For those of you who like movement...

Eamon Munro Bennett Wolfe

Our boy was born at 1:59 pm on 12/29. He weighed 8 lbs, 15 oz and measured 21 inches long. We'll have a recap of the birth story later- but here are some pics of Eamon to tide you over!

I Sing the Body Incompetent

So, we went to the doctor yesterday for our probably LAST MATERNITY VISIT EVER. She was surprised to see us at all, and more surprised when she did the pelvic. "You're completely effaced," she said. "Like, 90%. You can't get any more effaced without, you know, it being gone."

Not only that, but the baby is so low that she actually had to feel around the kid's head to get at the rest of the cervix.

HOWEVER, I am still only 2 cm dilated. No matter how many other signs and symptoms of labor I might have, until things, ahem, open up, the child stays put.

"Haven't you had ANY contractions?" she asked. I said I had had some Braxton-Hicks, but that was it. Nothing real, nothing substantial.

She assured Aaron and me that when I finally did start having contractions, it would probably go quickly since everything else was ready to go. I, of course, no longer believe anything that doctors say, and am therefore preparing myself for 52-hours of hard labor following by 7 days of pushing, or something like that.

Anyway, whether my cervix gets its act together or not, we WILL have a baby by the New Year. We reminded the office that we wouldn't be coming back since we had an induction date scheduled on Monday, December 29. Our doctor really did schedule it, but no one actually filled out the paperwork because he didn't tell anybody. In fact, he wrote a note next to it saying, "If baby not delivered before then" (well, duh, but it was his way of saying that he was only scheduling this induction to appease us and in his medical opinion was pretty sure that we would have the baby well before then). Filling out the paperwork was just a formality, since the hospital already had us down on their calendar (the most important part), and while doing so, the nurse also exclaimed her surprise that Dr. Lockhart had been wrong. He has been practicing for many years, and she said, "If he says you're going to go early, you usually go early."

Yeah, well, there you go, right? Tell something like that to Aaron and myself, and we usually do our dardest to do the exact opposite. It's like the time that I was having my wisdom teeth taken out, and the doctor gave me some sort of medicine that was supposed to knock me out completely, but right before I slipped into unconciousness, he said, "You won't remember a thing," at which point I woke myself up enough to remember the whole thing, but I couldn't tell him because I was too drugged up. Stupid, right? And then I went and married a man who also loves to do the opposite of whatever anyone tells him (this makes our marriage interesting sometimes, for both of us), so it makes complete SENSE that our child would be the same way.

Seriously, I expect if the doctor had tut-tutted in early December and said that nothing was really progressing in the labor front, our child would already be a few weeks old.

Anyway, if nothing happens before Monday, and I don't think that anything will, we will head to Riverside hospital by 7 AM (I am fine with this, because it means that we get everything done with pretty early in the day; my husband was aghast since he doesn't get out of bed until 8 AM most days, and doesn't actually wake up until about 10 AM). SO, one way or another, we will have a baby before New Years (unless, of course, the induction doesn't work; I know this one teacher at school who had to be induced 3 times, but we're not thinking about that, oh no, no, no...)

The Cure

Ah hahahaha...if I were a Plains Indian, they would tie me to a rock and pretend to attack me with spears to get me to give birth. Even better, though--if I were a Pilgrim, they would tie me to a large pole and shake the pole to make the baby "fall out." Now, where did I leave my stash of large poles?

The Baby that Time Forgot

Went to the doctor today. After the whirlwind of activity last week, nothing has happened since. No change. Wait and see. Etc..

Holding Pattern

This space should be updated more frequently soon...it appears that things are moving along. Kate had another appointment yesterday, and is now 2 cm dilated and 80% effaced. Contractions are different from the Braxton-Hicks ones she's been having for months now, but are irregular. So now back to the waiting...

At this point, I am really ready to meet the baby. There are so many questions: What is the baby's gender? What color eyes will s/he have? How much hair? What kind of personality will baby Wolfe have?

A couple of interesting stories: While Kate was waiting for the appointment, Christmas carols were playing in the doctor's office. Now, Kate LOVES Christmas and all the trappings; I, on the other hand, despise Christmas music with a passion. So while she was waiting, Kate decided that she too, hated Christmas music. It was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Does that mean that Kate carrying my DNA has affected her perception of those songs? Will the baby come to dislike Christmas music as well? Who knows.

