I forgot to mention in the last post that I've started experiencing uterine toning (aka "Braxton-Hicks") contractions. I didn't know at first what I was feeling--there was a slight pain, then tight, squeezing sensations. I knew it wasn't the baby moving, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what was going on. My midwife confirmed the early contractions. Evidently, they can happen much earlier in the pregnancy than this, but it's perfectly normal.
Adam is due to come home in 32 days, just over a month...he has no idea what's in store for him!!!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
7 1/2 Month Baby Bump Pix
Well, at 7 1/2 months, I guess it's more than a bump, and with my 8th month starting next Tuesday, I guess I'm really 7 3/4 months now. But who's counting, right?
For all my friends and family who aren't around to see Baby and me grow, here you go!
With a touch of modesty...
Letting it all hang out!!!
For all my friends and family who aren't around to see Baby and me grow, here you go!
With a touch of modesty...
Letting it all hang out!!!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Baby Woes and Wiggles
My mum has been in town, taking care of me (despite my stubbornness and strong will to fend for myself) for the last several days. It's been a great, great visit, which is why I haven't had time to post to the blog for a while. I've been taking loads of pix during her stay, but I'll post them and a rundown of what we've been up to later today. For now, I want to give a brief update on Baby Mittman (affectionately known as Cyrus-Minerva by my mum) before leaving my half-day of work today!
Mum accompanied me to the birth center last Thursday afternoon, and it was a real treat to have her there. She really loved the center, and was really surprised by the amount of specialized, one-on-one care I received. She kept saying that at the hospital, you're in and out; at the birth center, each appointment is one hour of individualized attention with loads of information, explanations of what's going on with me and baby, and answers to all my questions.
Baby is doing well, still growing at a normal rate (my belly was 29 cm at 30 weeks, pretty much right on schedule), and baby was doing laps around my belly during the whole appointment. They found not only the baby's heartbeat but also the pulse from the umbilical cord; Mum and I were floored to get so much fun information at one visit!
I haven't really mentioned this on the blog, pretty much because of embarassment and fear of judgement from my readers, but there is one on-going issue that I've been having a problem with. I can't seem to gain enough weight with this pregnancy. At any other point in my life, NOT gaining weight would be a highlight, but for now, I just want to be like everyone else, and gain what I'm supposed to gain to make a healthy baby. So far, I've only gained 15 lbs, and being that I'm 2 months away from the delivery, I'm getting a little nervous. While the midwives say that "it's not how much you gain, it's what you eat that matters", even Clarice said that I should be upping my calories and eating more everyday. The last three visits have had me at the same weight each time. Every single person I see at work, at the grocery store, at the mall, wherever, looks at me and says, "Wow, you're really tiny! You don't look like you're seven and a half months along!" I feel like I'm doing something wrong and it's wearing thin on me. My midwife Kip said that everyone's different, and we all metabolize at different rates; Mum said I should be happy not to put on a ton of weight that will be really hard to take off later. One girlfriend assured me that she only gained a total of 20 lbs with her baby, who was born at 8 1/2 lbs! So, I guess I'm starting to feel a little better, but it's so hard to think that you might be doing something wrong that could adversely affect the rest of your kid's life.
Two nights ago, I was on the phone with Adam while my mum was resting on the couch opposite me. While I was reading aloud to him all about the kicks and punches baby will throw during pregnancy, I all of a sudden felt a sharp pain front and center, above my belly button (which still has not popped out yet!). I groaned out loud, then timidly felt my way down to the offending area...only to find a hard lump protruding out. I freaked out. I started trying to push it--whatever it was--back into my belly where it belonged! Once I finally nudged it back into place, I realized that I had been so busy panicking that I had missed a really cool experience--the first sighting of baby's elbow/knee/etc. Oh well, next time.
Baby has been really active ever since, rolling around, tumbling, wiggling, you name it. I can tell that it's getting bigger and stronger, and probably has long legs and big feet like its father. This morning I couldn't go back to sleep after 6am because baby was so busy trying to kick itself out of my stomach.
I'm off now to return home to mum. We're going to make lunch, watch movies and sort through all the booty I've gotten so far from everyone. Your thank you card will be in the mail shortly.
Mum accompanied me to the birth center last Thursday afternoon, and it was a real treat to have her there. She really loved the center, and was really surprised by the amount of specialized, one-on-one care I received. She kept saying that at the hospital, you're in and out; at the birth center, each appointment is one hour of individualized attention with loads of information, explanations of what's going on with me and baby, and answers to all my questions.
