Solomon Wolf Jenkins is here!!

As excited as I am to share Solomon's birth story, I've been so intimidated by the overwhelming emotions and electricity that surrounded his birth that I haven't even known how to start. But I want to get everything down before the details get fuzzy, so I'll just start typing.

So, I went in Monday late afternoon for my checkup. I was sad because my regular OB was on vacation, and I had to see someone new. Anyway, I went in for my NST and again my fluids were low- lower than they had been the previous week. I was confused and frustrated because although they had been a little low the previous Tuesday, they were plenty high on Friday, and now they were at their lowest point. Anyway, after a very prolonged period of testing, the Dr. came in and told me I'd have to go to the hospital and be induced- that I was already 39 weeks and it just wasn't justified to continue to risk the baby when he was having questionable heart rate dips and low fluids. I was allowed to drive home first to pick up my bags, but was told I needed to be at the hospital within an hour. He told me there was a possibility the Dr. at the hospital would have a second opinion and allow me to go home, but that wasn't his recommendation. Anyway, so Gerard and I drove down to the hospital while I chugged 3 bottles of water hoping to impact my fluid levels. It didn't work. In fact, now my fluids were even lower. The biggest pocket they found was, I believe a 3.6- well below the worrisome cutoff of 5.

Before being induced, they told me I was .5 cm dilated, 50% effaced, and Solomon was -1. None of those numbers actually correlate on the tables, but that's what I was. It was about 9:30 or 10pm when they hooked up the Pitocin. With it came and IV of fluid- it took the nurse multiple attempts to get the IV in, which irritated me. The put the fetal monitors on my belly, which made it next to impossible to move independently. So I hung out there for a little bit, and my contractions started, although I couldn't yet feel them. The nurses would come in and check on me and seemed surprised or impressed or something that I wasn't feeling the contractions yet. Everyone kept saying everything looked great. They told me they'd keep the Pitocin low throughout the night so as to let me sleep, and then they'd rev up things in the morning.

That was a lie. I think I got about an hour or two of sleep before the contractions got too strong. But I was handling them well. I was using a lot of nonfocused awareness that we had learned in our Birthing From Within class, and everything seemed manageable so I let Gerard sleep through most of this. At maybe 2 or 3 in the morning they decided to 'move things along' and ruptured my membranes. About this time, too, they acted like they were going to do me a favor by putting in internal fetal monitors and allow me to take off the external monitors and be a bit more mobile. This sounded fair enough, but I immediately regretted it once the process started. It was an extremely painful experience that seemed to take forever. What's worse, one of the two monitors didn't take so they had to go back in a third time to insert it.

Anyway, I'm hanging out for a while and the contractions kept getting stronger and stronger. The nurse kept asking me if I was ready for the epidural, which really annoyed me so I told her to stop asking. She apologized and obliged. I'll stop here to try to explain how incredible Gerard was being. I was overwhelmed with his ability to tune into exactly how I felt and what I needed. He had internalized everything from classes, everything we had talked about what I might like or not like during labor, and everything from his own intuition about what to do. He cuddled in the bed with me, gave me kisses, massaged my neck, back and legs just enough to offer relief but knew exactly when he needed to stop and give me space. He said everything right. I honestly think if I could play back a recording of my labor and give a play by play of exactly what he should have said or done, it would not have been as good as what he actually said or did. I know I sound corny, but even amidst all the pain of labor, I could not get over how incredibly grateful I was of Gerard's presence and how lucky I felt. There was about 5 seconds when he was trying to update someone on the labor over the phone- and I wanted to throw it across the room. But other than those 5 seconds the whole time I was taken aback by how perfect and comforting he was being.

So anyway, the morning continues and at some point it was discovered one of the internal monitors was no longer working. So I had to put back on the external monitor. After all of that I was back to the external monitors. Also, the nurse kept coming in worried because Solomon's heart rate kept dropping during contractions. For a while this was worrisome enough to make me wear an oxygen mask. I got to take this off eventually, I don't remember the exact timeline now.

So we get to the late morning and my contractions have paralyzed me with pain. I had been sad during my earlier labor that I couldn't move around and practice all the labor poses I'd learned in yoga and our classes. But by this point I couldn't have moved even without all of my leashes. I was screaming out in pain but making a concerted effort to keep the tone very low, as this was supposed to aid in muscle relaxation and encourage your cervix to dilate. I remember at several points being worried my voice would go out. I was feeling overwhelmed at this point, but gained some strength by noticing the contractions were getting closer and closer together. They felt like they were almost on top of each other. So by it being so uncomfortable I knew it at least meant I was making progress. Gerard kept telling me I was in transition, which encouraged me. The nurse came in and kept asking me if I felt the urge to push. I didn't. She moved up my Pitocin level from an 11 to a 12 despite me begging her not to. She came back in and seemed perplexed I still wasn't feeling the urge to push. She started prepping the bassinet and getting things ready for delivery so I thought the game was almost over. Then, she checked my dilation and told me I was 3cm and 80% effaced. I was absolutely crushed. Devastated. It was really hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I had worked that hard for only 3 cm. It was even harder to wrap my head around the fact that the pain would undoubtedly increase in the next 7cm. All of these realizations crushed down on me hard and I was begging for an epidural within seconds of her saying 3 cm. I felt disappointed and embarrassed, but really didn't see any other way. Gerard was wonderfully supportive with this decision, even though beforehand I had told him to refuse me if I were to ask for an epidural. He knew enough to know I really meant it and wasn't giving up prematurely. I'm tearing up right now just remembering how comforting and supportive he was through the whole process.