The second is perhaps a bit more troubling. We were listening to music the other night, anf the Imperial March came on (you know- Darth Vader's entrance music). The baby went crazy- moving around, punching in time with the music and generally having a good old time. Does this mean my child is aligned with the Empire? Is my baby Darth Maul reincarnated? Or does it just mean that the baby is also a Star Wars fan? Who knows. I suppose I shall be a bit disappointed if my child turns out to be a Sith, but hey- what can you do? At least I can invest in a cool colored light saber!

Anyway, these are better quality pix of the nursery- and again thanks go out to all who helped put it together.

Why the Pasta Salad Was a Bad Idea

Here's the problem with pregnancy: each symptom (except for the baby actually emerging from your womb) could be a sign of at least two different things: one quite important, and one quite trivial.

FOR INSTANCE...I am one centimeter dialated, the doctor said today. This could be a sign that I am going into labor in a few hours...or a few weeks. How is that helpful? I should hope I would be going into labor within a few weeks; I'm due on the 26th!

I am also "nicely effaced" (that is a direct quote from the doctor, and I am sorry for those of you mothers who are/were just normally effaced, because the extra adjective gives it that extra je ne sais quoi). This could mean...imminent labor! OR...still a few weeks!

The baby has dropped (the consequence of going on a field trip to Yorktown and walking around a lot). This means...oh, you get the picture.

I lost my mucous plug! (Sorry, it's a gross term, but that's what they call it, and who am I to questions them?) Blah, blah, blah. You can lose it 2 or 3 times. It can grow back. It can be like a bad horror movie sequel...just when you thought everything was safe... (though in fairness, the doctor said that combined with all my other symptoms, this was not likely to happen to me).

And tonight! I am nauseated! This could be a sign of labor beginning...or that I really shouldn't have eaten the pasta salad before dinner. I mean, I knew it was a bad idea, but I suddenly really wanted it. It looked so yummy and tasty and benign, sitting there in the salad bar at the grocery store. It looked like friendly pasta salad, not Pasta Salad of Doom, but now I am writing this blog to distract myself from the sheer yuckiness while I pray that the three Tums I just swallowed will win the battle so that I can sleep, maybe, sometime tonight.

Last symptom: the baby is at a -1 station. This is lower than, say, a -3 station. A + 3 would mean that the baby was actively crowning, so a -1 isn't too shabby. It does mean that I am terribly uncomfortable, as I whined to the doctor today.

"Oh," said he, in an inquisitive tone, "are you ready to be done being pregnant?"

UM, YES!!!

Instead, I tried to respond a little more maturely. "Only if the baby is ready."

"Oh," he said jauntily, "the baby is ready. We could induce you next week. But I don't know if there will be any induction appointments available. You usually have to schedule those awhile in advance around this time of year."

WHAT? I could have scheduled an induction in advance? You didn't care? This whole time, you wouldn't have minded? I thought you were all about letting the body take its course--having things happen naturally! Why didn't you mention this BEFORE? YES, I WANT TO INDUCE ON THE 15th.

I think I was a tad more polite than that.

BUT, it was all for naught. They have no appointments on the 15th...or the 19th...or anything until after Christmas. The 29th, to be exact. I have an appointment for that day, just in case I go past my due date, so that I don't have to wait forever. But the doctor also told me that he really didn't think I was going to make it to the 29th, or even the 26th.

SO, we're right back where we started. It could be hours...or days...or weeks.

But one thing is for sure: I really shouldn't have had that pasta salad.

The Thank You Post

Our house is ready. The nursery is done. All baby accoutrements are assembled and have been test-driven using a handy doll that I realize will be nothing like an actual squirming child (but Nesta wouldn't get in the stroller no matter how hard I tried to convince her that it would be fun and helpful). My lesson plans for school are...almost done (okay, I'm probably being way too thorough and anyone else would be done by now), and I intend them to be finished by the end of the week.

Soooooooo, baby...um...anytime, there, kiddo.

I am still pregnant which becomes increasingly more awkward by the day. There is nothing unusual about this, so I won't dwell on it too much. We have another doctor appointment today, and we will see what the pelvic exam reveals.