Baby is doing well, still growing at a normal rate (my belly was 29 cm at 30 weeks, pretty much right on schedule), and baby was doing laps around my belly during the whole appointment. They found not only the baby's heartbeat but also the pulse from the umbilical cord; Mum and I were floored to get so much fun information at one visit!
I haven't really mentioned this on the blog, pretty much because of embarassment and fear of judgement from my readers, but there is one on-going issue that I've been having a problem with. I can't seem to gain enough weight with this pregnancy. At any other point in my life, NOT gaining weight would be a highlight, but for now, I just want to be like everyone else, and gain what I'm supposed to gain to make a healthy baby. So far, I've only gained 15 lbs, and being that I'm 2 months away from the delivery, I'm getting a little nervous. While the midwives say that "it's not how much you gain, it's what you eat that matters", even Clarice said that I should be upping my calories and eating more everyday. The last three visits have had me at the same weight each time. Every single person I see at work, at the grocery store, at the mall, wherever, looks at me and says, "Wow, you're really tiny! You don't look like you're seven and a half months along!" I feel like I'm doing something wrong and it's wearing thin on me. My midwife Kip said that everyone's different, and we all metabolize at different rates; Mum said I should be happy not to put on a ton of weight that will be really hard to take off later. One girlfriend assured me that she only gained a total of 20 lbs with her baby, who was born at 8 1/2 lbs! So, I guess I'm starting to feel a little better, but it's so hard to think that you might be doing something wrong that could adversely affect the rest of your kid's life.
Two nights ago, I was on the phone with Adam while my mum was resting on the couch opposite me. While I was reading aloud to him all about the kicks and punches baby will throw during pregnancy, I all of a sudden felt a sharp pain front and center, above my belly button (which still has not popped out yet!). I groaned out loud, then timidly felt my way down to the offending area...only to find a hard lump protruding out. I freaked out. I started trying to push it--whatever it was--back into my belly where it belonged! Once I finally nudged it back into place, I realized that I had been so busy panicking that I had missed a really cool experience--the first sighting of baby's elbow/knee/etc. Oh well, next time.
Baby has been really active ever since, rolling around, tumbling, wiggling, you name it. I can tell that it's getting bigger and stronger, and probably has long legs and big feet like its father. This morning I couldn't go back to sleep after 6am because baby was so busy trying to kick itself out of my stomach.
I'm off now to return home to mum. We're going to make lunch, watch movies and sort through all the booty I've gotten so far from everyone. Your thank you card will be in the mail shortly.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
A Cry In The Night
I am not a fearful person, but I admit that I am a glass-is-half-empty type gal. I expect that things will go wrong. Like I expect that when I turn the ignition in my car, the car bomb that was randomly placed there by a domestic terrorist will go off, killing me. Or, that Adam will die a tragic death days before baby is born, leaving me alone, pregnant and grief-stricken. Oh, and I completely expect that someone will break into my house in the middle of the night, and that I will have to hide in the dark shadows, waiting with a knife to jump on the intruder from behind and slit his throat. I tend to expect these types of things to happen.
Last week, when I was recovering from that respiratory infection, I was awoken around 2am to the gurgling sounds of Greg House vomiting on my window sill. The last thing I wanted to have to do at 2 am was clean up a vomit-soaked cat and window, but fearing he was really ill, I rolled over and pushed myself into a sitting position. I pulled back the blinds and found House, not vomiting, but making an awful racket at something on the front porch. I peered into the darkness, fearing what I'd see. My heart plummetted as I caught something moving just outside my window. Just as I was about to run for a knife, I realized it was a cat; in fact, it was the cat Adam affectionately refers to as "House's brother."
This is a big ole grey tom cat that struts around the neighborhood all day and night, in and out of people's yards, crossing the street like he owns the place, fat and happy. He's not really House's brother (we don't think), but since both cats are grey and on the streets, Adam likes to pretend they're related. I've tried on a few occasions to pet him, but while he is obviously someone's cat--he's too well-fed to be a stray--he's not nearly as friendly as Greg House is. But that doesn't mean he won't take advantage of my yard as his personal hunting ground, toilet and resting spot. In fact, one day earlier this winter, this cat sat for 10 minutes watching as I shoveled out my driveway. When I finally asked him if he was going to just sit there and watch or actually help me, he turned his nose in the air and slinked silkily past me. As if.
