Third Time is the Charm

I never know how to approach blogging about our attempts at advanced procreation. It is a sensitive matter, and this blog is, sadly, not terribly private. I very much want to blog about the things going on in my life - this blog is my record, my diary, my manner of keeping in touch with friends all over the world, and since we had Pequita, one of the only references that help me remember a huge amount of what goes on in my life. Mommy-brain, indeed. But with the attempt at a third kid? Mostly I don't want to talk about this issue in real life unless I bring it up.

The few people IRL [in real life vs. online, Mom] I've told about our plans to try for a third have almost to the one been aghast, surprised, they've burst into laughter, told me I was crazy, told me to definitely not go through with it. I hear a lot of, "Oh my god, you can have mine! He's acting up so much lately!" Hardy har har. It all feels negative. This means that sadly, most of my IRL friends won't hear any news about this until after I successfully pass an amnio. This means I'll be a bit lonely in the process, which means my desire to blog is all the stronger. I guess I'm a little thin skinned about this. Mostly, I want to point out to everyone with an asshat response that I'm not the bloody first person to try for/ have a third kid. I have wanted this for decades; I know it will be hard/ nuts/ crazy-making. I nonetheless reserve the right to mourn a bit if I fail at this attempt and also to whine a bit about how awful some of it is should we be so lucky to succeed.

I have been trying to talk myself out of wanting a third kid since I delivered Monito; there are a lot of reasons not to, but just as many good reasons to go ahead and give it a go. I really feel that I was born for this. I am good at it. We already have an embarrassment of riches - two of the most beautiful, clever, athletic children ever. If we stop with that, my life will be rich. If we are lucky enough to have a third? My lifetime dreams will be coming true.

I am doing an unmedicated FET cycle, and I will be transferring two 5-day thawed blasts on Saturday morning with a 1O% chance of successfull pregnancy. We'll have to bring the kids to the appointment since we can't get a trusted person to sit with them at the ass-crack of dawn. I've had no meds until now, and since ovulation I'm doing the low-dose aspirin, PIO [progesterone in oil] injection routine until transfer; after that we'll keep an eye on my levels and deal with any issues as they come.

Tonight Homestead Mama went to bed early with a bad stomach ache, which hopefully won't manifest into Monito's bug. I was unable to convince her to give me my PIO shot before she collapsed, so I had to [gulp] give it to myself. Large bore needle. Viscous oily med. Thank goddess for my ample behind - the needle is most of the length of my thumb. Ouch.

Already With the Complaining

We fetched the new car this morning. It is a lovely thing. I am most excited about the air conditioning, since both kids have decided that they hate wind now and my old 18 year old Volvo is hot and stuffy even with the windows down. Homestead Mama's favorite thing is the Fabric Coverage Plan. She is still cackling about them selling it to us with TWO TODDLERS right there with us in the showroom. All I can think is that I had used bibs for breakfast and they looked angelic and clean. For the seemingly low price of $300, for the next 5 years they'll come to our house and try to remove the stain every time Monito unscrews his sippy full of cranberry juice and dumps it down the back of the drivers seat in a fit if pique that Mommy won't stop at the ice cream stand. Or let's envision Pequita leaving some crayons on the seat as we park in the direct sun. Or say I have an uncharacteristically clumsy moment and slosh my coffee as I drive, drink coffee and answer a text on my phone while simultaneously fishing Monito's excavator off the floor of the car. If these Elves of house-call cleaning can't return our upholstery to like-new condition, we take it back to the dealer for a new seat cover or carpet. I'm actually a little excited about this too. I did bring up the MSDS and toxicity and potential off gassing of chemicals used to treat the stains to a crowd of black stares. Homestead Mama was undeterred as well. Spotless car, here we come. I do have fantasies of waiting 4.9 years and then calling them in, but we'll see how much I want to work the system.

I must say I HATE HATE HATE the big key. I love a low profile keyring; part of it is that I don't like a big bulge in my pants pocket, but the other part? If I lose it [which I always do] I have to pay $300 for a new one. I usually just make a handful of nice streamlined copy keys and leave one in the car, one I send to my mom - she always keeps my keys - and a pile in the house. This prima donna car won't start without the chip inside the bulky black housing; my nice cheap copy keys will get me in the door but won't start the engine. This really chaps my hide.