Mostly, though, I wanted to use this post to show pictures of our nursery. This nursery is to be credited to several people, none of whom is me. Here are the Academy Awards of the Little Wolfe Nursery:

Special thanks to Ethel McCormack (my mother) for braving Babies R Us and actually ordering the furniture, then being there when it was delivered. Thanks also for the (cough, cough) help in paying for it.

Special thanks to Aaron Wolfe (husband) and Ayinde Martin (well-mannered friend) for assembling the crib AT THE EXPENSE OF WATCHING FOOTBALL.

Special thanks to Julie Hurston (slightly insane, but thank God for it friend), who came down from Massachusetts for a weekend to, no joke, CLEAN OUT and ORGANIZE the nursery. Before she arrived, everything that we owned for the baby was not-so-strategically placed somewhere on the nursery floor, to the point where you couldn't even walk in there, let alone care for a baby. Why on earth someone would spend their weekend sorting through this, I have no idea, but she is wonderful and we love her.

Special thanks to Jim & Susan Wolfe (parents-in-law) for driving down from Delaware to decorate the nursery. They also deserve an especial thanks for putting up with the lack of artistic ability from my husband and me. They would say things like, "What would you like on this wall?" and we would respond, "Um...yellow?" Somehow, from our cryptic advice ("We think it should be something a baby would like") they came up with the beautiful designs and mural pictured.

Lastly, thanks to all the people who donated Things to Put on the Wall, such as Charmaine Hubbard and Joanna Sheehan. Otherwise, the nursery theme really would just be "Yellow."

Jim, Aaron, and Susan putting up the border

The Final Product

Pretty convertible crib that our child will be using until graduating from college

People Who Are Not Me Putting Together the Stroller

Nesta, who, like her mommy, contributed most by Staying Out of the Way

Weekly Visits

So, the turkey came out relatively well and no one died, or was even hospitalized, in my first foray into large-poultry, non-crockpot cooking. Ergo, Thanksgiving was considered a success! My parents are back from Florida, and stole some bags of turkey from our freezer for themselves (actually, we told them to do that--there's no way that we could eat a 15 pound turkey by ourselves even if we froze the leftovers for several months).

As the title of this post implies, we have begun our weekly visits to the doctor! This is not nearly as exciting as it seems, since nothing really happens at these visits, either. I went today by myself, since Aaron is already taking off about 4 hours this week to go on a field trip with my class to Yorktown (because he is there, nothing exciting will happen; if he wasn't going, you can bet that my water would break and my kids would get an in-depth lesson on the circle of life, or something).

What did the doctor say? Um...not a lot. The baby is still REALLY far down, in the "GO" position...but nothing else is happening. No effacement, no dialation...nothing to indicate that the little tyke is actually "GOING" anywhere. This is fine, since I am still only 36 weeks, and the baby won't be officially "done" for another week or so, anyway (the pep talks to get the heck out of my uterus will officially start when we hit 38 weeks).

On Monday, we'll have our last ultrasound to determine how large the little one is. At that time, I suppose they'll determine whether they want to let me wait until my due date (or beyond), or whether they'll decide to induce. If the baby is already big, there's a chance that they won't want me to go past my due date, since then I would be delivering a moose--at least, that's what I hope. Being pregnant has been...an experience...but I wouldn't mind being able to eat without getting ridiculous heartburn, being able to get out of bed without having to do a complicated roll-out, sleeping with fewer than 4 pillows. And oh, yeah, it would be really cool to meet our baby, too.

Here we are, less than 30 days til the due date. Now for the waiting...

Like Turkeys, Like Babies

We had Thanksgiving plans...we've had them for awhile. My husband was going to travel to Maryland to have dinner with his family, and I, who cannot go more than about 30 minutes without having to dash off to find a bathroom due to being rather huge at the moment, was going to stay here in Newport News with my parents for the traditional dinner. This had all been hammered out weeks beforehand, and was well under control.

THEN...

I went out to lunch with my mom yesterday, and when we got back, there was a phone message waiting from my aunt. It seems my grandparents down in Florida (my mom's parents) BOTH took a tumble yesterday (Grandma went first, Grandpa tried to help her, and then he heard something crack). SO, my grandfather is in the ER, which is bad because he was Grandma's primary care giver (and she cannot see, can barely hear, and cannot walk). Two little old ladies who live next door are taking care of my Grandma for the night until my parents could get down to Florida, which they are in the midst of doing right now, since I think they were leaving around 7 AM.

