 7 minutes apart. Right after we laid down to go to sleep, I reported to Matt that they were about five minutes apart.

"We're going to the hospital."

It was 10:30 when we got in the car and as we sped through the dark along Silas Creek Parkway, I watched the app tell me that my contractions were getting closer and closer together and it suddenly hit me that we were probably going to have a baby that night. I felt scared and nervous about labor, but so excited that we were going to meet our little boy soon. We pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and we were in maternity triage before I knew it. There my contractions started to increase in their intensity and I suddenly understood what people meant when they said "when you can't talk through them anymore, they're real."  Oh THAT. Yea. After a few checks, they decided I was well on my way but not quite ready to get admitted...and I was banished to an hour long walking of the hallways to see if things would progress.

That was a long hour, in a long hallway. Walking slowly, bending over to catch my breath when a contraction hit, trying to remembering the deep breathing I had learned (from, um, some YouTube videos...), telling myself it would pass.... feeling very jealous of my pain-free husband who was walking alongside me, texting updates to our family. I kept asking him how much time had passed. I knew I need to keep moving to make my labor progress, but as we walked by open rooms on the labor floor the open beds beckoned me and I just wanted so badly to go crawl into one.

I would say I was excited when we got back to the room and I had progressed another 3 cm but at that point the intensity of the contractions had made me start to block out everything that was going around me. We walked to the labor & delivery room and I vaguely remember being told my nurse would be Tony - and having a moment of panic that my L&D nurse would be a male (sorry gender equality) (and it turned out to be a female Toni, who turned out to be super awesome). The next thing I knew my angel in blue scrubs arrived (the anesthesiologist) and I was getting my epidural. After the few hours of feeling contractions without a spinal block, my hat goes off to the women of the world who do this au natural. Wow. And my other hat goes off to the inventor of the epidural. That stuff works good.

The rest of the night went quickly, but I felt much more present without the pain of the contractions. I could still feel them, but with the pain subsided I just started to feel really excited that soon I'd be meeting my little guy. Matt and I watched the clock as my contractions built and Matt watched the heart rate monitor of our little boy. We tried to guess what time he'd be born. My guess was 2:52 and Matt's was 2:40. Both of those times rolled by, and no baby yet. A little after 3, my nurse came back and told me it was time to do a practice push. I started to feel a little nervous again about what would happen, but she and Matt coached me through my first push. At 3:12, the doctor came in and told me it was go time. Two contractions and six minutes later, I heard my baby boy cry for the first time. I was in shock for a few minutes - I thought I'd have much longer to wait (and push more) before meeting him, but here he was - perfect, blonde, healthy, squirmy and already sucking his thumb!

And just like that, my life was forever changed.

37.5 Weeks

I have been procrastinating writing this post and I am not entirely sure why. I've had a lot of downtime at work over the last week as many of my tasks are getting tied up and I keep thinking "okay TODAY, today sit down and write and capture what's going on at this moment." And every day I've found an abundance of other ways to whittle the day away, so much so that my 36 week update became a 37.5 week update.  Oops!

I think this post would sound entirely different on any given day that I would have written it over the last couple weeks. There are some days when it probably have just veered off into a litany of complaints and full fledged final-month-of-pregnant whining. In fact, I did have one post like that finished at the very start of my 36th week after a particularly miserable week and then my internet went out and I couldn't publish it. Probably a good thing. Not that I want to wear only rose colored glasses and pretend everything about pregnancy is just la, la, la the best thing ever but I also don't want to look back at my final weeks and only remember the parts where I was uncomfortable, aching, hot, cranky or ungrateful.

Truthfully, there are plenty of those moments lately. I don't think many people get to full term without feeling a bit crotchety. There are moments when all I want to do is sleep on my stomach, have a glass of wine, paint my toenails, or roll over without having to grab the duvet first to anchor myself and swing myself up and over, body pillow in tow, to the other side like a beached whale.