This picture is of the offending key was taken against the crumpled paper table cover at my REs office upon which I had just scooted up my naked butt and gotten the ultrasound wand treatment to check out my innards. I had a little extra time between the nurse drawing blood, the other nurse giving me the ultrasound, the insurance specialist coming in to go over my coverage, and the doc coming in at the end to give me a hug, say welcome back and let me coo about the existing babies. All is in order for a cycle of unmedicated FET whenever I want. I say bring it on.

Holy Leap of Faith, Batman

I just made an appointment with my RE (reproductive endocrinologist) (IVF doc) to talk about having a third kid. Homestead Mama and I are still having discussions about whether or not we will actually do it. Our decision really is up in the air, but I'm a planner and a realist. If we do decide to leap off that cliff I'll want to leap as soon as possible, and the first available appointment is over a month away. We can always cancel.

For those of you who didn't live through the conception of the first two, I believe much of it is in past posts. It took us about 4 years and the cost of an ivy league college education to get Pequita. H-mama had some distinct infertility issues, and IVF was the only way for her to conceive. I ended up on the IVF train because we felt very strongly that our kids share a donor - ours is anonymous - and be related by blood since we wanted to use eggs from each of us. Midway through H-Mama's string of unfortunate infertility I started to try to get pregnant the old fashioned way (for lesbians, this means spending $500-700 a month on sperm and having a nurse escort the swimmers past my cervix with a sterile catheter.) We quickly realized our anonymous donor had stopped donating and someone had bought up almost 40 vials of sperm in a couple months, leaving only a few remaining. IVF has significantly better success rates than the old fashioned way, so the decision was simple (which is different than easy).

Once I started IVF it took 3 cycles for me to succeed with Monito. The first live cycle we transferred 3 embryos and it was a BFN (big fat negative). The second live cycle (3 transferred) resulted in two implanted embryos (yay) that I miscarried at 9 weeks (boo). Their due date was 3 months after Pequita's (who we still didn't think would be viable (crush our souls with miscarriage 4 times, shame on you. Crush our souls 5 times, shame on us.). Think/ judge what you want, the timing might have been challenging but we were pretty excited. Third live cycle (3 transferred) was the charm, producing Monito. So from the 3 cycles I did I banked 9 frozen 5-day blasts in pretty good shape and from my 37 year old ovaries. We also have 3 vials of frozen sperm left. Even with me turning 40 shortly (ahem) that should be enough for a good go at another kid who is related by blood to the existing two. IF we agree to go ahead and try. I must say that as I study and witness all the trauma and shell shock my friends and sister suffer through as they manage a toddler and an infant, I am looking hard for reasons not to have a third. I remain undaunted. I can DO hard. I can survive with little sleep. I can see the gifts that are my children even as I plop my son down in time out for biting his sister. Whatever. I suppose it might be obvious which side of the discussion I fall on.

Pardon the following slight non sequitor, but I can't help worry about possible multiples whenever considering fertility tx (treatments):

I must say, after watching closely the interviews with the octuplet mom, I have a hard time not judging her for only two decisions: not being willing to selectively reduce her HOM (high order multiples) for the health of her babies and her existing family, and for supremely poor judgment in selecting the surgeon who performed her lip implants. (I don't accept her line about not having had surgery. I grew many things while pregnant aside from a baby- bigger hips, skin tags, a wart (?) And an unhealthy love for Klondike bars, but not a new set of lips.)

A Year Ago

My blog friend and frequent commenter Becca is pregnant with her second kid, and is reveling in the connection the two kids have even though one is still in utero. I totally get it. Here is a picture of Pequita at seven months old resting on my eight month along belly. Please note the large lopsided lump on the left side of my belly - that would be Monito trying to play with his sister from the other side. It was really wild to have him respond to her in that way, and it happened increasingly as he grew inside me.

