The baby is … *insert drumroll here*

We just got back from the ultrasound.






The results are in.







Our








Baby









IS…..







Gender Unknown!! Awwww. I always wanted a little Gender Unknown...

Yes, as anticlimactic as this all seems our baby was not only being shy but also turned completely the wrong way to get any good pictures or measurements. I almost started laughing when I saw the baby and it was just this round circle. The technician said “that’s the top of the head”… meaning the baby was breech and his or her feet were facing posterior (towards my back). There is literally no worse position for a baby to be in when it comes to trying to take a look at them on ultrasound. I was almost proud of the baby for figuring that out. Way to "stick it to the man" little dude.

Towards the end, the baby did move a little bit and started kicking around. While it is really hard to decipher what you are seeing on an ultrasound screen, I was able to see the baby bring his hand up to his face and suck on his fingers. Or pick his nose. It was hard to tell. Either way it was adorable.

We managed to get a few shots of “between the legs” after the baby started moving. It was still a difficult angle and the baby was keeping his or her legs together pretty tightly. The tech said that if she had to guess, she would guess boy. This guess is further complicated by the fact that the umbilical cord happened to pass between his legs. So just as before it is either a girl or a boy…or REALLY a boy if that wasn’t the umbilical cord we were looking at.

We’re waiting for a call from the doctor to get more details on the load mode and whatnot. More news as it happens.

More Awkwardnesses

Only five more days of Nabsico begin referred to awkwardly as him/her, s/he and other terms usually reserved for a unconvincing drag queens. (I thought you’d like that analogy.)

The votes are in, and it seems that the vast majority believe this will be a girl. If it is a boy hopefully this will not be an emasculating story to tell in front of his friends when he is older. Sorry, boy.

Speaking of awkwardness, Brian (our contractor) wanted to bring someone by last weekend to check out our basement and get Tim’s recommendation.

Here is our honest reference for our contractor. Maybe he can just refer people to our blog:
- the work was of average quality (mismatching hinges and doorknobs, a broken screen door, and other details that Tim had to fix himself were pretty lame)
- the work was behind schedule (a three month project turned into a 10 month project thanks to that fact that we regularly suffered with abandonment issues for weeks at a time)
- the actual cost was about twice the estimate
- the contractor was overly aggressive (except when it came to getting work done), and showed signs of a severe personality disorder
- we really like the shower door he picked out (we like to end on a positive)

As if a recommendation from us wouldn’t be awkward enough, I should note that Brian wanted to supervise the recommendation by being there when Tim spoke to the potential client. Tim had a scheduling conflict, so mercifully this meeting never took place.

This is like the worst break-up ever. We just want to end things already, get him out of our lives, and move on. The final inspection should be sometime next week and hopefully we can end things by handing him a clearly worded Dear John letter.

Dear Brian,
This isn’t working out. We wanted to end things seven months ago, back when you promised the relationship would be over. We are sure you can make another client very happy someday, but you just aren’t right for us. We’ve moved on and so should you. In fact, we have started doing a lot of home improvements ourselves and we are sort of causally seeing this electrician. Good luck.

Love,
Tim and Steph

PS: We’ve changed the garage code. Don’t make us change our phone number too - we've only just learned it.

Baby Likes Drama

We just got back from the doctor. Nabisco seems to have a flare for theatrics and suspense. The doctor was listening for the heartbeat on Doppler, like she does at every appointment. She couldn’t seem to find anything. It was like tumbleweed in there. A good 5 minutes passed before the doctor finally said “I can’t find the heartbeat, the baby must be hiding.” Hiding? I mean, he has to be in the womb, right? Doesn’t the umbilical cord act as leash to keep the kid from wandering around inside my body and having his own little Fantastic Voyage? I can’t believe we are such neglectful parents that we actually let the kid get lost in the womb… *sigh* Hopefully the doctor’s office won’t call DHS.

