"Pregnancy - 37 Weeks" or "Documenting Some Pregnancy Random"

It's been almost two months since I've posted so I'm almost too ashamed to show my face on this here blog. But the need to document some Very Important Pregnancy Facts before Baby Michael is born trumps my shame. So here goes...

- Pregnancy Fact #1 -

I will miss having Garrett call me his "baby squared." I will also miss hearing him say, "Leggo my preggo!" My husband, the poet.

- Pregnancy Fact #2 -

Back in February I shared with the world our concerns about the extra fluid in Baby Michael's kidneys. We spent the next couple of months praying for our baby's kidneys and overall development. We were finally able to go to a follow-up ultrasound and received the fantastic news that Baby Michael's kidney condition totally cleared up! Garrett and I kept it together during the ultrasound, but once we got to the car we prayed a thanksgiving prayer and cried like little girls. Because that's how we roll.

- Pregnancy Fact #3 -

The nausea and vomiting have continued, but have greatly lessened over the last month. If I behave, anyway. During the last couple of weeks I have become quite the hungry girl and inhale whatever food I come across, which is probably my body's way of preparing for labor since I understand that, once I check in, the hospital intends to starve me until the baby is delivered. Like I need something other than the promise of meeting my firstborn to induce me to push. Unfortunately, my body hasn't sent the memo to my tummy because overeating inevitably results in undesired purging. Just last night I sacrificed a Sonic Reese's Blast to the Porcelain Prince.

- Pregnancy Fact #4 -

I have packed my hospital bag and included some contraband cheese cracker sandwiches for personal use in case of emergency. I have also informed Garrett that if I ask for something to eat during labor, HE SHALL COMPLY.

- Pregnancy Fact #5 -

Less than two years ago I looked like this:

(Photo by Joe Heiliger)

The wonder of pregnancy morphed my body into this:

Now I look like...

...wait for it...

...WAIT FOR IT...

...THIS!

Or maybe this:

- Pregnancy Fact #6 -

Excerpt from my birth plan -

We prefer to have only our doctor, nurses, anesthesiologist, and guests present (no residents, medical students, or other hospital personnel).

The mother would like to wear contact lenses as long as a C-section is not needed.

The mother would like an epidural as soon as possible.

The mother would like to be coached on when to push and for how long.

- Pregnancy Fact #7 -

We took a tour of the birth center at the hospital we'll be delivering in. The tour consisted of a nurse and about ten penguins and their significant others. I'll go out on a limb and say that every one of the penguins is ready to deliver their babies and walk like normal people again.

- Pregnancy Fact #8 -

I dedicated several hours to researching diaper bags. My initial plan was to buy something cheapy cheap, but then I considered that I would be carrying said diaper bag in place of a purse for long enough to justify spending a little bit more on it. But I wasn't willing to spend too much on something that will one day carry a bag of poopoo. Here's what I settled on, and am quite pleased:

Garrett gets his very own black Eddie Bauer diaper bag that looks like a laptop bag - a diaper bag incognito.

"Pregnancy - 37 Weeks" or "Documenting Some Pregnancy Random"

http://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/pregnancy-37-weeks-or-documenting-some.html

The Flawed Theology of a Teenage Girl

One night I was channel-surfing and came across what I called "The Catholic Channel." I mean no offense to those that are part of the Catholic Church, but the Catholic Channel was pretty scary stuff for a teenage girl that attended a Southern Baptist church. There were rituals and strange pictures and people standing on a hill chanting for hours. I didn't get, and didn't care to get it. (If you're Catholic, please don't stop reading. I promise you I'm not a hater.)

This particular night must have been an isn't-there-anything-on-TV night because I actually paused my channel-surfing and spent a few minutes on the Catholic Channel. I watched image after image of Jesus on the cross, broken and bleeding.

At first I was offended. My internal dialogue went something like this, "Why do they have to focus on His death? He's alive! His time on the cross is not the end of the story." Having accepted Jesus as my Savior as a child, I couldn't think of Him as dead because He had always been alive to me.

But I couldn't look away. With each image, His pain and suffering confronted me and demanded a response. I remembered hearing that if I was the only person on earth, Jesus still would have died for me. And all I could think was, "What a waste."'

I loved Him so much, and I knew in my heart of hearts that I didn't deserve His sacrifice. I was overwhelmed with remorse and decided that an apology was in order. He had to know I was serious about it, so I knelt in front of the couch on the tile floor, bowed my head in the appropriate position of piety, and asked Jesus to forgive me for needing such a sacrifice. For accepting the sacrifice and not being any different. For not being the prettiest, or smartest, or most talented, or nicest, or anything close to those things that would make people think that at least something good would come out of it and I would impact the world positively for Him.