Now, he follows her around like a puppy getting all in her business and wanting whatever she has. She pretends to hate it, but whenever she sits down somewhere she pats the seat next to her and says, "Bubba!". When she is put in her car seat before him, she points to his seat and yells, "Bubba! Bubba!" until he is placed in his seat too. She looks out for him all the time, saving some of her food for him and reserving one nipple always for him. She'll steal some milk from it, but smiles because it has been designated as Bubba's and she's getting extra. This is one of the best parts of having them so close.

Bloody Hormones

Literally. I haven't had a period since September 3rd, 2006. Today it reared its ugly head. I'm still breastfeeding (more than ever, actually, thanks to a beefy boy in a growth spurt) and wasn't expecting to see the resurgence of a menstrual cycle for months yet. Damn, damn, damn.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

I may have whined about the post-natal hair loss. If so, forgive me. However, here is proof that the issue exists. Vanity is a bitch.

2006:

2007: It may be longish, but you can see my scalp through it at any point on my head. It better grow back in, and still be curly. BUT the boy is worth being bald for, if I must. Gack.

List Friday #1

Top 5 Postpartum Changes

5. Sleeplessness. That insomnia that has plagued you for your whole life (except for coming in handy for a few years during college) is now a handy tool that you can use to manage your busy hands-on parenting life on only 3 hours of sleep a night.

4. Broken thermostat. You are cold a lot of the time due to vitamin and hormonal fluctuations. Except when your milk is coming in; then you have 300 degree mounds of flesh stuck to your chest. Like a nice big hot flash. Once it is colder I'm sure I'll look forward to this.

3. Soft heart. Really - you cannot hear or read about child abuse or neglect cases without tearing up and wanting to adopt every needy child. This really gets in the way of reading the newspaper. Luckily CNN is still an option, as they just keep updating the Britney story and even though she lost custody of her kids, I'm pretty sure you don't have to worry about them.

2. Hair loss. Your hair falls out, thinning over your whole head in an alarming fashion. All of a sudden. Allegedly, it grows back in. I'll let you know if my hormonal tonsure fills in. Thank god it is hat season.

1. Postpartum aphasia. At 38 and 42 years old, I think that since we waited so long to be parents that we'll never get our minds right, shifting right from this fatigue & over stimulation mindfuck into pre-menopause memory loss. At least we have lots of bibs for when we become drooling idiots.

10-20-2007 Edited to add:

#6. Preternatural hearing. You will develop the ability to hear a soft silicone pacifier drop two inches from the baby's mouth to the mattress from 50 paces away. I am still waiting to develop the skills to ignore the ensuing cries of protest.

Conceiving Monito

One year ago yesterday, September 26th, I was lying on an operating table in my RE's office (IVF doc, for those of you who are blissfully ignorant) getting pregnant with Monito. Below are the notes I made in the Excel spreadsheet I kept of my medical activity. (Yes, yes, I know. Closer to obsessive than organized. But we had a lot going on - Homestead Mama was 8 months pregnant, for example - and I don't like to relinquish control of important things. I had one for Homestead Mama, too, one worksheet for each month's activity. Big file. )

"9/26/06. Transfer day. 8 of 10 embryos retrieved were excellent. Xferred 3 best ones. Froze 5, tossed 2."

Sounds a bit cavalier in the re-reading, but keep in mind we had been trying to conceive in one way or another for four years and the magic had kind of gone out of the process. Granted, conceiving a baby is not about sex for lesbians, it is always about a process apart from that. Sure, it is intimate, important, and ends up being a physical process, but all the heavy mindf*ck that infertile straight couples have to deal with, the performance anxiety, the sex on the clock, etc. is something that we are not burdened with. Our intimacy might get totally messed up all on its own because of the stress, physical failures, whatever, but sex doesn't become a command performance. Getting pregnant doesn't start with a nice dinner and candlelight, it starts by selecting a cryobank and reviewing hundreds of donor profiles. Oh, and it involves a credit card or three.

Anyway, I was still not believing that H-Mama would actually deliver a live baby. I was convinced I would miscarry again. And looky! We got this: Looks like he's saying, "Hey, pretty mama. Come here often?" doesn't it? He is so tall that now that he is just strong enough to be comfortable holding his own (large) head up for long enough to enjoy the neglectosaucer he already needs to be bumped up to the next setting.

