Ain't it Swell?

Well it finally happened.  I hit the point of my pregnancy where my feet have become big fleshy boxes.  I remember that last time they didn't really swell up until I was only a few weeks away from my due date and by then my legs, ankles and feet had become huge fused stumps.

I'm still about a month out before my due date so I wasn't expecting to see much swelling yet.  But lo and behold, I went to slip on my trusty Birkenstocks the other day and was sad to discover that they felt like they strangling my toes.  Fortunately the strap is easily adjustable so I could still wear them (for any other pregnant ladies or girls who deal with swelling feet out there reading this, I highly recommend Birkenstocks purely for that fact).

I was also more prepared this time because before the swelling set in I had done some research on the best shoes for pregnant women.  Not surprisingly, Birkenstocks were on that list, as well as the brand Vionic, which pride themselves on really supportive footbeds.  My sister was kind enough to get me the Birkenstocks as a gift last pregnancy and she sent me a gift card this time to use on another new pair of comfy shoes, which I used on the kinda-pricey Vionics.  So at least I have two pairs of shoes that I can rotate consistently.  (I'm also really tempted to splurge on a pair of Vionic slippers which look positively delicious for my feet - soft and squishy yet firm at the same time...ahhh...I would live in those at home...).

Aside from going bankrupt on an expensive maternity shoe wardrobe, perhaps the other biggest pain of having swollen feet is that you're not allowed to get foot rubs (which is all want!)  For my birthday Joe gave me a gift certificate for a prenatal massage which I finally got to use last week.  As I was filling out the paperwork the lady behind the counter mentioned that they were running a special on "massage enhancements".  I looked over the selection and immediately spotted the "hot towel foot rub".

Hmmm, I thought, I wonder if I could sneakily add that to my massage...

But, of course, as soon as she saw my choice she sympathetically shook her head.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, but we can't perform any kind of foot rub.  It can trigger early labor..."

Damn, I thought. Worth a shot.

She did offer to do a hand massage instead, which did feel awesome.  And my massage therapist still managed to sneak in at least a very gentle foot rub for me, so all in all, it was a success.  

But there was something that took me out of my relaxed mindset.

As the therapist was rubbing down my legs and onto my feet, I shifted my weight at the same time she moved her hand.  My bottom foot, with its unpedicured toes, went up and my big toenail snagged her sleeve.  She quickly apologized but I was the one who was mortified.  I laid there sweating through the chamomile and grapefruit lotion, trying to escape into the sounds of a plucking guitar and single piano notes, but feeling totally embarrassed.  

To be fair, it's really a challenge to be able to properly manicure your feet with a giant belly in your way.  And while I know I could've tried to get a pedicure before my massage, I was worried that the nail technicians would take one look at me and shove me back out the door. 

After that incident, I told myself that the next evening I had to myself I would finally give myself a proper pedicure.  I waited till Joe was out working late so that he didn't have to see me as I struggled to grab my foot and hold it down while I clipped and shaped my nails.  It took a little longer than usual but with a couple of big deep breaths and nearly breaking my ankles, I finally got my nails in proper order.  

The next task was painting them.  I'm not exactly the most precise nail polisher anyway, so I knew it was going to be difficult to paint on a nice even coat while trying to maneuver around my belly.  I was just about to start on my big toe when Joe came home. He noticed what I was doing and how much I was struggling.

"Oh no, do you need me to paint your toes?" he asked with a devilish grin.  I really didn't want to ask him but I didn't really see a choice.  I couldn't keep my feet straight and reach them with the polish at the same time.  I nodded weakly and much to my surprise he actually took the polish from me and began daintily painting my toes.  It was one of the cutest sights of my life - big, manly, tough Joe carefully applying a bright, sparkly hot pink color to my sausage toes.  I thought, wow, thats what love and a marriage should look like - someone doing something that you know makes them feel silly but they know it will make you feel cared for.

So even though my feet look like two small memory foam mattresses, I can at least smile whenever I look down at my now pretty pink toes. 

Strange Bedfellows

Sleep. 

The elusive.  The taunting.  The fickle.