The doctor moved Tim and I into another room. I guess the room was command central for locating missing and exploited fetuses. It was dominantly filled with an ultrasound machine that looked like some sort of Antiques Roadshow reject. It had a tiny screen, buzzed loudly with fans, and I think it would require an upgrade to have enough memory to play Pong. They seemed to be low on that gel stuff they use as a transducer for the ultrasound, and the doctor was shaking and slapping the bottle over my belly like it was ketchup. After several embarrassingly loud farty noises, she got enough gel out to begin.

As soon the doctor said “the baby is kicking” Tim and I both relaxed tremendously. The baby’s head looked nice and round, and much less Skeletor-esque than before. The baby had the hiccups during the ultrasound. This was oddly the most adorable thing I had ever seen. Yaaarrr.

The picture wasn’t as clear as the previous ultrasound because my bladder wasn’t full this time. Apparently that requirement for a full bladder really makes a difference. I honestly thought it was just the ultrasound technician’s idea of a cruel joke. Make a pregnant woman get a full bladder, then squirt her belly with a cool gel, then press down firmly on her abdomen. Diabolical! Muahahahaha!

At the end of the exam, the doctor printed a laughable picture of the baby for Tim and I to take home. It looks like two grayish blobs. But it’s “our” grayish blob… so we think it is great. Tim and I were thinking about showing the picture to people and insisting that it is a very clear representation of our baby. It’s what expectant parents do to annoy and bore everyone around them.

So the baby is just fine. We have the “big” ultrasound on March 31st and hopefully we will find out if the baby is a Nabsico or a Nabisca (that’s the feminine for Nabisco).

Oh, and the doctor said I should be prepared to be on Load Mode for the rest of the pregnancy. (Although she may have used a euphemism in place of Load Mode.) I’m still hopeful, though, that the placenta will move and I can have a glorious comeback. But I guess it is wise to be prepared to be slothing around with the kitties in bed for a while longer.

Is she pregnant… or…???

People look at me fearfully because they know they are only one careless question away from a major social faux pas.

I’m in that awkward stage of the baby belly... People who know I am pregnant comment on my “baby bump”, but people I don’t see that often just look at me funny. I know they want to ask, but they aren’t sure enough to ask. So I end up being on the receiving end of stumbly questions like “So… what’s…new… with you?” This line of question often includes that exaggerated head tilt both people and dogs get when they are especially curious about something.



I am hopeful that this child will be a genius, because I can feel my own IQ dropping at an alarming rate. I think the baby is literally sucking my … smart matter... stuff…out. Need an example? How about stepping into the shower while still wearing socks and underwear. Yeeaaah. That was dumb…very dumb.

… Or was it brilliantly efficient?

No, wait… it was just dumb. My mistake.

I have just started feeling the first kicks. It is just about the coolest feeling in the world. The best way my reduced brain can think of to describe it is like internal popcorn popping. Based on this development, here is our latest projection of our future baby:



Once again, actual baby may vary.

In other news… I only have five more days until the next doctor’s appointment and hopeful removal of the Load Mode II prescription. Yeeeeee-haaaw!! *fires guns into air*

Well… I think I have just used my entire annual ration of ellipses in one post. I’d better go…

Walletgate

I get to mingle with society twice a week when I go into the University and to catch up on work and bring some work home. When I returned from one of these rare outings on Thursday I realized I lost my wallet. Maybe I should be on total lockdown if I can’t even make it from my car to the office without incident. Really. I am being trusted with a walking distance of, what, 200 feet? And I lose my wallet?? This doesn’t forebode well for Nabisco. If I can’t keep track of a wallet, what makes me think I can keep track of a baby? I mean, wallets don’t even usually crawl around on their own.

So Thursday night I logged into my work e-mail account from home. I wanted to e-mail our giant security guard, Al, to see if any wallets had been turned in. Maybe it fell out of my purse during that 200 foot trek. To my surprise, I already had an e-mail from Al waiting for me. But it was a mass e-mail about a string of thefts happening on campus. I had a flashback to those 5 or 6 (dozen) bathroom trips I made, leaving my purse behind unguarded at the desk. I dropped to my knees and did one of those slow-mo “Noooooo”s, as is the popular response to crisis with folks in the talkies.