Arrival

For the 4 years Homestead Mama and I were trying to conceive babies, I kept busy in many ways, but mostly I knit. Through the failed efforts, the non-starter months, the miscarriages we each suffered through, the myriad baby showers for other women, and all the waiting, I made baby hats, baby sweaters, and anything small and quick to keep busy.

And now look. We have arrived. Here is Pequita, light of our lives, in one of the hats I made in an outpouring of grief and hopelessness after my miscarriage in June of last year. Seeing her in it is joyous, but also a little bittersweet. Infertility is something that I have integrated, not gotten over.

Full Access

I read all my comments. I love it when those of you who read make yourselves known (hint hint).

My lovely friend from the UK left this comment on the last post:

"I need some clarification. Your DAD was present during your labor?!? Your parents are amazing!!"

I must concur. They are amazing. When Homestead Mama went into labor, we were able to wait until the sensible hour of 6 am to call my parents so they could get on the road and make the six hour drive to be present for the delivery. They stayed a week after Pequita was born; H-Mama's father came to visit the weekend after they left. Her mom came to visit when Pequita was 3 months old. When I went into labor, we called them at 11:30 pm and they drove through the night, poor souls.

My dad was the photographer when Homestead Mama gave birth to Pequita, and also when I gave birth to Monito. When I say he had all access, I mean ALL ACCESS. We charged him with taking photos of everything, figuring we'd edit as needed after the fact. Well, Dad took his job very seriously (as we knew he would) and he has left us with a photojournalist-styled series of shots from both births. He even took audio recordings and short movies so we could have clips of us laboring, with all the vocalizations, swearing, and laughing that went on, and some of the discussions with the doc about major decisions, like should we move to c-sections. People are universally surprised, if not a tad horrified, that Homestead Mama let her father-outlaw in the delivery room with her all naked, bloody, distracted and out of sorts taking closeup action shots of her lady parts. (Truth be told, in the throes of labor they don't resemble the normal bits all that much. Also, while there is much dignity, there is precious little modesty in labor. Trust me.) People are only slightly less horrified that I had him perform the same function at my delivery. We are grateful to him, and pleased to have a personal record of the events. I don't imagine that we'll ever show most of the photos to anyone else, but WE have them. I intend to use them to illustrate the birth stories that we are writing. And based on my own love of hearing the story of my own birth while I was growing up, H-Mama and I will be videotaping ourselves relating the story of each of our kids' births to add to the memory boxes. I think it will be meaningful for the kids as they get older. We get so mushy and lovey and make moon eyes at each other when we reminisce, and have photos of the IVF clinic doc & nurses, we saved a plastic vial that contained the "donor sample" from the inseminations, each and every ultrasound pictures or movie, the amnio video and results, the hospital name bracelets from the delivery, and assorted other artifacts. Homestead Mama's family was very bad at keeping memorabilia - we have NO photographs of her younger than one year old as her mom lost them at some point. She feels this as a great loss of her personal history. I came from the exact opposite environment, and loved having the record of coming into existence. So from two different beginnings, we are united in our desire to keep a full history for each child.

With all this text about the pictures, here are a couple that embody the spirit of my labor and bring it all rushing back. The difference between these two faces/moods could be as little as 2 minutes. Forgive the black-out spots - there are some images of myself that I NEVER want to see reproduced on the web in their entirety.

A Very Big Day

A quick post, while everyone naps on Sunday afternoon.

Saturday, Hottie Friend came and picked up Pequita around 8 am to pal around the Farmer's Market together so the rest of us could sleep in. She dropped off a tired and hungry baby around noon - I was in the shower so didn't get the play-by-play, but perhaps some pictures, HF?

