Close Call!

Well, if we didn't have an eventful evening. Last night as I was leaving Chemistry class, I started feeling very crampy and uncomfortable. It was 830pm. By 900 I was having contractions too. I managed to get some sleep for awhile, but when the contractions and discomfort continued I decided to start looking into what might be going on.

Needless to say, several hours, 2 liters of water and one phone call to the doctor later, the contractions stopped, but it was pretty close there. The last contraction came 15 minutes before the cutoff time to head to the hospital to be checked out.

Yikes!

I know I told little baby girl that I'd like her to come early. But this? TOO EARLY! How 'bout in three weeks or so?

34 Weeks.

Today Wilson and I visited Dr. Chris for a checkup. Wilson is, once again, in the 50th percentile for his weight and height (good baby) and will be moving to cow's milk in the next month or so. (He's been on toddler formula because we're silly urban parents.)

I am well. The doctor made an astute observation -- that I am larger in the belly than I was last time. "More belly, less of you," which was an awfully nice thing to hear since I am currently on the verge of outgrowing the maternity clothes I purchased at the END of my pregnancy with Wilson...

*sigh*

Everything else looking good! Baby's healthy and strong. I go back for my first measurements in two weeks, and then will see the doctor every week until she is born. I am SO excited to be in the home stretch. As much as I love being pregnant (and really, I do, despite all my recent complaining), I love snuggling little babies even more!!

Good babies!

No!

Believe it or not, one nice thing that Wilson has learned how to do lately is to say "no". I'm sure we'll get tired of it quickly enough, but for now it is great that he can express himself in this direct and obvious way. We've had almost 18 months of trying to figure out what each cry means: "Is he sleepy? Is he hungry? Is the sun in his eyes? Is he tired of the Eagles yet?" But now, with a little word comprehension and some emphatic head shaking, our communication level has increased significantly. Case in point: Wilson had to get out of the bath the other day. Nicole didn't put him back in right away and I asked her why. "Because he told me he didn't want to" was the answer. Toddlers are cool, because there is something new every day.

Turns Out, It's True

Last week, Nicole had a major pregancy-inspired craving for Mochi ice cream and visited all of our local grocery stores trying--with no luck--to remember the one we saw it at earlier. After hosting us for steak and a flick, Mike suggested that we try Central Market up in Shoreline. As Nicole had brought her own pickled okra to his house (you get used to this kind of behavior if you hang out with her much) and mentioned that she really would like a spicier pickled okra, he also suggested that Central Market would be a good place to look for that, too. Even though it was 9:30 at night (Baby Man was with the grandparents), we ran up to 155th to try our luck. Sure enough, they came through for us. Though the cashier had a hard time keeping a straight face with the very pregnant woman who was buying only pickles and ice cream, if in a slightly Seattle version...

Tdukka Man Pics.

And here he is again, folks. New pics of Wilson from late March and early April. (Spring is so nice for taking photos!)

Wilson and Friends (4/11/08)

Move it, Sister.

Dear Baby Girl:

Please come a little early. Anytime after 37 weeks and 1 day is perfectly fine with me. I promise to give you lots of boobs and buy you whatever you want when you are 13.

Mommy implores you to take pity and desist with the relentless pelvic abuse.

Thank you for your consideration.

Love,
Mommy

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rumor is I am due on, like, June 3rd. But here's the thing...there's no freaking way this baby is going to stay in there that long. Sorry, it just isn't going to happen. I am huge. And dying of painness. My belly button is missing and in its place is this throbbing, tender oval where a tiny little foot (or ankle or knee) will periodically push through and threaten to tear the fascia and skin beyond. What makes this little oval so gosh-darn special is that it just happens to coincide with the site of my uterine surgical scar. Yes. Uterine surgical scar. The place where a cyst used to live on my innards. The place where, when we learned we were pregnant a second time, I was already beginning to feel twinges of a new cyst growing. I cannot accurately express to you what it feels like to have a tiny foot put pressure on such a spot, so I guess I'll settle for "ouch".

She's also dropped. She might pop back up again and everything, given how we still have 8 weeks to go, but she's putting all kinds of pressure on my lower parts and lower back, infuriating my sciatica/SI issues and generally making me miserable. If I did not love this wretched baby so damn much, I might just beat her. No, check that, gunna beat her anyway.

I'm not the only one who thinks I'm not long for being pregnant. Today the checker at Safeway teased me about having a whole basketball team in there. Or maybe just a three-year old, which might be sweet because I could skip past the whole teething thing. (He was very funny.) Patients in the clinic express dismay on my behalf when they hear I have 8 weeks left...I'm clumsy and imbalanced most of the time, and cannot stop myself from deep, heaving sighs every couple of minutes. Hey -- it's the only way I can get enough oxygen, OKAY?

Anyway, the really hard days have begun. Gotta fight my way through it obviously, but I'm seriously folks, this time around the third trimester is much harder. Cannot wait to push this baby out and get on with it!!

Mivu

You would think--given that we 1) watch almost no TV ourselves, 2) don't have TV on in our house as background noise, 3) keep our TV in a room that is so cold as to be almost completely uninhabitable for five months of the year and 4) don't even have cable--that it would be easy for us to keep Wilson from developing a serious TV habit per recommendations by baby experts. But, alas, it is not to be.

By the way: It's not that we are self-important "well *I* don't watch television" type people (unlike, I suspect, "baby experts"), we're really not. We're usually just doing other things.

So maybe you'll excuse us when you hear that we slipped up on this one. Once. And got it in our heads that Little Man might enjoy watching an animated clownfish for awhile on Mommy's laptop while he ate. And now, you can't spend five minutes at our house without hearing "Mivu? (Wilsonspeak for "movie") Mivu? Mivu?" accompanied by frantic pointing at the dining room table. We're working on hiding the laptop--and yesterday was a mivu-free day--but really, the cat is out of the bag. It's to the point now where I've pretty much put aside my dreams for him to be a famous neurosurgeon or space cowboy or gangster of love and would settle for him to be a filmmaker or theater owner or something.