Amy and Peter adventure: day 2

Peter's shirt says it all...

Yay for:

Sleeping until 9:30. It feels good to wake up at 9:30 a.m.
Showers.
Our coffee shop: I can have a treat and read the news, and Peter loves the banquette seating and lights. (And the women! Man, he's a charmer.)
The fish store.
Mid-day, 40-minute, crib-based naps.
Books!

You're (Not) So Vain: Peter's not a big fan of mirrors

Boo for:

Sleep problems. Both last night and tonight, Peter's been uncharacteristically unsleepy.
Back-breaking Bjorning. Ouch! I think someone needs a massage, pronto.
Static. Our old station crashed out, leaving us with a new one - possibly one we'd had before - that was the 60's rock/Death Cab for Cutie station. (Seriously, I heard "Watchtower" as often as I heard "Company Calls," which is to say once a night for the past week or so.) Tonight, that transitioned to Operation Air Raid. After Peter was asleep. Did I mention it was kind of tough to get him down?
Ice Cream Hogging Husbands.

Hey...why isn't someone holding me?

I think Peter's really becoming much more aware of his environment. This awareness has made him a bit...well, "demanding" is the fairest way to put it.

Unless he's very happy or slightly sleepy, Peter prefers to be held over someone's shoulder, looking out to the world. He will allow me to sit on the futon and do this, but he makes Kevin walk around looking at stuff in the apartment. Specifically, Peter likes to look at:

the seal, the basketball,

and his "starin' wall."

He really only sleeps if someone is holding him, which I know isn't unusual, but it's amazing how much he needs it. I can pick him up from the bassinet where he'd been fussing and within two seconds of hitting my chest, he's snoring. We can put him down in his pack-and-play, and he'll wake up within two minutes; picking him UP from the pack-and-play puts him right back to sleep.

He hates the Bjorn in the morning, but otherwise loves it.

He's not so hot about bottle feeding, either.

He needs his pacifier. As Kevin said it, "he has a very strong need to suck."

ouch: the follow-up

I do have Babymomma tendonitis. And a ganglion cyst. Which means I get to wear this:


Which of course begs the question, how does one possibly care for a newborn in this condition?

So, I'm immobilized and taking ibuprofen; if it's not better in a week, more serious measures may be needed. Dr. Soriano mentioned that these cysts used to be treated by bashing them with a big, heavy book...which we have many of around these parts. I wonder if Kevin still has a copy of Group Insurance handy.

ouch!

I think I have Babymomma tendonitis.

maybe we should have named him Judah

Oh! My freakin' ears!

Peter did NOT have a good first reaction to church yesterday, despite all of our best interventions - being changed, well fed, and having the &#@ pacifier in place.

In fact, his reaction was so adverse we were forced to bail out of church just after the Gloria. (Perhaps Peter was upset that it was spoken, not sung?)

My suspicion is that he didn't like the loudness of the voices of Fr. Oscar and Deacon Thierry, although he was able to stroll around the St. Joseph festival without incident earlier in the day.

I assure you there is a baby under all that stroller.

Kevin suggested that Peter's staging his own protest: if we've gone ahead and circumcised him, he'd like to be raised as one of God's Chosen People. Perhaps we should have named him Peter Abraham, like we'd thought about in September.

So, instead of church, we walked around the downtown Mountain View street fair, and then picked up two medium cheese pizzas for dinner. Their cost? $32. Suddenly, we had grumpy Papa Bear and Baby Bear.

BDR = show-off

My list of wanting to have this baby now is growing daily. Of course, Kevin and I are excited about meeting Clementine Rose or Max Power, but recently it occurred to me that I'd like to have the baby out for less...parental...reasons.

(1) A return to the ability to walk around as a private citizen. Apparently, being pregnant is akin to wearing a huge neon sign that says "please talk to me about my life!"

Have you ever seen the movie Soapdish? There's a scene where Whoopi Goldberg, trying to lift the spirits of an otherwise depressed Sally Field, takes her to the mall so that Sally Field can be mobbed by fans of her soap opera. That's kind of how I feel now: going out is just an attempt to bring glowing and warm attention to myself.

Especially when I'm just trying to bag my own groceries.

(2) Knowing what sex the baby will be. If only so I don't ever have to hear the question, "is it a boy or a girl?" again.

Although, I suspect it will still be in my future, as yesterday Kevin leaned over to me and said, "you know, we'll never know the sex of our babies. Ever."

So, when someone asks, I shrug my shoulders and say, "it's a surprise!" in my most cheerful voice, and, depending on the crowd, throw in, "well, I hope it's a baby."

(3) Stepping out of this bizarro spotlight that's been placed on me by virtue of the fact that I am a reproducing human.

So, obviously I have a little problem with being the center of attention, especially since it's not like I'm actually doing anything particularly cool.

I try to remind myself that people are just happy for us, but I'm getting a little tired of having attention drawn to me just by walking into a room.

(4) A return to the ability to call my parents without feeling guilty.

Because every time I call now, I think I get their hopes up.

(5) A return to the ability to plan more than three or four days in advance.

Like today, when we went grocery shopping, and we had no idea what kind of food to buy. Because what if we have a baby tonight and we can't cook these vegetables?

