Childbirth class part 3

The theme for today's class seemed to be pain. Pain and I don't really get along, but seeing as we'll be sharing close quarters in a few short weeks, I'm okay with getting reacquainted over ice cream (or fruit snacks from the snack table, as was the case for this class).

The problem is that we're taking a class taught by a woman (and her sidekick) who seems to embrace pain and wish it upon us--but only in the nicest way. I don't think we're the only ones in the class who are a bit disconcerted by this, but we wouldn't know, as we're only allowed to admit our fear if we're writing it in colorful marker on a large piece of kindergartenesque white paper.

We were happy to find that the white paper was nowhere to be seen this class, but that meant there was no way to let my instructor(s) or fellow students know that I'd rather give Matt's ex-spider a big kiss than go through labor. I felt emotionally gagged.

Our instructor, by the way, said she'd rather go through labor than have food poisoning. Really? I didn't know whether to be encouraged by this or take away a few credibility points from everything she tells us from now on.

This week, we held ice cubes to mimic the pain of labor. If labor is anything like holding an ice cube (and I've been assured it's not), I will do surprisingly well. If labor is worse than holding an ice cube, I may need the #$*@&.

No, I didn't just swear at you. The thing is, when you're taking a childbirth class taught by a lamaze-trained instructor/doula (we unwittingly got ourselves into this situation, although we really have enjoyed most of the class), there's only one topic that's off-limits. It's what everyone's been telling me to get to relieve pain. No, not candles and deep-breathing techniques. It starts with an E. Got it?

The #$*@& is inserted into your spine when you (or your husband) just can't take it anymore. People ask me if I want to get the #$*@&. No, after seeing the video (and even before that), I absolutely don't. Nor do I want to face labor pain. Nor do I want to eat any more salad, ever. There are women out there who are either ultra-tough or have ultra-easy labors, or a combination, and don't opt for an epidural. I know I'm not the first, and I think the second is akin to winning the lottery, so I imagine I'll be offering anyone who could push a rusted needle into my spine my firstborn if they'll just make the pain stop. Although I suppose that would defeat the purpose.

But our class instructor doesn't know this. In fact, much of the class was spent watching the instructor and instructor sidekick dance around the #$*@& issue every time it came up, yet pretend to be accepting of it at the same time. In fact the instructor compared the #$*@& and other interventions to weeds--if they're planted in the right place, they can be beautiful flowers. Yet still weeds.

One girl was brave enough to say that she was planning to get the #$*@&, and did manage to get a certain amount of approval from the instructor sidekick only because she's having twins. The rest of us have no excuse.

We were reminded of all the evils that result from the #$*@&: being confined to bed, constant fetal monitoring (Matt and I are still trying to figure out how that's evil), reduced ability to labor and push effectively, a damaged reputation in the lamaze community. I realize they're simply trying to open our minds to this new idea of not getting an #$*@&, but knowing most of us probably will, can they please tell us how to make the best of it? Remind us to bring magazines or something for our long hours of lounging?

We were read an inspirational quote this class, but not given one. I don't remember what the quote was, but it worried me. Something about how the pain can't overcome you because the pain is you. Would that make you feel better?

Despite the #$*@& issue, we thought last night's class was informative and helpful. Next week is the last one, but, as a bonus blog, you'll be hearing about our hospital tour the following week.

Traveling while quite pregnant

Most of you know I flew to Illinois when I was about 27-28 weeks pregnant. It went swimmingly, and I managed to stay comfortable the whole time. I'd like to thank my aisle seats for that.

Fast-forward more than a month later, and Matt and I took an innocuous 4-hour road trip this past weekend, at about 33 weeks pregnant, to visit friends in South Carolina. Of course, Baby makes three, so this wasn't your ordinary trip. Baby Girl and I managed to compromise along the way so that we each had an enjoyable time. I also learned a lot. Here's how it went:

A 4-hour road trip easily becomes a 5-hour road trip when your pregnant. The site-seeing along the way is excellent if you like public restrooms, as I learned by stopping at most of them. I found that it's best to avoid gas-station restrooms on trips like these, unless you're literally about to cry. This is because you might wind up in a stall next to a stranger talking randomly about "...men. You can't live with them, you can't shoot them," and asking to borrow your cell phone. I practically ran out of that one. Matt could barely keep up as I made a beeline for the car, and locked my door once inside. I probably shouldn't have been so spooked, but I also saw no reason to dawdle. Baby Girl gave me an appreciative kick.