But those moments certainly don’t encapsulate every bit of this final stage. I am pretty aware of the good fortune I've had that the majority of my pregnancy – certainly the first 35 weeks - were very, very easy and that I've been very healthy. I'm still going to dance trance or walking regularly, and truthfully, I feel better doing those activities than I do sitting in my awful desk chair for 10 hours a day at work. (In my mind's eye, I will be tossing that thinly upholstered piece of cardboard with wheels into a virtual bonfire in my head the day I walk out of that office. We were not friends pre-pregnancy, and we are certainly not friends now. And yes, I have a yoga ball that I also sit on although wouldn't you know that's actually against office policy? So far, the powers that be have been kind enough to turn a blind eye to my transgression in office furniture.)

Anyways! Somewhere among all my preggo-insomnia induced complaints is the knowledge that this chapter, my first pregnancy, is getting ready to reach it's dénouement. But I have no idea what this means. You know in the Twilight series how Alice can see into the future, but then once Bella gets pregnant with Renesmee, she can no longer see her future because the little fetus is blocking Alice's powers? I sort of feel like that. Not that I could ever see into my future a la Alice but I always have been a big visualizer and whenever I have a Big Next Step in my life, I usually spend months picturing what it might be like. (And yes, I believe that visualizing it in a positive way can help shape that event to go more positively. I'm a hippie dippie life coach, what can I say.) Even though I know that what pans out will usually be completely different than what I pictured, visualizing helps me stay calm, or excited, or focused before the Big Next Step gets here.  I've always taken this ability to visualize my next steps for granted and used it a way to prepare myself - mentally and emotionally - for what's to come.  But right now, picturing whatever comes next - everything from going into labor, to meeting my son, to bringing him home... I draw a blank. A total blank.

All I know about what’s to come is that I have no idea about what’s to come. And I don't really feel particularly stressed about the unknown. I think perhaps because I know that I just have absolutely no control over the majority of what's to unfold, that I've given into that. I just feel a little bit... detached. Floating. Waiting. Wondering if my whole life will change tomorrow, or will it be another month? It’s possibly the strangest emotion I’ve felt so far in my life – this feeling of acceptance, detachment and expectation all rolled in to one.

So maybe that’s why it’s easier to just complain that my back hurts and my feet are swollen….

Bump

My sweet friend Jamie took some maternity photos for me last Sunday and I just love them. Thank you Jamie for scouting out some fun places downtown, running all around in the crazy heat and using your gifted eye to capture this exciting time in my life! I know I am always going to treasure these photos of my first pregnancy!

High Five for Friday

I am really happy that today is today. I just woke up this morning feeling really happy.  It could have something to do with this:

Yes, that is almost 10 hours of sleep (and a little spike to let Buddy out in the wee hours of the morning.)

That will definitely put one in a great mood.  You know what else will?

Having a coffee date with a wonderful friend to catch up on life. Lauren and I were spoiled when we worked at Wake together and ran together 3 days a week to always be caught up on each other’s lives! We joked that if we hadn’t had other places to be today, we would have ordered coffee…then brunch…then lunch…and probably an afternoon snack, just losing track of time catching up. (Those are the very best kinds of dates though, aren’t they?)

Pool dates. Anne & I had plans to meet at the pool this morning, which was quite wonderful considering it was 104 by the time we walked out of there. Oye!! What made it even better? Anne showing up with donuts (that she had driven to Greensboro to buy!) and the hubbys being able to join us for a quick dip/lunch before their FINAL residency shift.