The anesthesiologist came soon (I believe this was about 11am), and I remember him and the nurse being impressed I could remain so still and calm through the pain of the injection. And I was all 'dude, I can barely feel that relative to what I've been going through.' Anyway, at first I just felt numb and tingly in my toes, but soon I could barely feel when I was having a contraction. I was given a little button I could push to control how much drugs I'd receive. I could push it up to once every 20 minutes. I was told to get some rest, which wasn't hard after what I had been through, and the fact I hadn't slept the night before. At about 2pm I woke up. I still hadn't pushed the button, and was getting the slightest bit of movement back in my legs. At this point I could feel my contractions a bit in the upper portion of my abdomen- but I knew the real pain was lower, blocked by the epidural. But I felt comforted by at least being able to feel my contractions a bit and being more aware of what was happening to my body. For the next 30-40 minutes I was awake but relaxed while Gerard slept. My pitocin level now was a 14- only 2 units more than they were when I asked for the epidural. At about 2:40 I was checked again and 8cm dilated. This comforted me and I felt energized to have the baby. Minutes after that they said 'whoa whoa, baby's coming- wake up Gerard!' So pretty much he woke up and I started pushing. Apparently, Solomon didn't enjoy this phase too much, and started getting bradycardiac with each contraction. So again I was on the oxygen. I remember a nurse asking the OB if they should page a pediatrician to be here for the birth, which scared me a lot that he might need extra attention right away. I was also pretty disturbed at the OB's demeanor. He barely looked me in the eye- he stared at the monitor the whole time. He looked very solemn and not especially encouraging. I was scared enough to know Solomon needed to get out asap. I still didn't really feel the urge to push, but I was grateful I could feel enough of my contractions to know when to push. I think it took about 3 or 4 contractions and then he was out! He cried for a minute or so, but stopped almost immediately after being given to me. I was so grateful that he looked strong and healthy from the get-go and didn't need to be taken from me to make sure he was okay.

I immediately started crying, overwhelmed with gratitude and love for this little guy. I won't get into all of the emotional aspects of the birth yet. I wanted to record this story now, while I could still remember most everything. I can write about everything else later. What the nurses said and did I stand to forget, but how I felt is something that could never fade from mind.

I'll never know why or how my contractions got so strong and fast without dilating properly, if I would have progressed the way I did from 3-8 without the relaxation that came from the epidural, or if there was something I could have done differently in the labor progression to have changed its outcome. In the end it really doesn't matter. I had really wanted to not have an epidural, and while I do feel a slight sting of disappointment and maybe even embarassment that I couldn't do it naturaly- it's honestly something I've thought of extremely little since 3:01 when Solomon came out. He was happy and alert and so was I. Neither of us nor our bond seemed at all interrupted by the epidural, and in the end I'm just so happy and relieved to have a healthy baby that the way in which it happened is of extremely little importance now.

Ok, I've spent too much time staring at a computer screen instead of Solomon's beautiful little face!

Other Random Musings

Can we talk about the fact that until last night my life and childhood were void of the awesomeness that is the game Stratego? Gerard grew up with it, and bought a version for us yesterday, and at the risk of being a huge old dork-- this game is so cool!! I'm really sad about all these years gone without this game in my life...

Can we also talk about the fact that when Gerard was explaining the game play to me, he made it perfectly evident that his three post-graduate degrees (from Columbia and Vanderbilt, mind you) never taught him how to appropriately say 'Colonel'??! Now, it is no secret Gerard has his only special way of saying some words (library, birthday, salmon...) but I think this is just taking it too far...

I've become so lazy....

... that I've resorted to sticking pieces of paper/trash/etc. in Kota's collar and sending her off to Gerard rather than having to get up.

And I think it's pretty genius.

Here you'll see Kota gently reminding Gerard that this FedEx envelope belongs in the recycling- not the trash- and can he please try again?

By the way, my first NST (nonstress test) went well enough. Everything looked fine, but I wasn't especially pleased with what the Dr. had to say. My regular OB was on vacation, so I had to be signed up with some new chick. Contrary what they told me at the hospital, she sat there and told me I couldn't do anything that kept me on my feet for more than 30 minutes, no yoga, nothing. I can't even do a grocery trip in that kinda time frame. She told me lots of other things that seem way strict. And, despite the laziness I depicted above, I'm not very happy about all this. I know some people get on real bedrest and have it way worse, but up to 5 weeks doing virtually nothing seems horrendous... Not to mention the fact that everyone seemed to think that the end of my pregnancy was the perfect time to come visit SF... so I have a slew of visitors back to back starting Monday. This is well enough for me to keep me company- as long as ninja baby stays on the inside- but I'm not sure how pleased they will be playing cards and doing (my new obsession) Kakuro puzzles instead of adventuring through the Bay...

Here are my 35 week pictures... are you as excited about my long overdue haircut this Saturday as I am??

