Tiny Little Man Causes Big Drama

We’ve had a healthy round of drama recently. Everything is just fine… the baby is still in the womb, he weighs a whopping 4 lbs, and is keeping mostly to himself. But, in the last 48 hours I have had…
• 2 trips to the doctor
• 1 trip to the Acute Care Center
• 1 trip to Labor and Delivery
• 48 trips to the bathroom

Perhaps this table can further explain:




So here is the Good News:
1. Despite only getting a 2/10 on the first Biophysical Profile, baby woke up, studied hard, and scored a perfect 10/10 on re-take. He also convinced the doctor to take second score for his final grade.

2. The Labor and Delivery unit was deemed “pleasant enough” by expectant parents.

3. The baby is measuring at least a couple weeks ahead. Determined to be a “hardy lad” by all accounts. The following graph shows he has taken an early lead in the ‘playground intimidation’ factor.



4. Despite drama created by inherently flawed tests, baby has proven himself to outstanding the field of fetal excellence. Prediction: GENIUS!


And here is the neutral news…

1. Follow-up non-stress tests and biophysical profiles are required. I've decided that we have nothing more than a mellow baby on our hands (or at least that's the way he's acting in the womb. He's probably saving his energy for later.) I also think these tests are a bit flawed as they measure activity level and our boy seems to just like to sleep and hang out. (I'll let you insert your own joke here on which of his parents he takes after... although we are both champion sleepers.)

2. Although I keep calling him a boy, it cannot be determined if baby is a boy or a girl. Even with our multiple ultrasounds in the past couple of days, no technician would even guess. Doctor’s are turning back to the “possible badger” theory.



3. Cats’ emotional needs were not adequately met during crisis. Our bad kitty alert system has been elevated to Code Orange (“Bad Kitty Threat Level High. Intelligence reports that peeing outside the box likely in the next 24-48 hours” - Homeland Security).


4. All houseguests are forced to embrace a low standard of excellence when visiting. We'd like to think we are pioneers and shifting the paradigm of what it means to be a good host and hostess. Come on, everyone loves a good medical drama!


There really is no bad news to report (although kitties and houseguests may beg to differ). Oh, they did find I'm anemic - but I think that's just another handy excuse for my forgetfulness.

Now, what were we talking about?

How to Terrify a Cat

Our roof has been on its last shingle for a while now. We hired some roofers to come in and replace the shingles and install some metal mushrooms (for venting, I am told, not whimsy). This weekend, a team of a dozen or so men swooped in and began doing their thing on our roof. By “their thing” I mean they strapped on their tap shoes and did their impression of Lord of the Dance. OK, so I never actually climbed on the roof to verify this, but I recognize that hyper Celtic rhythm anywhere.

Cow and Bear huddled together under the bed, terrified. Poor kitties. Nobody wants to imagine a team of Michael Flatley’s invading their personal space. Seriously. Would you want this on your roof?



The cats recovered from the trauma quickly and are pleased that the riverdance is over. And the Michael Flatleys did a great job. Our new shingles look pretty… as pretty as shingles can look.

I declare our team of a dozen roofers Lords of the Highly Efficient, Moderately Attractive, and Reasonably Priced Roof ! (That’s hard to fit on a billboard or a t-shirt… which is the only reason those guys won’t make it to the big time. It isn’t due to their dancing, I can tell you that. They can tap dance like a tornado…with legs…wearing tap shoes. Oh crap, I’ve gotten stuck in these parentheses on a long and rambling string of thoughts and I don’t know how to get out….*pop*)

That’s better.

Anyway, new roof. True story.

Much Needed YAARRRRR

As promised, here is the healing yarrrr for you to enjoy.

Cow and Bear were caught sleeping in a rather odd position… headbutted. We don’t know the circumstances that led to this final pose. Maybe they were wrestling and they just fell asleep… but the result is pretty stinkin’ cute.



When we were unpacking gifts from the shower, we realized that Bear LOVES one particular quilt. It was a quilt that Tim’s mom had made when she was expecting him (which is, in itself, quite yarry). Bear started rolling all over it and purring and we can’t quiet explain his supernatural attraction to this quilt. But it is very cute.




Wait until the kitties find out all this stuff isn’t for them. We anticipate loud meows of
“usurper!!!”

I hope you feel healed from having been exposed to Fred Flintstone Feet pictures. If not… you’ll just have to work hard to overcome this trauma and maybe they’ll make a Lifetime movie about you someday.

Fred Flintstone Feet, Exposed

This entry is not for the faint of heart or the queasy of stomach. But our legions of blog fans are curious to know what I mean by Fred Flintstone Feet. OK, fine, so ONE person wanted to see pictures and the rest of you will have to suffer as a result of their morbid curiosity. For those who don’t want to see this (and if it were me, I would have already stopped reading at this point) just skip this post. I’ll post an adorable kitty picture in the next entry to allow for some cleansing and healing.

First, the namesake of my particular pregnancy ailment:



This gives you a pretty good idea of what I look like from the knees down. I don’t have quite as much pep in my step as Fred here… but my feet also don’t double as the braking system for our car… so we do have distinct differences.

Just to give you an idea of what’s going on down there, here is a picture I took a month ago or so when I thought my feet were pretty swollen.



They look deformed, but almost demure to me now. Ah… I miss those days. But this gives you some perspective on how much they’ve succumbed to FFF syndrome.

Here is a picture I took just now as I type. Despite keeping my feet up for most of the day, you can see the swelling is pretty… swollen.



Another oddity to go along with the FFF is that my legs and feet have taken on a quality that can best be described as “tempurpedic”. You know those beds made with memory foam? That’s what I’m made of now. Here is what happens when you put your finger on my leg:



Eww. Now that’s just nasty.

