baby got wheels

and mama need drugs. Serious, fast acting, anxiety reducing drugs. My cat's on one happy little pill that leaves him staring at the bedspread in awe and makes him sleep 23 hours a day....but I'm thinking that wouldn't be very healthy for the wee bambino.

Today, I decided to do it already. Buy baby things. We've done okay with the nursery- the crib a gift from J's mom, the dresser and bedding too sweet of deals to pass up. The kid is clothed- thanks to my mom, he's got so many duds that we'll have to change him four times a day to sport each outfit once. But for some perplexing reason, buying any of the necessity type items lining the walls of our local Babies R Us scares the dickens outta me. (What the hell are the dickens, anyway?) I've been carrying an intimidating list around in my wallet for months- stroller, carseat, pack n play, swing, bouncy seat, baby gates, changing pad, on and on and on. But each time I visited BRU, I emerged empty handed and a little anxious. I'd usually bolt next door to Petsmart and stock up on doggy bones and cat toys to bring my blood pressure back to normal. At least there I'm legitimate- have pets, need stuff. I don't know what it is about the baby things that makes me feel so....illegitamite. Or maybe I do. Deep inside, I think I'm SCARED TO DEATH that I'll stock our home with all these colorful, perplexing items, and never end up needing them after all. The result of twice believing I was having a baby, and twice winding up comatose, depressed, and empty in my bed. But this third time is different, I know in my heart it is, have been blessed with an underlying, deep in my heart feeling of confidence about pregnancy #3 since before it even happened. We're 17 weeks past our latest point of loss. All tests have come back with beautiful results. Baby boy is strong, evident in his simutaneous chops to my bladder and my ribs. People beam at my belly in public, cheery in their approval of my reproductive skills and ginormous uterus. Dr. S is confident as ever while explaining the baby-cooking schedule from here to D-Day. We are, he says, as safe as we'll ever be.

And since my nightmares of late have all been of lack of preparation, like bringing a baby home and realizing he's got no diapers, or being released from the hospital and not having a carseat, or scrummaging through my kitchen cabinets in search of a bottle, coming up with just a turkey baster and a wine glass....I know I need to get on the ball. The days-to-baby countdown is in the 80s. And since my fairy godmother won't be rolling up with a carriage full of gear, and I'd prefer not to be waddling from one end of town to the other, sweating in the heat of September with my belly sticking 4 feet out, wishing I'd been on the ball sooner and avoided that kind of stress on my cankles....it's go time.

So I did it. I marched into BRU, and drove off 15 minutes later with a car seat. I came home and ordered baby's stroller. But I didn't get that "new mommy rush" that I hear other girls talk about, nor did I feel my usual sense of shopping euphoria over a big new purchase. No "yay, this is so fun, I'm buying these pretty things for my pretty baby!" I got a panic attack. One that left me short of breath, scared at my bold assumptiveness that we'll really need these things. Boo. I deserve the excitement just like everyone else, damnit.

But here, for the sake of normalcy, is my pretty baby's pretty wheels. The stroller I've been eyeing for 15 months, the stroller I finally have every reason in the world to purchase. And with any luck, when the UPS guy shows up with it, I'll act like a normal person and rip it open with abandon. Maybe even push the cats around the house in it, telling them what pretty pretty kitties they are in their pretty pretty stroller, take a photo or two....you know, because super normal people do super normal things like that.

**EDIT** Stroller purchase was cancelled. Avoid tinyride.com at all costs, because they're shady money stealin' mofos. So.....never mind. We'll still get a BumbleRide, but J decided he wants the 3 wheel Indie instead. Stay tuned.

i...