I was there for all the drama yesterday as my mom tried to figure out what they were going to do, and once the decision was made to drive to FL, I took my parents' dog home with me since he would need a place to stay. I let Aaron know that all this was happening, and was fully prepared to do Thanksgiving on my own (well, me and two dogs), because sometimes bad luck just happens (it didn't mean the hormones wouldn't have made me cry about it, because they make me cry about a lot, but I would have dealt).

BUT, Aaron firmly declared that he certainly would NOT leave me home, alone, on a major holiday, which also happens to be our anniversary, while I am vastly pregnant. He called his mom right away, and before I could even tell him that I would be fine if he went up anyway, he was staying.

The interesting part of all of this is that my parents had an entire Thanksgiving meal ready to go. The turkey was thawed, and they had all the fixin's. So, along with a dog, I went home with a 15 pound turkey, potatoes, and broccoli. My eyes got a little big as my father loaded the turkey into a "keep cool" bag, and I told him, "But, but, I don't know HOW to make a turkey." His reply, "Yeah, but you know how to Google."

So Google I did, and I THINK I know what I'm doing now, and Aaron seems to think that I'll be just fine making this gigantic bird and not killing us all with salmonella poisoining. Of course, I don't really understand why I am making the turkey, since he has cooked whole turkeys in the past and I am a turkey-virgin (granted, he cooked his outside in a pit ala colonial style, but STILL, that's more than I have done).

I suppose that since I think I am ready to be a mom, I should be ready to embrace all the trappings of adulthood. I figured out how to buy my first car this year; I suppose I can figure out how to cook a turkey. The only thing that is bugging me about the bird is the timing. I think I have all the basics of preparation down, but all the websites are a little vague on the amount of time needed for the bird, and say that it just depends on the oven temperature, elevation, the retrograde of Mercury, etc..

Ironically, this is the only thing that bugs me about giving birth, too. I've taken the classes, so I understand basically what will be happening. Aaron and I have discussed plans with my parents, so we know who is coming to the hospital, who is watching the dog, etc.. I've talked with people and read internet sites, so I know what to put in the hospital bags and they have already been packed. The nursery, though not fully decorated, is functional and could safely house a baby starting any minute. The only thing that I haven't nailed down, that I just can't plan, is the WHEN for the baby. Being a slight (ahem) control freak, it really gets my goat that I don't have a specific day and time to have this child. I have been talking to the fetus, and trying to convince him/her of a specific day/time that we want to go, which my husband (and everyone else, though they are too polite to say) thinks is ludicrous, but what else am I supposed to do? Sit around and let nature take its course? What does nature know about my schedule?

Sigh.

Anyway, I am attempting to convince myself that giving birth will happen when it happens, and that I cannot control every facet of the pregnancy (nor probably of raising a child, either, but let's not get ahead of ourselves and blow my mind entirely). It's just kind of frustrating knowing that I am 35 weeks along, so the baby will probably come 3-7 weeks from now. That seems like a rather large margin of error, but c'est la vie, and all that.

(At least with a turkey, you can pop a thermometer in there to tell when it's done.)

Hair!

Did you know that they can see the baby's hair on an ultrasound? Neither did I. But you can, and I did. It looks fuzzy, that's how it looks. Like this fuzzy stuff on one side of the baby's head.

And one side of the head was all that we could see, because kiddo is burrowed into my pelvis. The ultrasound technician nearly broke my pelvic bone (okay, that might be a slight exaggeration) trying to get the head measurements, because the child is hiding/trying to come out/digging for China/who the heck knows. I've been carrying this kid low the entire time, but apparently now we've reached a new level of low. Of course, the baby still tries to stick its little feetses up into my rib cage, because there just isn't enough room, mommy! I attempt to explain that there's nothing I can do about that, please get your feet off of my lungs, but you know how they are when they're this age...

Other interesting facts from the ultrasound:

--the baby currently weighs approximately 5 pounds, 6 oz.
--the baby is only 77% for size now!