FINAL RESIDENCY SHIFT! Yes, it’s finally here! I can’t believe it. I feel like we have been counting down to residency ending since… well, since it started. Residency has not actually been all that bad… at least not from my perspective. Especially an emergency medicine residency.  But nonetheless, in the journey of becoming a physician, you always feel like there is another step on the path ahead of you before real life starts. There’s getting into med school… then matching…then residency… it’s a little mind-boggling to think that Matt starts his real life, this is it job on Monday.  And there’s no more “next step” unless one day we decided we want a change. (And yes, Monday. So today is a bit anticlimactic…. last day of residency, a weekend off and then oh hey, real world job. What up.) But it’s here, residency is over as of 11 pm tonight and I am so, so, so very proud of him for all he’s done these last 7 years!

Wino Jessie K becoming a NC resident today. As we speak, one of my best friends in the whole world is making the drive from Charlottesville to Charlotte where she and her husband are moving. And say a little prayer for her, because her a/c broke YESTERDAY and the poor girl is probably melting somewhere along I-85 right now. Having her in Cville since we graduated has been wonderful – she has always been within driving distance of me as I lived in Baltimore, DC and NC – and Charlottesville has become one of my very favorite places to visit. BUT having her be 100 miles closer door-to-door is very exciting.

And last but not least, it is my momma’s birthday today! I wish I was hanging out with her celebrating, especially since she is spending the evening at a Tim McGraw concert! I have the greatest mom in the world and I hope her birthday is every bit as wonderful as she is. And since she has just officially started her first week as a RETIRED teacher, I know she has a summer of fun planned ahead and I’m very excited for her. (And yes, obviously that includes a few visits down to North Carolina to see her grandson in a few weeks!)

Five great reasons why today is a good day. Six, if you count feeling a little more well-rested.  Which I guess I should do, since I have definitely entered the phase of interrupted sleep thanks to a squirming little baby who thinks night time is the perfect time to practice tae bo. I have been looking forward to it being Friday since it was Monday. I know, I know – not exactly conducive to the whole being present and “enjoying the next 8 weeks” post I just wrote. Obviously I meant, wishing Monday-Thursday would rush right by and slowly savoring Friday-Sunday. (Isn’t that what most people do anyways?)

Right now, lack of sleep plus long days at work coupled with seriously uncomfortable desk chair makes for one cranky employee. I know I have not been very cheerful at work and the best I do is just try to focus on getting my calls done, or listening to music or a recorded book when I’m charting to make the day go faster. I’m sure I’m not particularly pleasant to be around right now at work, so at best I hope I’m not particularly difficult to be around.

Regardless, the weekends are absolute respite. Just being able to change positions throughout the day – to go from sititng,t o standing, to laying down whenever I need to - makes me a much more genial person as a whole! And you know what else will? Spending the rest of the weekend in my nice, cool air-conditioned bubble. Other than my pool date, there’s not much that’s going to drag me out into the 100 degree days this weekend. So it looks like the rest of my weekend is going to be full of alternating between getting some baby-related projects out of the way and relaxing with my newly-minted attending physician husband. Not bad at all.  High five, Friday.

32 Weeks

32 weeks! The 30's seemed to sneak up on me - I always thought whenever I heard people say how many weeks pregnant they were that it was in the 30s when things seemed really legit.  Due date around the corner kind of pregnant. And then, bam, here I am.

I've tried to write an update every 4 weeks for my own sake - I know one day the experience of being pregnant for the first time will be hidden in the dusty recesses of my brain and it will be easier for me to conjure up the lyrics to a top 10 song or the recipe for artichoke dip than it will be to remember this whole experience. It's why I blog, after all - I have a bizarre fear of forgetting and a need to commit words to paper or screen about anything meaningful in my life. And yet for some reason, I've had a tough time calling up the words to describe how I’ve been feeling around week 32.  Neutral? Mixed emotions? Both don’t quite seem to do it just and sound like odd, almost cold, sentiments to describe what it's like to be 2 months away from meeting your first born.

And yet...