I found this on a blog.....seemed a good way to stay awake and waste some time as I await J's arrival home.

i am: fighting to keep my eyes open
i think: people who dislike animals are sad inside
i know: very little about babies
i want: a thunderstorm, every night...and green grass as a result
i have: quite possibly the nicest, kindest husband in the world
i wish: it were September and our baby was an "outside baby"
i hate: people who smoke in my presence unapologetically
i miss: my mom. and my dad. and my sister and brother. and wine.
i fear: so many things that it can be exhausting
i feel: awkward loading my eco-friendly cloth grocery bags into my SUV
i hear: the TV
i smell: like vanilla
i crave: steak with pink in the middle
i search: for my chapstick every day
i wonder: what really did happen to poor Jon Benet
i regret: very little in my life...if anything at all
i ache: for those two tiny souls
i care: too much sometimes about other people's feelings
i always: think of my Grandma Rita when I eat green beans
i am not: really blonde
i believe: prental yoga will keep me sane these next 12 weeks
i dance: like a white girl
i sing: off key, horribly, as little as possible
i cry: whenever I want to
i don't always: brush my teeth for as long as I should
i fight: stubbornly
i write: on my blog for my own amusement
i never: go without a seatbelt
i stole: kitty litter that was "hiding" under my cart. Oops.
i listen: to Hanson without shame
i need: to hear that J loves me every day, because it makes me feel whole
i am happy about: the obvious

28 week appointment

My 28 week appointment was this morning. I'm feeling like a "big girl"- literally and figuratively. These are "real" appointments- ones where we talk about fun things like cervix checks and glucose levels and childbirthing classes and circumcision decisions- all very fascinating topics for a girl who in not so distant days, wondered if she'd ever pass the 1st trimester. My belly measures right on, my once alarmingly rapid weight gain (alarming to me...okay with the doctor) has slowed to a more steady, "What To Expect When You're Expecting" approved rate, and all looks to be going very well.

Baby boy is doing his thing, and doing it in the over-achiever style you'd expect from the spawn of J and M: he's big! While I'm at 27 weeks, 3 days, he's measuring at a whopping 29+ weeks, 2lb14oz or so. Dr. S guesstimated, based on his million catrillion pregnancies served, a baby measuring in at this size at this point will be a "nice 8 pound plus baby". "NICE"? Yes, healthy is good, thriving babies are fantastic, and if he needs to be 12 pounds like my grandmother's first (who she swears gestated for 43.5 weeks), we'll deal with that. But an 8 pound baby out of my teeny tiny little lady town....YIKES! Again I say, bless you, sweet drugs. How I love you already, and we have yet to meet. (I was talking to the epidural there....but the sentiment applies much more appropriately to our sweet baby boy, of course.)

not so sweet dreams

Aaaahhh...sleep. My old friend. Where have you gone? Between the pee trips, the restless cats, my snoring spouse, the pee trips, my 140 degree body temperature (despite the AC chugging away to keep us at 68 degrees), the pee trips, the leg cramps that rip me from dreamland on a more and more frequent basis, and most recently the crazy dreams....I miss sleep. Yeah, yeah, yeah- I know. Sleep will remain a distant memory for many months and years to come. But the disturbing dreams of late are really getting old. Last night, two in particular stuck in my mind this morning. Some quick internet research proved that my most recent dreams are quite telling....that one about giving birth to a kitten, I'll just leave untouched. I don't care to know. And I've got ultrasound pictures, about 80 of them, to prove there is no kitten in my uterus.

Dream 1: I'm sitting in my dining room, staring out the window, watching a low flying Northwest Airlines plane fly right at the house. It appears to be about to fly over just overtop our roof, when it jerks toward the ground and into our house. It explodes, we explode, gray dust everywhere as I scream for J.....game over. I wake up drenched in sweat clenching my pillow like a life preserver, and turn my lamp on for a moment to make sure we're not actually exploded. And poke J to make sure he's alive. He is, and he's also not impressed by the lamp. Or the poke.

You are “flying high” and whatever happens can reflect wishes/anxieties/progress regarding your life or professional progress, possibly your ability to “rise above it all” risk-taking abilities/attitudes. An accident suggests the perils of pursuing a particular goal or route, possibly a fall in self esteem or confidence. Hmm...the "perils of pursuing a particular goal" could make sense. As does "flying high"- life is good, all is well, but the low flying plane probably uncovers my thinly veiled fear and feeling that we're never "in the clear". God, what IS it with me and all these airplanes? You'd think I had a thing for pilots! Oh...wait....