In assessing the damages of a missing wallet, I realized I am really not too bad off. Fortunately, I am enough of a slob that my debit and credit cards weren’t in my wallet anyway. They were floating around on the sea of Kleenex, Tylenol bottles, prenatal vitamins, doctor visit receipts, and other things you find stuffed into a pregnant woman’s purse. Plus I only had less than a dollar in change on hand. So if someone stole my wallet, they would be very disappointed to basically only end up with my driver’s license, (which doesn’t have much value, but it does feature a picture of me with flyaway hair, a slightly insane look on my face, and a laughably charitable “weight” indicated).

I was going to get a bonus outing today as a result of the missing wallet – a trip to the DMV! That may be the happiest place on earth, if by “earth” you mean Waukegan, IL. I was almost looking forward to it.

After a weekend of worrying and practicing less crazy looking driver’s license pictures in a handheld mirror, the trip to the DMV was cancelled. This doesn’t make me any less stupid, but it turns out my wallet was here at home the whole time. It was in a chair, buried under various baby paraphernalia I’ve been getting in the mail over the last couple of weeks.



True story.

What a Great Title for a Blog Entry!

The end of Load-Mode Level II is in sight! The doctor said I only had to continue this for about 10 more days...and, yes, that does sound completely arbitrary and made up. I sometimes think the doctor’s office is using an origami fortune teller to determine the length of bedrest to prescribe to patients.

I am glad Dr. Origami said I only need to spend 10 more days in bed. If I said my favorite color was blue, it would have been 25 more days in bed. I am looking forward to re-emerging into society. In the meantime, the imprint of my body deepens on the bed and will soon require yellow caution tape so unsuspecting passersby don’t fall in.

What happened to our contractor? I’m glad you asked, but I have no idea. We were about to go to the Piggly Wiggly to tape his picture on the back of milk cartons. We haven’t seen or heard from him in weeks. There is probably only one day of finishing work left (if that) and then he is supposed to arrange the final inspection. Once again we are having abandonment issues. If our contractor reads this blog, I have only one piece of advice for him: take a long and hard look at that motivational poster on your wall. If you can't live up to the expectations of your motivational poster, then you don't deserve to have an adorable pictue of a kitty on your wall.

Well I have a big day of staring into space and yelling at Bear from a reclined position ahead of me. I’d better get on top of that.

Level II Load-Mode

The doctor bumped me up to Level II Load Mode, which means I am supposed to be in bed as much as possible. Technology makes it possible to be just as productive in bed as you would be on your feet. I can work on my book revisions, shop for baby-raising supplies, e-mail the office, etc. I can also watch the perpetual America’s Next Top Model marathon on VH1. (I said it is “possible” to be productive, not probable.)

I am 100% sure everything is going to be fine, I think doctors just sometimes don’t know what else to suggest so they just tell you to stay in bed. I don’t know if the bed has any actual healing properties, but it does have the magical effect of causing Tim to tuck in my sheets every so often and offer to run out to get (vegetarian) sushi for supper… so that’s cool. I am hoping I’ll be returning to Level I Load-Mode by early next week. (That is the level where I am just supposed to be "generally lazy".)

Cow and Bear are on sympathy bed rest. Well, Cow is anyway. Bear has discovered he has a fondness for the bamboo plant and has been snacking all morning. Tim finally had to move the plant to a secret place. I can’t tell you where it is because I am pretty sure Bear reads this blog.

So that is all… I’ll keep you posted on such topics as my placenta and spotting whether you want to hear about it our not. One of the first things to go when you are pregnant is your sense of shame. It’s just not an option.

Doctor Prescribed Load-Mode

This could be one of those posts where I am sharing more information than you care to know. If you are embarrassed just thinking about me being pregnant or hearing words like “cervix”, now is the time to step away from the blog.

Go on, git!