So, back to that night. Once I realized it was House's brother, I was amazed by how he was reacting to Greg House. This guy was standing on his hind legs, front paws on the outside window sill, nose to the glass, looking in. Greg House was having a conniption fit, literally spitting he was so angry. I was fascinated. The two cats were nose-to-nose at the window, one calm and happily instigating a fight, the other worked up and itchin for a showdown. I laughed despite the late (or early?) hour, picked up House, and tried to put him back to bed. But he could not be contained until his "Brother" left the porch a few minutes later.
A few nights ago, I was awakened to the pained warbles of a seemingly ailing kitty. I sat up with a jolt, looking for House. He had not come to bed that night, so I immediately stumbled out of bed, running into the living room to find him. All I could think was that he had bitten his open wound too deeply and started hemmorhaging, or that he'd gotten an infection that was making him sick. But when I turned on the lights to the living room, he was sitting--his front legs tucked in underneath him, his eyes half-closed--as if he didn't have a care in the world. I was a bit confused, but decided to bring him to bed anyway, just in case. Pretty much as soon as he settled into bed next to me, he jumped away, into the windowsill. And that's when I heard the cry again...but it wasn't coming from House, it was from outside. Greg started his gurgling vomiting sounds again, and I knew that his "Brother" must be back. Sure enough, the two cats were nose-to-nose again, with just a double pane window separating them. Greg chortled and hissed until finally his "Brother" sauntered away, but Greg paced the house for several minutes thereafter, agitated and angry.
Last night was the same deal. What started out as a funny little encounter has now become a nightly nuisance. "House's brother" seems to be coming by for a visit every night now, stirring up Greg House and waking me up. I have to attempt to calm House during the altercation, and meanwhile miss out on my own full 8 hours of sleep. A coworker also warned me that two male cats squaring off day after day (or, rather, night after night) might result in one or both of them attempting to define his territory...if either of these cats sprays, inside or out, they are both out on the street for good!
Lucky for Kika, she sleeps through the whole thing.
Last week, when I was recovering from that respiratory infection, I was awoken around 2am to the gurgling sounds of Greg House vomiting on my window sill. The last thing I wanted to have to do at 2 am was clean up a vomit-soaked cat and window, but fearing he was really ill, I rolled over and pushed myself into a sitting position. I pulled back the blinds and found House, not vomiting, but making an awful racket at something on the front porch. I peered into the darkness, fearing what I'd see. My heart plummetted as I caught something moving just outside my window. Just as I was about to run for a knife, I realized it was a cat; in fact, it was the cat Adam affectionately refers to as "House's brother."
This is a big ole grey tom cat that struts around the neighborhood all day and night, in and out of people's yards, crossing the street like he owns the place, fat and happy. He's not really House's brother (we don't think), but since both cats are grey and on the streets, Adam likes to pretend they're related. I've tried on a few occasions to pet him, but while he is obviously someone's cat--he's too well-fed to be a stray--he's not nearly as friendly as Greg House is. But that doesn't mean he won't take advantage of my yard as his personal hunting ground, toilet and resting spot. In fact, one day earlier this winter, this cat sat for 10 minutes watching as I shoveled out my driveway. When I finally asked him if he was going to just sit there and watch or actually help me, he turned his nose in the air and slinked silkily past me. As if.
So, back to that night. Once I realized it was House's brother, I was amazed by how he was reacting to Greg House. This guy was standing on his hind legs, front paws on the outside window sill, nose to the glass, looking in. Greg House was having a conniption fit, literally spitting he was so angry. I was fascinated. The two cats were nose-to-nose at the window, one calm and happily instigating a fight, the other worked up and itchin for a showdown. I laughed despite the late (or early?) hour, picked up House, and tried to put him back to bed. But he could not be contained until his "Brother" left the porch a few minutes later.
A few nights ago, I was awakened to the pained warbles of a seemingly ailing kitty. I sat up with a jolt, looking for House. He had not come to bed that night, so I immediately stumbled out of bed, running into the living room to find him. All I could think was that he had bitten his open wound too deeply and started hemmorhaging, or that he'd gotten an infection that was making him sick. But when I turned on the lights to the living room, he was sitting--his front legs tucked in underneath him, his eyes half-closed--as if he didn't have a care in the world. I was a bit confused, but decided to bring him to bed anyway, just in case. Pretty much as soon as he settled into bed next to me, he jumped away, into the windowsill. And that's when I heard the cry again...but it wasn't coming from House, it was from outside. Greg started his gurgling vomiting sounds again, and I knew that his "Brother" must be back. Sure enough, the two cats were nose-to-nose again, with just a double pane window separating them. Greg chortled and hissed until finally his "Brother" sauntered away, but Greg paced the house for several minutes thereafter, agitated and angry.
