Best laid plans coming to naught – the story of every IF’s reproductive life…

Anyway, yes, we have settled on a name, and barring something completely unexpected, Thor’s name will actually be Henry Jett Butler.

We did have a few moments of hilarity whilst trying to include every grandparent’s lineage.  His paternal grandfather has been pushing hard to call him “three sticks”  As in Samuel Butler III.  Which I refused on the grounds of there are already too many Sams at family gatherings, (grandfather, the Boy, cousin) and I refuse to live in a house where every other person living there besides me has the same name.  His paternal grandmother would love to see her own father, James Alexander, honored.  Which is great, but I had a boyfriend named James, and Alexander is the name of middle SD’s all-but-fiance.  So that one’s out.  Henry is from my mom’s family, and is pretty much set as this child’s first name at this point. McRae has become the middle name of choice on my dad’s side of the family.  And the Boy’s closest friend gave his children 4 names instead of the more-traditional 3, and has been encouraging us to think outside of the box when it comes down to actually naming Thor.

So we had a moment (ok, more than a single moment, but no more than two or three) when we were possibly seriously considering “Henry James McRae Samuel Butler” (just to assure that the kid actively hated us from the time he was old enough to pick up any English Lit.  coursework book.)

Reason and compassion won out.  Henry Jett Butler it is.  And I’ve been assured by the youngest SD that kids these days don’t even KNOW there’s a movie out there called Gone With the Wind in which the male lead is named Rhett Butler.  Which rhymes with Jett Butler.  Which would have been an open book for much teasing when I was a kid.  But of course, I was a kid back in the stone age, when the book was better known than the movie.  And since I’m not entirely sure she knew there was a book, I decided that she was probably absolutely right.

So, indirectly, anyway, one of the SD’s named the baby.  More or less.

**

A useless doctor’s appointment this morning.  “Still pregnant, I see?  Call me when you go into labor.”

For this I waited an hour and a half?

In all fairness, they also checked for protein in my urine – none.  Checked my BP – 110/60.  Checked my weight – no change.  The nurse commiserated on my painfully swollen feet.  And they gave me new instructions for coming into the hospital.  If I get there in time to have one bag o’ antibiotics, Henry won’t have to go to NICU.  If I get there in time to have 2 bags, then Henry won’t even have to have a shot himself.  So that’s obviously the goal.  So instead of laboring at home, I’ll basically be going in as soon as my doc thinks – from a phone call, most likely – that labor is imminent.

And it’d be nice if that were soon, because really?  Late summer in NY?  Hugely pregnant?

Not.  Much.  Fun.

**

And yeah, I’m obviously cranky these days.  Can’t sleep – seriously, it was my third sleepless night in a row, and it’s getting old, waking up every 20-40 minutes.  My hands are numb, my feet hurt, and I’m sore everywhere else.  Belly hurts from being internally kicked, ligaments are sore from having gigantic belly sticking way the hell out.  Cramps and fake contractions are making my innards sore – though not as sore as they will be, I know!  And I’m hungry, but nothing sounds good.  And bored with waiting.  And whiny.

Have you noticed?

Bu I’m also healthily pregnant.  And getting ready to deliver a healthy baby in a week or two (please g-d, not more than 2!)  And I should go take a nap to try to wrench my mood out of the garbage, because really?  I got nothing to complain about.

Remind me of that, please, when I threaten to start complaining again in another 15 minutes.  Seriously going to go take a nap now.  A nap followed by a dose of coffee.  Followed, perhaps, by another nap.

Because, really, you’ve all been wondering, right?

First off, let me say that for me, most of the vaunted side effects of being pregnant have translated into essentially, being constipated for 8 months.  Really constipated.  Eating trees’ worth of prunes with no effect, constipated.  Wondering if Thor might possibly be half-deer, or perhaps half-rabbit, constipated.  For 8 mos, folks.  Longer if we take into account all the feckin’ drugs I’ve shot up over the last 3 years with, um, binding side effects.  But pregnancy?  I’ll put it this way:  I’m pretty sure the Chicken Kung Pao I ate the night before transfer way back in December is still hanging out somewhere near my appendix.  It’s been that bad.  Really.

But these last few days – OMG!  Relief!  Which has me, you know, hopeful that we’re getting this labor show on the road someday soon. Combined with the slight easing of the edema that’s turned me into a source of amusement for the Boy – (I heard him describing my feet to our friend the other day “You know she always has hobbit feet, all wide and cute, but now it’s as if hobbits wore clown shoes – her feet look like the shoes.”)   And the insomnia and the nesting and the other vague but surely-when-all-added-together-they-must-mean-something! signs of impending labor, I’m starting to feel, well, hopeful.