Graphic- You maybe don't want to read this. Plus, it's really long

So, I'll start off this post by giving away the ending. I'm fine; boo boo is fine, and he's still in my belly. But 36 hours ago I wasn't sure about any of that.

It started Wednesday night after an uneventful day. I went to bed, dreamed that my Birthing From Within teacher had decided to change routes and teach us Lamaze instead and would not refund us- and awoke at a quarter after 1 to a lot of wetness. I rushed to the toilet unsure if I had peed myself, if my water broke, or what had happened. When I turned on the bathroom light, I was surprised to see it was blood dripping on the floor and down my legs. Gerard and I were worried, but relatively calm as we drove to the hospital. I was crying and was sure it was bloody show and I was going into early labor. Not ideal, but at 34 weeks and change, it also wasn't necessarily terrible.

Anyway, we get there and the whole nine yards of testing. We got the good news that I wasn't dilated at all, so it didn't look like I was going into preterm labor just yet. But the first ultrasound showed a splotchy part on my placenta that appeared to indicate placental abruption. This led to talks about emergency c-section, long hospital stays of up to weeks on end, and lots of crying. I was told a neonatologist would come talk to me in the morning about the implications of a premie. A social worker should also come by and discuss me getting on disability. I then get wired to the bed with IVs and fetal monitors, and the whole mess led me unable to reposition on the bed by myself, much less go to the bathroom independently. It was awesome. I still had no idea what my fate would be and nothing about the situation was good. By the time things calmed down a bit, it approximated 4am, and I was tired. Nurses and doctors continued to prance in the room at all hours of the night and morning to take vitals, fix the monitors I had knocked off, and one even woke me up with the burning question of why Gerard hadn't gotten screened for cystic fibrosis. Lady, if you had waited until sunrise you could've seen he was black and that he doesn't have cystic fibrosis.

So, at 10:30am I get wheeled down to get a formal diagnostic ultrasound, with a bigger and fancier machine than previously used upon arrival. That was the most eventful thing of the day. Other than I sat there. Waiting. Lying in bed. Waiting. When the nurses came in I'd ask when a Dr. would come tell me what's going on, she'd tell me she'd go check on it, then I'd never see her again. A new nurse would come in next and I'd have to start the process over again. And ps- there is nothing on tv in the middle of the day. Nothing. It wasn't until that evening that I could stop continuous fetal monitoring, which meant I could now move around the bed all by myself! I also now only had to drag my IV drip along to the bathroom to pee. Even better than this was the fact that I could now eat. I was starving, and so looking forward to my first meal in almost 24 hours. That is, until I saw the microwave dinner on the tray presented to me. Now, I know that hospital food is supposed to be disgusting. It's like a law. But this was just uncalled for. I mustered down a few bites, and took refuge in the fact that I had a plum left to eat. At least something not drowning in preservatives. It didn't take a much closer look to see that the plum was actually half yellow from so much spotting, and its shape conformed to the touch of my thumb. Gag. Alas, I still had a slice of cake to look forward to. I managed to swallow one bite and though I would die. I can't even describe how bad it was. Like someone had frozen it for a year, taken it out and let it stale, then froze it again. Then someone poured an entire cup of water on it to feign moistness. Gerard was obviously ordered to bring me food.

So here we are...I hadn't had any more bleeding since the big event, boo boo looked fine (a hearty 5lb, 2 oz), and I was told I'd probably leave first thing in the morning if everything still looked good. I got moved to a new room in a different wing, which was a sign that I was stable. The bed was more comfortable, I was no longer on liquids, tho I had to leave the IV in, and an end was in sight. I mentioned to the nurses the neonatologist nor the social worker came to visit. They'd get right on that. So I try to get some sleep, annoyed that since arrival I hadn't spent more than 5 cumulative minuted with a Dr.- and each time it was a different one. They told me nothing about results from an tests they had run, told me contradictory things about what this would mean for the rest of my pregnancy (one told me everything would be a-ok, but without exercise, another told me I'd be on house arrest), and never really explained to me where we were going from here or what would happen next.

Gerard and I wake up at 12:30 to the lights being thrown on and a nurse loudly coming in to check my vitals. Not even pretending to be considerate about it. "Get some sleep; see you in 3 or 4 hours" she said as she left. I was woken up several more times throughout the night because apparently my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature are of vast interest at all hours of the night. By morning, I was sufficiently cranky and anxious for rounds so someone would tell me what was going on.

By 11:30am, rounds were still MIA, and I was pissed. When a resident finally pranced in after 1pm, I told her in no uncertain terms I was none too pleased. "You can't be mad at me," she says , "I've never even met you." Exactly! I've never seen the same Dr. twice or for more than 30 seconds, so who else am I supposed to pin my frustration on. She told me I'd be ready to be discharged after the neonatologist came to see me.... Excuse me? I was trapped in the hospital for an indefinite period of time waiting on a Dr. who was supposed to see me yesterday morning?! It was about this time I realized I had been there for over 36 hours and had not been given a change of gowns, socks or underwear, and hadn't even been given a toothbrush or shower or anything. Now I was really just pissed. The social worker came soon after the peak of my anger, and was appalled at the service I'd be given. She immediately got me towels, a change of clothes and a toothbrush, and informed me that the neonatologist was in surgery, but would see me when she got out. Finally, a woman with some answers.