I set off with Homestead Mama, my parents and the babes around 1 pm for a friends birthday party for her 3 sons, twins age 10 and the other 8 years old. We spent 3 hours at their house enjoying the cool summer day. There were screaming children running around all sugared up on cake and playing with new birthday toys, adults sipping beer and chatting on the lawn, and later on fishing in the pond and skeet shooting. (I told you we lived in a rural area.) Pequita spent the afternoon attached to Homestead Mama, and I spent my time with an 8-day-old barnacle stuck to my chest nursing. Just as H-Mama and I were ready for a nap, we all got in our car and headed off for a city about an hour away to go to the zoo - I slept the whole way there. The fertility clinic that we used to get our babies was having their 10th anniversary, and had rented out a local zoo for all its clients, past and present. I know there were over 2500 RSVPs, and when we arrived (about 20 minutes after the scheduled start) the place was already packed with children of all ages, hundreds of minivans in the parking lot and more strollers (single, double & triple) than I've ever seen in one place. The RE (reproductive endocrinologist) Doc who owns the practice is a whiz at marketing, and I'm sure the press was there and that it was a tax write-off. Regardless, it was quite an amazing time - the staff we had grown to know and appreciate over the past 4 years were there milling about, and the Doc spent the entire 4 hours that the zoo stayed open for the event at the end of a line that resembled the line to see Santa at Christmastime at the mall. We enjoyed the catered hot dogs and hamburgers, decided to stroll the zoo and come back to shake hands with the Doc later to avoid the line. He'd met Pequita, but we wanted to introduce him to Monito. So stroll the zoo we did. Pequita is old enough to really enjoy animals which are obvious to her - the petting zoo parts were her favorite. We patted an elephant and some goats, and saw tigers, penguins and many other animals. Grandma and Grandpa posed for a picture with the unhappiest penguin on the face of creation.

The highlight for Pequita was riding atop Grandpa for most of the trek around the zoo.

It was perhaps too much for me 8 days post-C-section, carrying the nursing baby the whole time. I was exhausted and sore by the end of the day, but we had a really great time. Upon returning to the zoo entrance, we found the good Doc still at the end of a huge line of grateful families all waiting to get their picture taken with him, and show off the kids he helped them have. We decided to skip it entirely and go visit the office in the next 2 weeks while Homestead Mama is still on parental leave. I have some expensive meds to donate to them anyway - they give them to patients with no insurance who need help affording the IVF process, and my account gets credited. This will help with storage costs for the embryos we still have in the cryo-tank; we'll be hanging on to them for a while longer until the dust settles with our family and we are certain we don't want more kids.

Needless to say, we all slept in on Sunday morning.

Saturday update

I am doing well, as is Monito. We are still ensconced in the hospital, where it is comfy, the bed is electric, people fetch me things that I need and there is 24 hour nursing and lactation consulting. I could have gone home yesterday, physically; I had passed all the recovery criteria for C-sections. However, Homestead Mama regrets having left the hospital early after delivering Pequita and encouraged me to stay the extra couple days. I have really enjoyed having some quiet time to get to know Monito all by ourselves. He is so tiny and so strong, and me being able figure out his cycles and how to soothe him before we go home will make all our lives easier. Also, my hormones are doing exactly what they are supposed to and rendering me a puddle of emotion. I am not really fit for the real world right now.

So much is going on and changing, both physically and emotionally, I want very much to blog it all. Soon as I can, I will.

This is definitely it.

We are managing to doze a bit between contractions. Sitting up in a padded rocker is the only comfy way I can rest, and I have to pace slowly to make it through the contractions - absolutely NO leaning, laying, sitting on the yoga ball, etc. I am hoping to make it to 7am when Mom should arrive to care for Pequita - so far Homestead Mama has been able to nurse her back to sleep when she stirs. Thank goodness we have the baby we have. She should sleep til the troops get here.

This might be it.

contractions about 7 minutes apart and extremely, stop-me-in-my tracks painful. Mucus all day, and bloody show a half hour ago. Homestead Mama called my parents and told them to get on the road - I'd love to have them arrive just as Pequita awakes and we have to leave for the hospital (assuming I can wait that long.)

We're finishing the bag packing in between contractions (and blogging, clearly). Also, I did what anyone would do - I showered and blow dried my hair while I still can. Oy, this hurts.

Incoming!

