And a baby came out! {Landon's Birth Story}

The subject of this story is currently in his little hospital bassinet/pod/thing, making adorable sounds and waving his arms around like he did so much in utero. He's always happiest in someone's arms, so he's sacrificing for a cause right now. However, after being fed every hour this morning, changed, and then worshiped by two adoring parents, little Landon is in no danger of feeling unloved.

Yes, Landon. Landon Edward Maurer, according to all documentation and #landonedward if you happen to be following my instagram obsession.

Landon's due date was February 3rd, and despite every bit of knowledge that assured me a due date is simply a guesstimate in a 4-5 week span, we felt sad and disappointed that he had not made his appearance.  It was more than just typical 9 month exhaustion  and aches (for me) and eagerness to meet his firstborn (for Stephen) that had us staring wistfully at the calendar. Uncle Sam had called and Stephen was needed elsewhere and soon, so soon that it cut into the timeline that medical professionals and mothers usually use while waiting for baby to appear au natural. I didn't write a birth plan, but if I had, I would've written two main points: I wanted us all alive and us all to be there. With that second crucial point in jeopardy, my body dilated to a 1, and Landon sitting surprisingly high, my doctor and I talked induction.

We made tentative plans for a charming notion called cervical ripening via a small pill called Cytotek. This procedure would first occur late Wednesday night (February 5th), then again early Thursday morning (February 6th), and then I would begin Pitocin Thursday morning around the start of business hours. Those plans being made, I told everyone that my induction was scheduled for Thursday morning--provided Labor and Delivery wasn't too busy--and that we should meet Landon by the weekend.

Stephen was gone for his usual fourteen hour work day on Wednesday, and arrived home at 5 PM tired, sleepy, and with a head full of work. We decided that he would drive me the 45 minute to the hospital, help me get settled in, then go home for a full night's sleep, since the actual induction wouldn't be until the morning. Plus, someone had just handed him some last minute things to do.  But as Google and most women will tell you, inductions take a while...

We got to Labor and Delivery just before 8:30 PM on Wednesday, February 5th. The nurses were relaxed, and it took them forever to even find a vein to start an IV. The delivery room looked more like a darling hotel room, complete with a couch and shutters on the window, and golden, relaxed lighting. Stephen decided to stay the night with me, then run back to the apartment and base in the morning.

At 10:30 PM, I was given the first dose of Cytotek, showed the difference between baby's heart rate graph and my contraction graph, and learned that the annoying back cramps I'd had occasionally for around a week, and all day that day,  were actually mild contractions. Mild, unhelpful contractions.

We settled in, Stephen's frame crunched up on a supremely narrow couch, and my aching, nine month pregnant body on a hospital bed that couldn't be comfortable. Still, we were together, and the menstrual cramp-like ache in my back now had a name.

At 1:45 AM, my attention was rudely jerked away from browsing Reddit, as a sharp, intense pain filled my back and uterus, and I felt decidedly unromantic pop out liquid burst from me spontaneously.

Um,  ow. That hurt. Was that a real contraction? And did my water just break?

I waddled to the bathroom, confirmed that the liquid was not the contents of my bladder, and decided that I wanted my dull cramps back. A nurse came in, officially confirmed what I suspected, reminded me that things would get more intense, and asked if I wanted to wake Stephen. I didn't. It was not even 2 AM, he'd been asleep for an hour and awake for 22 hours before that. We had a long day (and night, at least) ahead of anyways, or so I thought.

15 minutes later, Stephen was woken up to the sound of my moaning, as sharp, angry contractions grabbed my back at a seemingly rapid pace. I felt simultaneously uncomfortable and annoyed that I was already in so much discomfort at barely a 2 dilation and the start of labor.

The next hour was a hellish one. The frontal contraction I'd experienced when my water broken is still the only experience I've had with non-back labor. Lying down, sitting, squatting, standing and swaying--every position still brought forth acute agony as my body sprinted into labor and my lower back became a living nightmare. My contractions were a minute apart and thirty seconds long, giving me exactly thirty seconds to recover before my body was plunged into the abyss again. It was the type of raw, brutal labor only Pitocin is supposed to bring, and I found myself dying mentally as my brain mocked me for being in such pain, and still dilated at a 2.

I went through all the painful cliches that are supposed to happen at transition--swearing, vomiting, nearly blacking out, freaking out, begging for it to stop--all the while assuming that this pain was only the beginning of a day-long marathon. It'd always been my plan to have an epidural, so the nurse called for that doctor once my 30 second recovery periods were taken up by vomiting. It took longer than necessary to start the epidural, mostly because I was afraid of sitting down during a contraction. Thankfully, the L&D nurse used her strictest voice, told me to sit, grabbed my hands, and forcing me to look into her safe, brown eyes, breathed with me. Once my brain accepted that sitting would actually bring relief--and not countless more hours of untold pain--I managed to be a decent breather. The relief from the epidural felt almost instant, and as my body slowly became able to tolerate the constant contractions, the nurses told me what I'd experienced wasn't normal.