I am excited to meet him. I can feel him kick and squirm now, and sometimes when I put my hand on my belly and feel what must be a butt or a head or a heel (who can actually tell?) an image of a baby's butt or head or heel will flash in my mind and I realize I'll get to see these body parts out here in the real world in just a few weeks. I fold the tiny laundry and think about squirming limbs and baby smells and how quickly this adorable little "Auntie Loves Me" onesie is going to get totally ruined by something coming out one end or the other.  Well-meaning advice givers (them again) warn you that the newborn stage goes by in the blink of an eye, and I wonder as I match up teensy socks - will I appreciate that eye blink moment for what it is or will I be so sleep-deprived, overwhelmed, brain dead that I'll be wishing the days past - to him sleeping through the night, or being out of diapers, or whatever the next assumed stage is that's going to be easier than the one I'll be in?

Probably, I am guessing, both.

There's excitement and anticipation and reality of meeting this little person and a bit of amazement that he is a stranger to me now but in an instant will be so utterly familiar we'll wonder if we really ever knew a time before he existed.

But in the same vein, there's part of me that's basking in the last few weeks that we have of being Matt-and-Meghan, just the two of us (with a highly dependent dog often tagging along, of course). My due date is just two days after our fifth wedding anniversary. I have really, really loved our last 5 years together. It sounds cliché, but I can't remember ever being more happy and content in my life than I have been being half of this partnership. Writing about the blessings of my marriage would take up pages and pages of this blog, and I've probably already written that post a half dozen times. Suffice it to say, we have had a happy and fun five years and it's strange to know we stand on the brink of a huge change in our family dynamic, but not really know what exactly that means. In any case, I am not wishing these 8 weeks to get here any faster than I know they already will and just trying to soak up the last 2 months as a couple before we become a family.

To be honest, this isn't the post I expected to write about 32 weeks.  I thought I was going to write about how dreadfully uncomfortable my office chair is to park my expanding self into for 10 hours at a time.  Or how at 32 weeks, my walk has definitely committed itself to being more of a waddle.  Or how ridiculous I look anytime I catch sight of my round belly hindering anything that could remotely be could described as graceful at my Dance Trance class, but I keep stubbornly going. Or how the constant kicks and jabs I am privileged to every night when I lay down to go to bed make my stomach looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. Or how we finally have a crib! But no mattress or change table or anything remotely indicative of a finished baby nursery. All of these things are true, but those aren't the words that came out when I started writing about 32 weeks.  So this is what I'll stick with it, and what I will come back to when I need refreshing from the dusty recesses of my mind about what it was like to be 2 months away from meeting baby.  2 months away from being a family.

28 Weeks

28 weeks! 3rd trimester! What the what!

The theme of this pregnancy continues to be "Meghan is shocked that time continues to march forward despite the fact that that's exactly what time always does."

But, really. Seriously. How am I already in my 3rd trimester? I feel like I am finally getting it in my head that I am indeed pregnant - what with the belly sticking out, the kicks going on in earnest and the random strangers dispensing advice about caffeine and sleep training and car seats.  What is it about being pregnant that makes everybody feel like it is their blessed right to give you advice? Is it because pregnancy is so obviously visible and memorable for anyone who has been through it?  Anyways. Strangers in the elevator at work and their endless stream of opinions - that's a rant for another day.

I'm still feeling pretty good, although I think I'm officially out of the honeymoon phase of the second trimester and can hang up the "easiest pregnancy ever" title for now.  Usher in the stage of: random side cramps when I sit too long, pins and needles across the top of my bump as it streeeeetches, the obvious effect of relaxin on my ligaments when I exercise and oh, just for fun, toss in a 5-day stretch of a GI bug that had me googling "can you get morning sickness in the 3rd trimester?" Since I didn't do a lot of complaining in the first two trimesters, does that mean I get to do extra now?  (Husband shakes his head no, while calmly pointing me in the direction of the pool, handing me a Zofran and wisely refraining from asking why I am wearing the same pair of yoga pants for 4 days in a row.)