I should mention that there's a direct correlation between passing up a public restroom and then desperately needing one five minutes later. As much as you hate them, you should never pass them up while pregnant. This is one of the torturous conundrums of pregnancy.

Adding to the conundrum is the fact that you're supposed to stay well hydrated when traveling while pregnant. I'm not sure why, but the experts say to do so. Sometimes I think they're sadists. I did manage to stay very well hydrated, as evidenced by the previous paragraph.

We arrived at a spectacular bed and breakfast that's set in a castle, with excellent amenities and chocolate (as well as lots of healthy foods) scattered throughout. Oops, wait, it's actually my friend's new house, and we stayed in their presidential suite. I mean guest bedroom. We were awed, and contemplated moving to South Carolina where houses are large and uncluttered. Baby Girl could relate.

As part of our visit, we all went to the zoo! I love zoos, but learned that they're one of the worst places for a pregnant woman. I saw quite a few other preggos there, but I was the furthest along, or so I judged by sizing up bellies, and therefore the bravest. A zoo visit is a combination of a long walk, public restrooms and unique smells, all of which are not recommended for us. Fortunately, I did have a great time. We took it easy, used every public restroom at least once and made note of the exits to buildings where smells might overpower me. I was disappointed to only get a glance at the penguins before my gag reflex told me to run, and fast, but I was proud of the fact that I kept my cookies, and even the hot pretzel Baby made me buy.

Which brings me to my next point: when traveling with anyone other than your sympathetic husband, make sure at least one person in the group has been pregnant recently. She will understand that yes, you need to take the zoo tram downhill in addition to uphill, and that snacks--and lots of them--are vital to any successful trip. If you're...er...lucky, she'll also join forces with the aforementioned sympathetic husband in forcing you into the public restrooms (here she has an advantage since she can accompany you in) and making you sit down on a bench every so often. Of course, I could've kept going--it was Baby Girl who needed the rest.

Which brings me to yet another point: it's also a good idea to have a cute baby along. The baby serves to remind you there's a good reason for your discomfort, immobility and voracious appetite so you won't get too annoyed along the way with certain members of the family who are not yet born.

I haven't even started on the subject of food for traveling pregnant women yet because fortunately for me and Baby, meals were deliciously uneventful. Our recently pregnant host had stocked the pantry and fridge with just the right things. No stopping at roadside sushi bars for me!

So we all managed to have a nice trip, and Baby Girl simply added to the adventure. She's earned herself a place in the car on wherever our future travels take us. Hopefully back to South Carolina.

Doctor visit!

[Wow--this is my second post today! :)]

I just got back from the doctor, and everything looks perfect! I love hearing that word.

The best news was that Baby Girl has turned into position. Last time she was sideways--rather awkward for pushing her out, I thought. I've been monitoring her hiccups to try to figure out where exactly she was, and until this past Sunday they were always on my lower right side, exactly where the doctor had said her head was. Sunday morning, though, her hiccups had centralized, and were a little lower. She'd gotten into position!

However, the next day they were actually to my left, and I felt kicks far over on my right side. Following the over-achieving nature of her parents, had she overshot?

The doctor confirmed today that if she had overshot, she's back where she belongs. He even pointed out where her little head is, and I was able to feel it myself! He also confirmed that yes, she's larger than a pinto bean by now, so the kicks I felt on my right side were probably actually punches: her arm is long enough to reach! Crazy.

I'd gained 3 pounds, which is perfect. I always find it surprising that when doctors see my weight gain (or sometimes lack thereof), they assume I'm a healthy eater. Do they know that if I eat entirely healthy I don't gain weight? (That's what I'm guessing, anyway, I've never really tried eating entirely healthy, but as long as I get lots of what I should and not much of what I shouldn't, I've been just fine.) I didn't know what to say when he complimented me on my healthy diet, so I just shut my mouth and tried not to look puzzled . I don't think he needed to know that I attribute 1 pound to ice cream, 1 pound to cake and 1 pound to Domino's pizza.

[In case any of you are worried, I'm actually doing a really good job of eating lots of healthy food. I am also doing a really good job of eating ice cream.]

At the risk of sounding silly, I asked if he could tell whether I'm likely to have a small baby. He said he didn't think I was going to have an 8-pounder, and that she'd probably be in the 6-7 pound range. Normal. Frankly, anything under 8 pounds seems small to me considering the babies some of my friends have been having lately (is it something in the water? we all live in the same neighborhood...), so I was very satisfied. Although I do want her to have a little bit of meat on her so she's plenty healthy. Got that, Baby Girl? ... What's that? You want me to eat some more ice cream so you can grow a little more? I guess I could manage to choke some down, if that's what you really want.