Last night was the same deal. What started out as a funny little encounter has now become a nightly nuisance. "House's brother" seems to be coming by for a visit every night now, stirring up Greg House and waking me up. I have to attempt to calm House during the altercation, and meanwhile miss out on my own full 8 hours of sleep. A coworker also warned me that two male cats squaring off day after day (or, rather, night after night) might result in one or both of them attempting to define his territory...if either of these cats sprays, inside or out, they are both out on the street for good!
Lucky for Kika, she sleeps through the whole thing.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Original Maverick
I've gotten loads of flack (namely from my hubby) over the years for being a die-hard fan of the 80's flick, Top Gun. I know a lot of folks find it a little corny, but hey--that was Tom Cruise in his heyday, before the Scientology-Katie-Holmes-couch-jumping-phenomena took over. And Kelly McGillis never looked sexier, either. Mix in a little Anthony Edwards and a wily Meg Ryan, not to mention big, fast flying machines, and you've got a recipe for a great cult classic.
Evidently, I'm not the only one who thinks so. According to a story on NPR's "Morning Edition" today, a lot of Navy and Air Force pilots really like the movie, too; they think it's fairly realistic. Okay, maybe not the bedding your flight instructor part (or maybe so??) but definitely the cutthroat culture of flight school.
I've been putting off buying the collector's edition of that movie for years now, but maybe this is karma telling me to feed my desires. Already I'm imagining the famous beach volleyball scene. Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
Evidently, I'm not the only one who thinks so. According to a story on NPR's "Morning Edition" today, a lot of Navy and Air Force pilots really like the movie, too; they think it's fairly realistic. Okay, maybe not the bedding your flight instructor part (or maybe so??) but definitely the cutthroat culture of flight school.
I've been putting off buying the collector's edition of that movie for years now, but maybe this is karma telling me to feed my desires. Already I'm imagining the famous beach volleyball scene. Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
Spring Awakening
Sorry to those of you expecting a detailed synopsis of the uber-sexy new rock opera.
All I meant to say is that yesterday I took a stroll through the woods with some friends and saw my first American robin of spring 2009. I almost cried with delight, particularly considering the last few days here in Michigan have been a glorious 55+ degrees out. Tomorrow is supposed to get up to 68 degrees!
I also (accidentally) hooted out a barred owl at the park last night. I had no expectations that one would be there, but a few minutes after I jokingly did the "Who-cooks-for-you?" hoot, I heard a real owl hooting anxiously back at me. It was great.
If this weather sticks around and the birds come out in full force, spring will have truly awakened me.
All I meant to say is that yesterday I took a stroll through the woods with some friends and saw my first American robin of spring 2009. I almost cried with delight, particularly considering the last few days here in Michigan have been a glorious 55+ degrees out. Tomorrow is supposed to get up to 68 degrees!
I also (accidentally) hooted out a barred owl at the park last night. I had no expectations that one would be there, but a few minutes after I jokingly did the "Who-cooks-for-you?" hoot, I heard a real owl hooting anxiously back at me. It was great.
If this weather sticks around and the birds come out in full force, spring will have truly awakened me.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Love My Baby, Love Her Poo
When Adam and I went to England several years ago to visit his sister and her family, her youngest son was still in diapers. He'd have huge, explosive poos that messed up his entire outfit, leaving us all wondering how so much poo had managed to escape the confines of his diapers. It seemed that every couple hours we'd smell "the smell" and knew it was time for baby to get his diaper changed. I've baby-sat the majority of my teen and adult life, so while not my favorite thing, I know poo is just something one must deal with when caring for children. Adam, on the other hand, was pretty disgusted. I remember him asking his sister how she dealt with constantly changing a dirty diaper. She looked him square in the eye and said, "Adam, I love my baby; I love his poo." Adam has never forgotten that little life lesson, and neither have I.
I've only told a very few people my dirty little secret, but I guess I will air it for the masses now. When Shabbi was in her last, ailing year, she had a hard time taking a poo. Not because she was constipated, but because she didn't always remember to poo in the appropriate places (aka, outdoors). So she'd wander around outside for endless minutes, needing to poo, farting incessantly, but never actually...well, performing. Her little butthole showed signs that she needed to go, but she wouldn't always push it out. In fact, too often she'd wait to do that until we were back inside!