So, after a very soothing, but soapless shower, brushed teeth, clean socks and underwear, and a visit from a neonatologist who told me nothing about NICUs or premies that I didn't already know being an SLP, I was finally discharged. They would not allow me to leave on foot; I had to go in the wheelchair, which is ridiculous. But I'm pretty much allowed to resume normal daily activities, minus exercising. Although she did say prenatal yoga was ok. I think she might assume my prenatal yoga is like the kind on DVDs where you stretch and chant and call it a day, and not like the actual real life workout that it is. But oh well. I'm home. And Gerard came to pick me up with my Kota girl in the car, and got me ice cream on the way home without me even having to ask for it. So things are looking up.

He's coming... (soon, not now)

Wow, didn't realize it had been that long since I posted... It's been a very crazy couple of weeks. I've had to stay several hours late at work every single day trying to wrap up school's summer session, in addition to trying to tie together all of my clinical duties to prepare for maternity leave. Despite my efforts, I didn't finish; I have some reports to write from home this week and I'll have to swing by the office in the next couple days to make sure everything is ready for my absence. But, other than that... I'm free! Whohoo :)

So, in baby news.. I'm 34 weeks. 6 weeks today is my due date. It's crazy to me, because I know of so many babies that were born 36-37 weeks. It's comforting, because as a professional I know there are virtually no long-term complications from having a baby even at 34 weeks, especially 36. But guys, 36 weeks is, like, 2 weeks away... That's really really soon! I think we are more or less prepared... I mean, we don't have our bag packed, car seat installed, anything like that. But mentally, I think we could do this any day now. The nursery is suited up enough to support a baby, although I'm constantly moving around furniture trying to get the set-up just right. I still want a rug for it, which is on the to-do list.

The other update is that we finally chose a hospital. We'll be going down to Redwood City. Everyone seems to think this is a horrible idea, because Redwood City is 23 miles away, and the SF hospital is 4 miles away. But let's think about this rationally. It is 23 miles, but 22.75 of these miles are highway. It's half an hour drive, versus a 20 min 4 mile drive through the middle of the city. I'm pretty sure I'll take an extra 10 minutes in a smooth ride going straight, than a drive that is constantly stopping and turning and speeding and slamming on the brakes and cars cutting us off and horns honking and bikers going crazy and everything else that comes along with city driving. So no, I'm not concerned about the drive. And I'm not concerned that I won't have more than 30 minutes warning before having this baby. And, if I don't, then Gerard will deliver his 14th baby between 101 and the bay, and it'll be a great story to tell.

Beautiful Beautiful

This weekend Gerard and I took advantage of our 3-day weekend by taking a little trip. We went to Monterey, which really was 3rd in line of our ideas. We had really wanted to go to San Diego, but the drive just wasn't practical for such a short time frame and I couldn't leave work early that Friday. So we decided to go to Yosemite, but thought of this too late, and any reasonably close hotels that allowed doggies were booked solid. So we settled on Monterey, thinking there'd be little else to do besides the famed Aquarium. Luckily, we were dead wrong. It was one of the best weekends we've had in a long time. The aquarium was even more fascinating than I had remembered, which is quite a feat being as I last went when I was 12, and what aquarium is cooler when you're an adult than a kid?? Gerard and I might as well have been middle schoolers again, standing in awe in front of the withering otters and reaching in the wade pool trying to pet the sting rays... The next planned outting was a whale watching tour, which had been highly anticipated by yours truly. I had made reservations and rearranged our schedule for this boat trip. And then we get there and I was refused entry on behalf of lil boo boo. No preggos allowed, they said. Apparently it was a two-pronged dagger against me: at any point in the trip I'd be a good two hour's from medical assistance if needed, Coast Guards would have to be called, blah blah blah. I must've looked unconvinced at this concern, because they quickly dropped this reason and stated that whales also omitted pathogens, and if I went, I'd contract TB and kill my baby. They  probably said this a bit more rationally, but it was enough to convince me, albeit reluctantly, that it was not worth spotting a whale to endanger myself or lil boo boo. But I really didn't give a damn about troubling the Coast Guard.

The experience really honed in that everything happens for a reason though- which has become G's and my motto since the whole job uncertainty scenario began back in March. The canceled whale watching trip allotted us time to go to Point Lobos State Reserve, which I had been on the fence about. I had wanted to go, but was willing to delegate only a few rushed morning hours into the itinerary. But guys, this was one of the most amazing places I've ever been. We'd already driven a fair portion of the Pacific Highway, so we thought we'd kinda 'been there, done that' but this place is simply breathtaking. I can't wait for someone to come visit me so I can drive them back down and let someone else experience this. The whole time I kept thinking in wonder: I live an hour and a half away from this. I feel so blessed and incredulous on how many diversely wonderful places are so close to me. In a 4 hour drive or less, I can get to Monterey, Wine Country, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite and countless other treasures. Why anyone would not live in California is beyond me. 