As for getting ready, we have the room painted!  And thanks to my two showers, we have pretty much all the gear we need to get this little boy home from the hospital, fed, swaddled, changed, swung, strolled or whatever else this tiny little dictator might demand.  And oh, clothes!  Oh my word, do I have clothes.  I have really loved garage sale and thrift store shopping, because a) I love deals and b) baby clothes are often in SUCH good condition when bought used so I had already done quite a bit of shopping for the little guy.  Then I had my shower, and learned that baby clothes are kryptonite for shower gifters.  THEN my coworker Susan asked me if I wanted her son's first year of clothes as hand-me-downs.  Before I knew it, I was driving home with FIVE plastic tubs of clothing in my backseat.  I've got clothes and then some.  I might not have a clue what to do with this baby when he comes home in a few months, but he'll be well dressed while his momma fumbles about.

I still feel like we have a lot to do before he comes but the next few weeks are busy with travel to the mountains, to California, to Raleigh and to the beach.  I'm giving myself a free pass to just get through the next 4 weeks of living suitcase to suitcase, and then after that I'm on travel restriction until baby comes - so that'll be a plenty of time to figure out how to assemble a crib and what to pack for the hospital.  Oh yea, and mentally prepare ourselves to have our life forever altered.  That's on my to do list, too.  

Hometown Shower

Other than my walk down memory lane, the real reason for my trip home was a baby shower being thrown for me and Baby Boy Cline by my mom’s friends.  The party was thrown by three of my mom’s friends from school – Abbie, Pat and Melissa.  It included them as well as some of her other teacher friends, my “hood mommas”, my Aunt Patty, and two other friends of my mom I have known since childhood. 

Hood mommas – I should explain that one.  I grew up in one of those neighborhoods with tons of kids running around, where you rode your bike up and down the street to friend’s houses and were just as likely to eat dinner at a neighbor’s house as your own.  We played neighborhood-wide games of capture the flag and flashlight tag and each of my neighborhood friends’ moms were as in charge of me as my own mom.  Little did I know then that the friendships that the Moms all had with each other was as important – if not more – as the one their kids had.  Now that I’m getting close to the stage of having my own kiddo and I call up my friends-with-babies every other day to ask advice about sleep books, registry items and “is this normal” pregnancy questions, I can completely understand the importance of those friendships that formed as they were co-raising their kids together.  I absolutely love that the “hood moms” friendships have endured through their kids growing up and moving out, through each of them actually moving from the neighborhood and more.  I think about my friends who have babies now and I wonder what it would say about the test of our friendship if I am one day at their child’s baby shower.  I hope so!  (And can you imagine the types of baby shower gifts we’ll be giving 30 years from now?  Hopefully we’ll still be giving “Goodnight Moon” and “Brown Bear, Brown Bear.”)

Anyways!  It was an absolutely lovely shower.  One of my mom’s friend’s from school brought her 8-month old baby which provided a very welcome distraction for the shower guests as I tackled one of my greatest fears: opening presents in front of a crowd.  (Is it just me?  I get clammy and nervous and I rush through it awkwardly.  At least at my wedding showers I could have champagne to help me through it!)

But look, is this kiddo not adorable?

Baby Boy got spoiled rotten at this shower.  Since it was thrown by teachers, I thought it very appropriate that they requested everyone bring a favorite kid’s book so his library got a huge jumpstart!  There were so many of my favorites from childhood that I got to revisit – and some new ones that I am sure I will get very well acquainted with.  We also got squared away with some much needed essentials like the Ergo, video monitor, swaddlers, bottles….oh and of course, clothes!  Buying baby clothes is pretty much everyone’s kryptonite, isn’t it?  It is darn near impossible to resist the siren song of a 0-3 month onesie, I am learning.  This little boy is going to be one well-read, well-dressed baby when he gets here!

It was a beautiful shower and I was so very grateful for all the ladies who came to it – those who have known me since I myself was a baby and those who I just met recently but who have been great friends to the Grandma-to-be and were equally as excited to celebrate with her.  This little baby (and his momma) are already so well taken care of!