Seventy-seventh percentile is something I can live with (when it comes to baby sizes, I mean). 77% is just over 8 pounds for newborns, and I feel like this is a very acceptable size, unlike what you get at the 94th percentile (we must have hit him in a growth-spurt during my last ultrasound). So, I am not having the Loch Ness monster for a baby anymore, nor even a moose, but just a...baby. A baby with beautiful hair, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen...hair. (Now the only question is: will the hair stay on like it did for kiddo's mommy, or fall out after birth like daddy's?)

Oooooo, dear...

Okay, it's not just tiredness. It's the stomach flu. Thank you, Aaron, for bringing this home yesterday.

Do you know what is very fun (or completely not, as the case may be)? It is "very fun" to have an upset tummy AND a baby kicking your stomach at the same time! It is many thrills!

I have left work early today so that I can lie around in nauseated pain. I am going to go do that now.

The Pain and the Tiredness

Oh, this is a rough morning. Thursdays are, nowadays, because we have Childbirth Prep classes on Wednesdays. The classes last from 7-9PM, which means that the earliest I get home and in bed is 9:45, which is like, so an hour and a half past my bedtime. I can't really sleep in, either, because my stomach and the baby in my tummy are set to a internal clock of about 5:30. It makes for some VERY sleepy Thursdays.

Anyhoo, childbirth classes are going well. We are learning all about the gross and disgusting stuff (or, "the perfectly natural stuff," as Aaron, who I think is deluding himself, says) that comes out after the baby. Fun! We are also learning some breathing techniques to help get through the contractions. It's interesting enough. I don't know...maybe I should be more worried, but as a girl who has had gallstones, kidneystones, and migraines, I've been through my share of pain. It turns out that I used Lamaze breathing through most of those, without actually ever having taken Lamaze.

We did an exercise last night where Aaron had to pinch the underside of my arm for about a minute to simulate a contraction while I did the breathing. Afterwards, I yelled at him for being too soft on me and not squeezing hard enough. I mean, it didn't hurt at all. Then, when I was NOT doing my breathing, he showed me exactly how hard he had been squeezing, and holy cow--it really hurt!

This is not to say that I have a high pain tolerance, because I DO NOT. I hate pain, even the littlest bit, and I am generally good about letting people know when the least little thing hurts. Because I hate pain so much, on those big pain things--like gallstones or kidneystones--I learned early that the more you think about it, the worse it hurts, so it's better to just concentrate on something rhythmic (like breathing) and stay calm.

Anyway, I suppose that all my practice with pain is good because I don't respond well to pain medications. I fight tranquilizers and sedatives (when I was getting my wisdom teeth out, the doctor said, "You'll never remember any of this," so in my stupidly sleepy state, I stayed awake through the ENTIRE thing just to prove him wrong, and could actually feel him taking out some of the teeth, but was too tranquilized to say anything about it). Almost all narcotics make me sick (either I throw up, break out in an itchy rash, or my blood pressure drops precipitously). So, that leaves us with, what? An epidural? Well, it's a possibility. I'm going to see if the super-breathing can work, but I'm not going to insist on an all-natural delivery just to satisfy some deep-seated need to prove how tough I really am (answer: I am not tough. At all).

The other lovely thing that has happened since our last post was my first baby shower! Hooray, baby showers! We actually have stuff! For the baby! Granted, none of this stuff is out of the boxes; all the clothes are heaped in a gigantic pile that I keep threatening to wash one day (don't worry--so far the clothes are safe because I am too sleepy all the time); and we still don't have our dresser that we ordered weeks ago (now they say it will come in sometime next week. I am wondering which will get here first...the dresser or the baby).

Regardless of our sloth at putting things away, thank you so much to Aaron's entire family for making sure that our little one will 1) be able to sleep downstairs, too, in a Pack n' Play; 2) be able to leave the house since we now have a beautiful new travel system; 3) not be traumatized by the smell of its own dirty diapers thanks to our new Diaper Genie, and many other wonderful gifts that I know are going to help out a lot. You guys are the greatest!

My many pregnancy chins and I open presents at the Wolfe/Meredith Family baby shower

Several generations of Aaron's family were in attendance.

Braxton-Hicks, Meet York High Class of '98

For those of you wondering what it is like to go to your 10-year high school reunion while 7 months pregnant, let me elucidate you: it is uncomfortable. You can't wear those really snazzy shoes (at least, I couldn't) because they don't allow the necessary amount of waddling to keep your back from spasming. You have to spend a lot of time excusing yourself from conversations to use the restroom (although, in the case of a few awkward conversations, this was a good thing). Among the pros, however, is the lack of desperate dieting in the weeks proceeding the reunion--any extra weight gain can easily be explained by the impending baby hidden like a bowling ball under your basic black dress.