Dream 2: I'm on Mopac. For those outside of the Austin metro area, Mopac is a highway running north and south. However, I'm lost on a very unfamiliar stretch of EAST Mopac. "East and west?" I repeat over and over in my dream. All I'm passing are storage units and strip clubs. That's it, one after the other. I finally spy a church and pull into the lot, where I proceed to ask for directions, but they're all telling me I'm nuts, and there is no East Mopac. They're also worshipping in the parking lot, and most are dressed in head bandanas and baggy pants- not dressed like the church people I know. The dream continues with me driving back and forth and back and forth, never finding that South Mopac sign I'm so desperately seeking, just sobbing in my car. I jerk awake again, roll over and feel for J beside me, and mumble something to him about how much I hate that stupid Mopac. Then I get up and pee. For the 18th time since my puffy little head hit the pillow just 6 hours before.

Dreams of being lost express anxiety in waking life. You may feel that the path to your goals lacks direction or that you don't know which way to turn in a situation. According to some dream experts, being lost symbolizes fear and anxiety about leaving the familiar behind when moving on to a new phase. (Bingo!)

final approach

Remember months back, when I was sad and frustrated, when I talked about feeling like we were stuck on the layover from hell? Well, at risk of being a total corn-ball- as of today, we're on our final approach for landing! I can see our destination from here!

I AM IN THE THIRD TRIMESTER. The trimester that ends with a baby. The trimester that brings with it waddling, childbirth class, frantic nesting, and perhaps (though I hope not) a temporary second chin. 27 weeks today and damn happy to be here. I've noticed while chatting with other new 3rd-tri-ers that this is usually when the panic sets in. The "ohmygod, I actually have to get this thing OUT" fears creep in and begin to taunt, keeping mommies-to-be awake in their beds at night long after the rest of the house is fast asleep, heartburn and leg cramps as their uncomfortable companions. Call me crazy, but I'm not scared. (ME- not scared of pain! The girl who cried getting shots, for whom a skinned knee was a catastrophic infliction, who nearly failed junior high phys ed for her refusal to play dodge ball- it huuuurts!) I was telling J the other day that I just don't have that fear. I think it's because I've explored the hellacious depths of emotional pain to such an extent that physical pain seems temporary, a small price to pay to finally, finally, finally achieve our ultimate goal. Physical pain heals. Physical pain responds to drugs (and oh yes, there will be drugs, much to my yoga instructor's chagrin). Physical pain comes in one big long burst, then fizzles, wears off in the weeks that follow. Emotional pain, on the other hand, lingers. It carves a space in the back of your mind and the front of your heart, it festers, it mocks you at inopportune moments. It scars in ways far uglier than a stretch mark or blemish. My emotional wounds, while easier to manage at this point, won't go away. There are still tears. A song on the radio. An ultrasound photo found wedged between medical records. A photo of me, grinning on my 26th birthday, secure and confident. Meeting a new mom in the return line at Home Depot and asking how old her baby was, realizing when she answered "7 months" that the baby was born when our first should have been, forcing me to smile tightly and pretend to be totally engrossed in the caribeener I was returning, probably leaving the mother to wonder what, exactly, I had against 7 month old babies. As much as I dislike it, as ungracious as I felt for thinking it, the old thoughts crept in- "why is she here with her baby, while I'm still waiting?" I'm fully convinced that 20 years from now, when something or someone recalls the memory of our first baby, or our Grover, or as I open the green memory box that I'll always treasure- I will cry. Whereas if you ask me about the bodily harm I'll incur welcoming baby Cinco to the world...I'll wax poetic and think it really wasn't so bad. I'll look upon the scars and feel they're honorable. I'll probably have even signed up to do it again (and again?) All that to say...I'm not scared to do this birth thang! I'm still scared of the unknown, still panicky in baby's quieter moments, still worried about this or that coming between me and motherhood...but facing one of humankind's most painful experiences in 90-some days? Not so scary. Disclaimer: I fully reserve the right to eat my words at a later date. Say, 39 weeks or so.