Childbirth class part 2

Better. Useful, even. We're encouraged: we might actually be halfway prepared for labor and delivery after all.

Always the overachievers, we were the first to arrive by 5 minutes. We spent our time overachieving even more by getting to know the instructor (the class isn't graded, but we figured that when we're dealing with people who may be remotely involved in the birthing process, brownie points may still come in handy). We have lots in common! Although we're no longer surprised to find fellow midwesterners in the Triangle area (we're not the only midwesterners who realized the Triangle is simply a warmer, more fun midwest, as long as you can ignore the rednecks), we are always happy to. She hails from the Twin Cities, as do many midwesterners, and her husband is in science writing. We chatted happily and felt like traitors after the scathing review we gave the class last time.

Once all the laggards arrived, we picked up right where we left off last time. I was reminded of kindergarten as we all sat on the floor, juice boxes in hand, working in groups to come up with ultra-simplistic ideas for ways to relax during labor and writing them with colorful markers on giant sheets of white paper. Fortunately, I had to use the bathroom and excused myself. I figured I could escape to the restroom twice during the class if I needed to without anyone really noticing. Sometimes it pays to be pregnant.

As I returned to the class, sanity recaptured and with a renewed vested interest in my juice box, we were beginning a review of what we learned last time. Matt and I both found it ironic that the instructor seemed to have a skewed idea of what we'd covered, asking technical questions about what happens during labor that no one seemed to be able to answer. If she would've asked about our culture's notions of childbirth, I'm sure we all would've done much better. She brought us up to speed and we continued from there.

You'll all be happy to note that Cranky Guy was nicer this time. He made one snide remark, but with a smile. He was probably just having a bad day last time.

Believe it or not, the best part of the class was practicing effective laboring techniques. We learned that the best laboring techniques included backrubs of some sort. As the one who would unfailingly be on the receiving end of the backrubs, potentially for upwards of 15 hours, I received this news with great joy.

Which was somewhat short lived when they handed around clothespins for everyone. These were to be fastened to our ears for the duration of a short contraction. I don't have my ears pierced for a reason. Matt didn't think I was going to make it.

But I did! I kept that clothespin on my ear for the required 30-40 seconds, and then a second time for even longer without making a peep. Looks like I'll be able to survive labor after all! I did worry the whole time that the clothespin was going to cut through my ear and I'd end up in the emergency room, and was somewhat surprised that it didn't even draw blood. We're told that next week we'll be holding ice. I'll be sure to bring my mittens.

As a side note, I wonder what would've happened if I'd refused the clothespin, or removed it prematurely. After all, I will be enduring enough pain in a few short weeks, so why rush it? Would I have flunked the class? Would they have tattooed "epidural" to my forehead? Or gone ahead and given it to me at that moment? Would I have been spat on by all the other clothespin-festooned students? Maybe we'll find out next week if I can't handle the ice.

As a reward for the clothespin trick, each couple was given a plastic back massager. Very fitting, and it in itself was worth the $20 class fee.

We also received another inspirational quote, which I haven't yet read, as well as more homework: to practice the backrubs. Sign me up! Actually, I haven't read the homework sheet so there might be more, but I think it's sometimes okay to hear only what you want to hear.

Last week's homework, by the way, did actually get done. I'd told Matt I'd do it when he did, and finally on Monday night he found the time. The homework was to dredge up fears, and then compose 2 affirmations for each to counteract them. It went something like this:

Labor will be painful.
Affirmation 1: Yup.
Affirmation 2: And I'll be getting backrubs the entire time (I'd already been clued in on the backrubs before class #2)

Something could happen to me or the baby (or Matt if he says the wrong thing while I'm in pain):
Affirmation 1: That doesn't really happen anymore
Affirmation 2: It just doesn't really happen anymore

I'll be sleep-deprived and cranky in the first few weeks/months:
Affirmation 1: That's not really my problem, it's everyone else's
Affirmation 2: We'll put the DVD player upstairs in our bedroom and I'll live there until I can be nice again

Overall, I learned this class that clothespins are painful, but I can survive.

The story of the nursery

For some shallow women like me, the excitement of a positive pregnancy test is closely matched by the shortly following realization that we get to put together a nursery.