Those of you not 7 months pregnant, feel free
to get your groove on!
The reunion itself was...well, exactly like I thought that it would be. My friend Joanna really wanted to go, and she even came down from New York with her incredibly supportive boyfriend...so we went. All the people I expected to be there were there...you know, the people who actually liked high school the first time around. There were a few other people who showed up out of sheer moxy (myself included, I guess). The awkwardness faded as the about 30 couples attending did their best to empty out the cash bar (minus yours truly; I had a Diet Coke and considered myself rebellious...it made me have to pee a lot).

Overall, though, I'm glad that we went. Aaron, the saint that I married, accompanied me. The baby also did a wonderful job, and slept most of the time (it's usually more awake during the day and kicks only a little bit at night)--at least until the end. I suppose I had been standing around too much, not drinking enough water, but at about 10:30, the Braxton-Hicks contractions really started.

Joanna, me, Jeff --just like highschool with one
BIG difference
For those of you who haven't been reading on-line pregnancy guides (or have actually gone through a pregnany), Braxton-Hicks contractions aren't real contractions. Nothing comes of them. It's just your body's way of getting ready for the "real thing." According to a website I read, BH contractions are not painful and you shouldn't even notice them. The person writing this was obviously male, because I have heard (and experienced) stories to the contrary. BH contractions might not hurt, but it's basically a muscle spasm--so if you've had a muscle spasm, you know that it usually does hurt. Mine tend to go away rather quickly, but can get distracting when I'm trying to do other things.

So I drank a ton of water. This didn't help a lot, and moreover--the contractions started to make the baby mad. I can understand; I don't think I would like my home being intermittantly squeezed, either. The baby starting kicking with a vengeance, which on top of the contractions made me decide it was time to go home. But I made it to almost 11:00, which I consider an accomplishment, even if it it is the earliest I've ever left a high school dance before.

Hooray!

Went to the doctor today, and huzzah--no gestational diabetes for me and the little frog! They took my blood 4 times last Friday (and only one bruise to show for it--that lab tech was amazing, since normally I bruise when I get within a foot of a needle), and only one of the sugar counts was slightly elevated. The doctor said this means that I just need to watch my sugar intake (not difficult; I'm allergic to most everything sugary, anyway...at least, all the good stuff) and try to cut back on carbs like bread (ack!) and potatoes (NOOOOOO! NOT THE POTATOES!). He told me to eat lots of broccoli (yum) and red meat (cow is good).

I also LOVED this doctor because he seems to think that women should gain 35-40 pounds during their pregnancy, unlike the snarky nurse practioner who gave me a lecture last time because "we still have a long way to go and you don't want to gain too much too early." This DOCTOR thought that I was doing just fine (I've gained about 24 pounds, which is a bit much if you go with the nurse practioner's estimate, but right on target if I should gain about 35). I even explained to him that I thought I had gained a bit too much, but he just shook his head in a nice, grandfatherly way and told me that I looked GREAT, my face wasn't puffy at all, and I knew right then that I want him to be my doctor FOREVER. I would like to take him clothes-shopping, too.

Next week should be fun, too. Aaron and I are going to Riverside Hospital to take the Expectant Parents Tour on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, we are going to our first childbirth class. We get to bring pillows to that one, and I am a fan of any place that actively encourages you to bring pillows.

Glucose, Part II

Ugh. Well, the doctor's office called today and...I get to go back and do the actual glucose test on Friday. A three hour test (hopefully, you read that to the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme song, because I expect this test to be just as ominous). See...they want your blood sugar count, or whatever it is that they measure in the glucose screen, to be under 140, and they pronounce that all is well. If you're above 200, they go ahead and count you as having gestational diabetes. If you're anywhere between...they make you take the three hour test. My count was 162. The test is the same as the one hour screen, except that they draw your blood every hour after you drink the ridiculously sugary solution (like Pedialyte, but fruit-punch flavored).