So...I one day realized that I might be able to 'help things along' for her. You might remember my anal-gland-squeezing prowess, a skill I picked up from having worked at a dog grooming shop one year. Well, I decided to put that skill to work, to see if it might help my little girl clean out her intestines. After pumping the outside of her anus with my fingers a couple times, she started to push the poo out almost on command. It soon became the sure-fire way to have Shabbi poo outside before I went to bed at night, knowing that I wouldn't wake up to the smell of poo in my bedroom, or to the sounds of her whining to go out at 2am. I pretty much used this method (not every time--oftentimes she could poo on her own) whenever I needed to until the day she left us. I will say, though, that once Adam was back in town, he left the anal squeezes to me--just not his bag, I guess.
I only bring up these stories because of recent events. Kika's most recent foray into people food--she and Greg House's tag-teaming to get the crackers from the cupboard--left her bloated, a bit disoriented and unable to walk normally. I was pretty worried about her, because she drank so much water, I knew those crackers were just expanding inside her little belly. She was ripping stinky ones every few seconds. That first night, she (thankfully!) squeezed a long sausage out all on her own, but was still pretty gassy when we went to bed. Yesterday, she wasn't nearly as bloated, but was still gassy and uncomfortable. By evening, she still hadn't taken a poo (despite the banana I had given her at lunchtime to help move things along). So...I decided to revisit the old tried-and-true method that had worked so well with Shabbigirl. Voila! Evidently it worked with Kika, too! She seemed much happier (and lighter) once it was all out of her, and she slept soundly through the night (as did I--no Dutch oven to deal with!). This morning, she was spry and almost back to her normal self, although still having a wee bit trouble walking. But her spirits and temperament were back.
I know this probably isn't the post most of you wanted to read today, but hey, I'm opening myself up to you, folks! Now you know something about me you didn't know before (or maybe more than you ever wanted to know?). Love my Kika, love her poo.
I've only told a very few people my dirty little secret, but I guess I will air it for the masses now. When Shabbi was in her last, ailing year, she had a hard time taking a poo. Not because she was constipated, but because she didn't always remember to poo in the appropriate places (aka, outdoors). So she'd wander around outside for endless minutes, needing to poo, farting incessantly, but never actually...well, performing. Her little butthole showed signs that she needed to go, but she wouldn't always push it out. In fact, too often she'd wait to do that until we were back inside!
So...I one day realized that I might be able to 'help things along' for her. You might remember my anal-gland-squeezing prowess, a skill I picked up from having worked at a dog grooming shop one year. Well, I decided to put that skill to work, to see if it might help my little girl clean out her intestines. After pumping the outside of her anus with my fingers a couple times, she started to push the poo out almost on command. It soon became the sure-fire way to have Shabbi poo outside before I went to bed at night, knowing that I wouldn't wake up to the smell of poo in my bedroom, or to the sounds of her whining to go out at 2am. I pretty much used this method (not every time--oftentimes she could poo on her own) whenever I needed to until the day she left us. I will say, though, that once Adam was back in town, he left the anal squeezes to me--just not his bag, I guess.
I only bring up these stories because of recent events. Kika's most recent foray into people food--she and Greg House's tag-teaming to get the crackers from the cupboard--left her bloated, a bit disoriented and unable to walk normally. I was pretty worried about her, because she drank so much water, I knew those crackers were just expanding inside her little belly. She was ripping stinky ones every few seconds. That first night, she (thankfully!) squeezed a long sausage out all on her own, but was still pretty gassy when we went to bed. Yesterday, she wasn't nearly as bloated, but was still gassy and uncomfortable. By evening, she still hadn't taken a poo (despite the banana I had given her at lunchtime to help move things along). So...I decided to revisit the old tried-and-true method that had worked so well with Shabbigirl. Voila! Evidently it worked with Kika, too! She seemed much happier (and lighter) once it was all out of her, and she slept soundly through the night (as did I--no Dutch oven to deal with!). This morning, she was spry and almost back to her normal self, although still having a wee bit trouble walking. But her spirits and temperament were back.
I know this probably isn't the post most of you wanted to read today, but hey, I'm opening myself up to you, folks! Now you know something about me you didn't know before (or maybe more than you ever wanted to know?). Love my Kika, love her poo.
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