We took the following day to drive the famed 17 Mile Drive, which- while beautiful, was slightly anticlimactic after Point Lobos, save for a few poignant lookouts. But Gerard got to see Pebble Beach Golf Club, which apparently is important in golf-world. We then went to Santa Cruz, peered into the beach boardwalk (which is decidedly less cool than I remember it being as a 12 year old), and then went to the Natural Bridge State Park, which is also pretty cool. The whole trip ended with a visit to the Gilroy Outlet mall, which was having a Memorial Day sale that practically required every store to offer additional 40% off savings storewide. So that was a very happy ending for everyone. Except for Kota and Gerard who had to hang out outside. So mainly just a happy ending for me. 

(I had the hardest time in the world narrowing down my photo album from this weekend into a couple pictures to post, so I encourage all interested parties to go to my gallery here. But be forewarned you'll be insanely jealous you didn't do this with your Memorial Day weekend. 

Mother's Day

Well folks, it's been a crazy couple of days.

We went back to Nashville for Gerard's graduation. It was kind of anticlimactic, as he really finished last year, but as of this weekend he is technically an MD, with no asterisks, and the documentation to prove it. So yay for my Schmoops!

Both of my parents came up, as did a lot of Gerard's family members, some of which I still hadn't met. So that was really nice. And while everything went surprisingly smoothly with everyone, I found myself getting increasingly stressed out and anxious. It wasn't until I took an hour and a half to walk around the mall on Saturday morning while Gerard packed that I realized I had just needed some alone time. I hadn't been alone for longer than a shower since Monday. Granted I was in a hugely packed mall and could hardly be considered "alone," but it was just what I needed to not have a breakdown.

So today was left to sleep in, get ready for work tomorrow, and enjoy Mother's Day! My Schmoops gave some very very beautiful earrings which I am very proud of :). To celebrate, I decided to dedicate the remainder of the day to lil boo boo, and took inventory of the very generous donations some of my kids' moms have given me. I also undertook the surprisingly daunting task of creating a baby gift registry, because some people have asked even though I'm not really having any real shower that I am aware of. So that was fun. And stressful. And time consuming.

I rounded out the day in a less happy way that left me feeling ironic, guilty, frustrated and confused, but I won't get into the details because I'm learning that some people who I don't expect are finding my blog, so maybe I should learn to censor myself a bit.

And, as of Wednesday, lil boo boo has gained some muscle. A pack to his punch. Some vigor to his movements. He's gonna be a feisty one.

Poopy

So, Match Day was March 19. On Monday, we found out that Schmoops actually didn't match. The emotional roller coaster that has ensued since then has been so turbulent that I can't even bring myself back there to accurately describe it. I don't want to do it injustice by wording it poorly, so I think I will just skip it all together. Suffice to say, it was surprising, disappointing, frightening, confusing, angering, frustrating and a whole bunch of other adjectives all rolled up into one. At the end of the day, he could have settled for a position for the sake of his pride to say he matched, but he took the high road and decided he didn't want to settle for a position out of desperation. And he didn't want to force me to move to Wichita or Boise, which I am forever grateful for. So now, here we are. Seemingly back at square one, but don't you worry. He has tricks up his sleeves and we are going to be just fine. I don't know where yet. But we'll be happy there. And I'm at peace with it.

I wasn't at such peace last Thursday. Between this cumulative stress of the preceding days, eating a lot of takeout during my travels, and lil boo boo totally fucking with my whole stomach/digestive area, I would up in the ER as a very unhappy camper. Next time you go to the ER, keep in mind that screaming and making a scene will get you a room ASAP instead of waiting in the waiting room. But also keep in mind that screaming and making a scene when you are friends with the residents hanging out there, because oh yeah- you're at Vanderbilt- is kind of embarrassing.

So, after my screaming and crying finally subsided, it was determined we had to find out if the shithead who did this- I mean, lil boo boo, is okay (I can say that because I know now he is just as happy as could be). Anyway, so one of these tests was a diagnostic ultrasound. Usually ultrasounds are happy and exciting and you are supposed to look at the dad with tears in your eyes and hold hands.... This was not one of those ultrasounds. This was one of those ultrasounds with one screen that was positioned in a way that I couldn't even see, with a very clinical sonographer who would not answer questions or say anything helpful at all. But, she was kind enough to turn the screen for one photo she took. The shot was a big W. Two legs spread eagle, with lil boo boo's penis sticking out the middle. It was the most fantastic picture I've ever seen, but of course this wasn't the sort of ultrasound that gives you souvenirs to post on your blog. Boo. :(

Pepperoni Ice Cream

So, Schmoops and I went down to LA for his 30th Birthday (!!) and had a super happy time. As much as I want to write-off LA as being superficial and annoying and all-around horrible, I just love it every time I'm there. Yes, the traffic sucks. But it's still pretty freaking awesome. We have great friends there, a nice warm beach for volleyball (G) and running (me), and everyone really seems genuinely happy there.

I was able to get there quite a bit earlier than expected because the earlier (slightly more expensive) flights had openings, so I snuck on one through stand by. Unfortunately I wasn't flying Virgin, and other airlines just seem so defunct to me after being spoiled by the holiness that is Virgin America. The party was fun, but I must say the whole going out while pregnant scene is getting old. Fast. It's fun at first, but the later it gets, the more tired I get, and the drunker everyone else gets. It's not always that fabulous a combination. Especially when I was not fed an adequate dinner. But that's a different story. Anyway, I have refused to succumb myself to being one of these boring pregnant girls who doesn't do anything fun anymore, but seriously guys, I'm tired! Even thought I'm not sick anymore, I still am not suitable for social situations after 11. 12 at best if I took a good nap prior. I take that back, because it's a total lie in the vain hope of not looking completely lame. 10 or 11 tops with a good nap.

