Guilt is a Dirty Little Secret

A mother of an 18 month old in my class asked me today if she could bring her older son along for the last three weeks of our session.
She said, "If it's not okay I understand. He's five." Here she looked at me closely, something flickered across in her gaze, searching my own. "He's autistic." She sucked in her breath and waited for my response.
"I would love to try that," I told her. I meant it; she knew. She wanted to say more. I smiled, hoping that she would take that to go on.
"It's just...he's just....well he's not really five. He's always had some delays...but...well...music has always been good for him...I just want...I hope...." Her words lost their shape, floated like thin clouds into the ether.
I wanted to hug her.
"My son is in an ABA program," I said.
"Does he have autism?" was her fair enough and predictable answer.
I shrugged. "I don't think so. The ABA is for speech therapy. I think he has verbal apraxia, but we have yet to get that diagnosis. Or assessment for that matter!" I laughed as I told her how comical but sad it was to listen to Bubbles' own indecipherable language tumble around his mouth. I told her that I certainly have concerns about it, as Bubbles' vocabulary seems to be increasing, but his articulation is not improving at an expected rate.
She commented that I seemed to be handling it well, and I responded that we had been through early intervention before with Elijah, of course we were hoping for a different 'outcome' this time... She grinned at me and asked if we could go out for coffee sometime soon to talk about ABA (her son is just starting a program) and everything else in the world. Aha! I have sucked another friend into my world!
Her son received the diagnosis just a few months ago. That part shocked me. But it also reminded me of how fragile our concepts of our children really are.
She actually knew long before the diagnosis. Of course she did. He is five.
There is so much wrapped up in a diagnosis. Maybe relief, maybe shock, mourning, fear.
And guilt. Let us not forget guilt.
I have a secret.
I usually think I am the only one with this secret, but the sad truth is that most mothers in my position have their own secrets.
We, above all medical professionals and developmental specialists, know what is wrong with our children. We are sure we know what made them different.
Because, you see, we grew these children. So of course we must be the source of their pain, their differences, their challenges.
I am sure that my childrens' picky eating habits are one of my lower gene pool swimmers, and I feel horrible about that. It also makes my life as their mother who needs to feed them very challenging. Dh knows that our kids are freakishly stubborn because of his own gene pool. We all know that we will pass some of our traits along to our children; others will be unexpected.
But growing that baby? Is delicate work.
Every time a child comes out looking like what you may consider 'perfect' (you who all counted toes and fingers), I consider it a miracle. Those are the kinds of miracles that I even consider at all. Every baby who is born with the ability to suck? Another miracle. Babies who grow and learn to sit up, crawl, and walk? Wow. Lucky. Seriously gifted.
Children who learn to talk, converse, hug, function? Don't get me started on the fireworks of miracles happening there.
When pregnant, most us of spent some time dreaming about that little nugget with limbs and her future. There were, of course so many variables, it was hard to actually picture her. And in the name of freedom of personality, who would dare to try? But really? Would there be sports in my future? Because I hate the sports. Would she want to go to college or move to Costa Rica? Would she want to get married someday? To a guy? Would she do my bidding and eat the homemade pureed organic spinach brown rice babyfood (no), wear her hair in long braids and favor smearing homemade jam on her homemade pinafores as I homeschooled her? (no, no, and no)
And he? Would he be taller than his tiny sister? Would he want to take ballet? Would he want to live with us in his twenties? Would he sleep through the night?
And of course....did you get the prenatal testing done? Phew, because now you can stop worrying about those 3 things that they can screen for.
Because you of course are spending all your free time wondering if he (or she) will have a neurological disorder, developmental delays, autism, apraxia, PDD/NOS, etc.
Oh, not?
No, me neither. Until it happened once. 'It' being merely something different. Something mysterious, yet unexpected and glaringly different.
And then we had this little window, this snippet of time to hold on to this mysterious, glaringly different, and glaringly precious bodhisattva before he moved on. *poof*
But on the days when I am feeling less gifted and more cheated, he was not a bodhisattva. He was just not given everything exactly right. From me: right time, right place. When I was growing him, of course. If something went wrong there and then, I do believe that all of the rational thinkers and doctors in the world could never convince me that I was not at fault.
There were all those drugs pumped into me for six weeks. I consented; I was told it was the best thing for my baby...to try to keep him from coming too early (he never did). There were the weeks of hyper-emesis and weight loss, the weeks without vitamins or solid food of any kind.
My dirty little secret: My child was different because I grew him wrong.
We're in the park of differently-abled people again, but on a different ride. This time around we are dealing with what has been classified as 'a severe expressive language delay'. His supervisor for speech therapy and ABA (all of whose services we will lose in 3 months) is extremely confident (her words) that he does not and will not meet the criteria for a spectrum diagnosis, though she shares my concern about the verbal apraxia and is arranging for an assessment. Not that a diagnosis of apraxia would get him any more services after he turns three, at which point we are basically going to get screwed by the school district: fact. Stay tuned.
So here I am again hiding my little secrets. When I was pregnant with Bubbles, I didn't eat enough vegetables, I forgot to take my prenatals on purpose when I was nauseous in the beginning, and in the last trimester, I drank a full glass of wine on more than one occasion!
I screwed him up; I totally never gave him a chance to talk pretty.
Secrets.
Exposed, now.


Guilt has gripped me ever tighter each year of motherhood.