I had forgotten what trying to sleep while pregnant felt like.  It's not just the aches and pains.  It's not just the stuffy nose.  It's not just the fear of crushing your poor baby as you launch your body into seven different positions.  

It's the combination of all of these things.

I don't remember having this hard of a time falling asleep last time I was pregnant.  Then again, last time I was pregnant, I was still jogging and feeling relatively good by the second trimester.  

This time around I feel even more lethargic, which you would think meant I would have no problem falling asleep.  Alas, this has not been the case.  If its not my hips bothering me, it would be my arms.  If it wasn't my back that felt twisted, it would be how hot I would get.  And always, always, always, I would have to get up to pee at least four times.

Since I couldn't really do anything about that last one, I thought maybe I could at least think of a way to make my body more comfortable lying down.  I tried stuffing pillows everywhere - between my knees, cradled behind my back, hugging one around belly.  But nothing seemed to help.  

My friends and coworkers kept asking if I tried a body pillow and many asked if I wanted to borrow theirs but I kept refusing because I figured it wouldn't do me any good.  I had already contorted myself so completely with pillows that I must've looked just like a pile of microfiber and limbs at night.  And besides, I worried about bringing in something that big into the bed (insert tasteless joke).

Finally, after one particularly agonizing night, I got up, rubbed my aching, burning hips, and decided it wasn't the pillow configuration.  It was the mattress.  After several years and one pregnancy already, our mattress has taken some punishment.  And while it is still comfortable in normal circumstances, it just wasn't measuring up to the task of holding up my big body a second time.  My friend Jen recommended a mattress topper with a thick foam base to help with giving me some extra support.  I did some research and found one that was highly rated and not too expensive.  The only hitch was that I had to unfurl the thing when it arrived and let it reinflate for 48 hours before I could use it.  So I had to keep walking by my guest room like an anxious baker, watching and waiting for cake to rise.

Finally it was time.  Joe and I hauled the big blue pad onto our mattress and put the mattress protector and fitted sheet over it.  For the first time in weeks I couldn't wait to hop into bed.  

Surprisingly, I didn't "hop" so much as "sunk".  

The first night was a little tricky.  We both found ourselves not exactly cradled, but more like enveloped in a thick sponge made of pudding.  Moving around or shifting took some effort.  I would flail my arms about to get enough momentum to haul myself off just to go to the bathroom every hour and half.  And the cooling gel that were supposed to keep your body at a comfortable temperature didn't seem to kick in as I was constantly kicking the covers away from even touching me.  I began to worry I made a mistake.

But I wasn't about to give up yet.  We took the mattress cover off the topper so that we could get the cooling effects more directly.  By the second night, I began to enjoy the feeling of being trapped in squishy comfort.  Whereas the mattress alone was rigid and indifferent, the mattress topper was inviting, almost aggressively so.  It was like a really clingy boyfriend who just wanted to hear about your day while rubbing your shoulders and wouldn't let you go, even to go to the bathroom.  It was nice, but it was still missing something.

Then a few days ago my friend Sylvan stopped by for a quick visit.  She had just had a beautiful baby of her own and I was so excited to meet her and to offer a little dish to take home for dinner.  But she also had things for me, including her big body pillow.  At first I was going to beg off from taking it, but then I thought, maybe this is the final key.  Maybe this is the last component I need to unlock a good night's sleep.

Well, its been a week, and I now have all three things that I need in my bed.  My firm, supportive mattress, my soft pushover mattress topper, and my sinewy, seductive body pillow that seems to go everywhere I need it to.  

Oh and Joe.  I have Joe, who is the best thing above all that I have in my bed :)

But sleep is no longer totally elusive.  In fact, as I write this, my mattress and topper cradling my back and bum, and the body pillow wrapped around my shoulders, sleep is inevitable.  Sometimes.....too inetiavle....um, I mean...invariable.........

Night night.

Pregnant in the Time of COVID

 

Well, in true "second-child" fashion, I have put off writing about this new baby until I'm more than halfway through the pregnancy.  But, I figure this will probably be the last time I will be pregnant so I would like to still chronicle some details so I have some basis of comparison from this pregnancy to my previous one.