• It wasn't normal to have constant contractions a minute apart, focused in the back, and only be dilated at 2
• It wasn't normal for labor to start that intensely and get to that level of worse in a matter of minutes
• And it was certainly not normal for labor that intense to start from one dose of the cervix ripening pill Cytotek. 

I had been no where near Pitocin, yet I'd been in Pitocin  misery and was well into labor. 

The next 3.5 hours were blissful, as my body felt more comfortable than it had in months. I gazed dreamily at Stephen, and wished he could experience the wonder of an epidural, too. My body started progressing, now that I could do fun things such as breathe, and my blood pressure rushed down the 50 points it had earlier climbed. The nurses came in every half an hour to change my position in bed, which seemed odd to me, but I was too comfortable to care. They gave me a shot to slow my contractions down, since they were still slamming my body every minute, but my uterus had other plans. Whenever a new person would come in the room, he/she would invariably ask "Pitocin?" and be greeted with an incredulous "no, just cervix ripening."

Just before 7 AM, the nurse checked me and told me that I was almost at a 5 and complimented me on my ability to still lift myself with my legs.

Then my OB came in...

While the epidural had blessedly taken away my body's ability to feel the minute-by-minute contractions, and had relaxed my body enough for it to progress, the rate of the contractions hadn't slowed. Landon was getting slammed by too strong-contractions, while my cervix progressed at a slower (and more reasonable) rate. He also wasn't dropping to where he needed to be, although no one was sure why. My doctor explained that, if I had actually gotten to the induction stage with Pitocin, it would be a simple matter of easing up on the amount of Pit. But I hadn't. My body had taken the warm up medicine and proceeded to try and run a marathon with it.

And of course, there was oxygen deprivation. While Landon was still healthy, his heart rate kept dipping lower than it should and he kept getting bursts of time without oxygen. My OB was very gentle, and not wanting a precipitous C-section, checked me twice more within 45 minutes, hoping that my dilation would move up to an 8. However, it didn't.

I quickly texted my mom and mother in law, who were on their way, that I might be in surgery by the time they actually arrived at the hospital. My mom, like any mother, was instantly worried about a her daughter getting a surprise C-section, but after hearing how oddly my labor was going, was assured that no one was forcing an necessary procedure. 

By the start of 8:00 AM, I was prepped and in the OR. 12 hours before, I'd assumed that would be when I'd begin Pitocin and the labor process--NOT when I'd be neatly cut open so that my baby could enter the world. The medical team was fantastic, as the OBs were gentle, kind folks, the anesthesiologist was a hilarious kindred spirit, and the nurses happy to be assisting in an urgent C-section, rather than an emergency. Plus, everyone wanted to see how my odd labor would end, and if the baby who wouldn't drop was actually huge or just stubborn.

I had the requisite operating room chills and shivers--much preferable to intense back labor in my opinion. The anesthesiologist chatted the entire time, and I drifted comfortably from listening to her stories to paying attention to the random tugging going around in my abdomen. Stephen was just pulling the camera out to prep it for Landon's birth when...he saw his son emerge. We'd been warned that he might not cry right away, so I was surprised when I heard his sweet grunts, informing the world that it really was too cold for his pink skin.

The OR was filled with...

"He's so pink!"

"Finally, a cute one!"

"Aww, look at that hair!"

"His head is huge! No wonder he didn't fit!"

And other accolades, as Landon began his first moments on earth. His official birth time was charted at 8:20 AM in the morning, ten hours after I had been given one, tiny pill. He arrived delightfully pink, surprisingly alert, a short, round 8lbs, 2 oz, and 19.5 inches, and dark hair crowned his massive 37 centimeter head, that he had been dutifully been trying to descend through my pelvis, only at a slight angle. I was delighted that I hadn't inadvertently grown a 10 pound baby, and that it really was a matter of the predicted large Maurer head and a bad angle.  Landon scored an impressive 9.9 on his APGAR, the missing .10 "because C-sections never get 10s" or something. 

He was bundled up and placed in a delighted Stephen's arms, and then brought over to my head and shoulders--while my torso was being masterfully stitched up. While I was gazing in awe at my newborn son, I was complimented on my "young, tight muscles", and Stephen actually got to record the event, something that I had forbidden with a vaginal birth. 

Happy--because I had my husband beside me, my baby in my arms, and muscles in my belly

"I'm in love."

It's been 48 hours since Landon's birth, and they have been beautiful hours. I've been recovering faster than even my lovely, optimistic doctors , and was just cleared to leave tomorrow morning since they're playing it safe. 

Landon has had none of the problems people often associate with inductions/epidurals/ and c-sections. He is absurdly healthy, alert, has a ridiculously strong latch (owie), and we are working hard to welcome my milk in!

Stephen has taken the role of daddy seamlessly, balancing work, baby worship, and wife doting beautifully.

Our little family now numbers three and we are so, so, so happy.