Labor and Delivery

Halloween 2005, 2:00pm
I knew all along I was going to go into labor on Halloween. All the way down the mountain to Supergirl and her buddy's gymnastics class I bitched to Heidi about one thing or another, then I hauled my giant belly (ass) over to costco to return moldy cheese. Unopened. That I had bought two days before. Two pounds of it. And I had an annoying backache.
On the way back (1/2 block + large parking lot) I had 3 contractions. And more with the annoying backache. And when I got back to the gym I mentioned that I was feeling more irritable than usual and thought perhaps I would go into labor soon.
"I'm cranky." I said.
"Ya think so?" my dear friend and soon to be labor helper boldly replied.
"More than usual." I added.
"I noticed." Again with the sarcasm.
I was getting edgy. And that damn backache!
4:00pm
Back home, I told dh that I felt like I felt the day before going into labor the first time (the second time I was induced). Then I started getting worried that maybe this wasn't really labor after all, but more of those nasty teaser contractions, and my back is killing me and I feel so cranky and what if this lasts for DAYS until I am induced and ohgod I can't take it!!!!!
So I took measures to make sure - the tried and true method of asking your loving partner and father of your soon to be born child to overlook the fact that you look like a snake digesting a fresh hippopotamus dinner and show you a good time. Make that a great time.
And then I took some herbs that dear Jen gave me. I had prepared ahead in case I decided to try and avoid the pitocin induction scheduled for Thursday. She said to try the tincture every four hours. So I took some, and - this is how pregnant I really was - actually enjoyed the bitter taste!
I was having regular contractions, perhaps 6-7 minutes apart, for almost two hours. But I thought that wasn't quite definitive enough. So I had some more tincture. It definitely hadn't been 4 hours, but I was devoted to the end result being a baby, (although still doubtful).
When the big event comes, you really are afraid to believe it.
So because I really didn't believe it, I had made plans with Heidi to take our children trick-or-treating down in Boulder Creek. Dh made dinner, I watched the clock and smiled stupidly so as not to alarm anyone, and I refused to eat. Part of the reason for this was that I was truly not hungry. The other part was that I was afraid that if- IF - I was really in labor, then I for sure didn't want to poop on OBfriend.
7:00pm
I cancelled my part in the trick-or-treating and told Heidi to plan on hearing from me later...as things seemed to be moving slowly and she should get her pregnant little self some sleep before I commanded her presence at the hospital later.
At one point during all this quiet frenzy, Dh (Definitely horrible) put on a clip from this movie and it opens with Johnny Cash singing 'Ring of Fire'. I was in the bathroom and shouted out that he was the most insensitive person on earth and turn that goddam song off right now because that is so not funny I will KILL HIM if he doesn't turn it off NOW!! It took him a minute to get the connection, but those of you familiar with childbirth should need no further explanation.
8:00pm
I took more tincture. mmm.....yummy.
The contractions were 5-6 minutes apart, consistent now for 3 hours, so I was pretty sure this thing was on, but I didn't feel right heading out to the hospital while things were still relatively mild, aka: NON-painful contractions. So I paged OBfriend who was out trick-or-treating. She told me that I was being a bit silly to be waiting for pain with my third child.
Oh.
And to head in the direction of the hospital soon, no rush, but get things in order, etc...
Okay.
Note: If you are in labor and your OB tells you this (no rush), DO NOT, under any circumstances, share this information with your Dh, significant other, ride to the hospital, etc. He or she will most likely then proceed to cook things,look for the cat, pack more things into the bags that have been packed for a month, unplug things, look for the cat, have philosophical discussions with a four year old, plug things in, look for the cat, lock doors, unplug things again, complain about not finding the cat, and generally drive you crazy.
10:00pm
We were able to drop Supergirl off at her designated destination by 9:30pm, at the hospital by about 10. They were waiting for me. Most of these nurses had seen me through some scares, plus there was nobody else in labor. So I had a nice welcome and we requested the room in which Supergirl was born, which is what we got. I love that hospital!
I was still not in pain and a bit giddy with all the anticipation, so much giggling and joking ensued. The nurse (who had been my nurse when I had the preterm labor scares) reminded me that I had told her we were going to name the baby Braxton-Hicks, hahaha, and then I handed her my printed birthplan (EXCERPT: #5 WHEN I throw up, give me a BIG basin and offer me some mouthwash afterward. #6 I apologize in advance for any nasty remarks I may make to anyone while in transition or pushing. I HATE that part) , and there was much more hahaha and then they tried to get the IV started (you have to be pre-hydrated should you decide on a spinal, and I was keeping my options open!) and five tries later there was a little less hahaha....but finally a direct line to my vein, which certainly came in handy, which I will cover later.
1:00am, Nov 1st
So everything was just plodding along; when I got to the hospital I was about 3 centimeters, and by 1am I was only at 4, then stalled out there for a while. Dear sweet wonderful OBfriend came in around 1, not because we thought I was going to be popping a baby out any moment, but because she is indeed a dear, sweet, wonderful friend! She has experienced every joyous and every psycho moment of this pregnancy with me. She was a rock for me when Elijah died. She said she wasn't going to miss this event and was there for the duration.
Around 3:30am (4 hours after being on IV fluids and antibiotic for the GBS) I agreed to having the membranes broken (water popped, whatever). With baby #1, we were Bradley brainwashed and wouldn't allow any interventions. I had natural childbirth with extremely painful back labor. With baby #2, I was induced and we wanted Elijah out fast, and after my membranes were broken, labor progressed MUCH faster (think runaway train) and he came very soon after that. Also without drugs. As I previously touched on, I was not sure I needed to experience all that reality again.
I wanted to get this show on the road, so I was very glad to have my membranes popped. And everything looked good. Except for that damn towel between my legs that was most certainly was acting as a diaper. That didn't look so attractive. OBfriend suggested we take a walk, and I covered up my bare ass, gathered up Dh and my IV pole and off we all went for a walk. It was about halfway around the loop that I realized with relief just what exactly that handrail running the length of the wall is for. Wow. Dh and OBfriend took turns massaging my back as I leaned against those blessed railings and said things like, "Oh. Wow. Ohmygod. Whoa. Holyshit," and so forth. When we got back to my room I was no longer feeling giddy and joyful. Dh suggested that I take a shower, since laboring in water is always easier for me. As the nurse was wrapping my IV'd arm in plastic I started feeling irritable and impatient. She took these (correctly) as signs of progressing towards transition, and suggested that they check my cervix before getting in the shower. I snarled that I would be just fine, thank you, if she would just get out my way now since I have done this THREE times now, and let me in the hot water. NOW. PLEASE.
She raised her eyebrows at Dh, gave him orders to stay in the bathroom, and left me alone.
Almost as soon as I got into the shower, the trembling started. This was definitely transition, and I didn't like it one bit. I was shaking and moaning "Owowowowowowowow. Nonononononono. Owowowowowowow." I gripped the shower handrail (oh I was beginning to have fantasies of gratitude involving the architect of that hospital) and said through gritted teeth, "Okay. I OWOWowowowowwant drugs. I w-w-w-want a spinal and I want it nowOWOWowowowow. Now would be a good OWOWOWOWOwowow time to call that anesthesiowowowOWOWowologist. And tell him to hurry. And call OWowoOWowowfuckingow Heidi. And tell her to hurry. Owshitshitshitowowow."
Of course by this time OBfriend and nurse had come in and were suggesting I get out of the tub. I was reassured that the anesthesiologist (aka the candyman) lived nearby and would be there ohsoveryverysoon. Twenty minutes tops.
(20 minutes? is she fucking crazy to OW think that i can LIVE through the next OW twenty fucking minutes?OW)
The nurse offered and I accepted pain meds in the direct route to my vein and they were quite pleasant - in the midst of all this unpleasantness. Then Heidi showed up -hooray- after driving down the mountain 30 miles, considerably farther than the absent anesthesiologist had to go. She looked well rested, beautiful, glowing, cheerful, energetic and sympathetic. All at once I wanted to cry on her shoulder and smack her for looking so great. She asked how I was doing and I remember muttering something about how the nurse had good drugs and right then the good drugs wore off and WHAM-O! the next contraction hit and then I very clearly remember saying this in a pleading and guttural voice: "Oooooooooooooooooohhhhhfuuuuuuuuuckkkkkk."