Speaking of being preggers, when's this whole pickle ice cream with pepperoni craving thing going to start? I'm ready to guilt trip Gerard into making ridiculous grocery runs and grossing people out at every turn. Let's hop to it! I'm full of just normal people eating habits and it's slightly blase.

Musing, part deux

I remember what else I was going to say. It's not actually interesting enough to warrant another post tonight, but I'm mostly just including it now to prove, there was, indeed, another thought I had intended to post.

So, it occurred to me, that having a baby inside me who is half black, kinda makes me a quarter black. Temporarily. Sorta. 

Gerard thinks I'm an idiot.

The big 1-4

So, tomorrow I'll officially be 14 weeks! Not sure what that means, exactly, but I think it's a nice number, well-established in the second trimester. I've been feeling great, and aside from one random Wednesday, have been nausea-free for several weeks! Go me! 

I'm no where near what the world considers "showing," but I'm most definitely more rounded. Pants, while acceptable the first couple hours of the day, are next to unbearable by the afternoon. My sister offered the simple solution of unbuttoning my pants as soon as I sat down for work, which is apparently how she managed. Which is a wonderful idea, except for the fact I work with kids all day long. I'm fairly confident I could get arrested for this. 

Also new is the fact my dreams have now completely surrendered to baby dreams. Sometimes my baby is a genius and can repeat everything I say. Sometimes she's as pale as me, sometimes she's as dark as Gerard. She's a girl, or a boy, and anywhere from newborn to three years old. Last night, however, it was my sister's baby that was also mine. I'm aware people don't like hearing about dreams as much as I like to tell them, so here's the forewarning my dream is the remainder of the post, so if you don't care about it, you can stop reading. But it's pretty good. 

So, Gerard and I are supposed to watch my sister's baby for a week. One day during that week, Gerard decides to kidnap the baby. I wasn't there, but I can see it. Someone else sees Gerard kidnap the baby, but doesn't see Gerard's face, which means we are in the clear. So the next day, I'm trying to figure out if Gerard kidnapped the baby or not. I find the baby carrier thing with a blanket over it. I peek in, and sure enough, there's a baby who apparently wasn't too upset he hadn't been fed or attended to in any way in over 24 hours. From what I hear, this is less than realistic. Regardless, I freak out and decide he needs to eat. To his disappointment, my boobs aren't in working order yet, so I have to go get him a bottle and formula. Meanwhile, I ration with Gerard that since we haven't called my sister to report that someone kidnapped the baby, we should probably just lie and say we brought him to our house so we didn't have to keep driving over to her house. And then, at the end of the week we can give  him back- no harm no foul. He is fine with this. And no one is the wiser, but I do get yelled at by my sister for giving the baby a bottle, because now he prefers it to her breast. I still don't know what my alternative should've been.

Sister, I totally understand if I just lost any babysitting privileges after this entry...

It's official!

December 30, 2008:

Today was our first visit with the OB.  They were able to find the baby and picked up on a little heart flutter. I don't really get what that means, but it's apparently exciting. The Dr. told me my little gray smudge looks "very cute."
The Dr. we're going to now is south of here, about 9 miles. It's a quick drive, all highway, but I was prepared to tell them today we want to transition over to the SF location as it is closer to work. The main reason we started here was the fact that they had earlier available appointments. But I liked this guy so much that now we aren't going to switch. I'll just have to take more time off work to drive down here, which is worth it to me to go to a guy who tells me my smudge is cute.
He also told me happy things, like that Gerard needs to chill out and not be mad when I don't want to eat full meals. That's normal, and my body is like a fridge and gives my little smudge plenty of nutrients. That's what I got out of the conversation, at least. He also told me that it's a good sign I feel like crap half the time, and that he actually worries a bit when people say they feel great in the beginning of their pregnancies. Interesting, huh? 
They say I'm 6 weeks and 1 day, which puts us right on as having conceived on Thanksgiving, considering it took Gerard's little swimmer a day or two to make it through my obstacle course of a uterus, a process which is described quite humorously by some books. 

Cheese Wiz

December 25, 2008:

Today is Christmas. It's been a relatively rough day, compared to the ones coming up to it. Felt nauseous off and on all day, but have yet to actually vomit at all. I can't believe how strong my olfactory sense has become. I also don't really understand how this is at all related to one being pregnant, but apparently it is.

Yesterday I was consumed with the fear of miscarriage. Every step I took I was afraid I was going to lose this baby I have grown to love so much already. Today that fear has somewhat subsided. Not that it is gone, but it has been replaced by a new fear of having twins. I'm equally convinced today that I am having twins as I was yesterday that I was going to miscarry. I wonder what will possess my mind tomorrow.