This morning we indulged in drooling over our baby, and he is already a spoiled prince, ready to receive homage.

I don't know why God chose to bless us with this darling. We certainly don't deserve him, but how we do adore him. 

Today I know this: I have been extraordinarily blessed by God. I have an amazing husband that got to be with me at the birth of our darling son, despite crazy extenuating circumstances. I had a short, accelerated, partially unexplained labor that lead to a fantastic c-section and recovery. I am blessed. 

Note: at the eleventh hour, Uncle Sam changed his mind, causing father, mother, and child to not be separated for months and months only a few days post birth. So I ended up with a baby, an awesome c-section scar, and a husband at home. 

40 Weeks Pregnant [Things that should not exist]

{I changed the name of the blog. Porque? Mostly because I have commitment issues and a little because it better exemplifies what this year will bring.}


They say that 40 years of age is the big 40.  I'm pretty sure "they" are a group of balding, dumpy men, though. Most women look fantastic at forty years of age. No, the big 40 is forty weeks pregnant. Also known as a billion years plus a rhino pregnant.

There's just no way to look graceful at 40 weeks. I pulled it off until 37. I still was getting lots of "you're so cute" and "wow, how are you three weeks from your due date" at my baby shower at 36 weeks and 5 days. But something about these last three weeks of pregnancy has done absurd things to me. I get the she's going to have the baby RIGHT HERE looks if I dare go out. It's true. I totally could have the baby right there. Except, he's more than delighted to chill in his Susie-based incubator.

And I totally get it, babycakes. It's warm, dark, and cozy in there. You get to bounce around and poke me, and listen to fun booming sounds as your daddy games. It makes perfect sense.

Only, I can't sleep anymore because you're so huge. If I try to walk at a reasonable pace, I look absurd. I get so hungry sometimes that I start crying like a toddler because, irrationally, nothing looks good. So pretty please, babycakes, can you come out soon?

I'm really not sure where else on my sturdy 5'3 frame I'm supposed to put you. Suggestions?

I know it's not summer and fruit season, but I'm pretty sure I need to have this conversation with people:

On the bright side, my maternity jeans finally fit! It only took nine months and two hearty cycles of dryer shrinking to get them to not fall down!  Hurray!  Of course, I have a fantastic jogging stroller, and I just found my Jillian Michaels DVD, so the new fit will be rather short lived. 

I know you're an erudite baby, already, and are aware that babies often get to live in their mommies for an extra two weeks. Unfortunately, dear child, you do not get that privilege. Uncle Sam has us on a tight timeline, so you need to make your presence known and soon. Otherwise, I get to go through the "I" word (induction) just to fetch you in time. 

So, out, out, out, my child. 

I'd threaten to ground you for a thousand years, but I think grounding is the most absurd of punishments. Practicing correct Latin noun declension? Perhaps.

But truly, get out, baby. I want to write your birth story.

My baby shower: life affirmed

My baby shower was....

Smiling faces.

Gentle hugs.

Genuine laughter.

Delicious, adorable cupcakes.

Yummy candy. 

An elated grandma to be (actually, two).

A not-too-swollen-pregnant lady.

A beautiful refurbished schoolhouse on a dairy.

And so much love. 

My baby shower was wonderful, joyous, perfection found on earth. It was hosted by my mom, who rose to the occasion of party planner, and banded together with my sister and some friends for a stellar occasion.

Baby's name is not to be released on the interwebz until his birth, so "baby boy" labels abounded.

I gave the (absurd--sorry) stipulation of a teal, gray, and yellow color scheme. Evidently there's dozens of shades of teal. Still, everything melded together beautifully.

My mom took some awesome shots with camera. Of food, of decor, of my sweet childhood friends, of women who have watched me grow up. Unfortunately, those amazing pictures will probably stay on her camera for a while, due to dial up internet, and the literal journey it takes to upload them.

So my three iphone--then instagrammed--pics must suffice..

(Sorry for the double of me: note the awesome colors)

It was cute, without being cutesie. Creative, without screaming I'M FROM PINTEREST

Perfection

When baby man is a few months old, and truly thinks the world revolves around him: you can blame his aunties (and not pictured: uncles and grandparents). 

One of my favorite parts was 

The cupcakes--they have bowties!!

Made and designed by the fabulous lady who did the groom's cake at our wedding, the cupcakes satisfied my pregnant palette and all other palettes there. 

I didn't catch a picture of my darling mother--I stopped at the cupcakes--but she was such an amazing part of the event. Her devotional was simple, sweet, and poignant, and I felt absolutely overwhelmed with love.

I was so blessed by each person attending, and since I didn't write a guest list, it was a fun surprise watching people walk in. As an extrovert, my love language has so much to do with people's time and attention, and so obviously, I was in my element. 

There's something about being enmeshed with love, in a room filled with people validating a baby, life, and the reality of motherhood that turned my baby shower into a lifelong memory. 