I was at about 8-9 centimeters when I had gotten out of the shower, and I knew I was going fast at that point. The fentanyl high lasted but a few minutes before I was demanding to know the whereabouts of the GODDAMNEDANESTHESIOLOGIST??? I WANT MY CANDY, CANDYMAN!! who finally breezed in around 6am - almost an hour after being called at home. And when he did come in he started smalltalking to Dh and Heidi. And asking me if I liked surfing or some dumb shit like that and I said, "Howabout you stop talking and give me some drugs."
As I sat up for the spinal I felt Bubbles just speed his way down the birth canal and tried to hide it so they would still give me the good numbing drugs for the pushing part, which I was dreading and getting more panicky about as he plowed his way downdowndown. Unfortunately, me trying to hide it became me panting and whining "ohno-ohno-ohno-ohno-ohno."
Heidi later told me that the nurse I was leaning on thought I was going to throw up on her with all the ohnos, but really I was just afraid the baby was going to demand then and there to come out before doctor talkalot got the needle in, and I wanted to be NUMB. Ring of Fire played tauntingly in my head.
I got the spinal, and waited for relief. However, since my baby was an inch from meeting oxygen and my pelvis was cracked open within a millimeter of permanent damage, the next few contractions were still felt and they were MAMMOTH m-f-ing contractions. I panicked. I panicked because I was expecting the spinal to work immediately, and it didn't. They handed me an oxygen mask. My legs were numb but my back, ass, and vagina were all WAY too present and living in the moment. I started whining to OBfriend to HELP ME PLEASE WHY ISN'T THIS WORKING I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO WORK WHY ISN'T IT WORKING HELP ME PLEASE!!!! I felt really panicky.
There was some discussion about giving me another dose of the spinal and higher up, and the candyman said he could do that but that I would be as numb as a c-section patient, unable to move my legs at all or feel anything. That sounded divine. Yeah baby, bring it on.

7:00am
Ten minutes later I was numbnumbnumb, mmmmmmm, lovely. Great little cocktail they put in that spinal, I thought. OBfriend said, "Well, you can push anytime you are ready."
I blinked at her gloved hand.
"The baby's head is right there!" she added.
"You just checked me???" I asked incredulously,"I had no idea you were even near my vagina!"
Things were looking up.
I told her I was too tired to push and I would like to take a little rest please.
She surprised me by saying why didn't I take a little nap? The baby's heartrate was fine, the nurse and Heidi were both watching the monitors like hawks, and we were all pretty damn tired. So Dh, OBfriend, and I all took naps. I am not kidding. My baby was knocking on the door, and we all took a little nap. In retrospect it seems pretty ridiculous, but in the moment I was totally exhausted and incapable of extracting another ounce of energy from my being.
8:00am
After drifting in and out of sleep, I opened my eyes feeling much more ready, and also starting to regain a little bit of feeling in my hip. "Let's do this thing," I said to Heidi, who went to get OBfriend who was psychicly right at the door, and then woke Dh, who was snoring on the uncomfortable daddy-chairbed.
Since I couldn't really feel a thing, I was worried about whether or not I could push effectively. OBfriend said to give it a try.
I did. She and Heidi got big eyes and OBfriend said,"well, I'm going to gown up!" and Heidi, grinning wildly, said,"Ohmygod there's his head, it was RIGHT THERE!" And then I got all bossy and demanded a mirror and told Dh and Heidi to grab my legs (one for each of them) and scooted up and took in a big breath and PUSHED REALLYREALLY hard and yes, there was his head, it was RIGHT THERE!!! I know, because I saw it in the mirror aimed at my crotch, which normally would have bothered me. And for the first time in three birthing experiences, I was NOT moaning ring of fire, ring of fire, i can't do this.....and I was NOT shouting GET IT OUT OF ME RIGHT NOW, I DON'T CARE JUST GET. THIS. BABY. OUT. OF. ME. RIGHT. NOOOOOOOOOW.
Nope, none of that. I was blissfully medicated.
aaaaahhhhhhhh.
I couldn't feel a thing, and was amazed to see this head squeezing his way through my hooha with no accompanying discomfort whatsoever.
Now this, surely, was a beautiful thing.
I got to enjoy the moment my child entered the world in a way that I had not yet done: calmly. It was a perfect moment for me.
8:13
I was very excited to see my pushing work right before my very eyes (which were surprisingly open instead of squinted in agony), and so I pushed REALLY HARD again, and then watched my baby literally
8:14
pop out.
That was it. Just three big pushes, and there he was.
ON MY BELLY!!!
Bubbles came out with his right hand pressed against his cheek, which I saw right away. What I had somehow (and gratefully) missed was the cord wrapped around his hand and neck - just once, and loosely, but his hand was protecting his neck. I didn't need to see any of that, and it was unlooped so fast by OBfriend that I didn't have to.
And then, the most beautiful sound I had ever heard, the sound that neither Mozart or Vivaldi could have topped with a mere musical masterpiece:
The unequivocally, indisputably, absolutely healthy cry of my baby boy, as he at once protested and accepted the oxygen-rich world.

Punkin

As you can plainly see, Bubbles (aka melonhead, aka punkin just for today and tomorrow) is still INSIDE of me.
Nobody is more shocked than his parents.
Dh says that he is a scorpio, therefore he has no intention of coming out voluntarily. After all this effort to keep him in long enough, it is pretty unthinkable to imagine that we will be kicking him out of his warm little womb. I feel kinda bad about that. I am also feeling very nostalgic about this being the last few days I will ever be pregnant. For as much heartburn and lung compression I am feeling right now, there is still nothing quite so wonderful in my book as feeling a baby grow and move inside of me.
So, on Wednesday I will go to have the membranes stripped (apparently as awful as it sounds), take the herbs and hope for 'natural' induction. If that doesn't do the trick, I will be headed for the pitocin around 9am Thursday.
I think I will now go have a quiet moment to mull that over.

Balls!!