Ok, I’m glad you stayed. Those other guys were total dinks, but you are cool and I’m glad you’re still here. Yes, I’m talking to you --- you with the eyes reading these words right now.


Here is the deal. After all that flu and fever drama, I had some spotting. I called the doctor and they got me in for an emergency ultrasound. The baby is doing great, and even waved hello during the ultrasound. The baby looks cross between Skeletor and an alien right now, but I am told that is just the nature of ultrasound pictures and our actual baby may vary. He or she was being shy and keeping his or her legs closed, so we didn’t get to “see the goods” to figure out if Nabisco is a girl or a boy.

It turns out I have placenta previa – which means the placenta is covering the cervix. That sounds innocuous enough and just as weird as any other thing in pregnancy… but it turns out this can be a problem. The good news is that there is a great chance this will resolve itself before we get too close to “showtime”. I also think it is cool that we get a lot of bonus ultrasounds to keep an eye on it – which means plenty of more chances for Nabisco to show us the goods so we know what color to paint the nursery.

The doctor didn’t put me on bedrest, although that is often how placenta previa is treated later in pregnancy. I do have a ton of activity restrictions – including the fact that I am not allowed to lift more than 10 pounds or do too much walking or any strenuous activities. Basically, I am on doctor ordered load-mode.

Tim is taking good care of everyone and lifting heavy objects as necessary… thanks, muffin.

d'oh

I typed too soon... the fever must have read my last post and angrily decided to make a little comeback.

*sigh* Brady Bunch marathon, here I come!

xoxo,
Steph and Nabisco

Total Load-Mode

I’ve been down with the flu since Tuesday. High fever, no voice, chills, body aches, cough, all that yummy stuff. Not to be playing an invisible violin here… but I gotta say that this sucks. We called the OB/GYN on Thursday and they insisted I come in right away.

You’d think we live in the boondocks, but the nearest hospital is an hour away. This is where we had to go on Thursday, but I honestly don’t remember much of how we got there or got back home. In fact, this event may have happened on Wednesday or Friday, I have no idea. Fortunately, Tim was driving. This is the same hospital that I’ll be delivering in this summer. If my labor is as short as my mom’s (1.5 hours with me), we’ll just have to pray it doesn’t happen during rush hour… otherwise Tim may have to play Dr. Dad on Highway 41. *insert nervous laugh here*

Anyhooo… the important news is that the baby is OK. His/her heartrate was unusually rapid, and that doctor said that was due to the fever… but it sounded strong and healthy. So it looks like everything is OK. Phew! I was instructed to take every measure possible to keep my fever down as it can be dangerous for the baby. So I have been popping Tylenol and Tim was plopping cold rags on my head.

Today (day 5), my fever has finally broken. Hurray!! The doctor said the pregnancy results in a weakened immune system (something about my body needing to not “reject’ the baby). She said the symptoms could be much worse than a typical flu, and I should expect it to last at least twice as long. NICE.

This was my first experience with maternal guilt. I know I didn’t catch the flu on purpose, but I feel so bad that it is effecting the baby. Poor little mini-muffin. It seems unfair that s/he has to pay a price with an elevated heart rate for my stupid weakened immune system. Ahh… so I already feel like a real mother, what with the guilt and worry.

I think Tim is the real victim here. He’s been working at home this week so he could keep an eye on me. He goes to the store constantly because I seem only capable of thinking of the one thing I need at that exact moment in time rather than predicting things I may need in the future. Tim is outstanding in the field of husband excellence.

I’m so sick of being in bed watching TV Land. I love Leave it to Beaver, but I’m not sure this is realistic training for parenthood. So Tim, forever the patient caregiver, brought me this computer. I’m propped up with pillowed typing as both kitties are snuggled up with me. Yarrrr. Hopefully ‘real life’ will resume next week.

Now you'd better go and wash your hands after reading this post. And spray your screen down with Lysol. I don't want you getting this too.

PS- I am still really out of it, so let's just politely pretend that any "typos" you may have noticed in the above blog entry represent stylistic choices. Thanks.