I was chatting with my mom this morning, catching up and commiserating about the discomfort I'm in and the heat wave that is here for the next week (ok, it is only mid-80s & muggy, but that is all it takes to elevate me to truly miserable.) We live about 6 hours apart, and I wish it was closer, especially now. The closer I get to delivery - and good christ, how much closer can I get? - the more I would like her around. It is harder and harder to handle Pequita these days - if I get a contraction while holding her it is scorching in my nether bits, and some good grandparent time would be lovely. Mom talked to Dad, and they decided to come tomorrow to stay for a while, through the deliver and a bit past it. I am a little worried that I'll go overdue by the max and they'll be bored, but I suppose that isn't entirely likely. My Dad will watch CNN and C-span at top volume and overhaul my computer system, as well as keeping me company with the ice cream consumption. Mom will play with Pequita and help with cooking - yum! Life will get better shortly. I can't wait. I'm already getting the guest room ready.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done

With work, that is. I'm having ever increasing and sharper pains in my nether bits & abdomen, and this combined with averaging only about 3 hours of sleep per night have rendered me low-functioning at work. I cried "Uncle" with my OB. He was fine with me stopping work at this point in the pregnancy. I'll take it easy now, do a couple things each day and rest a lot. I have some sewing to do - we need another sling or two, Homestead Mama needs some pants hemmed, and I have a whole pile of fabric to turn into baby clothes. Maybe I'll be able to do this now. I also want to get the baby gates mounted at the top and bottom of the stairs so Pequita and her friends are better corralled, now that they are crawling.

This was hard decision, as I wanted to keep working as long as I can and it is hard to throw in the towel. To add insult to injury, I will be a bit housebound now as our 2001 Toyota needs a new engine (goodbye, $3000) due to a missed oil leak and a 100 mile per day commute by Homestead Mama. She's now driving my beloved 1991 Volvo wagon to and from work, and I'll be driving the Toyota (her car) as little as possible, mostly to get Pequita to and from daycare 2.5 miles away. The car makes a rather disturbing engine noise and according to my mechanic will die shortly. I can just see me at 9 months pregnant walking home with Pequita after the engine seizes. Harumph. I will leave the Best Stroller In the World in the trunk just in case.

Summer is here

Good christ, it is hot. Blech. I am using the power of positive imagery to get through this. In my mind, I am sashaying my sleek fecund form around town in my litte tank top and flowy skirt, my now long curly hair swinging in a pert cute way as I glow my way through the end of this pregnancy. A reality check would show that I am waddling around with my thin clothing clinging to my glistening ever-more rotund body, 'flowing' curls gently sticking to my face and neck as I schvitz in the heat. This body which had the coffee shop guy exclaim this morning, "Wow - you look ready to pop any second now!" and the used baby goods store proprietor offering to carry my purchases to my car for me. (I take in hand-me-downs that hit the gross trifecta - pink, frilly and floral - and exit with lovely orange clothes and dirt cheap baby-proofing devices for our house. Win-win for everyone.)

No news is good news to the OB. I saw the wife of the practice this morning, and all is well. Baby is clearly dropping, as I am finally measuring behind (I am almost 38 weeks along, and measuring only 36 weeks, which means about 2 weeks worth of baby growth is now lodged in my pelvis. Yahoo, I say.) The most significant change from last week is that peeing has become a directional event. I sit down and nothing happens. I have to twist, turn, shift, crouch, and jiggle until I find a position that allows my bladder to find a way to work around the human head blocking its way. Most interesting, and I'm sure I'd enjoy the humor if I didn't have to PEE. I walked out of the OBs office with a doctor's note stating that I am not allowed to work more than 4 hours per day (Yippee! and thanks to all who talked me through the decision to put myself before my job). She narrated as she wrote, "Homestead Mom is only allowed to work 4 hours per day from now until the end of her pregnancy, as the process of creating a human life is contra-indicated with working full time at this point." When I read the actual script I was a little sorry that it didn't really write it like that. I think it was totally accurate. I will now be napping in the early afternoon, and then working on the house, or taking walks with Pequita in the best stroller in the world, or riding the lawn mower over our acreage (hey - the vibrations might induce labor!) or - blessed be - lying on the couch watching BBC America reruns of gory mysteries (all of which seem to star Robson Green) with a tall glass of iced anything balanced on my belly. Damned luxurious, eh?