Well, my cervical status remains the same. No further dilation, in spite of the many many contractions. So I guess it is just that temperamental uterus of mine.
I never thought we would make it this far, really. I am OVER 37 weeks pregnant, which is a record for me. This baby seems to be following a different trend - that of my side of the gene pool where babies cook longer and grow large. Grow large, round, melonheads.
Yes. Confirmed once again for the shock value on the mama's part. OB-friend did another ultrasound today to check my fluid (I never can say that with a straight face), and the first thing we noticed was that his head is VERY round. Not oval in the slightest. Round. Like a melon. Apparently, a rather large melon, as his head is still measuring larger than the rest of him for our dates (which are exceedingly accurate). His melon is measuring at 38 weeks + five days!!! Oh. My. God. I looked at that screen, and then I looked over at OB-friend and said "This image brings one word to mind. Spinal." Her response? "Not a bad idea. I would." She knows that I have birthed the first two without the drugs (she was there to witness the cursing and the screaming), and she knows that I am not so sure I want to do that again. She also knows that I HATE the pushing part more than anything. She also knows that his melonhead is not going to make THAT part any easier this time around. Personally, I am afraid it won't even fit!!!
Dh and I had decided that if he doesn't come out on his own by Halloween, that we will give him another few days and then boot him out next week. So today we found ourselves discussing induction dates. We had discussed this before, but I never really thought it would come to this! I still have that 'feeling' that Halloween is the day, but I have (occasionally) been wrong before. So if he doesn't feel inspired by Halloween to come out (and if he is really taking after my side of the gene pool, then he isn't planning on coming out on his own until Thanksgiving!), we will post the eviction notice next...Tues? Wed? Thurs? Haven't decided that one yet.
A highlight of today's appointment was when she did the ultrasound to check my fluid (snicker). After many comments were made on the spherical appearance of my baby's head, she needed to measure the distance between his legs and the uterine wall to get a good measurement on the amniotic fluid. But instead of an empty space, we got a good shot of Bubbles' testicles. A VERY good shot. And those babies are pretty damn prominent! Dh was of course, pleased. Now you may think that is a cliche - a shallow yet predictable guy reaction, but let me fill you in. Poor little Elijah was born with bilateral undescended testes. The rest of him was in tact, but those little balls were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the surgeon who found them when he was 10 months old had to go on quite the hunt for those little boys. So the fact that we can see this little guy's parts all very clearly is really a relief in many ways.
So, OB-friend was trying to get the money shot on the fluid, and Bubbles kept flashing his giant testicles at us. She would move the u/s transducer and he would move his bum and flash them at us again!! We kept laughing, he kept flashing.
I said it that if I managed to get the head and shoulders out, he might get hung up on his testicles. The first ever case of testicular dystocia! Think of the publicity!
Dh has begged me to delete this post before Bubbles can read.
I told him to start his own damn blog if he wants to be so bossy.

37 weeks

Still pregnant.
Uncomfortable...very.
Contractions...many.
Back=hurts.
Heart=burns.
Someone's head is wedged in my pelvis.
Grumpy.
Nesty.
HUGE.
Hugely sensitive.

Either something is happening or I am just having a moment with my irritable uterus. DAMN! Where IS that crystal ball????
Another day of labor closer to a baby, but another day of labor. ugh.
I want to be generous sounding and say one more week. Okay.
One more week.
BUT THAT IS IT!!!!!!!!!
ouch.

Non-sequitur

• I am hugely pregnant and have been in labor on and off now for four days. Make that five.
• Dear friend Heidi called me from where she is tripping in NYC this morning (this is why I have not yet given birth. I want her there to egg me on or chide me as I curse everyone around me. Come home, Heidi!) with this little story: Her 3 yr old son would not get his shoes on, in spite of being asked at least 22 times to do so. Finally she said, "Henry! Quit being such an asshole and GET YOUR SHOES ON!" Henry replied,"That is not an effective way to get me to do anything. Mom." Did I mention that I LOVE them?
• I don't mind talking about bodily functions or using anatomically correct words. Supergirl knows that she has a vagina, and that her brother will be coming out of mine sometime soon. I don't mind talking about poop; mine or yours. But one thing I am trying to get over my squeamishness about is this: mucus plug. You know. Cervical snot. THAT is gross. And mine is coming out little by little, thus proving to me that I DO have one that is slowly dissintegrating with each contraction. That thing stayed hidden from me the first two times but is now showing up. WTF? Does this mean that my water will break this time too, and force me to daintily step over my own puddle in Trader Joe's, or the preschool in the near future? Oh, the humiliation.
• As much as I don't mind sharing poo details, I am terribly afraid of pooing on my OB while pushing out melonhead. Because she is such a good friend, this seems worse. If we were not good friends, I wouldn't worry about such matters. But forever more, she can say to me, " remember that time you took a shit on me?!" She assures me that I didn't the first two times, but my other birthing friends assure me that I cannot get away with that THREE times. I don't mind her stitching up my hoo-ha, but who wants to defecate on the one you love?
• I have given birth to two of the cutest children in the universe, and am slightly concerned for the high standard of expectation for Bubbles to meet.
• Could you possibly disagree with me? That is Elijah. The one who died and I miss terribly. And of course, Supergirl. The one who kept me alive.
• I have to pee every 90 minutes. Or 30.
  
• I cannot wait to have breasts again. Oh, lactation!!
• Supergirl asked why 'those' are called 'breasts'. I answered, "because 'knees' and 'elbows' were already taken."

The belly won't be this size forever!

Guess what we did?
Supergirl is an artiste.

Portrait of Bubbles with rainbow hair.

And a free form modernist tum.

Occasionally I am wrong

Okay, okay. Nakedjen was right. There was no room for him to flip. Bubbles is NOT breech. I am clearly a classically virgo worry freak, and when I run out of legitimate worries, no good can come of it and I will drive everyone in my immediate vicinity crazy. I guess he really was trying out some yoga positions, or just reaching his hands over his head to mess with me a little. Because those were DEFINITELY cervical pokes I was feeling.
I am currently (or at least as of 2pm today) 2cm dilated (that's one more than last week) and OB-friend definitely felt the melonhead in its correct and ready position. How ready? Bubbles is at +1 station (BTW, that is not my womb in case you were wondering and I know you were). So really, it could be tomorrow, it could be another week. Even two. I guess she forgot her crystal ball today. Dh is slightly nervous with this progress. He suggested that we pack up the Eurovan MV and camp out in front of the hospital. Did I mention that we are a 45 minute drive from said hospital? I guess his concerns are valid. Really, my performance in this event is pretty much scripted beyond our control, and he knows that. HIS performance, however, is the real variable in getting me delivered to the hospital before I deliver!! We are both living in fear of a Friday afternoon labor, in which the worst Santa Cruz traffic is to be found between where we live and the hospital 30 miles south of us.
Anyway, I am so very excited! Tomorrow I am finally going to meet in person, the woman who croons to me in my dreams...Dr. Laura's worst nightmare but certainly not mine...Grace! And at the very same time, I get to RE-connect with long lost friend (who was never really lost at all but just a few miles away), NakedJen (the woman who may be called upon to induce me with teas and massages NEXT week - tune in). All this AND chocolate too. It is going to be a great meeting with much loudness, I imagine. If the laughing gets out of hand, though, SOMEONE is going to have to drive me to the hospital...because laughing causes some mofo contractions for me these days. They have been warned.