So as not to bore with a ton of minute details, I'll simply remark on the milestone moments of this pregnancy.  Or at least the moments I can actually remember thus far.

I found out I was pregnant when the talk about COVID was just transitioning from a murmer to a shout.  My in-laws were coming for a visit at the conclusion of their Caribbean cruise and when I mentioned this at work, I was told I would have to quarantine for two weeks.  I went home with a sick feeling in my stomach.  Not because of my in-laws (they're honestly great and we get along really well), but I couldn't shake this funny feeling.  I couldn't tell if it was because I was nervous about having to fill two weeks of time at home or the fact that all the businesses around seemed to be shutting down and closing out of fear, or if it was something else...

I let it go for a few days but the nausea continued.  Sure enough, the pregnancy test turned out positive.  I was kind of in shock.  Not just with the idea of having a second baby, but with the idea of going through a pregnancy during a pandemic.  I wondered how many ways this pregnancy would differ from the last one.  

Turns out there are some definite differences.  For one, the nausea was waaaay worse this time around.  My poor mother-in-law would try to cook us dinner every night and most nights I was too sick to eat more than some oyster crackers and ginger ale.  Even now I still have a hard time brushing my teeth without triggering my gag reflex.

The second thing is the fatigue.  I'm sure I was plenty tired when I was pregnant with Joey but for some reason this time I feel even more logey.  I've come home from work on several occasions and after helping get Joey down, I will immediately pass out on the bed, the recliner, the sofa, the kitchen table....basically any steady and sturdy surface.

The third thing is just how lax I feel this time around, which isn't really a good thing for me.  When I was pregnant before I went to classes, read lots of books, asked for tons of advice, scoured reviews on baby products to put on my registry, etc.  For whatever reason this time I haven't felt the urge to bone up on birthing techniques or the best bottle brands.  I've been more like, "eh, I did this before.  I'll remember what to do."  I don't.  There are a lot of things I don't remember and that kind of freaks me out.  That is, until, I pass out again in my bowl of ice cream.

But those difference are pretty petty.  Probably the biggest difference is the fact that I was alone for most of my doctor's appointments.  And here is where the reality of the coronavirus threat has most significantly reared its ugly head.  

Early in my pregnancy, before I as sharing the news with most people, I had a scare.  I was at work when I noticed blood in my underwear.  I panicked and immediately expected the worst.  Joe picked me up and was trying to keep me calm the whole car ride to my doctor's office.  However, when we arrived and we were told that he wasn't allowed to come inside with me, I noticed his face finally turn worried too.  I sat in the office waiting while he paced nervously outside the building like a caged tiger.  Turns out everything was ok but having to go through those moments alone were rough.  And to continue to go to my appointments solo was still a drag, especially when I heard the heartbeat for the first time.  I know it would've meant a lot to Joe to be there for that, as I'm sure it is for all those soon-to-be dads out there.  

Fortunately, he was there with me when we found out it was going to be a girl.  We both whooped and screamed behind our masks, nearly giving the poor ultrasound technician a heart attack.

Since then, the biggest update has been how active she has become.  I was worried at first because I wasn't feeling much movement.  The doctor and nurses would ask and when I said I wasn't feeling anything yet I worried that meant something was wrong.  But they assured me I'd feel her soon.  And soon enough, I did.  Now I feel her all the time and sometimes she really gives a good wallop, even at night.  I keep wondering if this is a sign of what's to come with her personality...

Which brings us up to now.  I continue to go to most of my appointments alone, but I know it's not possible for Joe to be there for all of them.  But it is still strange to sit with a mask on for all my appointments.  And I've really felt the love at work, especially from my female coworkers who dote on me and ask how I'm doing.  Even some patrons have fussed over me which is nice, especially when I have to tell them their book is overdue or the movie they want is unavailable.  And to the patrons who are rude or mean, I feel the full angry force of my hormones as I imagine ways to torture and punish them.

