Hold Your Horses

It took B. and I 18 months to get pregnant - and we can't wait to meet our little one - but when the doctor told me last week that he thinks our baby wants to come early, I kinda freaked out a bit. OK, a lot.

I've had a stressful few days, thanks in part to the word 'STAT' scrawled across a lab form and weekly non-stress tests and some contractions. Gulp.

So, I've been instructed to take it easy. Stay off my feet as much as possible. Lay down on my left side as much as possible. Call if my hands, face or feet swell. Or if I get a headache or blurry vision. (They're concerned about preeclampsia, which I guess isn't the politically correct term anymore, but it's what people recognize.)

So far, the NSTs are OK. And my lab work is OK. My blood pressure is still high, but isn't that kind of to be expected when the doctor is talking about bed rest and hospital monitoring and biophysical profiling? It's ridiculously hard to relax when you have multiple people telling you to relax. But, that's what I'm doing (with lots of help from B.). I've even kind of resolved myself to the idea that the baby could come early. Kind of.

I Have a What?!

When D-Day gets closer, I'm really going to enjoy predictions and bets about whether we're having a boy or a girl and on what day and at what time ... as long as they don't sound anything like this:

'I think you're having a boy because your butt is getting bigger.'

Yes, someone did tell me that. I asked a trusted friend to confirm or deny and she says it's not true, but that doesn't stop me from checking my rear end out every time I walk by a full-length mirror.

Could You Repeat That?

I know people have strong opinions when it comes to childbirth classes, but I for one highly recommend them. I don't know if it was our goofy instructor or the fact that this is our first baby, but I learned a lot. I really liked how the instructor walked through the delivery process from first contraction through your first month at home without skipping a step. I definitely feel better equipped to handle this crazy ride.

One of my favorite parts about the class was one of the fathers-to-be. A front-row-sitting, note-taking, question-asking, father-to-be. That guy took notes! He literally filled up page after page with info. (B. suggested on the way home Wednesday that he should have considered a tape recorder.) I'm not sure if he thought there was going to be a test or if he's planning on studying up for his own piece of mind, but he took these classes pretty seriously. (I bet he got all As in school - and is going to annoy the h*ll outta his wife during labor.)

Ew?

Ever since the baby developed a regular kicking/jumping jack/karate/soccer/somersault schedule, I've been excited to let my brother feel the baby move. So Saturday I placed his hand on my belly, where he left it, barely touching my shirt, for, oh, three seconds. A little while later I tried again, forceably pushing his hand onto my belly so he wouldn't miss the baby moving. He didn't miss it; in fact, I'm pretty sure he said, 'Ew' as he jumped backward, which was not the reaction I was expecting!

Me + Sharp Objects = Ow!

You know that rumor that women tend to get clumsy during pregnancy? Well, it's not a rumor.

I'm proud (sarcasm) to report that this weekend alone I managed to cut my thumb on an eggshell (don't ask), a piece of glass and a knife. B. was around for the third cut, which happened while I was dicing potatoes. I calmly (I think) asked him for a paper towel, to which he responded, 'Did you cut yourself again?!' I asked for the paper towel again only to be met with, 'Give me that knife.' Meanwhile, I'm trying to keep stop the flow of blood (still sans paper towel) and not cry.

I also managed to break two knives and bump my growing belly on every counter top corner, table corner, wall and doorway in our house. It was quite the productive weekend.

Getting My Shopping Done Early

I know it'll be years before our baby would get any use out of either of these items from The Land of Nod, but I just love them.

Pictured on the left is the 'I'm Not Bored Anymore Art Jar', which is jam-packed with funky art supplies. Pictured on the right is the 'Frames Wallpaper', which encourages kids to draw, color and paint on the walls (gasp!).

The person who gave me this catalog should be shot.

Little Things Make Me Happy

Like having creative friends and baby shower invitations that match our baby's nursery.

What Should We Shoot?

B. and I are planning to register this weekend - finally! Any recommendations on what we have to have?

I'm not Good with Numbers

There's a very good reason I chose writing as my career - I suck at math. I hate adding, subtracting, multiplying. Basically, I hate numbers. So my doctor's request that I count and record our baby's kicking isn't exactly up my alley. Yes, I can count to five twice a day, but I don't want to. Here's why.

Before the doctor gave me the little card on which to record our baby's movements, I had a good sense of how much and how often he or she was moving, which was typically after I ate or at 3 in the morning (I hope that's not a sign of things to come). Now I have no frickin' clue.

Did the baby kick last night? I don't know, I didn't write it down. Did the baby kick this morning? I think so, but where's my card? The stupid dependence I have on that card is insane. I hope the doctor doesn't ask to see it today. If he does, I'm going to tell him the dog ate it.

Is it that Obvious?

My secret is out. B.'s gram might not believe that I'm 7 1/2 months along, but the strange lady at Subway does. Here's the story:

I was standing in line, chatting with a coworker about how nothing sounded good for lunch and how I didn't want to drive anywhere when the lady next to me asked how far along I was.

That threw me for a loop. I'm pretty sure I looked at my belly before answering. She replied that this is how it's going to be for the next two months. I think she meant the laziness, but I was so confused by her knowledge of my 'condition' that I didn't really process her comment.

Does this mean people are going to start touching my belly now?

What can Brown do for Me?

I noticed while getting dressed today that I'm wearing, for the first time, my tan maternity pants and a brown shirt. Yesterday I wore tan non-maternity pants and a brown shirt. I didn't change once I noticed that my outfit is eerily similar to yesterday's. Didn't even think about it.

I'm telling you this to ensure that these are different pants and shirts and to warn you that I might wear brown for the next two and a half months. Don't think poorly of me, I'm pregnant. I can get away with it. (Right?)