From my "second mothers" who told me I looked adorable--not almost 37 weeks, to one who affirmed my birth location, to the young mother who shared with me the trials and joys of first motherhood, to the friends my age who are rejoicing with me--and staying my friend through it all--to my sweet sisters, mom, and mother in law...thank you all. (Run on sentence? Try marathon.)

Thank you all. Our little family was so blessed by you all today, and by your presence and love (and emotional presence for those who wanted to come but couldn't) you affirmed the tiny life growing in me. And while every child deserves that, not every child gets such a celebration. So thank you. 

Pregnancy Confessions: 36 weeks and breathing

I was going to delay writing this post until my baby shower, but my need to over-share took over, so here it is.

Pregnancy Confessions: I can breathe and he is huge 

What does 36 weeks on Susie look like?

This.

Pregnant musings

Weeks 33 and 34 were not fun. We were really busy at work, and I didn't drink enough water, so I turned into a bloated water balloon. Therefore, all pictures of me at Christmastide also resemble a body of water. I felt sick. I looked sick. I wanted everything to end. Thankfully, the holiday retail season ended, a slower pace emerged, I drank more water (it's weight loss magic, people), and maternity leave began January 6th. 

Drinks that magical substance, water

At 35 weeks, the man child was living in my ribs. That was exceedingly uncomfortable. I couldn't bend. I couldn't breathe. His kicks made my long hair bounce. It was ridiculous. 

Then one day I woke up, and I realized I could breathe. I found a space between my chest and my bump. I looked a little more....human. And felt a whole lot better. It does hurt to walk more than before, but now that I'm not working, I'll probably think everything hurts less. 

Breathing inspired me to do more great things, and when I read a blog post about a someone who'd cut her own hair successfully, I just had to try. A few snips later, my hair was several inches shorter, and the curls much perkier. (See above picture for verification.)  I'd like to thank pregnancy hormones for growing my hair out to an annoying length and for giving me the moxie to cut that length off. 

I want to point out that high, front-loading washing machines do not work for short, pregnant women. Just a fyi. 

Maternity wear

Now that I'm on maternity leave, I can fully embrace my pregnancy uniform of yoga pants, leggings, long tops, boots, maxi skirts, chunky necklaces, and flip flops. (Yes, the US is freezing, and I'm wearing flip flops. That's why they call us the Golden State.)

The last few weeks of finagling  my very not-maternity-whatsoever dress pants around my burgeoning belly were...difficult, at best.  I stubbornly refused to buy maternity work pants, thinking I'd save money that way. Of course, now I utterly hate those pants, so I'll be buying new ones when I go back to work anyways.

Synopsis: non-maternity waist lines are cruel. The end. 

Cravings

Apples, of the large, luscious variety sold by warehouse stores such as Sam's Club. I'm not sure why I didn't give into the craving earlier, since they satiate a sweet tooth and are reasonably healthy. So, if baby man is like his Aunt Birdie and requests apples for his birthday--your own bag of fruit is like gold in a big family--it is entirely my fault. Entirely.

And green olives. We have a few jars of gourmet ones that Stephen got for Christmas, but I can't find the open jar. It's really quite torturous. 

I also read far too many posts on r/babybumps, and I'm not sure how quitting that habit post-baby's arrival will go down. Probably painfully and with many tears. 

Learning

I have various files open on my computer right now for my Creative Writing seminar, and I'm planning (well, will be) my attack plan for my remaining few classes. Blessedly, my *dear professor, I'm having a child in a few weeks* emails went extremely well. Perks of a Christian university, perhaps?

What others say

The lovely Haley of Carrots for Michelmas wrote this post about being pregnant with ex-utero children, something that, admittedly, has been worrying me lately. Per her usual, she is sweet, brilliant, and introspective. I loved it and needed it. 

Habits

I need to stop registry stalking. It's a horrible habit I picked up from our wedding, and it's manifesting itself in crazy form now.

I need to start  nesting, since he's going to be here soon, but my nesting instinct is still at an attractive nil. 

I read some unpublished blog drafts from my first trimester--they were hysterical. I strongly recommend writing those disjointed, exhausted thoughts down in the first few weeks. They eventually prove to be comic gold. 

How big is baby?

I have two pregnancy apps on my phone. One places him at a low six pounds and the other at a high six pounds. I assume he's somewhere in the middle.  Speaking of that, I should probably quit being stubborn and call my doctor's office back, so we can talk logistics on my rescheduled appointment. 

Now back to my apples, water, and capstone--with plenty of bathroom breaks. 

Pregnancy Confessions--Finals Week

32 weeks is FINALS WEEK.

In honor of being roundly pregnant during finals, I took time off work. For the first time ever.  It's amazing how working only 20 ish hours in one week gives you so much time for projects, tests, papers--and my all time favorite: sleep.

But in other news...
This baby jumps a lot, and every time he does I think of Elizabeth carrying John the Baptist in the Bible. I wonder what this child will grow up and do.