Let's think about that for a minute. In the nine months that follow, it's our responsibility--even our duty--to clear out one whole room of the house and make it as cute and inviting as possible.

We had two rooms to choose from. The tiny room Matt was using as his creature/weird stuff room (if he can fit it in the room, he can bring it home was our rule, with only a few exceptions) or the guest/den-like room. We opted for an arrangement that would have our guests sleep among Matt's creatures/weird stuff by combining everything into the slightly larger guest room. Don't worry--if you're squeamish, we'll move the scariest stuff out of the room when you come stay with us.

In the meantime, I needed to find cute baby bedding. I discovered, to my utter joy, the market was flooded.

I got started as soon as I could possibly justify searching for bedding online, which was at about 2 months. A more prudent woman would've waited at least until she knew whether the baby was a boy or a girl, or even until after the baby was born, but I wisely foresaw that if I waited, I would rule out roughly half of the bedding sets available. Instead, I wanted to have the excitement of picking out two bedding sets (because choosing baby bedding is just about the most fun a girl can have) before we discovered whether we'd need to gravitate toward dinosaurs or ladybugs (or whatever).

Then came the decision: what would our theme be? As Matt bemoaned the fact that no one makes baby bedding in a snake or spider theme, I began the tedious process of weighing the options. After much internal deliberation that Matt probably has no idea I went through, I/we decided on farm animals.

[Disclaimer: The I/we construction used represents the fact that I made the decision and Matt agreed. In the realm of baby bedding decisions, I think we both prefer it that way!]

I then promptly fell in love with the first farm bedding set I found at Babies R Us, setting myself up for sure disappointment because I certainly wouldn't be able to buy anything for at least 2 1/2 more months, during which time the bedding was likely to be rotated out, and this was slightly girly bedding, anyway.

The set features fluffy lambs, happy bunnies and cute little chicks frolicking under apple trees in green pastures. So you can see why it caught my eye.

Fast forward a few months to the day of my ultrasound. A girl--what luck! Immediately after lunch I rushed to Babies R Us to see if they still had any of the lamby bedding left. More luck--it was being clearanced out! I got excellent deals on the adorable mobile (what baby wouldn't love to drift asleep watching stuffed lambs, bunnies and chicks circle above her?) and lamp (what baby wouldn't love to be read to amid resin lambs, bunnies and chicks encircling an apple tree?).

I then proudly found the big bedding set, including such essentials as a window valance and dust ruffle, on ebay for cheaper than the Babies R Us clearance price.

I was giddy with relief and excitement. So giddy that another disclaimer needs to be disclaimed here: I would've been thrilled about a boy, as well, and I'm sure I would've found bedding that was just as cute (well, maybe). I was, of course, very relieved and overjoyed to see that my baby was healthy. Being able to bring home the bedding I loved was far secondary to the idea of being able to bring home a healthy baby!

We began to slowly stock the nursery in earnest, often with donated furniture (thank you!!). Recent additions have included the crib and crib mattress, which enabled me to, after months of waiting in something that resembled a blissful agony, finally set up the bedding.

I've posted pictures. You'll see that it's still something of a mess, but rest assured there will be a place for everything, and everything will be cute.

Childbirth class

Last night we had our first (of four) childbirth classes.

Hmm.

For the record, we both prefer the stork method.

We were the first to arrive, exactly on time, with the sleeping bag and three pillows our information sheet told us to bring. As we were the only ones who followed the instructions to the letter, we can bet Baby Girl is going to have the best exploding volcano her 4th-grade science fair has ever seen. As if there was any doubt.

As people were arriving, we were encouraged to look at the informational posters around the room. My favorite was a "road map" of pregnancy. Imagine a long, winding road (that, for some reason, they decided to pave with yellow brick--no mention of Dorothy or Scarecrow anywhere, though). All along the road were placed cartoon pictures of a woman laboring in agony. The road had two offshoots: the "back labor" offshoot, which promises extra agony, and the "epidural" offshoot, which rockets you to the end like the game Chutes and Ladders, amid pictures of a happy, resting woman. From this, I learned that childbirth may be painful. I couldn't stop staring.

Once everyone arrived, we began sharing our feelings about birth. This continued for two hours, almost until the end of class. The end. The $20 for this class not refunded.

Fortunately, there were snacks. In the car on the way, Matt and I had been wondering what kinds of snacks they'd serve. Would they have the cookie/potato chip table for the guys, and the carrot stick/broccoli table for the preggos? Would I be glared at if I migrated toward the cookie/potato chip table? We made a pact that we'd go to our designated tables and he'd get plenty of extra cookies to share (and I'd get plenty of carrots to share). Thank goodness I have such an understanding husband!