I still have a few months to go and I have no idea what habit or craving might be waiting for me around the corner.  But as I scratch my itchy belly, excited to finish this post so I can get my cookies and milk, I'm sure it will be something worth writing about.

And Then There Was a Little One

Well, it’s been quite the journey through "Pregnancy Land".  I’ve officially ridden the main roller coaster known as Childbirth, whipping up and spiraling down through the laboring process, and gotten off on the other side of the park into "Mother World". 

I could detail the whole birth story, but it wouldn’t be terribly interesting.  The only purpose in retelling it would be for the preservation of the memory for my own sake, but that’s not what this blog is all about.

Instead, I’d like to retell a day that came a few days later.

The day I truly became a mother.

It was about a week after Joey was born and we had an appointment at the pediatrician’s office to finally get his circumcision done.  Though he was about to get snipped, I was the one who was a nervous wreck.  The poor kid had been poked and prodded when he was born and had just gotten over his jaundice, and now we were about to purposely inflict pain on our little baby boy.

The doctor came in and reassured us (mainly me) that the procedure was routine and quick and that he would be numbed up so he would feel very little pain.  Just as he was about to leave with him, he asked me a surprising question.

“Did you bring a blanket with you, by any chance?”

As a matter of fact, I did have one in the diaper bag.  I was about to hand it to him when he told me to wipe it on myself.

“Bathe yourself in it.  He loves you; you’re the food provider, so by wiping it with your scent it will give him comfort,” he explained as I began wiping myself with the blanket.  I was suddenly overwhelmed with this warm feeling of awesome responsibility and protectiveness.  I was the mom, the food-provider, and the comfort-giver.  It was my job to be there and to take care of this little human being.  That simple gesture of wiping myself with a baby blanket quickly became a symbol of this new role for me.

Just as he was about to leave with Joey and the me-soaked blanket, he mentioned we could sit outside the building if we felt too nervous waiting.  I told myself I wouldn’t leave the room, wanting to be around just in case he needed me. 

I was managing OK for a few minutes, but as soon as I began to hear Joey’s cry, I felt too sick to my stomach.  I had to get some air.  And probably cry, myself.

I went outside the building, cried a little to my mother over the phone and then pulled myself together to go back inside.

As I walked back in, the nurse at the reception desk informed me that the procedure was finished and that they were waiting for me.

Damnit, I cursed myself.  I should’ve been stronger and waited inside so I could’ve been there as soon as they were done.

When I walked in Joe was holding Joey, who was whining and screaming.  However, the doctor assured me again that everything went beautifully and that he was a little trooper throughout the whole process.  The only time he got angry was at the very beginning and very end.

“He looks great,” the pediatrician grinned.  I smiled wanly in return.

Back at home, I was still angry with myself for not being there.  It felt like I had failed my first “mom” mission.  I knew I was probably being too hard on myself, but I wanted so much to start practicing those parenting things and really start to feel out this whole “motherhood” experience.

Hours later as we were all lounging around the house, we began to smell that unmistakable stench of a dirty diaper.  Since we had to be extra careful with Joey’s tender nether region, a diaper change became a two-person task.  As we began to unwrap him from his swaddle and blankets, we began to realize the magnitude of this dirty diaper. 

When we finally uncovered him, Joey had pooped up and down his back, nearly leaking out.  We thought we had it under control until Joey began to flail furiously, staining his onesie.  I got a new outfit and we began stripping off his dirty clothes and redressing him.  With our attention elsewhere, and his diaper off, Joey suddenly released a stream of urine that arched onto the wall, the changing table, his face and his chest.  We were afraid to apply the wipe to his freshly snipped member, so we just laughed and waited for him to be done.  

As we scrambled to wipe him off, a hot spray of poop popped out of his butt, nearly catching me in the face but instead just getting my arm.  I squealed in horror and laughter as I ran to clean it off.  Finally, when he was all cleaned up, we all relaxed.  Unfortunately, Joey specifically relaxed his throat and spewed up undigested milk all over his face and fresh clothes.  We stood back, shocked and amazed at how this little person just demonstrated the wrath of his bodily fluids, but we also laughed hysterically at the ridiculousness of it all.

