Letter to the Captain

Dear Captain Picard,

You’re reallllly hurting me right now—I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but your head is directly under my right boob. How does that work? Um, I don’t know if you’ve just somehow overlooked them, but there are ribs and lungs in that general area and you are really making it hard for your mom to breathe. Not to mention the fact that it looks like a softball is trying to make its way through my skin. You have a really big head, no offense.

By the by, little Bean, your head is supposed to be down. Way down. That, sunshine, is how most babies come out--Trust me on this one. Ass first is not going to cut it. It’s really not so bad, being upside down, I promise. And the sooner you flip, the sooner you can escape from your current squashy home. I’m not sure why you’re being so stubborn, but you really should get movin’ so that you can come out naturally, and save mommy from major abdominal surgery. If you don't turn this week, I'm going to have to go to extreme measures to coerce you, among them laying upside down on an ironing board (do you really want to put me through that?) or acupuncture (don't force me to go all new-agey on you). If worse comes to worse, we may have to go back to the creepy chiropractor. You know the one who talked about "Hostel" whilst x-raying me. Yeah. And the one who was all sweaty and had a dirty lab coat with a hole in the pocket. Come on, baby, please don't make me go back to Captain Crazy. I'll give you some time to think it over...

Also, although I’m sure you’re most unaware, you have recently aided in the total decimation of my image in front of your daddums. Until two nights ago, I’ve never (and I mean never) farted in front of your father. Well, consider that record broken. And loudly. And often. Fortunately he’s a good sport about the whole thing, although I was, and continue to be, mortified. Although, I will admit that you have helped us become intimate in ways I would have never imagined. Between the first invasive ultrasound, peeing in my pants, gastrointestinal difficulty, and emotional upheaval—well, I’d say our relationship has grown, thanks to you!

Your daddy and I are really looking forward to finally meeting you, although I think your dad’s getting a little more anxious here lately. Last night we were about to go to sleep and he said to me, all wild-eyed, “I’m nervous.” Yeah. Me too. As excited as we are to see your sweet face, you should really stay in a while longer. We still need to buy a chair.

Well, this letter is probably a little long, considering you're illiterate and all, so I’ll bring it to a close. I hope you’re doing ok in there. From the size of my belly, you’ve really taken our "please grow" request to heart. Keep it up, spaghettio. We love you.

-Mom

PS— Wait at least 10 years before you ask Daddy for a dog. Seriously.

Belly Buster

Oh my God. While, for the past week or so Jed's been telling me that my belly has grown tremendously, I didn't really think much of it. And then, went to the doctor this past Thursday and I measured 32 cm, which is a pretty significant growth. And I've been having a hella bad time sleeping, sitting, or generally existing, as I've become increasingly uncomfortable. It seems that yeah, Picard has grown. And a lot. We'll know for sure in about a week how big he is, but if my stomach is any indication, I'd say the little bean is doing alright.

New complaints:
-Can't sleep, at all.
-Can't sit for very long as my butt falls asleep.
-Belly feels like it's about to split open at any moment.
-Sometimes feels like he's about to, um, fall out.

New happiness:
-I look VERY pregnant and people are, in response, very sweet to me.
-My greatest pleasure is having my feet rubbed.
-Good dreams. I mean GOOD; you fill in the blanks.

Here are the 34 week pictures. I really don't know how I can get any bigger :)

Time is moving relatively slow

It's the waiting that's killing me!
I think Einstein was right.
Time is relative.
And at the moment it is moving relatively slow.
It seems like Sara has been pregnant since the mid eighteen hundreds. I find it hard to remember a time she wasn't prego.
Hurry up Picard!!! Gosh!
Poor old Sara is worrying so much it is making her ill.
I understand and share her concerns but I have to believe in my heart that the Captain is fine.
I think that one day we will look back on this time and wonder what all the worrying was for. Besides I believe that the good Lord will bring us a blessing in whatever form the Captain comes in and we will both be eternally grateful.
I am cautiously getting more and more excited as the time is approaching for his arrival.
I keep wondering what kind of a son I will have.
It's funny how Sara and I see things differently.
Sara just envisions a baby. I on the other hand have skipped over the screaming, pooping, upchucking baby and am envisioning how he will be when he is able to speak and play and get into trouble.
I know he has to go through the baby phase to get to the little monster stage but I choose to ignore that. (hey it's my fantasy so back off).
I hope he is like I was and has wonder and fascination for this world we live in and not turn out an ignorant jock.
I cant wait to show him everything and take him everywhere.
This kid is going to travel and see the World. Mark my words.