Argh. Only a few more days. (I think.)

I. Am. Over. Being. Pregnant.

Why?

The novelty is gone. Yeah, it was cute when BDR started moving around and kicking and stuff. Now, though, when she moves it's more likely than not to kind of hurt a lot, especially now that her little bottom's buried up in my ribcage.

Sudden lack of ability to breath. There's the fetal-induced crushing of my lungs, and also this delightful chest cold KJ brought home with him. It's amazing: I spend hours upon hours with little kids who are dripping in funky green snot and coughing without covering their mouths, and Kevin's the one who brings all sickness into our house. What's wrong with those Stanford students?

Location of stomach and liver on breastbone. Result: indigestion and pain.

Exhaustion. Which would be OK, if I weren't in such denial about it.

Ininterestedness in food of most kinds, including ice cream. In part due to indigestion and exhaustion, but also because, really, where's it going to go? My stomach's so jammed up, it's probably the size of a pea.

Inability to carry stuff. I checked out dozen books at the library and was unable to carry them to my car. I had to sit down and catch my breath. I felt really defeated.

The problem is, I've suddenly become more pregnant. I didn't realize it happened so quickly, but on Tuesday Kevin took a look at me and said, "man, you're a lot more pregnant today." And he was right.

Before this week, people would ask, "when's the baby due?" and I'd say, "early May," and they'd say, "wow, you don't look that pregnant.


This week, when people ask, their reply is, "really? You look like you're going to burst!"

Then, I think of all of the stuff we haven't exactly done for BDR yet, like set up the crib or buy a car seat.

Then, I work on knitting a superfluous cardigan for her.

birth class, day 4 (now with more rantiness)

I want to preface this post by saying that we in no way were hoping to make friends in our birth class. If it happened, that would be cool, but really, we just wanted to know how to pop BDR out when the time was right. (That's not entirely true; mostly, we wanted to know when the time was right to pop out BDR as to avoid delivering her on the side of the highway.)

Last night, we began talking about pain medications during the birthing process. We were given a chart (Clarifying Your Feelings About Pain and Medications in Childbirth), and told to place ourselves on the +10 to -10 point scale.

Click on image to view larger size.

The chart actually is pretty hilarious, as +10 means "I want to be numb and receive anesthesia before labor begins," and -10 means "I do not want medications, even for a cesarean delivery." The chart helpfully points out that these are "impossible extremes."

Anyway, I selected -5: "I really don't want to use pain medications so that I can avoid the side effects to my baby, my labor, and myself. I will accept them, though, if labor is complicated or very long." It summed up my attitude pretty much exactly, in that I would prefer to not use pain medication, but if I'm looking at 36 hours of labor, it might be nice to take a nap.

Kevin, for his own reasons (mostly because I'd already selected -5), opted for -7: "I really want to have a natural birth for personal gratification along with the benefits to my baby and my labor. I will be disappointed if I use pain medications."

I was honestly surprised when we were the lowest on the scale. I had imagined that someone else would select a -5; I had no idea that many women were up at +7: "I want anesthesia as early in labor as my healthcare professional will allow, preferably before labor becomes painful."

Really, if that's your attitude, it's not clear to me why you're taking a birthing class. Why not just schedule a c-section and get it over with?

Anyway, on our drive home, Kevin and I had the following conversation:

Kevin: I don't think the teacher hates us any longer.*
Amy: Really?
Kevin: Yeah, I think she liked the questions we asked.
Amy: That's good.
Kevin: Do you ever get the sense that the rest of the birth class hates us?
Amy: Hmm. I don't think they care enough to hate. I think they just don't know what to make of us.
Kevin: Yeah, I guess.
*Up until yesterday's class, we both really believed the birthing teacher hated us, despite my employ of every suck-up-to-the-instructor technique I know, including furious head nodding and keeping off-topic questions to myself.

Often, Kevin and I wonder what it would have been like to take a birth class back in Chapel Hill/Carrboro rather than in Palo Alto. We both suspect it would be...if not "better," then at least more "our speed."

It turns out our birth class is very representative of the overall demographic of this area. That is: it's YuppieTown. I mean seriously, hard-core YuppieTown. Which means that KJ and I stand out rather obviously from the other seven couples in the class, if not in appearance, but by some of the things we say and do.

For example: we're the only ones who don't know the sex of our baby. Apparently, Yuppies cannot abide by this, as they don't know what color to paint their nursery.

Speaking of nurseries, Yuppies have to consolidate their two home offices into one when the baby arrives. The would never consider having an infant in a small one-bedroom condo and tucking the baby into the dining alcove. They might consider referring us to Child Protective Services if they caught wind of our plans.

Yuppies are very concerned that they have finished their registries at Pottery Barn Kids (and the like). Also, they are very much flustered when the stroller that they have to have is out of stock, because every other Yuppie family on the Peninsula is buying the same one.

And, most relevant to last night's topic, Yuppies don't see any reason why they ought to experience any pain or discomfort in childbirth at all. As one Yup put it, "I won't feel any closer to my baby if it hurts a lot to get him out." Fair enough, but still...

Every class we're learning something. Sometimes, it's about childbirth.