Hormonal monkey dreams

I truly have run out of things to worry about. My brain is awash. I have almost made it through the full moon without yet giving birth, in spite of the many many contractions. I took a nap and had a dream that involved the scary flying monkeys and grace singing 'send in the clowns' on local TV. Not at the same time. But very scary stuff. Hormone dreams.
Anyway, in lieu of having real things to worry about, I am now sure that Bubbles is breech. The likelihood of this being true is...well...let's give it 30%. Because as we know, melonhead is pretty darn big to be practicing acrobatic tricks anymore. Even today at costco, two of the sample sharing ladies got into an argument over how big my baby is estimated to be.
SSL#1: You due soon, honey. That baby about six pounds?
Me: Yep. Right on...at least that's what we think he was last week.
SSL#2: NoWAY that baby's six pounds, honey. That there is an eight pounder!! Mmhmm, I KNOW my babies, cause I had a fiver and a twelve pounder! You better hope he's comin out SOON, honey!
Me: Okay. Don't you even START talking to me about any TWELVE POUND BABIES. Because I don't want to hear it!
SSL#1: You gonna bring that baby back in here and show us, sweetie!
Me: I'll bring him in but you tell her to stop talking about TWELVE POUND BABIES. I have a weak heart. I can't take it.
SSL#1 and SSL#2 : snort, chuckle, guffaw.

So why am I so sure he is breech? Because when we stopped at the pumpkin patch to get supergirl an overgrown orange halloween squash, I had the most severe sensation that he was KICKING me in the cervix again, as he was when he was breech a few weeks ago. And where his butt had been, seemed more like a round little head pressing into my ribs. Oh, I certainly hope that I am wrong, and just cannot tell his butt from his head. (hopefully this flaw of mine will not last too much longer after he is born)
But unless he has his hands thrown over his head and is POKING me, then that was definitely a heel. Wedging into my cervix. Feel my pain.
I have been wishing for hiccups all night, because that is when I can usually tell where he is. But do you think he will hiccup on command? He will not. I think I need to try and go to sleep, or at least pretend that is my intention, because then he will surely begin to hiccup and attempt to keep me awake!
But sleep doesn't even sound that appealing when it involves flying monkey potential. I hope Grace sings to me again. That would be better.

36 weeks

It's rather exciting - I have never been this pregnant before! I mean, yes, I have been farther along in (one of) my pregnancies before, but this little Bubbles is BIGGER than either supergirl or Elijah, and I can feel it! WOW, can I feel it! Where I had not grown in the belly in the previous weeks, I had another growth spurt to make up for THREE weeks in just one! Truly, my breasts have now assumed a resting place on top of the lovely shelf my belly has made for them, which is rising over and obscuring at least three ribs. And my belly, with Bubbles' head being SO LOW and engaged, is very happy to rest upon my thighs. I feel as if I need to hold it all up, cupping my hands under the belly like a sling when I walk around.
This little guy is also more active than the first two, so I can feel him banging his head into my cervix, while pressing a heel into my ribcage and kneeing out my belly button all at the same time. Of course I complain a little - only when my lungs and bladder are simultaneously squashed- but I truthfully love (nearly) every minute of it. Of course, I wasn't kidding about the rabbit kicking when I bend or lean over too far. I mentioned this to dh and he looked VERY alarmed..."Rabbit kicking??" he repeated slowly, eyes wide with suspicion and terror.
Oh yes. Rabbit kicking. Look out, this guy is going to be a mover! I think dh is just getting the grasp of that. As if watching my belly play alien hasn't been a fair enough indication??

The fool's moon is coming right up, and I am hoping that Bubbles can resist its pull and stay put for at least another week (with supergirl's loud orders issued thrice daily)...but I have to admit, I am getting pretty excited to see the face that goes along with all those flailing limbs.
Did I just say that? Am I really starting to be all optimistic about the outcome here? Help - someone save me from my own body's hormone overdose!

fragile little hearts

Many contractions. Much begging and convincing to the Bubbles in the belly: No, not yet. Two more weeks to cook would be just great! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Making supergirl tell him to stay in there. She talks to the belly button: Here Mama? Or lower? Where is his head, Mama? STAY, BABY! DO NOT COME OUT YET!!!
She is good already at ordering her baby brother around.

She tried to do some gymnastics on the couch where I was resting and timing the contractions (8-10 minutes if you care) and waiting for the nifedipine to take effect.
No - please don't jump near mama! Please!!! STOP! You are going to land on the belly! Do NOT land on the belly!

Supergirl: Oh. Okay Mama. I'll stop. Because we don't want him to be born yet. It's too early. Because then he will die. We don't want him to die. Right, Mama?

I told her that he would probably be okay, but he would have to stay in the hospital for a little while. And we would prefer a baby that can come home to live with us as soon as possible.
She said that she would kiss him all over when he is born. But very gently.

Oh.....how I want to tell her that he WON'T die.

sigh.