I did feel better when we were talking about our pregnancy cravings, however, and the woman with twins mentioned she'd been craving Pizza Hut deep-dish pizza. Her husband chimed in that they'd already had it a couple times that week. So, apparently, all the other pregnant women out there aren't eating 80 servings of veggies a day as some pregnancy books and websites would have me believe. I think that was one of the more helpful things I learned last night.

It turned out that the snacks were juice boxes (100% juice, no added sugar) and "healthy" snacks, a few of which were actually healthy, all of which were not too unhealthy and none of which fell into any of my cravings categories. Nonetheless, they certainly beat out carrots and broccoli.

A few notable moments:

At one point, the instructor was asking us to come up with ways we could alleviate our fears. One woman suggested prayer. The instructor agreed, but then asked, for those who weren't religious, what's the exact same thing as prayer? The group came up with meditation. Wait a second--the exact same thing? Umm.... Fortunately the guy in the corner who never once smiled reminded the instructor that they're different. She managed to eek out one of those Unitarian Universalist feel-good phrases to smooth things over. Crisis averted.

This is the same guy who, when he was introducing himself and telling the class what he liked to do for fun, sarcastically said he enjoyed listening to his wife talk about every detail of her day for two or three hours when he came home from work. Hopefully they were just having a bad night.

I asked about walking epidurals, which are basically milder than the original so you can still walk around a bit. I was informed that most women who want epidurals want complete and total pain relief, and not just partial pain relief. Thank you for your stereotype, but I don't quite fit (not yet, anyway).

We have homework. Because we didn't discuss our fears enough in class, we were given the assignment to come up with some more fears at home, and then address them with positive affirmations. I told Matt I'd do my homework after he did.

We did each receive an inspirational quote to take home. Maybe that was worth $20?

Not that I don't like sharing feelings. I just don't want to pay $20 per class to do so among strangers (but are they strangers? we spent 30 minutes introducing ourselves), especially when there are so many helpful things we could cover, like the possible medical interventions we may need to make snap decisions on, or how to recognize pre-term labor. If I start having contractions 3 minutes apart tomorrow and the doctor wants to do an emergency c-section, I really don't think it's going to matter how the media influences my culture's notions of childbirth, and other such topics from last night.

1 class down, $60 worth of classes left. We truly are optimistic that we'll get the information we're hoping for. If not, at least hopefully we'll have 4 good inspirational quotes to get us through.

The plot thickens

Because being 7 months pregnant and the family's main breadwinner (for now) isn't challenging enough, my favorite workplace (um...) decided to throw me a curve ball by laying me off this morning.

Baby Girl is taking this rather well. She initially threw a tantrum, but then went off by herself to pout. I think she's coming around a bit this afternoon, as I'm making her a strawberry-rhubarb pie (food always does the trick--she takes after her mother that way).

Of course, this means that some scrimping and saving is in store. More so than usual. For instance, Baby was rather upset to hear that she won't be getting a prize-winning champion show horse this year for Christmas. I might surprise her with a pony instead (shh! don't tell her!), but I know she won't be happy.

The fall getaway she was planning will have to be downgraded as well. Instead of an Alaskan cruise, she might have to settle for a simple weekend at a posh resort. Poor girl.

And unfortunately, she'll have to give up her beach condo. I haven't told her yet--she'll be so disappointed. She just got it redecorated! We're looking at apartments one street back from the beach next weekend.

Matt and I will be cutting back as well. To give Baby Girl all the advantages possible, Matt had only been eating 2 meals per day. Well, now he'll be down to 1 meal, with meat once a week at most. I, of course, have to continue to eat--for the good of Baby Girl--but I'll be selling all my possessions except 1 winter and 1 summer outfit, a towel and a bar of soap. And this computer, of course, as it's my main method of generating income.

The poor cats are going to have to start earning their keep. We're renting both out as mousers for now, although we're trying to find Mila, the good and pretty cat, a modeling gig. Monster, the bad cat, may eventually be able to get a job at the circus.

So in these ways, we'll get by.

I've been offered freelance/contract work from my company, and I also expect to pick up a few extra freelancing jobs. If I'm lucky, I may come out ahead! Meanwhile, I'm free to begin the "nesting" phase of pregnancy and be unavailable for those awful conference calls.