And even if my hope for an “any day now” labor/delivery is a misbegotten one, I’m still planning on enjoying the relief of a normally functioning large intestine for as long as this may last.

So that’s what’s new in my world in the 38th week of this pregnancy.  Enjoying normal bowel movements and – as a result – feeling like eating food isn’t purely a punishment dreamt up by some non-pregnant, non-constipated sadist.  Maybe I’ll actually start to feel human again, just in time for birthing the big-headed baby to disrupt all my normal below-the-waist functions.

**

In other exciting news, baby’s taken up a position & stuck with it pretty much for the last week and a half or so – Head down, spine on my left, butt under my ribs, and feet kicking me in the right elbow.  Seriously – the sono. tech was trying to get some good photos and she kept getting the wand kicked almost out of her hand.  And it was all the way over to my right.  Can’t quite map him out yet, to see whether he’s LOA or LOP (Left Occipital Anterior or -Posterior) but am pleased he’s at least sticking with the head-down/LO thing.  One less thing to worry about.

**

And then there’s the no-sleep/sleep thing.  No sleep, because, well:  it’s hot, the bedroom is stuffy, my feet hurt, I had to get up and use the bathroom like, seven times last night, I kept waking myself up by snoring (kid you not!) and I was generally playing the “oh god, what if Nellie’s fleas made it to my MIL’s house!  I’ll die of embarrassment!”  “oh god, what if Thor gets himself born on the day the Boy is driving his daughter up to Boston!  I’ll have to get myself to L&D on my own – that’ll suck!”  “oh god, what if I start crying when the Boy kills the lobsters tonight.  I’m all hormonal and weepy anyway, but that’d just be stupid and his children will despise me!” game.  Sleep because I just woke up from a 2 hour nap (11am – 1pm — how wonderful is that?) in front of the air conditioner. Naps rock my world these days.  Some of my best hours over the last week have been spent napping.

And that’s the news at chez Sprogblogger.  Now – who said pregnancy wasn’t sexy & glamorous?  *yawn*

You’re welcome for the update.

Felt crappy so I turned on the a/c unit.  It’s so humid here right now it’s hard to breathe.  That didn’t help so I pet the dog.  Which made her happy, but didn’t do anything for me.  Then I puked up my morning apple-juice & vitamins.

That worked.  Feeling much better now.  Had some toast & milk to try to settle things down.

Guess I won’t be taking my pills first thing in the morning from here on out.

Going to go brush my teeth again.

Very strange.

The Big Book of Birth? – Fantastic.  Exactly what I was looking for in a ‘how to have a baby’ book.   I took out a copy from the library, but I’m totally going to spring for my own copy, mostly so I can leave it opened to key pages on the Boy’s pillow.  I’m sly like that.

Movement?  - Love.  This.  Shit.  It makes me smile no matter when I feel it, but when he gets extra busy at night?  Let’s just say it’s the best thing ever and it completely rocks my world.  Let’s just say it’s so damned reassuring that I’m considering sending back my beloved doppler, since I haven’t used it in about a week.  There he goes again.  (“Hey Thor.  You like OJ & Yogurt, eh?  Me too, little boy.  Me too.”)

Sore hands & feet & hips?  - This part sorta sucks.  The first day my hands hurt like this, it was like I spent too much time knitting (yes, I’ve really done this before) and my hands were just sore from the knitting strain.  Since I did happen to be knitting at the time, I blew it off.  But these days, I’m doing cross stitch in the evenings – not so much muscle strain there.  And they still hurt like that.  And this morning, putting weight on my wrists to shove my unwieldy body out of bed brought on another whole round of aches & weakness – as if I were trying to do pushups on the backs of my hands.  The feet hurt, too, but it doesn’t bother me as much as the hands do.  I’m hoping this goes away.  Don’t like knowing what it’s going to feel like to be arthritic…

Heartburn? – I’m really hoping that NoodleGirl’s husband’s apple-cider cure works for me, too.  Too early to tell, but since a spoonful of cider vinegar is a heckuva lot more palatable than anything but a big glass of milk, I’ll keep at it for a week or so to see if it helps.  Worse case scenario is I drink a lot of vinegar (which, given how much I love to cook with the stuff, my husband is fairly convinced I do, already.)  I’m also going to try eating an apple tonight, which can have the same acid-reflux-slaying effect, apparently.

The state of the boobs?  - Huge.  Wearing a D-cup as we speak, people.  Which is good, I guess, since it keeps my bigger-than-I-think-a-21-week-pregnant-belly-should-look belly from looking even huger.  I’m loving the new bras, though, and hoping that I don’t have to start hunting for size E anywhere. Because really.  That’s ridiculous, yes?

Belly? – Ginormous.  Seriously, I think it grows every day.  I finally took a decent belly shot, but then I forgot to post it and that was two days ago and I’m seriously belly-ier today, so that shot’s out of date…  Let’s just say I’m applying for my own zip code and expect that request to be granted without an argument as soon as they see me.  4 more months of this?  Really?  Wow.

Sleepiness?  It’s not as bad as it was a couple of weeks ago when I was falling asleep mid-sentence.  But still.  Sleep is my favorite place to be and I bitterly resent the dog anyone waking me up unnecessarily.

**

Last night I had the coolest dream. I dreamt that my pregnant belly was see-through, and that Thor was staring up at me with dark brown – almost black – eyes like my little brother’s, and a sprinkling of dark hair. He was tiny, but perfect. But in my dream, there was something wrong because I was getting steroid injections in case he showed up early, but despite all that, I wasn’t actually frightened. I was entranced. And I knew everything would be ok even if he did come too early.

It was rather wonderful, really.

**

Let’s see, what else? Um, much to my chagrin, I realized that I’ve probably been hearing my own hepped-up-on-thyroid-secretions heartbeat instead of Thor’s at least some of the time. Apparently, it’s sort of hard to differentiate between a 95bpm heartrate and a 120-or-so bpm heartrate unless you keep one finger on your own pulse while moving the doppler around.

Which I’ve started doing.

In retrospect, I totally should have gone with the rent-a-doppler that displays the bpm. It’s still easy to find his heartbeat, it just might not be the first one I find. Oh, and it takes me more than 10 seconds now that I have to compare it to the pulse I’m feeling on my neck.

**

Otherwise, no news save that I continue to display no symptoms of hyperthyroid (except for the moderately high pulserate) save that I do appear to be one of the oddballs who is hyperthyroid AND gains weight. Not that I’m complaining about that, really, it’s for a good cause, and I know if I started losing weight they’d medicate the hell out of me. It’s just weird that I’m eating less than I ever have in my life, and yet my weight creeps up gradually, just like it’s supposed to.

I really haven’t experienced any actual food cravings (save that ice cream, boiled spinach and green salads sure sound good, and if I get the ok from my doctor, I’m going to start including them at every meal…) but I have a true aversion to chunks of meat. Or fish. Or (sob) shrimp. It all tastes too meat-y, fish-y, shrimp-y. So I’m trying to boost my milk consumption (see! Perfectly good excuse for wanting all that ice cream!) to take up some of the protein slack, because, really, at this rate, Thor’s going to be green with cherry tomatoes for cheeks and limp spinach for hair.

**

My hips are better since I’ve started being good about sleeping with a pillow between my knees, and I’ve ordered a new, thicker pillow so that I can take some of the pressure off my shoulders as well. No snoogli yet (no Johnny Depp in my bedroom yet, either, damn the luck!) but it may still be in my future. Once I take that huge step into maternity pants, making my days more comfy, (today, I swear!), there’s no knowing how much bedroom presentability I’ll be willing to trade for a good night’s sleep.

Otherwise, I’ll just keep double-sneezing. And falling out of my newest batch of bras. And patting my belly and imagining a little dark eyed, dark haired kiddo in there, swimming around and demanding more boiled spinach like the little tyrant I expect him to be. Seriously, folks, it’s 9am and Baby wants ice cream. What’s a responsible mama-to-be to do?

Tums, on the other hand – I can now understand the love.  That stuff might be chalky, but it’s not too nasty, and it actually, um, works.  I am a convert.  Tums is my friend, and has earned a spot in my already-way-too-heavy purse.  I’ll never be without antacids again!

The nausea has gone away for the most part, I think in order to give me more opportunity to focus on heartburn and complete loss of appetite.  I mean, I’m hungry, stomach clenchingly so.  But the thought of actually putting food in my mouth?  Meh.   Not so nice a thought.  On the exciting side of things, however, the spotting has really, almost gone away.  The boobs are enormous, and so undeniably pregnant that I can’t even work myself up to a state of terror (since it has been almost 24 hours since a sonogram).

I did, however, manage to wake myself up at 4:30 this morning with complete Realm of Pain anxiety.  The level of dread I feel for going in to this place is akin to what I used to feel for orthodontist appointments.  (My orthodontist was elderly, and had allergies.  When you are 13, and presented with a giant, 70-year-old nose that’s dripping way too close to your wedged-open mouth, while the owner of the nose is busy with pliers to wrench your teeth into a more socially-acceptable, though agonizing alignment, the situation will figure prominently in your nightmares for the rest of your life.)  No, actually, I don’t think I’ve felt this much dread since 6th grade, which was the first time in my life that my teacher didn’t like me.  She used to taunt me when I tried to answer questions in class, and put such an active dislike of school into me that it took me years to get over it.  Nothing like being ridiculed by a sarcastic teacher for your 11th year to scar you for life.  And to this day I’m not entirely sure why she disliked me so very much.

At least I know why the Romanian Princess hates me.

I certainly know why she’s not my favorite person.

But oh, I really don’t want to be there today.  Or tomorrow.  Or the day after that.  And I bitterly resent having lost sleep over this person.

Yawn.

I might resent that the most of all.

Kumquatkumquatkumquatkumquat.

Still suffering with this headache from hell, still feeling blechy from about noon, on.  Still spotting occasionally, though it does seem less extreme than it has been.  Still cringing away from any contact with the Boobs that took over Brooklyn.  Still achoo-choo-ing.  Still pregnant, in other words.  Though this does not mean that I’m not looking forward to Tuesday’s appointment.  Because I am.  Rather a lot.

In other news, I have a long day of writing laid out ahead of me.  I dreamt that I was going through my desk drawer and kept happening upon manuscripts.  ”Oh yeah, I forgot about that one!”  For some reason, in my dream, finding all these orphaned books was cause for celebration, not depression.  Not quite sure why, but I figure I should at least do my best to accumulate a stack of manuscripts in my desk drawers.  It’s what writers do, after all.  And since the boy made Roast-Beef-for-20 even though there were only 8 of us, we have a few leftovers, so no cooking for me tonight.  And the house is still pretty spotless.  And the dog’s had all the exercise she wants.  Yes, it’s shaping up into a nicely lazy writing day.  Hot chocolate at my elbow, and a dog at my warm feet.  Life’s pretty ok today.

starting…

to understand…

what…

everyone…

was talking about…

when they said…

the first…

trimester…

was…

exhausting…

*snore*

Yeah.  The steroids have left the body, and I’m full on into zonked-out mode.  Can I just sleep for the next 7 months?  Please?

In more amusing symptom-watch news, I have developed the silliest pregnancy symptom ever.  Actually, I’ve had it for many many weeks now, I just didn’t realize it was related to being sprogged up.

Double-sneezing.  Like: Achoo-choo!

I’ve never sneezed like this before, but all of a sudden, I’m sneezing a lot, and always these bizarro double sneezes.  But I didn’t connect it to pregnancy until I googled “double sneeze” and saw that some women start sneezing like this when they’re pregnant.  No idea why.  Way too funny.  Here – let me sneeze for you.  You’ll laugh.

Boobs aren’t as sore, but I’m trying – mostly successfully – not to freak out since I spent most of yesterday trying not to yechh.  I love nausea.  Nausea is my reassuring, can’t-be-ignored friend right now.   I’ve also had this killer headache for the last two days.  I’m thinking it’s a combination of coming off the prednisone, and a warning sign that I’m not drinking enough water.  Which is really giving me fits again.  I can stomach milk.  Or hot chocolate.  Or ginger ale.  But water?  Plain old water?  Blech.  My old standby, sparkling water?  Yechhhh.  Going to buy lemons today to see if sour works for me as well as sweet, but in the meantime, I’m just sticking close to a toilet while I drink.

Yuck.

Other than that, it’s another boring, drama-free post.  I’m still spotting, but I’ve become as accustomed to that as it’s possible to be.  You know – I’m creeping up on 10 weeks here.  Which is astonishing to me.  And I get another ultrasound in a few days (which is wonderful and I heart my new doctor for understanding the terror, as well as understanding what alleviates the terror!)

Now I just have to figure out how I’m going to go eat brunch, polish the silver, buy candles, buy flowers, buy new knitting needles (since the one I’m using right now is cracked & likely to die at any point.) arrange flowers, buy cheese, buy whiskey, consider buying new napkins, buy a new pie pan (since mine never came back from Christmas), buy pie ingredients, make the pie, set the table, and TAKE A NAP all in the next ten hours.

So far, the napping part looks like the most fun…

Zzzzzzzzzzzz…………

Boobs took over another couple of counties while I slept – which I did for a full 9.5 hours.  OMG, I am so happy to be on a more moderate prednisone dosage.  Even though I’m still waking up to pee once or twice, I can sleepwalk to the toilet & back, and be asleep again before I even have a chance to look at the clock.  Let me reiterate this:  Nine and a half hours of sleep.  No crazy insomniac musings at 3am.  No counting to 3876-3877-3879 to try to trick myself into falling asleep.  Bliss!!!

Everything else pregnancy-symptom-wise continues apace.  I’m feeling calmer than I have in weeks – I think because I’m past the bad week.  And because I felt so wretched last night.  I was interested to notice that I’ve gained three pounds, and it’s all in my belly, which is poochy in a way it’s never been poochy before.  I should start taking photos, but I’m sort of self-conscious about my giant Lovenox hematomas.  Maybe I could go for some sort of tasteful draping effect with a sheet?  (a big sheet.)  Or maybe I should display the bruising proudly and use it to guilt/blackmail Sprog into doing her/his homework, cleaning his/her room, etc. when s/he’s at an age to properly appreciate maternal sacrifice.  So many artistic and/or therapy-requiring possibilities…

Off to the Branch of Sanity today, with, perhaps a stop in Manhattan to buy more china so I can play Perfect Hostess to my in-laws this weekend and serve everyone their pie on matching dessert plates.  Because I am enough of a geek that I care about such things even though they probably don’t, so long as they get the pie.   And because, for the moment anyway, dessert-plate stress is such a welcome change from pregnancy stress that I’m sort of reveling in it.  Going to try to go a full day without freaking out about anything not-dessert-plate related, in fact.  I’ll let you know how that works out for me…

And yeah, FUCK YOU, Fates – I said it out loud and I AM assuming there’s a live one in there, still.  I think we made it past the hump, despite the bleeding that came back yesterday after almost a 12 hour hiatus, despite the waning nausea.  My boobs and I think we’re still ok.

And it’s a good feeling.

In not-so-good news, the youngest and middle stepdaughters have, apparently, guessed at my delicate condition.  I refused wine/sake/beer once too often in Montreal, and what with the refusing to help her move, staying behind in the hotel room to sleep (vomit) etc., youngest SD voiced her suspicions to middle SD, who confronted her father yesterday when he took her & her boyfriend out to lunch in Boston.

Not the way I would have chosen to tell them – nor the time.

She was, apparently, “petulant”, which sums up her personality in a lot of ways.  The boy reminded me that there’s no way she would have taken the news well.  It’s not something she would have chosen, and in her world, things she would not have chosen are never acceptable.  In his words, “If I told her that her mother and I were going to get back together for her sake, even though we knew we’d be miserable for the rest of our lives, she would say ‘thank you’ & be just fine with that.  Actually, she probably wouldn’t even say ‘thank you’.  That’s just how she is.”

Um, yeah.  Only saving grace is that the young woman is completely baby-crazy.  Once Sprog is born, I don’t anticipate many problems, but until then?  Yikes.

Symptom-wise, I’m completely over the whole drink-all-day, pee-all-night thing.  Why can’t I pee it out within, say, six hours of drinking it?  How is it even possible that my body can somehow store liquids up all day, so I’m only peeing a tiny amount during the daylight hours, and then force me to excrete it all at 2am, and 4am, and 6am?  I mean, really, this is obviously a faulty system.

PIO went off without a hitch – or a spurt – last night.  I laid down, and manhandled my giant boobs out of the way so I could twist around to get the proper angle.  Probably looked really kinky, if anyone’d been able to see it.  Take my word for it – not my most graceful or dignified hour.  Oh, and yeah, stretch marks on the boobs?  They’re totally happening.  Already.  Oi.

Nausea seems to be easing, but it’s been replaced by something that I’m not sure if it’s me or if it’s the pregnancy.  I find myself overeating.  Now, don’t get me wrong – I love to eat.  Make that – I LOVE to eat.  Always have.  But I don’t tend to eat too much at any given time.  Lately though?  I’m eating too much, especially at noon.  Then I feel stuffed all afternoon, though usually not nauseous, so maybe my body’s just choosing to go for that overfed feeling rather than that vomitous feeling?

Or maybe I’m just using pregnancy as an excuse to be a big old pig.  Emotional eating, anyone?  How scary can life be if you have a mouthful of carbs & sugar to ruminate on?  Could be that too, I suppose.

The Boy’s home tonight with two friends in tow, so that should be fun.  I have to decide if I’m making Welsh Rarebit for lunch or if I’m going to try to go for something light to break this noontime cycle.

But rarebit sounds so good, and the Boy hates it, so I try not to make it when he’s around…

Mmmmm.  Rarebit. 17 slices of bread made into rarebit! How long til lunchtime?

See what I mean?