Melonhead

So we went to the last scan-for-growth ultrasound with Stanford on Friday. I was, of course, freaking out because I had decided that my belly had not grown enough in the past two weeks. Well, that, and the fact that I had run out of things about which to freak out last week. But really...one day I was SO HUGE and then suddenly I just stopped getting rounder. I did feel like Bubbles was growing inside of me - his movements felt stronger and more, well, squished. Cramped. Like he is filling up the space and trying to put in an addition somewhere between my ribcage and appendix. Seriously, sometimes I feel his little foot (knee? elbow?) poking me in places where I thought my uterus wasn't.
Anyway, even dh confirmed that he thought my belly hadn't grown, so I was SURE, ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that something had gone awry. Besides, the docs kept telling us that this ultrasound would be the most telling, growth-wise. Since the growth issues didn't really show up with Elijah until late in the pregnancy. So I lost plenty of sleep Thursday night. Finally, when I got all slimed up with the warmed gel, I was asking his size before the doctor even had turned on the ultrasound machine! First thing we noticed was that his head is engaged - VERY low - and in position. No more breech baby. I was pretty sure of that anyway, considering that the pressure I have been feeling is a bit like walking around with a large mango between my legs, and if I dare to bend over too far, the little guy protests by frantically rabbit kicking me hard and fast. The next thing the doctor mentioned was that he has a big head. A BIG HEAD??? "No," I said, "we don't do big heads. Both our children had small heads."
The doctor laughed and said, "Not this one. This little guy is going to need some big hats!"
I must have looked a bit panicked, because I looked at dh and he said,"Don't look at ME. I don't have a big head!" To which I shot back."Well, don't look at ME. I don't have a big VAGINA!"
Of course the doctor found all of this quite amusing and continued to scan the belly while chuckling. He pointed out that Bubbles' chest was moving. "See those breathing motions?" He asked. "That means he is practicing. It is a sign of good neurological development."
This made me forget about the melon head briefly and have a momentary wave of relief. But then I said nervously, "So, umm, how big IS his head?"
Listen to this: All other facets of his growth registered between 33 and 35 weeks of pregnancy, which are totally normal, considering I was 34 weeks, 4 days, + the margin of error. His weight is estimated at 5lbs 7oz. Great stuff. HIS HEAD??? 39 weeks! Yes, 39 weeks. HOLYSHIT!
Now, considering that supergirl weighed 5lbs 13oz (36weeker) and Elijah weighed 4lbs 13oz (tiny boy at 37 weeks), this little bit of information makes me EXTREMELY NERVOUS!
Yeah, yeah, I know - I should be THRILLED! His size looks great! His neurological development appears to be great! I've had the steroids so that his lungs will probably be fine no matter WHEN I deliver at this point. I am thrilled, I am!
But I am more than just a tiny bit nervous about how I am going to rocket that melonhead out this vagina! I don't want to hear about all those nine pound babies you all have delivered. This is MY vagina on stage this month, and it's none too happy about the news. If he keeps growing at this rate, and if he isn't born for another 4 weeks, we are looking at a 43 week sized head!
I called OB-friend and told her that there was NO WAY I was going to make it to 39 weeks, and if I hadn't delivered by 38 weeks, I want an induction! She agreed pretty quickly when I told her the u/s results!
So Bubbles, I don't mean to sound too demanding, but please stay in until 37 weeks. I would love it if you come out with the ability to nurse. But please don't be too mad if we kick you out a week later because of YOUR GIANT HEAD.
That 38 week mark would be Halloween. I hope you don't mind. Because labor isn't scary enough on its own. Halloween would be a great day to give birth, don't you think?

Trial runs and social skills

So I had a dream last night that I was in labor. I woke up with some painful contractions. Very painful. I was a little confused for a while, thinking that the dream (I was in the hospital, moaning in the bathtub about how much it hurt - not exactly a dream I need a psychoanalyst's help with) had caused the contractions. After a while I realized that it was probably the other way around. I took a nifedipine (contraction buster) and gritted my teeth for another 1/2 hour until they stopped. The good news is that it kept dh up as well, so in my mind it was worth it. As long as I am not the only one suffering. From 4-5:30 am we were on the verge of waking up supergirl and heading out. The interesting thing was that I thought I would go running and screaming off to the hospital at the first sign of pain - being so afraid of our 45 minute trip there and having the unwillingness to deliver on the freeway. But in typical fashion, I moved straight into denial. I refused to talk to dh and answer his questions (Is that another one? Does it hurt?) - I figure if he is asking me if it hurts and i DON'T answer, he should figure out all on his own that the answer is YES GODDAMMIT.
All in all, it was a lovely trial run.

Dh said this morning 'I think I will have to get ready'...umm, yeah dildohead (dh)- not a bad idea! Since supergirl AND I have been packed for 2 weeks now. And put some blankets and string in the car while you're at it. I am MAKING him come to my next OB appointment (friday's ultrasound with stanford doesn't count) to ask OB-friend what he should KNOW in case we deliver in the car....I figure the least he can do since I can't be expected to breathe AND tell him what to do with the goddamn string at the same time.

So this morning I was a bit tired. I managed to haul myself off to acupuncture and then stopped for groceries on the way home. While there I ran into a woman who had been in my Bradley brainwashing childbirth class when I was pregnant with supergirl. I hadn't run into her since I was pregnant with Elijah, over 2 years ago. She took one look at my belly and said, "What?! You're pregnant again? With a THIRD?! Oh my god."
I said, " Umm, yeah, this is my third, but we're just trying to replace the one who died."
It. Just. Came. Out.
I know, I know - she totally didn't deserve it. But that's how I work. I put up with shit from other people for so long and then one day ( the dayI am tired from practicing labor all night) I just crack and let the wrong person have it. Friends who know me know that this was of course said tongue in cheek...that one of the things I HATE THE MOST is when people say things like suggesting we would be trying to replace Elijah with another pregnancy or another child. And you wouldn't believe how many people told me stuff like that after Elijah died. Of course, the number of those people doling out the assvice who had also buried a child was ZERO. And of course, all the reasonable people I know who have children (and even some who don't) would realize that it would be IMPOSSIBLE to replace ANY of their children, living or dead, and how ridiculous the concept is. What most people don't get is how ridiculous it sounds to even issue this suggestion or warning. It's just something that people say. And something that people should stop saying.
Anyway, I just blurted this out to this very nice woman, who instantly got tears in her eyes and made me regret my callousness. Turns out her son is autistic - so they stopped at just one. We chatted for awhile about the local Early Intervention programs and the isolation of being labeled as a 'special needs parent'....and then we parted.
Just another day in the life of me the bitch.

Selective Memories

Mom called today to see how I am feeling, and to make sure that I am still pregnant and didn't actually give birth and somehow just forget to let her know.