The first time I really believed I was pregnant- before the test- was when I decided I didn't want any Giardetto's snack mix. Now, usually I can e at a bag of these a day and never get sick of them, but now I have a half eaten bag sitting in my cupboard, untouched  for over a week.  Not that this somehow relates directly to my being pregnant, aside the fact that I realized my taste buds had been relinquished to another being.

This evening I was convinced that I needed pretzels and Cheese Wiz. I'm dead serious. Normally, I eat pretzels plain, or with peanut butter, Nutella, or, like, regular cheese. It has to have been no less than five years since I've had Cheese Wiz, but I could not get it out of my mind today.  I was thisclose to making Gerard go buy me some, but the only thing that saved him was the fact that it was Christmas. I haven't become that mean yet that I would make someone visit the grocery store on Christmas. I was scared of the crowds just driving by it the day before. So he got lucky. And I got to go to the movies and get nachos, which fulfilled my craving for gross, processed cheese. 

I feel like my belly is already sticking out. But I think it might just be the pizza I had for dinner. And nachos I had at the movies. And popcorn. 

wow

Now that I finally get to share the news about Gerard and my pregnancy, I'm posting these entries I had saved, but not made public. There might be slight editing involved if I said something crazy...

Dec 24, 2008:

So, a lot has changed in the last month.  On Thanksgiving, Gerard proposed outside of Disneyland. Apparently, God was pleased and wanted to hurry along this little family of ours. 

A week or so after Thanksgiving, three- count them, three!- people at work announced their pregnancies on the same day. Apparently, before all the names were revealed, people were placing bets on who the knocked up girls would be. I was high on the list. One audiologist kept telling me in a sing song voice "There's something in the water.... better watch out!" Thanks for the warning, but apparently little Billy* has already claimed residence. (Editor's note: by the time I actually "came out" at work, I was #5! Out of like, 35 employees total) By Christmas, we had two positive pregnancy tests to our name.

No vomiting yet, but I do feel nauseous (nauseated? I can never remember the difference in these two words) sometimes when I'm standing for long periods of time. I can compete with Kota in a smelling contest, and I think I'll have to take out stock in toilet paper at the rate I'm peeing. But other than that, so far so good. I still don't think it's 100% hit me yet, but I'm kind of overwhelmed at the thought that a part of Gerard is inside of me. That we are now intrinsically linked. We will soon have a permanent, tangible expression of our love together. 

By our calculations, we conceived 4 weeks ago, which makes me 6 weeks along in crazy pregnancy math. We'll know for sure next Tuesday when we go in for our first sonogram/ultrasound/slash whatever they do this early.  I think that's when it will be really real for both of us. I'm itching to tell at a few confidants, but Gerard wants to wait what seems to me to be an excessive period of time, so we'll see how it goes. It seems unrealistic to me that I can keep this a secret for 16 weeks as he would like, when I have to sit down every ten minutes, and pee every other other hour. Mostly, I can't think that any moron wouldn't notice me not drinking on New Year's Eve, that I stopped going to happy hour after work, and never ordering wine with dinner. My sister acts like her pregnancy is the easiest thing that ever happened to her, but I can't help but worry that mine won't go as smoothly.

I'm terrified of having twins. I'm even more terrified something will happen to the baby before I can meet him. I'm terrified if people find out that it's a girl that my apartment will be swarmed with glittery pink princess dolls. I'm terrified of labor, and not being a good mother.

It's crazy to me that so much has changed in a year, or even a month for that matter.

I think I've managed to turn the most exciting topic into one of my most boring blog posts. Sorry. 

*Not his or her real name. I don't think we're planning to reveal the name once we know it. Kind of takes out the excitement when the baby announcements come out, if you ask me. We may or may not reveal the sex. But we especially won't tell people if it's a girl, because I really don't want a bunch of girly pink crap. 

Happy Valentine's Day

Sending the warmest love to everyone I care for...

And some special love and anticipation to my Gerard, and our little one on the way!!!!

Mouse in the House

Actually, mice. Plural. In my apartment. But that doens't have near as nice a ring to it.

Ew ew ew ew EW. I'm thoroughly weirded out by this. 

It was bad enough, working at camp, and having mice in our tents. I was famous for not only sleeping under my mosquito netting, but in the same hooded shirt with the hood tied up tightly around my face so that I could barely breathe. Every single night I did this, all summer long. 

But it's WAY worse being in your home. I mean, when you're camping it's like 'Hey Mickey, I really don't want you pooping in my ear, but, ya know, I'm outside. I'm in your territory. Live your life.' But now that these suckers are coming on my turf, it's a different ball game. 

I bought the largest assortment of torture devices I could get my hands on. I bought little kibbles they eat and then die from. I bought classic traps. I bought newfangled spinny things where you never actually see the dead mouse inside the contraption (these are already my favorite). Something better tell these jokers they are messing with the wrong apartment.

Two things about this adventure so far have surprised me. One is Kota's complete lack of interest. Despite all the commotion I've caused so far, with the screaming and couch jumping and whatnot, I don't think she's actually seen the critters yet. And apparently she hasn't smelled them. Either way she made no attempt to catch them despite my pleading with her. She's all about chasing squirrels and other rodents outside, but something about these mice just aren't pissing her off as much as they should. Of course with all the danger devices she is now banned from the infected area, but I still can't help but feel a little disappointed in her protection of me from these mice.