In addition to looking freaky, I know my legs look pretty painful. They really don’t hurt, though. At worst, they are slightly uncomfortable.

And before you think I am just playing a tiny invisible violin, let me assure you that it isn’t all bad having FFF. My legs hold some entertainment value as they have a sort of freak show quality. So I just kick my feet up and enjoy the show.

Is it possible to spoil a fetus?

If so, I think that just happened.

This weekend we had a wonderful baby shower (thanks to Rachel, Dave, and of course mom!). We were really overwhelmed with the number of people that showed up to celebrate the boy, especially since they barely know him. He’s sort of a quiet homebody. But there were a houseful of happy people, many of whom brought gifts for the boy. Alexander now has a larger wardrobe than his mother and father combined, plus enough toys and books to ensure a lifetime struggle with ADD.

We also received a Newborn Soothing Center (thanks, Brad and Ella!). This thing is pretty sweeeeet. If the label on the box is to be believed, this machine will practically raise the kid itself. Simply insert screaming baby, set center to “sooth”, and walk away. When you hear the ‘ding’ of a bell, your baby is done! Gently remove your freshly soothed baby and enjoy.



If we can find an Adult Soothing Center, our whole family will be in good shape.

Well, I’d better get started on thank-you cards. Somehow I think Miss Manners would frown upon posting a big “THANK YOU TO ALL” on the blog and calling that good. Please allow 6-12 weeks for shipping and handling.

The Story Ends with a Whimper

OK, just when you thought I had given the last installment of our basement-gate scandal, I have just one final story to tell you. Think of it as an exclamation point to end the long remodeling saga. Well, maybe less of an exclamation point and more of an ellipsis …

As you may or may not know, in the midst of the basement remodeling project the screen portion of the sliding glass door was accidentally broken. When the contractor came over to show prospective clients our basement, he requested that we send him the repair bill. We sent it to him the next day.

*insert a clock with fast spinning hands*

*cue the crickets chirping*

*insert a rapidly flipping calendar*

Well, you get the idea. At least he probably won’t be bringing any other prospective clients around for a reference. That right there is worth the cost of repairing the screen door.

*tumbleweed blows by*

…

I put the dope in Methyldopa

Due to the sudden onset of Fred Flintstone Feet* and high blood pressure, the doctors put me on a higher dose of Methyldopa. This drug is not my friend. Although it may sound like it is fun to take, all it does is make me extremely tired, dizzy, and queasy. In fact, yesterday I took a 4 hour nap. Yes, folk, FOUR hours. (Good thing I am only marginally employed so I was at home. Even the most enlightened employers tend to frown upon four hour naps at the desk.) Despite the four hour nap, I still fell asleep at 10:00 pm last night and slept until 6:00 this morning.

The doctors say the extreme dopiness is a normal response to the drug and I’ll adjust. I don’t know if that means my symptoms will go away, or if I will lower my standard of existence and accept four hour naps as part of my lifestyle. Whatevah. I’m too goofed up on the methyldopa to care.

…

…

…

*snort* Ah!!

Sorry about that. I dozed off.

Now I have to be at work and pretend like I know what is going on. But, to be honest, I don’t even know how I got here.




*Fred Flintstone Feet is characterized by the swelling of the feet and ankles to cartoonish proportions, resulting in feet resembling those of Fred Flintstone. It’s a real medical condition.

Diagnosis: Butterball

We are supposed to meet every doctor in the practice because any one of them could be on-call when Alexander decides to make his grand entrance. At today’s appointment we met “Dr. David.”

While English was his first language and he didn’t appear to have a mouth full of peanut butter, he was almost impossible to understand. He had a very quiet voice and spoke very quickly. The best way I can describe it is he sounded like a turkey whispering. Everything sounded like a meek little “gooble-gooble-gobble” when he spoke. I got so tired of asking him “what was that?” that I finally just started furnishing him with answers to questions that I am not even sure he asked.

Doctor David: gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble?
Steph: Um… uh… I guess about twenty-five weeks?
Doctor David: Gobble?! You haven’t urinated for twenty-five weeks? Ba-GAAWK!!!

Yes, he spoke *just* clearly enough and at *just* the right times to remind me that I should never furnish answers when I don’t understand the question. It worked in college, but not so much in real life.

Anyway, at least Dr. David was very nice. (Of course, that is an assumption since I couldn’t understand 70% of what he said.) If he is the one that shows up to deliver the baby, I just hope we have someone that speaks turkey on hand to act as an interpreter - preferably someone fluent in the “meek turkey” dialect.

25 Week Belly

It occurred to me that up until now, I have never taken a picture of my belly. Since I am sure this is EXACTLY what everyone that reads this blog really wants to see, here it is...



I just stood up and took this with the camera in the computer, so it isn't the best quality. But at least you can see Alexander's digs for the last 25 weeks. (The outside of it anyway, he doesn't allow visitors to see the inside - we suspect it's because he can't even remember the last time he did dishes or vacuumed in there.)

And as you can see, we are once again experiencing a supernova outside. Crazy weather this time of year, eh?

He’s a maniac, maaaanic…

… in the womb! And he’s kickin’ like he’s never kicked before.

The baby seems to be re-creating his favorite scenes from Flashdance in my belly. His kicks are strong enough that you can see my belly move sometimes, which is a little bit Alien-esque….

*cue the trumpets*

Hear-ye, hear-ye… well not YE so much. Yes, I am talking to ye... but for the rest of ye, hear-ye!

We’ve decided on a name for the boy.

While Nabisco was a nice name with a little pseudo-European flair PLUS all sorts of corporate sponsorship opportunities, we’ve decided instead to name the baby Alexander. If it turns out that ‘money shot’ from the last ultrasound was just a shot of the umbilical cord, we’ll name the baby Ava.

So there you have it. Ta-da!