Anyway, other important things worth documenting that happened this weekend:

1) We sold the Camry! We recently bought a RAV-4 in preparation for needing a vehicle that could transport our dog and our baby at the same time without the dog sitting in the baby's lap (because Nesta would try). Aaron put up the ad Saturday on cars.com and we got a phone call yesterday, and the guy came today loaded down with cash (where do you even get that much cash? ATMs don't let you get that much all at once! Do you get it from these mythical bank tellers I hear so much about?) It was a good car, still running great after 9 years. It was with me through college, marriage, and most of the pregnancy. But the RAV-4 is very shiny, so it is nice, too.

2) Our main sewage system backed up! Hooray! We got to meet a lovely young man from Roto-Rooter on Sunday.

3) I signed up for childbirth classes, an expectant parents' tour at the hospital, and a meet and greet with our new pediatrician! I also pre-registered at the hospital, so we are almost ready to have this baby (not to actually take care of the baby, since our nursery isn't done and we don't have much baby-stuff yet, but we could have the baby). That leads us to...

4) Our crib came! And it's put together! Our baby has somewhere to sleep! (except that we still don't have a mattress pad or sheets or a baby, but still--it's something). The crib came in a box that was as tall as our friend Ayinde (who helped put it together because he is a wonderful person and I fed him lunch, dinner, and chocolate chip cookies). It only took Aaron and Yin about an hour to put it together, and it's very sturdy, as well as quite attractive, if I do say so myself.

Glucose

Posts on this space are going to come a bit more frequently now. We have entered the third trimester and will be visiting the doctor every two weeks. We may not have pics (except of Kate's growing belly), but we will have funny and insightful commentary on the stretch run. Or something like that.

Today we went in for a diabetes glucose screening (we won't have the results until Monday), where they gave Kate some glucose (Fruit Punch-flavored!- Kate was worried about Orange, which she despises due to her allergy to all things citrus) then we had to sit around for an hour until they could take some blood. Luckily, we thought ahead and made an appointment with the doctor. It was the first time we've actually met with a doctor rather than a nurse practitioner. He asked how things were going (fine), and if we had any questions. Kate asked about a birth plan, which the doctor poo-pooed. Sweet! I was worried we'd have this elaborate plan that would inevitably be thrown out due to the baby's lack of knowledge of said plan. The doctor apparently knew this too, and talked about how you kinda got to go with the flow. How great is that? We obviously (subconsciously) picked the right doctor.

These visits are anti-climactic, but I'm glad we go. There are so many mothers who do not have the chance for pre-natal visits. I will refrain from any additional political commentary (you can visit my blog, Rambling Leaf, for that).

I find that the closer we come to having this baby, I do not have the anxiety that many fathers go through. Maybe it is because I'm older and am comfortable with what's going on. Maybe it's because I'm a total moron and have no idea what is coming. Regardless, I am ready.

I read to the baby (almost) every night. We started with John Hodgman's (of The Daily Show and Mac commercial fame) The Areas of My Expertice, which was hysterical and scary at the same time. Obsessed with werewolves and hobos, Hodgman is completely insane. Right now, we are reading An Arsonists Guide to Writer's Homes in New England on the recommendation of my Aunt Lanny, who owns a book store. You may wonder why we are subjecting our (unborn) child to this kind of material, and you would be correct to do so. We have a simple reason- THE BABY DOESN'T KNOW ENGLISH. All it hears is the dulcet (Kate would describe it as soporific) tone of Daddy's voice. Which is the point. Baby gets to hear Kate's voice all the time. Having baby recognize my voice when s/he decides to emerge from the womb is the goal. I don't know if we'll acheive that, but I do know this- After a few days of not reading, the baby went crazy for a little while when I started to read the other night. Boo-Yah!

Whoa Baby

We had another ultrasound today, courtesy of the partial previa they found last time (when the placenta is slightly blocking the baby's exit from the cervix). They don't freak out about this too much in the doctor's office, though they put you on something called "placental rest" which I am not going to describe here. They said that in 80% of the cases, the uterus just grows around the placenta so that it's not a problem anymore.

So, I am one of the 80%, and everything is fine now...in that department.

The other fascinating thing, however, is that our child.Is.Huge. At today's ultrasound, the baby measured in the 94th percentile for size. That is, um, big. In fact, it is bigger than 93% of the other babies out there.