Being pregnant during the Christmas season is...rewarding. I was worrying about something the other day, only to realize that Mary had baby Jesus in a stable...as in on hay. She also traveled how many miles on a donkey whilst pregnant. I'm proud of myself for sitting in a comfy car with a heater. Christmas story: perspective given.

In lieu of this season of thankfulness (because, Thanksgiving may be in November but Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ!!!!! What better reason to be thankful)
I'm thankful that...

• I'm still working, looking like a stuffed penguin with a green cape, of course.

•  That I work at the place that I do with its awesome treatment of pregnant ladies. Not only do I not have to fear discrimination because I'm pregnant, but everyone is so understanding, helpful, and supportive. Starbucks, I love you. Forever. 

• A baby bump carries with it a command to be kinder to its bearer. All it takes is a little rub, and maybe a comment, and all but the grouchiest of folks soften up. It's really hard to be mean to a pregnant woman who's smiling back at you. Truly. 

• My multi-talented husband. I adore real Christmas trees for their scent, nostalgia, looks, everything--but I am totally inept at putting them up. And obviously, incapable of hauling them around. My husband prefers the fake ones for their practicality and simplicity. But of course, we have a real, live Christmas tree in our living room, that my long-suffering husband put up by himself. There's also a slew of Christmas presents under that tree (since we have a lot of immediate family between us) that he [expertly] wrapped, while I laid on the couch and complained that my back hurt. 

• There's a thing as short shifts, where I can work a decent pace and not come home and feel incapacitated.

• Long shifts which teach me perseverance and faith. 

• There's such a thing as ribs. Because mine are this baby's favorite things to kick and poke. 

• That while pregnant, you're in glorious stage where the more you eat at dinner, the cuter your belly looks. (I might have a problem, admittedly.)

• For sweet friends who don't mind (and even proclaim to like) my addiction to Instagramming bump pictures. 
• Pregnancy apps exist. Otherwise I'd never know what week I was.
• My doctor appointments are short and boring, because that means baby and I are healthy. He's growing. I'm growing. He's getting gaining weight at an excellent rate, and I'm gaining it at a slow rate. 

Yeah...I should probably stop with the copious eating now. 

And for little miracles, like the crib fitting so beautifully in our room. (Thanks again, husband. You are fantastic and then some.)

The Winnie the Pooh motif is awesomely ironic because I'm the last person in the world to actively choose a theme like that. And yes, I know there needs to be more sheets and less stuff in there. 

Pregnancy Confessions Edition 5: Third Trimester

Otherwise entitled: I used to have a waist. 

The Gestational Diabetes test (note: turns out I can't spell diabetes)...

Was weird.

I didn't realize I was going to take it until the nurse handed me a red solo cup with a heavy, clear mixture and ordered me to drink.  Yes, I got to drink that noxious libation to healthy babies from a red solo cup. I found it amusing. My drink wasn't orange, warm, or difficult, so I chugged it like a pro, then watched the Food Network for a happy hour. 

And today the doctor told me that I had passed it like a history final--aced it painlessly. 

If I only had a brain...

I've taken to saying that baby man is eating my brain because baby brain is a cruel thing. I've forgotten a few assignments, and my creative writing ability is effectively nil. Unfortunately, my minor is creative writing, and my professors won't accept a detailed account of how I forced myself to stay awake, be perky, and wore lipstick to detract from my tired eyes. I think I should start a new genre of writing--today I pretended to be a functioning human. 

I LOVE telling customers I'm pregnant because their eyes immediately fill with admiration and sympathy, and I would be lying if I claimed I didn't love comments about quick I can waddle walk. 

Maternity clothes 

I wo-manned up and bought and maternity clothes from that high priced retailer of designer clothes--Old Navy. (I know, blowing my husband's income faster than he can bring it in.)

Conclusion? 

Pregnancy tank tops are amazing. I bought a couple and I wish I'd bought six or seven because they are so fabulously long. They're more like mini dresses and completely justify my obsession with leggings. (Although I don't understand the deep, scooped necklines. The Christian schoolgirl in me is a little freaked out by them.)

Pregnancy leggings....will fit much better when I'm nearing forty weeks. I took everyone's advice and bought maternity clothes in my normal size. It's probably just Old Navy, but I definitely have growing room, Right now I'm just flipping the waist over twice, so they fit correctly. I'm sure I'm going to love them, though, once the end hits and I'm in the nothing fits me but a barn phase. 

Pregnancy jeans. Perhaps it's the brand, but my maternity skinny jeans are saggy and Stephen got to deal with the weirdest meltdown. My pants are toooo biggggg!!!!  I have an odd suspicion that since I'm twenty two, I don't know how real pants are supposed to fit, so I think anything that doesn't cling to my quads is baggy. Still. I don't like them.  I'm tentatively planning on returning them, and just dwelling in leggings and maxi skirts for the rest of this pregnancy gig. 

Pregnancy jackets? Thank you, golden California sunshine. I'm still waiting for it to drop below 70 degrees in the day time. 