I would like to take this moment to point out that, while my mother is a very lovely person, she refuses to visit us in California because, well "we're the ones who left". Yes, 'we' did leave. Both dh and I are the ONLY ones from our families who left the state (the state of Pa, but I like to call it the state of agony) to lead lives 3,000 miles away from our relatives. And now, forever more, we must pay for that sin. Even though it was 18 years ago for me (21 for dh) and I thought that was what one did when one grew up. So, mom only visits when people die. And only then if she is heavily sedated and guided onto a plane by a trusted relative whose knee she can clutch for the six hour trip. Nobody comes to visit us from out of state when we have babies, not ever. I even said to her a few months ago, "Well, I'd ask you to come out and help when THIS baby is born, but I know you won't, so I won't bother to guilt you." My unguiltable mother answered quickly. Prefaced with the ever-predictable, "Well, you're the one who left." This was followed by, "Besides, you'll be coming back east [for the holidays, damn us, we already got the tickets to feed into the maternal expectations that we owe it to them] just five weeks after he's born, so we'll get to meet him then!"
Speechless. (that would be me)
Umm, yeah mom - because that's what it's all about. Making sure you'll get to meet him. Never mind that carrying or giving birth to a child after having one die in my arms is a uniquely anxiety-provoking experience through which I would love to garner a little - just a little - bit of extra support. Nope. Business as usual with mom. See you when you get here.

So, back to today. I assured her that I am still pregnant, promised her I would let her know when I go into labor, provided the time I do actually go into labor is suitable for her time zone, and updated her on the week of fun and 'close ones' that my uterus and I had.
Then I got just a little bit whiny and said,"Ooooohhhhh, I am getting SO nervous about that pain of childbirth again! The contractions. The unyielding fight between my abdomen and lower back than can end only in my cervix DILATING TO TEN. I am freaking out about all that reality all over again. And the STRETCHING. MY GOD THE STRETCHING AND THE BURNING AND THE PUSHING!" (yes, I was raising my voice at this point, getting myself a bit too excited with the vivid memories of the last two)
And mom said, "Well dear, maybe this time you'll have a delivery like mine and it won't hurt." At which point she regaled me - again - with the tale of how, when I was born she 'didn't feel a thing' until it was time to push. And how lovely it was to push, and what a beautiful and painless experience it was.
With disgust I retold the entire conversation to dh just now. And he said, "Yes, and maybe 39 years from now, you too can have a memory like your mom's and smugly tell everyone how childbirth didn't hurt YOU a bit!"
I love that guy.

Irritable Uterus

On Tuesday Bubbles wasn't moving enough to keep the mama happy. Luckily, OB-friend is always accommodating my fears - rational and irrational - and of course said to come right down for an NST. He has flipped himself from breech to vertex more times than I can count. You would think all that movement would make the mama happy, but it actually begins to freak me out, as I imagine he is strangling himself in his cord with each turn. (I need SOMEthing to worry about, right?) So off I went for my NST because he wasn't kicking me in the cervix. He was, of course, just having his morning nap, because as soon as I was hooked up it was clear that his strip (heartrate) was FINE. Mine, however, was not as wonderful. Laura came in after about 40 minutes on the monitor, said that Bubbles looked great, but frowned at my strip (the contraction contraption), saying that perhaps I should go upstairs to the hospital and get some terbutaline and more monitoring, as the contractions were FOUR MINUTES apart. Whoa...hadn't even noticed.
So off I went, except that the walk from one end of the hospital to the other, and the nervous energy I had worked up in between, worked out to equal contractions TWO MINUTES apart by the time I was hooked up to a monitor in L&D. Shit.
So I got a shot of terbutaline, then another, then another....and my body did the 'pppttttthhhhht' thing at the terb - as in 'haha you can't do anything to me!' - didn't even raise my pulse or heartrate, which is just something that is DOES, along with hopefully slowing the contractions. So I got to have an IV for rehydration (take THAT, contractions) and then we tried nifedipine, which finally did work - not only in slowing the contractions but also in causing a raging migraine (which has kept me from updating here). Then, because I was already such a captive audience, they gave me a dose of steroids (beta-methazone) to jump-start the development of Bubbles' lungs - just in case he decided to come this early (33 wks +1day). Of course this all took quite a few hours, with me calling dh from the hospital bed (no, don't come, just stay near the phone) and eventually realizing by 7pm that, not only had I skipped lunch to come to the NST (figuring I would pick up a hearty Dharma's sandwich on the way home...mmm...the Nuclear Bluff which has carried me through 3 pregnancies now), but also had been brought no dinner whatsoever from the hospital! I asked a nurse for some food, and she asked me if I was 'allowed' to eat! To which I responded, 'Oh, do you routinely starve just the pregnant mommies?' I was cranky. And HUNGRY! You know, that I am pregnant, don't fuck with me kind of hungry.
Now let me say something about the food at this hospital. I have had two children at this place and as far as care goes - nursing and my stellar OB - it is FABULOUS. But as far as the food goes...well, it's barely shy of poison. If you are not sick when admitted, you will be from eating the food when you leave. I had supergirl there four years ago, and it was really bad then, but it seems that someone has put a lot of effort into making it EVEN WORSE since then.
It turns out that I had not been brought food either as a precaution (anyone in L&D MAY have to have a c-section so better not feed her just in case) OR as an oversight (whoops, sorry cranky lady). Finally, one nurse found both of these excuses ridiculous and ordered me a tray of food just as they were trying to close down the kitchen. Unfortunately, I had forgotten the discovery I had made last time about the kitchen, which was that the ONLY edible foods they are able to produce and deliver are tofu dogs and cottage cheese. So what I got was not quite that edible. It consisted of some whitish chunks of mystery meat (resembled chicken, tasted like...well, rubber), covered in a shiny brown gelatinous 'sauce', sprinkled with 3 sliced canned mushrooms. To the side of this, umm, meat, were small piles of mushy rice and succotash - did I mention my fear of lima beans? And did I mention that the kitchen was no longer 'open'? They also kindly provided me with a small container of nearly frozen salad that would have made an airplane meal salad look like lunch at Chez Panisse! People, do you have any idea what nearly freezing a salad DOES to that salad? I would go into more detail but I am, after all, pregnant and slightly sensitive to DISGUSTING THINGS that have to do with food. You can talk to me about blood and vaginas all you want right now, but the food - that had better be smelling and looking and sounding GOOD!
Okay, so back to the important stuff. The contractions slowed down, Bubbles' heart rate stayed even and strong, I got to have yet another cervical check, and finally got to go home at around 10pm. Oh, it helps to have friends (OB) in high places!
All of this was somewhat nervewracking, but after so much time spent with my very own irritable uterus, I am also somewhat pragmatic now. I decided that if it was just a matter of me lying in the bed with a few inconvenient needles OR me visiting my baby in the NICU, then the answer was certainly obvious. Stay lying on my ass! There is no debating that one. We have lived through the NICU experience, and I have said more than once that it would be potentially a one way ticket to the asylum for mama to have to repeat that. Elijah spent three long weeks in the NICU at another hospital (about which I have nothing positive to say), and I did not make any friends there. Mainly because I would not leave my child. They don't like that - makes them feel like they have less control. GUESS WHAT, YOU MORONS???? IT'S MY KID!!!! We don't have to go there just now. Just take it from me, it's not an experience that they or I would like to have repeated.
The good news is that I got the results back from the fetal fibronectin test and they were negative. Which means that it is highly unlikely that Bubbles will be making his appearance this week. OB-friend is telling him to stay in until 37 weeks. I am predicting Halloween (which would be 38 wks exactly). BOO! With all these predictions, I am most likely to end up with an induction of a potentially large baby at 39 weeks.
Next week we have yet another growth scan with the Stanford perinatal diagnostic clinic - they who have been following the growth of this little guy very carefully, looking for signs of the mystery growth disorder that kept everyone scratching their heads about Elijah. So far he has been growing very well. Was 3lbs 10oz at 30 weeks. If this growth rate continues, he may be about 7-7.5 lbs. This, for us, is a BIG baby. So, as much as my vagina screams in protest at this possibility, we are hoping for another steady incline in growth at our appointment on Oct 7th. I think I will need a few more pumpkin frappucinos before then.
So I am home now, on bedrest, which I interpret as 'sit around on ass unless I have enough contractions to actually go horizontal'. It also means dh has to assume most of the childcare, cooking, laundry, entertaining of supergirl, and general maintenance. This is not such a bad thing. I DO love my OB!!!
By next week I will be ready once again to face the world, the shopping, the farmers markets, the library (which can provide me with more on-my-ass reading entertainment), acupuncture, etc. I am feeling very nesty. I may even venture into the 'washing of the crib bedding' and the 'stacking of the diapers' territory. This would mean that I have to think positively and expect to actually bring a baby home. I am just a little bit closer to that concept.