As I went to the sink, washing off the combination of urine, poop, and vomit on my hands and arms, I became enveloped in that same feeling of inclusion and importance I felt when I wiped myself with the baby blanket.  I felt like this was the official baptism of motherhood.  It wasn’t the birthing process that made me a mother, nor was I less of one by not being in the room right after Joey’s circumcision.  It was moments like these that made me feel like a mother.  The ability to get your hands dirty (literally) and always striving to be there for your kid are what make you a parent.  Sometimes you might miss it, sometimes you might get the brunt of it, but remembering to keep trying is the most important thing.

And for the next few days, Joe and I became like mechanics at the Indianapolis speedway when it came to diaper changes.

A-Cute Craving

One of the most common things I’ve been asked while pregnant has been about cravings.

“Any weird cravings?”

“You wanted anything unusual to eat?”

Or,

“Any aversions to anything?”

I don’t mind these questions myself because they were always my own go-to questions when I would encounter a pregnant woman.  And to be honest, it IS interesting to think that there are odd flavor combinations that you would suddenly, out of nowhere, kill for.

If I could sum up my cravings, I would simply say “junk”.  I have eaten so many chips, pretzels, and crackers with sugary sodas and juices.  I have wanted birthday cake, cupcakes, snack cakes, pancakes, icing, ice cream, cream pies, and brownies.  I could polish off two different dinners without much trouble.  It’s disgusting; at least, it would be for the non-expectant person.

Now I was never 100% health conscious before I got pregnant, but I was able to keep my junk food in check.  Have a brownie but drink it with milk or water, I'd tell myself, or drink the soda but have no other sweets.  And make sure to jog extra long to make up for it.

The fact that I wanted Spaghettios and onion rings one day about nine months ago, two things that I don’t even like, I figured I needed to buy a pregnancy test.

And then weeks later, when I was given the good news and free range to eat whatever I wanted (so long as it didn’t violate the pregnancy list of no-no’s and I made sure to keep it balanced with actually healthy things) I got a craving for something I hadn’t had since I was in middle school- pizza topped with French fries.  And it had to be the wide, steak fry variety.  For some reason, the mix of hearty potato and crispy coating amidst gooey cheese and tomato sauce brought me back to pizza parties at the local pizzeria in our town.  God love Joe for trying to recreate it for me with the pizza place near us.  It wasn’t exactly the same, but close enough.

After that, my cravings pretty much stayed on anything deep-fried, smothered in cheese, or covered in chocolate.  No other weird cravings hit.

Until tonight.

Joe and I were texting back and forth about what to do for dinner tonight, a common volley of suggestions and vetoes.  As it was back to my turn to launch a suggestion, I tried to search my Rolodex of food items to see what hit on a craving button.  I looked down at my swollen ankles and doughy feet as I contemplated.

“God, I don’t know what I want to eat but I am going home and flinging these feet up in the air to get the fluid down.  So whatever I have for dinner will have to be handheld,” I thought as I wiggled my feet in midair to loosen the swelling. 

It was then that two foods began to emerge through my clouded mind.  Pizza.  Specifically, I wanted pizza from Oceanport Pizza, the pizzeria in the next town over from my hometown.  I could probably count on both hands the number of times I’ve eaten there, and the last time was probably over a decade ago.  But there it was, fresh on my mind and tongue.  Because it was just slightly unreasonable to expect Joe to fly a pie in from Jersey by tonight, and because we JUST had pizza the night before, I let my mind settle on something other than pizza. 

So what was the second craving?  Something crispy and cheesy as well.  A quesadilla!  It fit the bill: something hand-held, and something…triangular.  Why triangular?  I thought about it for a second and reasoned I wanted something that I could easily bite into even while laying on my back.  

Joe was waiting for my suggestion and without thinking I just texted back.

“I want something triangular.”

I didn’t get a response until I got home.

“Triangular, huh?” Joe asked, bemused.

I tried to explain my logic and reasoning, but instead he just smirked and picked up his phone to post about my odd request on Facebook.  Then we set to decide on what “triangular” food we should get.  In the end, quesadillas won the night and I happily feasted on my cheesy triangles.