Numbers

We are twelve weeks from due date, and I am hoping for a baby that arrives on time to later since I have a capstone to write. However, my mom pointed out that she's booked three weeks post due date for another sister's event, so baby man can't be too late. 

I'm also supposed to start counting movements now, something around ten an hour. However, baby man operates on his own schedule of several karate kicks, followed by a couple flutters, and then long periods of hibernation.  So,  I'm going to put my English major math skills to good use. (Ie, I'll just round and average in the most un-mathematical way.)

Baby clothes sizes are really the worst things ever, and I literally have one newborn sleeper for this baby. That's it. However, I have a decent number of shirts for him once he reaches 12-24 months. So it's a start...and awkward head start, but a start. 

And the comments begin...

Yesterday, a man looked shocked when I told him I was pregnant--and no, I wasn't wearing my apron. I take solace in the fact that he is a). probably oblivious and b). rounder in tummy than I am. 

Striped 28 week bump

Pregnancy Confessions Set 3 or 4 (I can't remember)

 Pregnancy brain is a cruel thing. The bonus is, though, I forget that I have it. :

I haven't bought any maternity pants yet. Not because I couldn't use them, but mostly because the only jeans I saw at Target threatened to give me Grandma thighs. And, I've been hiding my unbuttoned work pants under long tank tops and my giant green apron. 

I'm considering picking up a belly band for my work pants and hunting down some maternity jeans that are acceptable for 22 year olds. Or I could just wear leggings for the next 17 weeks. 

I realized that the third trimester is looming nearer and nearer and I dealt with that by catching a pregnancy cold and sleeping on my days off during finals week. (Sorry, papers. I hope you understand that you're going to write yourself.)

My doctor made me get the flu shot, which was not nearly as exciting of an experience as I'd hoped. And she also made me finally get tested for Cystic Fibrosis [strains/traits/genes?] and the blood tested confirmed what my copious amounts of siblings and cousins had led me to suspect: we're good on that end. (Thankful for that.)

PBS's "Call the Midwife" absolutely terrifies Stephen and he's asked me not to watch it around him. And I'll admit, I found it more interesting and less eerie when I wasn't round with child.

Stephen made me get a Reddit account, so I've been perusing r/babybumps and occasionally posting things--saving my facebook friends from even more baby-related statuses. 

One of my pregnancy apps says that baby can hear voices quite well now, especially male voices. This is awesome because Stephen is fond of talking to my tummy, and it would just be weird if baby couldn't hear him.;) (It's so adorable.)

Week 22 brought me the ability to walk again without major pain, and I'm relishing every second of that. I can also sit up, roll, kick, and squat without grimacing. I'm basically an Olympic gymnast. 

After months of being asked how many months I am and responding with weeks, I finally googled it and discovered...nobody knows. Evidently, What to Expect When You're Expecting has a formula, and according to that, weeks 23-27 are the span of THE SIXTH MONTH. But I'm just going to start saying I'm six months the week before Halloween, so I can munch on copious amounts of sugar in relative peace. 

Pregnancy math defies the rules of mathematics. 40 weeks=9 months makes less sense than other painful formulas I learned throughout my education. Although, some women go as far as to say that we are actually pregnant for 10 months. I cry insanity at them.

This delightful quotation from "At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles" is so completely me.

Sure, I was the oldest of ten kids, but that just meant I

was great at dictating to shorter people, not birthing them. My mom had done

that, and she'd had loins of steel. My loins were probably made of Styrofoam

that melted at anything above room temperature

It's actually fairly intimidating to go from being "the oldest" to the pregnant one/soon to be mom. I have being the leader of my own pack of minions down, but not the carrying, delivering, and raising part.

I'm starting to build our baby registry, so suggestions as to what is necessary and what is not is so desired. At our roomiest, we'll have 900 sq feet, so reason and discretion will be required. (Rhyme very unintentional.)

I'm going to bluntly say this...I love hand-me-downs. Enough said.

The government shut down debacle reinforced my plan to keep working post-baby, but I must add, that I'm so thankful they managed to keep paying the military.

I've discovered the incredible comfort of Stephen's shirts. My t-shirts were pre-massive weight gain 2011-12,so they were already on the snug side. However, men's clothing is designed with so much more room and is just that.much.more.comfortable. So, do forgive the yoga pants and husband' shirt ensemble below, replete with post-work hair and face.

Baby bump-23 weeks

I was actually terrified I wouldn't show, but thankfully my lack of height and propensity for roundness and growing sturdy babies took care of that.

Baby's name is still as darling as ever and I found a nursery set at Target that utterly delighted the trendy corners of my spirit. I may not be trendy enough, but the babes most certainly will be.

Pregnancy Confessions round 3

Conversations with a pregnant Susie.

''From a co-worker, "Everyone keeps complimenting her hair and she keeps telling them she's knocked up.'' I actually blamed it on the prenatals, but this synopsis is hilarious.