The homestead is clean - Homestead Mama and I were up til midnight last night getting it put to rights so I can relax and not dread going into labor in squalor. My mother says she'll tidy when she arrives, but she'll be taking care of Pequita, which is at this clingy stage a full-time job. I've gotten rid of so much superfluous crap that I think the dogs believe that we're moving again - they are annoyingly underfoot in case we make a break for it & leave them behind. They aren't stupid. I hope the garbage collectors have enough room in their truck for all our bags by the curb.

Life is good, my friends.

Dropping

I love this dropping belly phenomena so far - since it has started to drop I am so much more comfortable! I actually forget that I'm pregnant with some regularity, which is nice. I can breathe a bit more, I can finally eat - boy can I eat! - and am sleeping better. I expect that when Monito/a drops a little more I'll be engrossed in a whole new kind of discomfort & waddling, but not yet. The round ligament pain I've been having? I think I was wrong. I believe that it is cervical pain & cramping, which is great news, meaning progress is happening. Everyone describes contractions as being like period cramps, which mine aren't as all my non-pregnant cramping was in my lower back. The pains I have now are exactly like when I was dilated for assorted procedures on the road to pregnancy.

Monita/o has fallen in love even though still in utero. The object of affection? My bladder. S/he loves it and and squeezes it and probably calls it George. I just hope s/he's willing to leave it behind in a few weeks and transfer its affections to a nice stuffed animal. Oy.

35 weeks

I remember posting something about feeling sleek like a seal. While my belly continues to impress me, it is 45" diameter of taut flesh and sleek isn't exactly how I would currently describe myself. Here is a picture from 35 weeks. You can tell where my vanity lies when I tell you that I spent more time trying to photoshop out the pile of laundry behind me than to cover up my pink bits. It is a week later now, and the belly has dropped. There is a huge amount of pressure in my nether bits, and my bladder is being regularly poked and palpated by the baby. Quite cool, and more uncomfortable than I would have imagined, although it is so bizarre that it is easy to have a good sense of humor about it. Pequita is blooming in so many ways. She is verbalizing a lot, learning how to yell and whisper, and playing with her voice much of the time. She is particularly pleased with the call and response game - she makes a noise, we mimic it, and she chortles with pleasure. Her love for her tongue manifests in much spitting and long Bronx cheers. Delightful! She is also beginning to crawl, and can spin in circles and scoot short distances. She has started to pull herself up on our bodies and furniture. She is still wobbly, but her desire is so strong that she tries repeatedly until she succeeds. We have been holding off on offering her real food, relying on breastmilk and a little formula as needed. Today, we stopped for ice cream cones and she was so motivated by all the licking that she grabbed repeatedly. I touched my double scoop of black raspberry to her lips, and she was startled by the temperature, but sucked it off. After her trying to grab the whole cone and me pinning her arms to her sides, she enjoyed several more tastes. By the third or fourth, she had figured out that opening her mouth and sucking a little garnered her a better sample. She is a pro now. So many things in our evolving parenting style aren't what we expected - we have many more plastic toys than we intended, we watch TV with her in the room sometimes (volume very low, only while she is engrossed in her toys). Feeding her ice cream as her first food was never on the agenda, but here we are. Homestead Mama is inordinately proud of her. Tomorrow: bananas and rice cereal, like normal healthy people.

Sick and tired

I am due June 14th-ish. I keep thinking about how nice it will be to deliver on May 31, as it is the blue moon (second full moon of the month). Haha, what fun and all that jazz. I've joked about getting lots of exercise, eating spicy foods, making a little whoopee, etc to spur on labor at the end of May. I am not joking any longer. I ate some really spicy food that my SIL brought over last night, not to try to induce but just because I was hungry and I love Thai food. BIG mistake. I can no longer handle the spice - I have had the worst upset stomach since, am home from work today and go through waves of wanting to die. My intestines are so mushed by the baby that it takes me longer to digest anything, which is prolonging this experience.

I FORGOT that the reason spicy food induces labor is that it gives you stomach/intestinal distress, which releases hormones that mimic labor and can fool your body into getting started. I don't care if I deliver in July, I am NOT going to chance spicy food again.

On the plus side, taking the day off to be near my own bathroom has allowed me to sleep for many many hours, which is true bliss.