So we beat on, boats against the current...

I had a major meltdown on Friday, and ended up at the hospital in Labor & Delivery, fearing the worst about the bean. You wouldn't think my job was stressful. Really, let me just be honest, it's not. Or it shouldn't be. But I, being increasingly sensitive and generally on edge, take everything very personally and Friday was just a shitty day. By the time I got home from work, I was just upset and more than a little stressed, and became more so as the hours passed and I didn't feel any movement in my belly. Called the doctor, who told me to eat and lie down...still nothing. Then told me to drink and lie down...uh, still nothing, and I'm freaking out. I called Aubs, who came over, and we drove to Allen Bennet to get checked (and it took forever thanks to the Rascal whatever concert downtown. Rascal Flatts, that it. Who names a band that anyway? The name alone is obnoxious. I bet their music sucks.)

So Jed met us at the hospital, and turns out everything was ok. They kept me for a while to watch Picard's heartbeat, which looked fine. The little beast--as soon as the nurse strapped the belt across me,kicked really hard. Riverdance hard. I felt a little sheepish, but the nurses said it happens ALL THE TIME (and I choose to believe they were telling the truth, and not just trying to make me feel better!). I cannot speak highly enough of the staff at ABH; they were so unbelievably sweet and gentle and calming. As weird as it was to be in L&D, with all kinds equipment, in a drafty hospital gown, watching 'Everybody Loves Raymond'--the nurses put me immediately at ease. I'd love to be able to have the baby there, but I guess that depends on if Picard gets with the program and grows already.

I took today off and rested, watched a lot of t.v., thought about writing a really good blog entry (yeah, bombed, I know), took Ellie on a slow, short walk, and generally just hung around WILLING Picard to grow. You guys think that visualization works? I dunno, but guess it can't hurt. I just picture him getting chubby, eating all the food I'm eating, and being content in there. I'm sorry that these last couple of blogs have been anything but funny/entertaining/light, but I promise that I'm doing a tremendous bit better than last week.

As the days pass, with infinite slowness, I alternate between moments of despair and moments of great hope. If I had it my way, we would not have another ultrasound, but wait these weeks out, holding onto the belief that what's meant to be will be, and that what's meant to be is something good. Does that make sense? It's like, I don't want this little piece of optimism to be yanked away again. I feel like Gatsby, and I do believe in that green light, and the future that is so uncertain--and tomorrow we will run faster and stretch out our arms farther...



"In every child who is born, under no matter what circumstances, and of no matter what parents, the potentiality of the human race is born again; and in him, too, once more, and each of us, our terrific responsibility towards human life; towards the utmost idea of goodness, of the horror of error, and of God." ~ James Agee

Pardon the Pajamas...31 Weeks

Update

Jed's been harassing me to write a new entry, and he's right--It often helps me to work through things when they become 'concrete,' so to speak, via the writings.

At my 31 week appointment, my belly was measuring 28/29 cm, which is small (centimeters, from pubic bone to the top of the uterus should measuring just about the same as one's pregnancy week). Due to the smaller size, Dr. Whitehead referred me back to Dr. Greig at Maternal/Fetal medicine for a level 2 ultrasound. The bad news is this: Picard's abdomen, for whatever reason, is really skinny. He also has short femurs (both are a couple weeks behind). Now, that being said, we have very little idea just WHY he's small. Some possible causes of asymmetric growth restriction include problems with the placenta, blood flow through the cord, or issues with the amniotic fluid. We do not, at this point, appear to have any of those complications. Other causes for interuterine growth restriction: severe malnutrition (only seen really in so-called 'third' world areas or in moms with eating disorders), chromosomal disorders (like Down's and Turner's syndromes), excessive drinking (uh..no), smoking (again...no), drug use (I could use some drugs right now), pre-eclampsia (my blood pressure is a-ok), or maternal infection (none, so far as we're aware). Picard just looks...skinny. By his weight, which they think is around 3.5 lbs, the Captain is in the 3rd percentile...not good. My mom says, 'well, someone's GOT to be in that percentile, you know?"..which is true, but still generally because something's not right with the pregnancy. It's rather bizarre and more than a little disconcerning.