24 Weeks

If I am doing my math right, that means I am 6 months pregnant.  I must not be doing my math right, because WHAAAAT?  (The whole weeks to month conversion thing does throw me off a little...)  Anyways, regardless of whether I am 24 weeks or 6 months or carrying-a-baby-the-size-of-a-rutabaga, I am amazed that I am this far along in my pregnancy.  It is going fast.

And my doctor told me not to say this too loudly lest I tempt fate and piss off friends, but it's been wonderfully easy and dare I say, enjoyable so far.  For the most part, I'm not consistently uncomfortable.  My biggest complaints are either from eating too much - something entirely avoidable - and sitting too long.  Unfortunately, my job makes the sitting too long unavoidable but with the help of the most fantastic massage therapist ever and having my coworker fuss at me every time she sees me slouching or leaning to one side of my arm rest, I'm working through that.

Knowing it's a boy and having a nickname we call him has made him feel much more real to us - as has the large unassembled crib crowding our front hallway. (Crib fairies come assemble those things, right?) And I'm starting to feel more kicks and flutters throughout the day, which are a nice reminder that he's in there.

It's also nice to finally really look pregnant and yet not be uncomfortably pregnant yet.  In fact, I know this may sound strange but I really feel better about my body now than I have in probably the last 14 years.  I mean, in general I tend to be pretty comfortable in my body...but I think every woman has moments where they're consciously aware of how they look or think they look with regards to particular "trouble zones."  Mine has always been my stomach and well, there's no worrying about how that looks.  It's a bump!  It's cute!  Moving on!  It's the first time in 14 years I've worn a bathing suit or a form-fitting shirt and not thought once about how I looked in it.  I might feel differently 10 weeks from now when it's the middle of July and I'm in ready-to-pop stage, but right now this is the most accepting I've ever felt about my body.  Booyah.

The whole reality of having a baby has not really sunk in yet.  I'm assuming that happens on the drive home from the hospital when you realize that yup, it's official, you're in charge of a tiny dependent squawking little human.  I've been reading a good handful of books recommended to me by friends (Baby Whisperer, Babywise, Happiest Baby on the Block, Sippy Cups are Not For Chardonnay, etc) but I kind of have a feeling the whole experience is going to be a bit like when I went to Spain after studying Spanish for 6 years and was rudely awakened to the fact that no amount of books can prepare you for a full immersion experience.  Sink or swim, baby. Aye, dios mio, no estoy preparando para esto.

So! That's week 24.  I had every intention of writing an update weekly but I've been busy eating breakfast twice a day, shopping for more leggings and combing yard sales for a good deal on a Fisher-Price Baby Coma-Inducer aka the Snugabug swing.  Oh and getting 8 hours of sleep - figured I better get that in while I still can.

Week 19: Before + After

I've been (somewhat) keeping up with the March Photo-a-day prompts on Instagram and today the prompt was "before and after."  I couldn't think of anything particularly creative, so I just snapped a picture of my breakfast chai ingredients before and after to post.

On my way home from Dance Trance, I caught sight of myself in the mirror at the Y bathroom.  I realized I was wearing the same outfit I had worn a few months, when I had just completed a 3-month strength training program with my friend Heather and had snapped an “after” picture to send her.  Coincidentally, it turns out I was about 2 weeks pregnant in that picture.  My outfit was the same, but boy did my profile look a little different.   I snapped a picture when I got home and posted it as my "before & after."

It's weird when you live with the day-to-day changes, you know your body is changing but you don't really really grasp the full change unless you go back and compare it to where you started.  Obviously I've seen the number on the scale change, have switched full time to wearing Bella Bands and yup, pelvic bones are thing of the past - but seeing the before and after picture was really the first time I had grasped how much my body had already changed in a relatively short period of time. 