What does strike a bit of fear in my heart these days is the weather. We've still got 15 minutes or so left of spring, and we're already 1/4 of the way to beating a heat record in Austin. A record set in 1920. Something like 12 days thus far with the mercury rising into triple digits. It's so hot that the air conditioning can't quite keep up, and I've just taken to wearing as little clothing as possible in those scorching late afternoon hours. I've also ordered some new blinds for the remaining uncovered windows...the neighbors simply don't need to see that much of me.

Anyway, here's to a smooth approach and landing! And dinner with J, who by some miracle of sweet baby Jesus, is HOME before 9pm!

Under 100

I never thought I'd utter these words as a reference to this pregnancy: but time, it is a'flying! As of today, I'm 98 days from my due date. 98. Something about seeing a two digit number standing between us and this baby is very, very exciting. I'm 26 weeks, the 3rd tri begins this week, and everything appears to be trucking right along. I'm looking big, and feeling great. Baby is very active in there most days. His kicks get stronger each week and my new favorite hobby is staring at my bare belly, watching as he pokes and prods and bounces beneath my skin.

The trip was fun filled and action packed. And tiring. And cankle-inducing. In a nutshell: watched as baby brother graduated, cried with realization that our little Binky Boy is off to do his own thing and make his own way, celebrated said graduation, flew to CA with mom and my sister, ate a whole lot of bacon, lettuce, and avocado sandwiches at our favorite cafe, spent countless hours taking in the sun and the totally vacation-esque view from the deck, flew back, did laundry, repacked, hit the road for ND, hung out on the farm, hit the road again, met up with friends and remembered just how lovely my friends are and how much I miss them, rejoined the family for the beautiful wedding festivities of my beautiful cousin/sister, played DD for a very rowdy group of margarita enthusiasts twice my age one night and my grandparents (YES- my grandparents) the next, drove through hellacious thunderstorms back to WI, spent a day crying into my Taco John's potato oles about leaving and never returning to Madison, endured not one but two cancelled flights, rebooked on a 5am flight and boarded looking crustier than crusty has ever looked....and at long last....returned home to (the very summery) Austin.

And what a welcome home. In good ways and not so fun ways. The good: Well, first and foremost, seeing J and the pets! Funny how you don't realize how you miss people (pets are people too) until you see them again. And the even good-er: J and his dad started the nursery and blew me away with their efforts. Gone is the allergy-inducing carpet....replaced with beautiful cherry wood floors. The walls are a most gorgeous shade of blue and there's an airplane rug chosen by J, all by himself, that brought tears to my tired eyes. The man truly outdid himself. Not that I didn't already know this, but he is going to be one HELL of a daddy. The not so good: I broke an unspoken rule between Ralph (my emotionally unstable cat) and myself (a rule I don't remember agreeing to) and left him alone for a week or two too long. His recourse? Urine. Stinky, potent kitty pee in the least convenient of places. My Pottery Barn sofa, atop dear husband during the middle of the night, my brand new silk drapery, and as a grand finale, inside my adorable pink luggage. To the vet we went, his diagnosis: emotional instability. The vet believes, in essence, Ralph is showing me what's up. "You ditch me lady? I ruin your shit." I'm sure he'll be thrilled when a tiny, screaming, demanding new "pet" joins the household in 98 (+/-) days. As we work through his "issues", he's on anxiety medication. His affect in his medicated state is not unlike that of stoner friends I had in college: "duuuude....where the eff am I?" Did I mention the dog also needs a root canal? If they keep this up, we'll be pushing baby in our rusty wheelbarrow instead of that $500 stroller I was all set to buy this week. Damn, that's not going to look good.

In other news, my mom-mobile is on its way to me next week! Out with the ginormous SUV and its correspondingly ginormous gas bill. In with a smaller, more functional SUV that I'm very excited to haul baby around in. And actually be able to park downtown without causing a traffic jam and/or lots of needless anxiety.

I'll close with a few photos...

The nursery begins:

The bump at 24 weeks:
With the bride: