Headed Downtown

Good news! At our 33 week sonogram, Little Boy Klausner has turned around. He's now headed downtown which assures a vaginal delivery.

REWRITE:

Bad news! At our 33 week sonogram, Little Boy Klausner has turned around. He's now headed downtown which assures a vaginal delivery. 

Having gone through several major surgeries in my past, adding yet another under my belt seems of little concern. I've gone through the healing and recovery process. And yes, I am even aware that it is totally different when there is a baby depending on you. Still, I just can't seem to get passed the idea of how naturally UNnatural it is to pass something that large from between your legs. Yes, women continue to do it time and again which should make me at ease. But, as pretty much every man out there will agree with me, women are crazy! I mean certifiable, push-yourself-to-the-brink-of-no-return crazy.

I guess this panic stricken thought pattern means only one thing. Reality has finally started to settle in. For the last eight months I've been carrying myself, and a little person within me, all around without processing the idea that after nine months, life continues and expands beyond basic comprehension. So I must congratulate myself for although it may have taken a while, I think with reality comes the "I'm ready" part.

Sonogram Resemblance

As unlucky as I am to have a tricky medical history, my past has allowed me to have numerous sonograms. As I watch the little guy on the screen I can't help but try to look for similarities in features. This is nearly impossible, unless you are open to my vivid imagination. I've tried to match his profile and his nose, but I think I'd be going out on a limb if I actually said the picture was clear enough and my son looked more human than he actually does via sonogram. 

Still, there are certain points of entertainment in each one of these viewings. Just yesterday, the technician pointed out that Little Boy Klausner already has hair on his head. Once zoomed in, you could actually see fuzzies atop his head. I had an immediate flashback of my baby picture. At birth, I already had a full head of black, spiky hair. One resemblance point for Mom!

Next up, the technician said, "Well, it's certainly a boy!" And there he was, posed for the room to see all of his man parts in all of their glory. One point for Dad. 

At the end of the sonogram, the weight came in as four pounds and five ounces. I quickly calculated in my head. They say at this point in pregnancy, on average, the baby gains approximately a half of a pound a week. Add eight weeks at a half pound each, and we're talking about another four pounds. This baby can easily be an eight-and-a-half-pounder. Another point for Dad. But more importantly, I think this deducts all of Mom's points. After all, the bigger he is, the more I stress about my small frame. And just as these thoughts are bellowing in my head, the doctor says, "Now just remember, as a first time pregnancy, don't think that this kid is going to slide ride out. I just want you to be prepared and realistic." So what she's saying is that television isn't a good factor in determining what labor is like? Oh crap!

32 Week Rant

At 32 weeks, opinions seem to flow right to me. Strangers offer advice, friends offer horror stories, and even sales clerks seem to have an opinion as to my size. Amazingly enough, in one day I was given two extreme examples. While walking my dog, a woman asked if I were carrying twins. Now seriously, I've only gained 18 pounds so far! Only an hour later a stranger asked me how far along I was. After I replied, their eyes bugged out as they proclaimed, "My, you are really small!" Really small?? Then why can't I see my feet?!

So to those opinionated strangers, I say THANK YOU. Thank you for making me question the shape of my body. Thank you for making me neurotic about the growth of my unborn child. Thank you for sharing your unwarranted advice. Oh, and my husband certainly thanks you as well. For he really enjoys me when I'm nervous and stressed. And now I must ask you, why do you think we are not sharing the name we picked? When you meet someone for the first time, would you dare say, "Hello, it's nice to meet you but I don't like your name?" The same courtesy should be applied to babies as well, whether born yet or not.

Turkey's Roasted

There was a point in my life when I contemplated getting my belly button pierced. This week, as I watch it do a disappearing act I can honestly say I am extremely grateful of never having that pierced. I can only imagine what my stomach would look like with a bullring being pushed out for the world to see. It's bad enough that now when I am full, the belly button begins to pop outwards. I have actually become a turkey with a temperature gage that pops when complete(ly full). Or, maybe it's the baby screaming, "Uncle! Please no more food in this little 5'1'' frame!" When he's had enough, he gives a little kick, and out pops the button. 

A Mother's Day Poem

On Mother's Day, I feel it would only be appropriate to write a poem showing my appreciation for the wonders of pregnancy. 

I'm thankful for my belly that's now on the move,

as my little one dances and gets in a groove.

Also, I'm thankful for having a boy 

but either sex I would surely enjoy.

I'm thankful for my pregnancy being so easy,

although there were days that I was certainly queasy.

And I'm thankful for pants that stretch very wide,

especially as I continue to grow side to side. 

And of course I'm thankful for my husband's coddling.

And shouldn't I be thankful for my graceful waddling?

Let's not forget that I'm thankful for Tums,

and also the wipes that I use on my bum.

Pillows, oh pillows, as I tossed and I turned,

and also my breasts, which always I've yearned. 

So on this special day,

remember, Mothers, what was at bay. 

You groaned and pushed your way through

nine months of expanding you.

Now kiss your little one's toes 

and watch how quickly he grows. 

Say YES to Drugs

I've passed my thirty week threshold. This means I have less than ten weeks to go. This can be converted to two months, nine and a half weeks, single digit weeks, sixty-five days, or simply, closer to freak out time. I've been pregnant for over thirty weeks and have daydreamed my way through. I've fought the itchies, constipation and gas, food cravings and aversions, and getting rings off of swollen fingers. I've wrestled with pillows and hormonal outbursts. I've devoured sappy movies, boxes of cookies, and super-sized french fries. I've avoided raw fish and mirrors when naked. 

In all of these changes, I can say there is one thing that I have not done; faced reality. Somehow, as pregnant and swollen as my belly is, I forgot to face the fact that with pregnancy comes labor. In my bedside drawer I have seven different books all about pregnancy. Pulling them out one by one, I've noticed something in common with the bookmarks. Not one of them has made it passed the seven month mark. In my la-la-land, there is no pain, there is no labor, and there is no squeezing elephants out of my lemon! I will simply "have" a baby. And by "have" I mean it will magically appear in my arms. A stork will arrive. My head of lettuce will sprout a child's head. The nurse will place a baby in my arms and say, "Now wasn't that easy."  Is it really so wrong to daydream of a pain-free labor that does not stretch out and ruin my nether region? I'm only human after all. 

I believe that my pain threshold is relatively decent. However, I can only imagine that it is fairly natural to fear the unknown. Unknown as it is, I know there will be pain. I also know that sometimes, it is OK to say YES to drugs. 

NEWS FLASH - I WILL!

It was a beautiful sun-filled day and I was ready to take in the weather. Being that when indoors my wardrobe usually consists of sweatpants and my husband's oversized t-shirt, I felt that I should reward my neighborhood by actually getting dressed. I threw open my closet, grabbed a pair of maternity capri pants and stepped in with my first foot. As I switched feet, I lost balance and fell straight back onto my bed. Just another typical moment in Preggo Land. I stood back up, yanked up my pants past my knees, up my thighs, and BAM!! They got stuck around my hips. These spandex-like waist-banded-pants would not get over my hips, let alone my big butt! So I wiggled and I jiggled, but there was no give. I swear I just wore them last week! 

NEWS FLASH - Arrival of third trimester means new symptoms. Most noticeable includes expansion of ass and thighs. Now I can handle not fitting into those stylish pair of jeans, or even my dress pants. But how can I possibly not fit into maternity pants?! Is that even possible? So back to sweats I go.

Once I stepped outside with the dog we began our journey. To walk around my block, it's a simple ten minute stroll. Or so I thought...

On this particular sun-filled day my less then a mile walk around the block suddenly turned into an army training course. How have I never noticed this wild terrain? There are massive hills extending for miles. There is unsteady pavement. And the length seems to have quadrupled. At one point, I was actually begging my dog to drag me down the street. "Please, Puppy, just pull this big butt all the way home?!" 

Finally making it back from the training course, I walked inside completely winded. Pink cheeks, sweaty forehead, and short, quick breathes. I took a clue from my dog and went to the coolest spot in the house; the bathroom floor. There, we both sat, panted, sat, panted, sat, panted.  Right then and there I vowed that for any future pregnancy, I would be at the gym every day prior. I will be in shape. I will take control. I will climb a hill. I will fit into fat pants! I will! I will! I will!

But in the meantime, I just had to see if there was any ice cream left in the freezer.