And to think this is really a "before" and "during."  Hoo-boy.

And They’re Like … It’s Better Than Yours

I had a not-so-awesome week at work this week and on my way on Thursday, I was thinking to myself “oh how I would love to relax with some vino tonight.”  Well, lil 19 week old fetus says “that ain’t gonna happen, Mom” so I tried to think about what would be the next best thing when lo! a highway detour took me right by Cookout.  (Thank you, single lane on 52 NB.)

Oh, Cookout.  Delicious, delicious Cookout. I literally have not had a Cookout milkshake since 2006.  I know the exact year, because Zac and Jamie and I were going to see Failure to Launch at the $2 theater (terrible movie) and we snuck in our milkshakes.  I had just started working at Wake teaching the weight loss classes for a research study and thought “Hmm, maybe I should look up the calorie information on a Cookout milkshake!”

Terrible, terrible idea.  I haven’t had one since.

Although this information was partially enlightening to explain the good 10 or so extra pounds* that I carried around in college.  You see, after many a fraternity party, my girlfriends and I would somehow find a “willing” pledge to drive to Cookout and get us milkshakes.  And hush puppies.  The combination which should preferably be eaten together – hush puppies dipped into your milkshake.  If you’ve never tried this before, I suggest you start with the Oreo and go from there.

While I was waiting in the drive-through line for my milkshake – and oh what the heck, my hush puppies too - it suddenly occurred to me that I never once paid for my milkshakes in college.  Never!  Who did?  Was it the pledge?  Was it the brother who sent the pledge?  I suddenly felt horribly guilty that someone had footed my milkshake bill for the better part of 3 semesters of college and I had never once even asked someone if I should chip in.  How entitled was I?!

But then I decided that since women have to go through pregnancy and childbirth, it was the least the males of the world could do to pick our milkshake tab for us in college.  So that settled in and I felt better about this debt.  (Although I still do wonder who it was who paid for them?)

These are the things I think about sometimes.  I should probably keep them to myself instead of blogging about them. 

And just in case you’re wondering, the hush puppies and milkshake combo is every bit as good at 19-weeks and totally sober as it was at 19 years old and, um, not. 

I’m just not going to make it a weekly thing this time around.  I promise.

Although I don’t think someone would mind if I did….

 

(*Editor’s Note: Those 10 pounds also maybe also a little something to do with beer.  Or Fox Run White Zinfandel mixed with Sprite.  Or the fact that you could Pizza Hut on Deacon Dollars.  Or the Benson candy bins.  Just sayin’.)

16 Weeks

It’s amazing how a week of vacation will take you from looking like you hit the Golden Corral buffet a little too hard to legit pregnant.  Bam.  Just like that.

I definitely prefer this – while I’m still at the stage where a stranger might think twice about asking if I was preggo lest they stick their foot in their mouth (even though someone *did* do this to me at EIGHT weeks) – I am definitely feeling more comfortable in this version of my pregnant body than the first not-pregnant but not-normal couple months.

I’ve also been fortunate enough to feel really, really good the majority of this pregnancy so far.  I had a few days early on with some sickness and the infamous fatigue of the first trimester was annoying, but I really have so very little to complain about so far.  The first few months I didn’t have much of an appetite – nothing made me sick, but nothing sounded good either.  (Except for Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets.  I am quite sorry, Baby Cline, for you did not start your life off with an all organic, non processed food diet.  I hope you like cheese-powdered foods as much I do.)  That’s gone away as well now, and I unfortunately no longer have a great excuse for skipping the entire produce section on my grocery trip.  I’ve been able to keep doing Body Pump and Dance Trance, which I think has actually kept me feeling really good.

I should probably stop talking now before I tempt the fates or piss off my friends who did not have such easy first trimesters. 

It took me well past 12 weeks to really and truly believe that I was pregnant, so it’s kind of bizarre to think that in another month, I’ll actually be at the halfway point!