Watermelon or Nectarine?

Supergirl has gotten the drift that when I tell a story about her repeatedly, that it is usually funny. So she correctly assumes that she is funny, and thus I see the sense of humor being developed and honed.
She loves me to tell the watermelon story. She was enamored today with the checker at Trader Joe's who gave her four stickers (she's four and doesn't necessarily believe in coincidences...she believes this was a demonstration of his psychic abilities or just plain kismet) and she begged me to tell him the watermelon story...asking me of course, to do her flirting for her.
A month or so ago, supergirl was commenting on how much watermelon I love to eat when I am pregnant. I ate at least 3 each week when I was pregnant with her (and I often tell her she is made up of at least 60% watermelon), lots when I was pregnant with Elijah, and TONS with this one. All fruit is a real turn on for me when preggo, but watermelon is ambrosia! We have not been able to decide (or agree) on a name for Bubbles, so I told her that I knew of a woman who named her baby Apple, so maybe we should name our baby Watermelon, or Nectarine - since I eat so many of each. Supergirl gave me a disdainful look and said, "Mama, you are silly - you can't name him Watermelon! Watermelon is a girl's name!".
Mama: Oh. Then how about Nectarine?
SG: No Mama, Nectarine is way to plopular.

This girl, she listens in on too many conversations.

But to think that I had lived nearly 39 years and not known that Watermelon was a girl's name. Now THAT's embarrassing.

How to throw a smashing baby shower

• Invite the mama's very eclectic mix of friends to mingle together in joy.
• Somehow pull together an amazingly plentiful spread of food, including sweet, salty, fresh, colorful, and delicious.
• Insist- inspite of everyone's mild protests - on playing just one game and promise everyone that there is a GREAT prize for the winner (causing the mama to wonder aloud if perhaps it is a dildo?) if they would please just play along and take a tiny blue pin and try not to say the word BABY.
• Spit chardonnay on the first person to say 'BABY'; point, laugh, cheat.
• Announce that the word 'vagina' should, in fact be mentioned frequently at the estrogen rich gathering.
• Participate in ensuing conversation peppered with many mentions of the words 'naked, vagina, epidural'.
• Create a mild scene when the preggo mama gasps sharply and covers mouth at the audible mention of the forbidden word, causing everyone to think she has gone into labor.
• Suggest naming the baby 'Braxton-Hicks'.
  
• Bring your best camera and take many many belly pictures from many many different angles, including one with many hands on the biggest belly.
  
• Insist on everyone else baring their bellies along with the mama's for the best group photo ever.
• Insist VEHEMENTLY that the biggest belly is the most beeyooootiful belly ever exposed to womankind.
• Deteriorate rapidly into a heavily scrutinized and showy comparison of stretch marks and sagging asses.
• Serve large bowls of creme puffs to distract everyone from the talk of stretch marks and sagging asses.
• Shower the mama-to-be with wishes for the healthiest, best baby in the world, emphasized by confidence and punctuated with heartfelt tears.
• Present the mama with hand made quilts, tiny soft blue outfits, fuzzy blankies, and -TA~DA - a video monitor so that afore-mentioned baby will never be out of surveillance range, AND a hand-sewn (yes, SEWN) tiny suit and helmet made from bubble wrap to cover ALL facets of overprotective motherhood...causing the mama to break down into convulsive fits of laughter that - once again - have many convinced she is going into labor.
• Present the winner of the game with a gift that is indeed lovely, and is indeed not a dildo.
• Convince the mama that she really does not resemble the bulgy-the-whale ride at the boardwalk, causing bulgy-the-mama to shed grateful tears.
• Promise the mama to shower her AGAIN with homemade prepared meals and perfunctory baby adoration AFTER the blessed event.
• Send the mama home, because really, people, a hormonal preggo chick can only take so much showering of vagina talk, creme puffs, affection, tears of joy, false labors, and kindness, at this estrogen-laden event.
  

tiny little hearts

Well, it dawned on supergirl last week that she is going to become a big
sister - I mean, she has been VERY excited about this for some time, but
it was like watching a light bulb go on in her head.
But first she asked me very seriously if -IF - this baby was going to
grow up big like her.  I had a hard time answering this one - because
these fears are plaguing me so much in my last trimester.  I told her
that I certainly hope so, and that we all expect that he will be healthy
(biting my tongue on the - 'but we really don't know' part).
She then said, very excitedly, "Mommy!  If THIS baby brother doesn't DIE, then he will grow up and I will get to play with him!!!  Just like a playdate,
mommy!  But he will LIVE with me and I can play with him ALL the
time!!!  I can even teach him how to play!!"
By this point I was nearly in tears as I just agreed with her.
I hope I hope I hope everything is okay.  It's one thing to get your own
heart broken, but to watch your baby get hers broken twice is more than
I think I could bear.