Who says cravings have to be based on flavor?  Cravings can take any form…even triangular ones.

Soooo how about you?  Any weird cravings??

1 Month

1 Month.

4 Weeks.

30 days.

And if my math is correct, 720 hours.

That’s it.  That is how much time I have left before this human being that has been encased by my skin and organs, that has only existed in pops and bumps and heartbeats, and that has only been realized by the limits of my imagination, will go from abstract to concrete. 

Barring his insistence on coming early or late, and let’s face it, if he takes on any traits of mine, I’m sure my tardiness will be a dominant gene.

Of course, I’m excited.  I’m excited to see what features of mine he inherits, if he uses his hands a lot like Joe, or if exhibits the same habits of someone completely randomly like our siblings or grandparents.  I’m excited for the birthdays and Christmases, the bike rides, the school plays, the little league games, and all that other stuff that you typically see on a children’s vitamins commercial.

But how do I get from here, where the basic requirement is to keep this thing alive, to there?  Panicking probably doesn’t help, yet I can’t help it.  There still seems to be so much to do, so much I haven’t anticipated or prepared for. 

Panicking doesn’t even cover it, actually.

To give you a small glimpse into understanding why I am so freaked out, let me run down my To Do list (granted, you’ll no doubt think some of these things are unimportant or not even necessary, but they are still things on my mind).

1.) Clean baby’s room. 

Take out everything that still sits in there to bring in a heavy vacuum cleaner and dust the ceiling fan.

2.) Get crib. 

Joe’s coworker has a crib we could just have, but until we physically have it ready and in the baby’s room, it’s still going to be weighing on me.

3.) Get changing table. 

We are going to see if we can get one this Saturday at a few consignment shops, but again…until it’s here and ready to go, it’s still something to think about.

4.) Get bassinet. 

Some people swear by them while others tell me they are unnecessary.  We do need a place to put him down to sleep every night but I think I might have a solution in-house that wouldn’t require the use of a laundry basket or dresser drawer.

5.) Get organized. 

Once the furniture is purchased and assembled, I need to get the whole room organized with diapers, wipes, lotions, extra sheets and blankets, clothes, and anything else.  And speaking of clothes…

6.) Wash baby clothes. 

Not all of them, because I have no idea how big he will be at birth or even how long he will be any size.  And I’ll want to return any excess I have.  Yet, I want to make sure he has actual clothes to leave the house in, plus back-ups in case of projectile bodily fluids.

7.) Wash, well, everything.

Bottles, sheets, towels, toys and anything else that baby will physically touch.  And while we’re at it, just clean and sterilize every room in the house.

8.) Decorate baby's room.

I was so jealous as I sat in my last Prepared Childbirth class listening to all the other couples talk about their adorable themed nurseries.  I especially wanted to slap the ones that were “all done and just waiting for the baby now!”  Seriously?  These are the people that would ask for extra credit assignments.  At the end of the school day.  Right before summer vacation.

9.) Install the car seat.

Yep, still need to do that.

10.) Meet with the pediatrician.

Joe has done his part in finding a good pediatrician, but I’d still like to schedule a time to actually meet the man who’s going to be my mental stabilizer when I’m running on 45 minutes of sleep and freaking out that the baby sounds weird when he’s swallowing.

Not to mention…

Pack the hospital bag.  Download song playlists for when I’m in labor (and afterwards).  Pick out the outfit I’ll take the baby home in.  Buy a baby monitor.  Finish up my baby preparedness classes.  Look up freelance writing and other work-from-home jobs.  Prepare and freeze some meals.  Decorate the house for the holidays.  Get a pedicure.  Buy nursing pads, bras, and shirts. 

And a partridge in a freaking pear tree.

So yeah, I’ve got just a few things on my mind.  But here’s where you (yes, you reading this) can help.

Which of these things are important?  Which are not?  Which do you wish you did that you didn’t?  What were your most basic essentials when you first welcomed home that little bundle of love?  Give me some advice (and piece of mind).