Gerard, however, who won't even throw away a dead spider I killed for him, smooshed in a paper towel, is totally cool about the ordeal. He's finally pulling his weight with the designated boy stuff (love you baby.... I mean that in the nicest way possible. I do.). He and his geeky lab science boy self apparently have killed and handled thousands of mice, so this is no biggie to him. 

I, on the other hand, am going to rock myself to sleep with the mantra that mice can't climb up stairs to my bedroom. And please, please don't tell me otherwise. Our stairs are more like steps, if there's different connotations to those words. There aren't backs on each steps, so as far as I'm concerned, they really can't get up unless they jump 5 inches. 

Maybe I'll find a hoodie to wear to bed, just in case.

The Yin to my Yang

So, I've had a lot of practice being close to people who are not like me. I mean, my best friend is Republican, my sister has become a hippie, and I'm still not entirely convinced that my parents exist in the same world I do, and not their own strange little alien parent bubble.  In all honesty, I can't say that I know too many people who I consider really similar to me, but this is partly due to the fact that I'm fairly certain I fancy myself much more unique than I probably am.

Anyone who knows Gerard and I- or, let's get real- has seen Gerard and I, know that we aren't that much alike. Moving in together has made that even more obvious to the outside observer, who sees me bring in my pit bull to the family, and Gerard bringing in his papillon. Our apartment is an eclectic mix of his black, silver and glass furniture in a very modern motif, alongside my earthtoned, wooden, natural looking furniture. "People" always say that opposites attract, which is true, but they said nothing about opposites being able to decide on a wedding reception location. 

I never really contributed much significance to a reception location, but now that I'm in the throws of picking one, I feel a lot of pressure to pick one that represents us, our relationship, and our style. Problem is, I can't even picture this setting in a dream world, much less a real place, and definitely no where in the very slim category of San Francisco locations that are actually in our budget. I'm kind of inclined to just  go with the cheapest decent place, but Gerard has some higher standards to attain. Thankfully, he is doing his part to find locations and make appointments, which I am extremely grateful for. But what I really need him to do is pull out a secret multi million dollar savings account and buy us some extraordinary dream location that my subconscious hasn't even contracted yet. Thanks in advance, Schmoops.

Wedding Crap

I'm going to try really hard not to let this blog start to be overcome overrun with wedding planning stuff. One, because I don't want to ruin all the surprises, and two, I highly doubt anyone actually gives a rat's ass. That being said, this post is about wedding crap, so if you don't care, then I suggest you stop reading now before I annoy you further. 

Let me start by saying that an engagement will quickly sort out true friends from true haters. I've had well wishes from people I haven't talked to in years, but Gerard and I have both had a couple of black sheep who refuse to congratulate us. It hurts, but it clears up some room on the guest list.

So, if you haven't heard yet, Gerard and I are planning for New Years. Now whether this means New Years Day or New Years Eve will largely depend on pricing and logistics, but regardless we'll be ringing in the new year as newleyweds. Ebony and Ivory will be celebrating in black and white. Yin and Yang will party in binary code on 01/01/10. But I digress. So, we're thinking of black and white for the obvious reasons that I already alerted you to. We'll probably throw in some purple as an accent color. It'll be here in SF; we haven't committed to a specific location yet, but we have some frontrunners.  We're keeping it small, and giving everyone a guest, so we'll actually invite only the closest of our friends and family. Suffice to say Gerard and I won't be spending our reception introducing eachother to second cousins once removed. We'll start a wedding website soon, in case you haven't gotten your online fill of us on facebook, picassa, my blog and G's website. I think that's enough bore for now.

On a better note, I bought us a (fake) Christmas tree!! We have lights and stockings hung, the tree decorated, and it's wonderfully cheery in here now :)

The Break-Up

So, I was just dumped by a girl friend. Like, for real. Now, I didn't think this was physically possible; I thought when girls didn't want to be friends any more one or both would just fade off in the distance and stop returning phone calls.  But no, this was made very evident that we were to never see eachother again. Sweet. Duly noted. I'm like, extremely impressed with girls that have a lot of close girl friends. I just don't understand how it's done. I've always thought I was not that offending a person, but I'm starting to second-guess that assessment.

On a seperate and even more alienating note, Gerard went and proposed to me and then left town for three weeks. And I'm very sad. How do people function without dogs to cuddle at night?

My left hand is getting heavy...

So, I've done my best to make the calls, but have found it surprisingly difficult to get in touch with quite a few friends, so new priority is to notify my loyal readers that I'm officially off the market. So now I have to be a whole lot more discreet with my other boyfriends, because I have a big ol' rock and my finger and I think people will start to talk...

You have to call me in order to be rewarded with the engagement story. But it's a good one. 

I'm very attached to my new bling, and have not yet had the heart to take it off to sleep and shower and other normally ringless activities. I did, however, take it off to clean up Kota's diarrhea waiting for me after returning from my engagement trip. Seriously, people were coming over to congratulate us after seeing the one-knee action, and I'm on the phone with my dog sitter asking "Well, was there vomiting with the diarrhea, or just diarrhea?" Classy...

I feel like wearing this ring also now makes me an adult. I feel like I should be taken more seriously now that I convinced someone with excellent taste to give me some sparkles.