Stephen: "Babe, why can't you swallow regular pill prenatals? I've never had a problem swallowing any pills."
Me: " You can swallow pills and I can grow a human being and push it out of my body."


A friend: "I'm really picky about doctors."
Me: "I don't think I am. I have a baby that I need to pop out of my body in a few months and I found a doctor who knows how to get a baby out. I'm good."


Stephen, while at Panda Express, "We should get rice."
Me: in my very loud, tired, voice "Ew, rice. I hate rice. Why would anyone get rice."
Stephen: "You do know that you're the only one who thinks that."
Me: "Yes."

And other ramblings 

The golden rule of NEVERRRR GO  FOOD SHOPPING WHILST HUNGRY applies tenfold to pregnant women. Stephen and I just went grocery shopping for dinner and I wanted to eat something on every.single.aisle. (Incidentally, clothes shopping while hungry is a good thing since one's tummy is flatter--not counting pregnancy.)

Second trimester energy boost?
Lies. At least for me. Excuse me, but I'm craving ten hours of sleep a night, which is pretty difficult with eight hour work days and trying to graduate. A clean house? Pshaw. That is for the energetic.

My work shirt is only appropriate because I wear an apron, so no one can see my rounded belly peeking out.

19 weeks.

And don't be deceived by the smile. I was in quite a bit of pain due to Stabby-like pain that makes me keel over and yell.

I've been feeling mildly guilty that I don't walk around in pregnancy-induced euphoria, carefully minding what I eat, and spending all my free hours dreaming of cuddling a screaming infant. 

Instead, I do things like this. 

Yes, there's caffeine in that Snapple. It's delicious. 

Sister's 16th birthday party. I bought way too much candy. Pregnant and hungry--bad combination. I am original in the non-Pinterest sense, though. 

Of course, this is just the precious amount of free time I have after working days upon eons in a row. 

But then I read THIS POST!!! by a veteran mama and felt so much better. Her point essentially is: we can't take a break from life to be pregnant. There's so many rules attached to pregnancy, that women feel obligated to stop their "normal" lives and live "pregnant'' lives. Kendra (the brilliant blogger) argues that a woman might be content to do that if she wants only the 2.1 perfectly spaced children and no.more.ever. and really is willing to consecrate her life to the growing baby phase, but it's really unrealistic for most women. (She's on her seventh kid, so pregnancy is pretty much her normal.)

This isn't to say that she advocates skydiving or binge drinking while pregnant, but she reminds  women everywhere that it's only debilitating pregnancies that should radically change one's schedule. But don't take my tired, incoherent word for that, read the awesome post linked above. 

One last thing...

The VOTE of 2013!

Hairbows vs Mustaches?!

What will baby Mau Mau be?

Art work lifted from here

Thursday, September 19 is the day of reckoning. The Day that we discover if the mini is a girl or a boy. 

I've always loved the idea of an oldest girl and frankly, hairbows  and tutus are just too dratted adorable. 

But Stephen is now gunning for a boy, and our preferences have absolutely no sway (which is awesome, I think). So Thursday is the day we learn what God designed for us.

And we are so excited!

P.S., this does not mean that a nauseating wave of bright pink or bright blue things will be on the agenda. I like teals, grays, yellow, all in  the ubiquitous chevron stripe. 

Pregnancy Confessions--Edition 2

Caffeine limitations--whaaaa?!
I [probably] drink more caffeine than most first time pregnant ladies and much, much less than the average barista or what I drank pre-pregnancy. I call it fair.

Weight gain weirdness
I've always been incredibly talented  at gaining massive amounts of weight quickly. (You don't call that talent?! Whaat?) But I'm at a loss as to how women gain 10, 15, even 20 pounds before twenty weeks. Do they just consume copious amounts of food or do their bodies just naturally gain when pregnant?   I haven't gained any yet, and it's not from a lack of eating.

Bladder issues...
Jogging with a full bladder is never fun, but when pregnant it's impossible. Ow. Ouch. The incentive of "I'll get home faster" did not work.

About exercise
Dear yoga, I love you. Dear jogging, since when have you become my enemy? Is it necessary to make me feel sore in the most random places after a brief jog?

The idea of buyin' baby stuff
When do most people actually buy the stuff for baby? We picked up a crib and a pack 'n' play the other day (so at about 16 weeks pregnant), but only because friends were selling them then. I, personally, don't see the need to buy reams of baby essentials months before the baby is born.  However, it seems like many people have EVERYTHING at twenty weeks.
Buying stuff is stressful. I tend to put it off. We didn't have any furniture for our apartment until a week before we got married. (And then we went "shopping" in the store of parental hand me downs.)

Instagram
I've tried not to overload my Instagram followers by posting a plethora of prego pics, but I have posted a couple. I'm also guilty of comparing my tummy to other tummies at the same gestation. Am I too fat, flat, round, chubby, pregnant, small? My husband, family, and friends are all incredibly supportive and kind and answer "no" to all of the above.