Does this worry me? Perhaps a little. See, I am a tall girl, and rather large on the toppish portion, but my hips have always been small. Not very big at all. No one ever looked at me and exclaimed what great birthing hips I have. Now, I know that just because you have big hips doesn't necessarily correlate with how easy it is to push out babies, but certainly it must help at least a little.

This doesn't mean automatic c-section, though it certainly doesn't decrease the odds of one happening. Who knows? Maybe my hips will separate more before D-Day (it still freaks me out a little to know that your bones start migrating around your body when you're pregnant), or maybe my kid's head will be very maleable and I'll give birth "the old fashioned way" to an adorable little cone-head.

In other news, the baby has turned so that the head is now in the downward "ready" position. The head is very far down. Perhaps the baby is practicing? Trying to mould the little head for an easy escape route? We can only hope. Combined with the 94th percentile thing, it does mean that yes--the kid is still firmly on my bladder, which has made things really interesting now that school has started and I only get breaks every 2 1/2 hours. Ah well. Only 3 1/2 more months to go...

It's a....BABY!

Today we went to the doctor for our second ultrasound...the one in which they promise it will more like a baby and less like a frog! It was interesting because I had a bit of the tummy flu yesterday and hadn't ingested nutrients in several hours, nor slept much, so I was a bit woozy. Aaron nicely kept poking me awake in the waiting room, and luckily we had the first appointment so we didn't have to wait long (though they did tell us to arrive there 15 minutes early to fill out copious amounts of paperwork, of which it turned out there was none).

As soon as they called us back, Aaron announced that we were not to find out the sex of the baby. The ultrasound lady made us turn our heads at several points because apparently it was quite obvious, and I leave you to draw your own conclusions. I know what I think we're having, and I quite agree with Aaron's cousin Jason: only one of the two sexes would still be parked right on my bladder, using it as a sort of fetal beanbag. Please feel free to make wild guesses in the comments section (smart money will be on either a boy or a girl, though).

The nice ultrasound lady also showed us several bits of the baby, such as arms (2), legs (2), and face (1). Our child pushed its face up against the ultrasound and then commenced to eating its hands. Our baby is sporting a lovely round head, with a brain that appears to be working (though not yet advanced enough to realize that it should not lay on Mommy's vital organs). Usually the baby is a late riser, and I don't feel it moving until after about 1PM (already taking after Daddy), but today it knew that it was a Big Day and it was tumbling around quite happily before, after, and during the appointment. This is very tickly and makes me have to pee quite often.

Our child also has a spinal cord, so for those of you out there who had money on the invertebrate category--sorry.

Little Rapid Heartbeat

We went to the doctor (well, technically we saw our nurse practitioner, who is also pregnant and due in Oct) on Thursday for a round of tests and routine 4 week check up. We got to listen to the baby's heartbeat (which was really cool), running about 140 bpm. Kate also figured out why she had to go to the bathroom so much- the baby was on her bladder! Most babies hide in corners of the uterus, but not our little one. Baby has hunkered down on Mommy's bladder, like a kind of bean bag. Must be comfy.

Kate also felt the baby for the first time tonight- the quickening, they call it (although I have my doubts- the Quickening is related to Highlander in some way, and refers to becoming immortal. Stupid doctors. What do they know about "science"? I'll stick to Christopher Lambert.)

Updates

So, Aaron and I discussed it last night, and decided that we needed a schedule for this blog. As there isn't much going on yet (unless you want me to document my strange feeding habits, or the fact that I've outgrown yet another pair of pants), we're only going to post after each visit to the doctor--which right now is about once a month. Hopefully, this will prevent people from checking and feeling disappointed when there's nothing new written. Our next appointment is mid-July (the 17th, I think). So, we'll let you know more about the frog then (oh wait, I'm supposed to be using "Biggie Smalls," not "the frog;" it's so hard to keep up with the nicknames).

Biggie Smalls

There will be a new addition to the Wolfe family around Christmas, 2008. Kate and I went to the 12 week check up today, and heard Biggie's heartbeat. We are so excited about the next 6 months- and for the decades beyond.

We have nicknamed the baby Biggie Smalls, or Jumbo, due to the fact that Kate is already showing- and has done for the past 3 weeks or so. Kate was convinced that we were having quadruplets, but there was just a single, rapid heartbeat this morning.