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?)