Baby showers
Can I ban people from taking pictures of me at my eventual baby shower? Taking pictures of a fat  pregnant woman while she's sitting down and not posing just seems cruel. Maybe I'll make a cute, pinterest-worthy sign. Or not.

Also, one of my friends gave me several packs of baby shower invites and I adore them. They were free AND cute. Since there's only 40, obviously only the most special people will get them. ;)

On resting
Turns out, not eating, sleeping, and being emotionally drained from a crazy week is an insane combination. This insanity is best cured by Indian food, husband hugs, and sleep.

Speaking of food and sleep

I just woke up from a nap where I was dreaming about food. I pretty much dream about food or babies dying, which means I wake up starving or sad. 'Tis lovely.

Work
Instead of "Sixteen and Pregnant" there should be "Pregnant and Working in Retail". I'm pretty sure that would dissuade the fifteen year olds who want to get pregnant.
Did someone send out a memo to all the pregnant women and new moms of our area to come to my store? Or do they just know that they'll find a kindred spirit there and I'll completely understand their need for random pastries.

Names
No one will steal our girl's name. It's just off kilter enough that I get odd looks and responses when I tell people it.
But our boy's name is both classic and trendy, not cliche but accepted.
And our middle names--those are darling.

Mommy brain
Pregnancy brain gets me at work all the time, but my long-suffering co-workers bear with me. Oddly enough, my school work is unaffected.

My mommy
Even though I've long believed my mom is amazing, I'm now convinced she's a superhero. She had three kids in under three years, and that was just for starters. I'm baffled as to how she managed feeling pregnant (ie, horrible) and chasing a toddler, AND caring for a baby. So to all the mommies out in the world with Irish twins (google it) or closely spaced  children, I am in awe.

Complaints
My pregnancy has been easy. I had nausea for the first few weeks of the first trimester, so I ate ramen and applesauce and switched to gummy prenatals. I haven't had to call in sick for work, and I work for a company with a fantastic maternity leave policy. Starbucks, you have my love. My biggest issue is trying to balance drinking enough water to prevent headaches and not running to the bathroom every hour.
But when my mom asked if I loved being pregnant, the answer was a resounding NO. I'm thankful my pregnancy has been easy so far, that I have insurance, a fantastic husband and family, and that I seem to have been blessed with my mama's blink and get pregnant fertility, but I'm still not a fan of the process of growing a tiny human.

Frizzy hair alert!!!

Seventeen weeks, weird fitting top, and post work hair. 

Pregnancy Confessions (edition 1)

I'm fourteen weeks pregnant, so I basically just look like I've constantly just eaten thanksgiving dinner. But because I'm horrible at keeping secrets and my mother is so much worse at it than I am, everyone and their neighbor knows. And my brain knows. And it's gone haywire. So without further ado, the first installment of Pregnancy Confessions. 

I like yellow now. Evidently. 

• I am that person. That picky, grumpy, *I just want to eat you* person. I might have made the subway girl scrape the honey mustard off my sandwich and reapply spicy mustard. (There wasn't a line AND I threw it up later.)
• I cry at the most unreasonable things. The other day we went to Chipotle (because Subway obviously isn't an option) and after I made the girl rearrange everything in my burrito and cut it in half, I bawled because Stephen handled it the wrong way. The dear man just stared at me, silently praying that nice Susie would return. She did and was properly embarrassed at crying over burrito maltreatment. 
• I might have grabbed a bag of candy of the shelf and munched on it, while I shopped for the rest of my groceries, and THEN paid for it 
• I'm terrified of newborns. I actually forgot how to hold a newborn the other day, and awkwardly struggled with it. And when it started crying, I almost cried, too. I've been holding newborns since I was four--it's second nature. But now that I see them as my future, I'm utterly terrified. 
• I'm convinced most babies are ugly right now. Again, terrified of them.
• I redecorated our entire living room in red and yellow. I've always hated yellow and now I adore it. Running with the trends? Crazy hormones? Hopefully I still like it in seven months. 
• 
  
• I'm totally cool with the fact that all men are convinced pregnant women (even in their first trimester) are these precious, fragile creatures. Let me take both of the chairs in the break room--one for the back side and one for my feet? Sure. Tell me not to stand up to give you a hug--totally. Make my husband put away the leftovers--not a problem.
• Every single other pregnant woman on the planet is way more attractive than me. I'm convinced of it. 
• My fourteen week old fetus is OBVIOUSLY and undeniably the cutest thing in the entire world. (Does that contradict my fear of newborns? Probably. Does that matter? Of course not.)
• If I get stopped by a cop in the next six month, I am unabashedly going to use that to get out of a ticket. 
• I drove the forty minutes to base, only to realize I forgot the package I had to deliver to my husband. The package that he had reminded me NOT TO FORGET.
• I was ridiculously excited that this week the little bean in me started peeing. Stephen: "Babe, that's gross." Me: "You can't say that. It's wonderful!"
• And finally, I really want to dye my hair. But just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm sentencing the tiny human in my uterus to untold troubles.