We just don't know what's wrong. Of course, my mind goes through the worst possible scenarios, most of them involving Down's. Jed has, for the most part, remained optimistic. Today has been better than yesterday, during which I mostly just alternated between praying and crying and praying again. I've been offically put on a sort of modified rest, and can only work four hours a day. This may go to complete bedrest soon, so that all nutrition and energy can go to the little bean. I'm also downing protein shakes like they're watermelon (and that's a LOT), and Jed's threatening to force a whole chicken down my gullet. Grody.

So..yet again, we're faced with uncertainty about Picard's health. And although I now have to go to the doctor every week, we won't know much about his growth until week 35 when we have yet another ultrasound. It's the not knowing that kills me. Oh, and I feel my hopes for a natural water birth slipping away, as doctors are already talking about a c-section, particularly if he turns out to be small. He's still breech, but there's time yet for turning. Frankly, I don't give a crap what kind of birth we have at this point--I just want our baby to grow and be healthy and safe. It makes me incredibly sad that, for whatever reason, he's not getting the nutrition he needs from me. I can't fix him...it's a very helpless emotion. I doubt he'll ever know how much his mom and dad loved and worried about him, before he was even here.

Not to be upstaged

Here's my top ten 'observations' of a 7 month father to be.

10. Nine months is way too long to be pregnant. Seven months should be long enough for the little monster to develop. Typical, They can put a man on the moon but they cant make a baby grow faster.

9. My place in the household has been officially downgraded to foot rubbing machine.

8. My wife is not fat, never was, never will be. She is pregnant and has only put weight on her belly and NOWHERE else.

7. I find myself looking at babies all the time. Whenever I see one I just stare at it with a goofy smile on my face.

6. Which reminds me. Where did all these friggin babies come from? It seems that where ever I look there are babies. This was not the case 8 months ago.

5. How am I going to afford this? I read somewhere that the average couple will spend at least $300,000 per child before it reaches 18 years old.....I've got news for you Picard....I'm broke and so's your mum.

4. Love life. What's that then?

3. Babies R Us is an awesome store. nuff said

2. Not only do I not go out on the town with the boys but I don't want to.

1. And the number one observation I have is: All these fathers who look at me gleefully and make comments like "It's your turn now" and "Your life is over buddy" or "Your partying days have come to an end". Well my comment to them is, I partied like a rock star for 25 years before I did this...A-holes

TOP TEN

Sara's Top Ten Symptoms
7 Months Pregnant

1) My concept of the Food Pyramid is: cupcakes, salt, cereal, and tums.
2) Walking down the stairs gives me vertigo because I cannot see my feet. I literally count the steps.
3) I cry if I can’t eat when hungry (or if the brain trust at Zaxby’s forgets
my Italian dressing).
4) I give people waaaay too much information when they ask how I'm doing, just so they’ll leave me alone.
5) Fat jokes, calling me “little mamma”, comments about the size of my belly, asking, “wow, hasn’t that baby come yet?”—all these things are getting really, really tired. No, jackass, does it look like the baby's come out yet? Or, the next time someone asks when am I going to finally have the baby, I'm going to say, "Baby? Oh, no, I swallowed a watermelon seed a while back."
6) Shaving my legs is an aerobic activity. As to the bikini area, uh, yeah, since I don’t have to see it, I’m not worrying about it. I'm sure the teenage lifeguards at the Y have been permanently scarred.
7) I grunt or make this funny moan when I stand up.
8) Rolling over in bed involves first getting up on hands and knees.
9) I've gone five days without pooping—and think nothing of it.
10)I wonder which sweatpants could be considered “dressy.”