Life goes on

I accidentally took a couple days off of work.

How does one accidentally take a couple days off? Well, it generally happens when I mean to work, but I really can't find the energy. I usually piddle the day away on projects around the house, running errands, etc. The downside of that approach is that I tend to feel terribly guilty and frightened that I'll never be able to work again. Curtains!

The good news is that I had energy this morning. I got up at 6:00 and I hit the ground running. It was then that I realized that the inability to work was only temporary. What a relief.

That's confusing

Good news...

Went to the doctor on Friday, and she basically said Sam has grown into his kidneys. I can't help but feel like I'm being over-tested - that this is not a big deal and it wouldn't have even been an issue if I hadn't gotten the second ultrasound. But extra baby pictures almost make up for it.

Okay news... (I'm adjusting)

My doctor still thinks we should go to the hospital so the docs there can keep an eye on Sam and check for any lingering kidney problems after he's born. She doesn't like the idea of us going home after four hours (like we would at the birthing center), and being on our own without any monitoring.

I'm uneasy about this because I would prefer not to be in the hospital. I'm hearing things like, "It's okay to have a birthing plan, but it all depends on the doctor who's on call that day," and "Once you go to the hospital, you're really on the clock. They can't have you laboring in there on your own for 48 hours! They need the room for the next lady." (My doctor said both of these things).

I guess I'm just expecting for the birth to be out of my control. But Dave will be there with me, and if there's anybody you want on your side when men in white coats are charging at your va-jay-jay with a scalpel, it's Dave.

He knows Judo.

Confusing news...

Radiology kept moving up my due date. At my first ultrasound, they said "March 4!" Then, at the second ultrasound, "March 3!" At this last ultrasound, they exclaimed "March 1!"

While we can't wait for the spud to get born already, we were starting to get a little concerned. My original due date was March 10, and since we had an IUI, we KNOW when we conceived the bugger. So the date really shouldn't move, right?

Not a problem, except that Kaiser induces you if you go 1 (one!) week (one week!) past your due date. Now, I'm certainly not in favor of an episiostomy, or a c-section, or forceps, but INDUCTION? N.O. with repeating imperative punctuation!! Certainly not one week after.

So we were worried that they were going to try to induce on March 7, when it wasn't even my real due date yet.

The response? "Oh, don't pay any attention to the dates they give you in radiology. They don't mean anything. Your due date is March 10."

Crikey! Doctors suck.

Once again, Dave reassures me. "They can't induce you if you don't show up."

I love that man.

Ta da!

Ah, yes. The long-awaited profile!

Stats:

33 weeks, 6 days

4 lbs, 15 oz.

Estimated Due Date: 3/1/07

If he keeps growing like this, we're going to have a February baby on our hands!

He is in a breech position at the moment, but we have a couple of weeks to see if he turns around on his own.

And, to top it all off, Dave finally felt him kick today.

All around, a good baby day. More on kidneys after our appointment Friday, I hope.

Vicki

My dad called this morning to tell me that Vicki died.

Dad, like any respectable old coot, has made a habit of reading the obituaries. It's a good thing, too, because I wouldn't know anything about anything if he didn't keep me in the loop.

And Vicki? She was my 'cello teacher. For six years, I visited her little house on Atherton Road for my weekly lesson. Even counting the summer hiatis, that means I spent literally hundreds of hours with this woman. I hadn't thought about that before. Not until now.

Vicki was a music teacher in the public schools, and she taught private lessons in the evening at home. She was utterly jolly. She taught me so many things - not only about the 'cello, but about responsibility, confidence and doing what you love.

I liked playing the 'cello, but I didn't love it. I didn't practice four hours a day. Lord, some weeks I didn't practice at all. Vicki knew it. She didn't mind. She knew that I would learn valuable lessons from playing music, even if I wasn't a prodigy.

Vicki watched me grow from an awkward 11 year old girl to a full grown woman. The last time I saw her was at my senior recital in college. She hadn't RSVP'd. She wanted, she said, to surprise me.

Now, 10 years later, I learn that Vicki had colon cancer. She survived for six years - a terribly long time to have that disease. I understand that she was a guiding light for newly diagnosed patients, encouraging them through their early grief and helping them learn the ropes as they battled their cancer. I am not surprised.

Please visit Vicki's page at the American Cancer Society's Mosaic of Memories. It's a loving tribute to a beautiful lady.

Update

Looks like we're headed to the hospital.

I just found out about a week ago that our last ultrasound showed that Sam's kidneys are enlarged. If it's true (and my OB seems to think it might be a false reading), then it's likely he has some kind of blockage in his ureter, which isn't uncommon in boys.

The good news is that this condition almost always works itself out and no intervention is required.

The bad news is that the docs usually like to ultrasound the baby after birth to make sure whatever it is isn't persisting, and we have to be at the hospital for that to happen.

We're having another ultrasound on Wednesday, and if everything looks okay (and we feel good about the tour of the birthing center, which we're still having Wednesday night), I may lobby for the birthing center anyway. I'm taking Dave along to my next appointment to be a hard ass, if one is required.

Regardless of where he's born, I'm still hoping for a drug and surgery-free birth.

In other news, I'm suffering from a serious case of senioritis. I spend my days procrastinating on work projects and my evenings either at various baby classes or nesting my little butt off. (You should SEE how clean the upstairs is!)

7 1/2 weeks to go.

So now we're thinking

I had this whole labor thing figured out. Go to the hospital. Get epidural in the car on the way if possible. Pop out baby. Take a nap. My definition of a good labor was one that was minimally painful. Period.

Then I started learning about the process. Granted, I may have been subjected to some pretty powerful, carefully veiled propaganda at my one-day Lamaze class yesterday, but darn it if it didn't ring true.

The fact is, I don't know one person who has delivered a full-term baby vaginally. Not in the last 10 years, at least. And while my instructor (a certified doula) didn't say this outright, it became clear to me as the day wore on that, once you get to the hospital, you are on the clock. If you don't finish up before they need the room, they are GOING to wheel you into the operating room and cut you open. After all, other couples are waiting.

That may be a little harsh, but with 40% of babies born in the U.S. delivered by c-section, including all the babies of all the mothers I know, I have to wonder about my chances if I go that route.

So now I'm thinking. I'm thinking, "Maybe I can do this natural childbirth thing." I'm thinking, "Wouldn't it be good to try? Especially if it means I'm much more likely to avoid a c-section?" I'm thinking, "I need to look at this."

Dave and I both came away from our class yesterday with the same idea - that we should investigate the birthing center. That we should at least take the tour and see if it's for us. I guess we'll see what happens.

PMS all the time

It's like I have PMS all the time. Quiet, moody, irritable, ready to fly off the handle without notice.

I'm yelling at my boss. I'm whining at my husband. I am completely unable to tackle any work. I sit. I watch TV. I eat chocolate. I feel bad about myself.

Today, Dave and I went to Target and bought all new towels because our washing machine ruined the old ones. It made them all musty and we can't get the smell out of them. The only way we got the smell out of the washer was several empty cycles with a mess of bleach. We also bought a new comforter for the nursery (for the bed not the crib), a comforter for Max's room, and six new pillows. It cost entirely too much.

I snuck a bag of Reeses peanut butter hearts on the cart, and told Dave I wanted them because I love him so much.

I am worried about the baby. I am worried about giving birth. I am worried that I've lost 20 IQ points in the past 7 months. I'm worried that I'll never feel normal again.