I didn't know that there was absolutely nothing that I, or anyone, could do to deserve His sacrifice. That His strength is made perfect in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). That the lack of anything admirable in me would allow Him to receive every bit of glory for anything He did in my life. It would be years before I would understand those concepts.

But that night He began the process of setting me free from any unacknowledged thoughts of deserving or earning salvation and began teaching me the truth of mercy and grace.

After my apology, I thought I might as well be completely honest and begged, "Help me," over and over again. I'll risk sounding like a crazy person by telling you that he dropped His Presence on me so suddenly and forcefully that I actually looked around to see who else was in the room with me. And I specifically looked to my right to see who was next to me.

I didn't see anyone, so no need to call the mental police on me.

At first I was terrified to feel the room so full with a presence and not seeing anyone. But I also knew that there was nothing to be scared of. I realized that it must be God comforting me. Even though I didn't deserve it. Even though I wasn't the prettiest, or smartest, or most talented, or nicest, or anything close to those things that I thought would make one deserving of the attentions of the Creator of the universe.

I've thought of that night so many times over the years. It was the beginning of my understanding, in my heart and not just in my head, that we love because He first loved us (1 John 4:19). That I could do nothing to deserve salvation because He saved me by His grace (Ephesians 2:8-9). That He loves me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3) and will lift up my head (Psalm 3:3). That my soul could thirst for Him and cling to Him, moving my lips to glorify Him and my hands to lift in His name (Psalm 63).

I've also learned that I cannot separate the fact that "He has risen" from "He was crucified." And that I would be doing good to agree with Paul and resolve to know nothing "except Jesus Christ and Him crucified" (1 Corinthians 2:2).

How like God to interrupt mindless channel-surfing with meditation on the cross. To use something foreign to me in order to reveal the flaws in my theology.

I pray that He interrupts your routine this Good Friday, too.

The Flawed Theology of a Teenage Girl

http://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/04/flawed-theology-of-teenage-girl.html

"Pregnancy - 27 Weeks" or "Houston Restaurants Will Never Be the Same"

Yesterday I added Panera to the list of fine eating establishments whose bathroom I have violated.

And after eating the creamy tomato soup in a bread bowl. What a waste.

So my morning sickness continues all the live-long day. But I've decided to see it as a blessing rather than a curse. If nothing else, it has helped me to not gain 50 pounds of extra weight. I haven't weighed myself in the last few days, but I have reached the 20-pound mark. There's no telling what I would look like if not for the morning sickness.

My husband and I talked about this very fact last night. He says that from behind I don't look pregnant, but once I turn around it's like, "Whoa, Nellie!"

What a sweet and delusional man. He seems to have forgotten that he had to make a run to the maternity clothing store for me to buy new underwear because MY NORMAL UNDERWEAR, THEY DO NOT FIT. And they have not fit for many a moon. Proof positive that the nether regions are not what they once were.

And they weren't all that to begin with.

But enough about my derriere. Let's get back to the belly and its many looks.

My belly has taken on its own identity. I feel like I have the belly version of Sybil strapped to me, with a different personality for every day. All it needs is a pair of glasses and for my belly button to start saying, "You like me! You really like me!" and it would be Sally Field.

But if my belly button doesn't start talking soon, it won't get a chance. It has begun to flatten at an alarming rate, bringing to the light of day regions of my belly button that have never before been seen.

One of the personalities that my belly is taking on is that of the heat-seeking missle. I say that because it is now growing straight out. With a bit of a point. If we had some time-lapse video of my belly growth I feel sure that you would duck for cover.

Although it's nowhere near as dramatic as the "Jon & Kate Plus 8" belly. Bless her heart.

Despite the shape that my belly is taking on, I can say with certainty that I am not going to birth a missile, but an acrobat. While Baby Michael's movements the last couple of months have consisted mostly of jabs and kicks, the last few days he has moved into rolls and turns, with a little bit of the Marine belly crawl thrown in for good measure.

As a matter of fact, sometimes his movements cover so much area so quickly, I imagine him gripping the umbilical cord and swinging from one side of my belly to the other.

But you won't hear complaints from me. I rejoice over every movement because they tell me that my baby boy is alive and kicking. And that's not something that I'm willing to take for granted.

Swing away, Baby Michael. Swing away.

Just take it easy while I'm in Panera. Mama likes her soup.

"Pregnancy - 27 Weeks" or "Houston Restaurants Will Never Be the Same"

http://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/04/pregnancy-27-weeks-or-houston.html

Pregnancy - "Facing Reality" or "Pictures That I Will Later Regret Sharing"

Everybody knows that you're not really pregnant until you've got a picture of the baby bump.

This was me at almost 23 weeks. I didn't plan to have a picture taken because this is what I see:

Some thoughts about my new body:

• Swollen feet should be hidden at all times. Nobody wants to see that. Even though they haven't looked this good in a long time, thanks to my sister and a trip to the spa.
  
• The hemline on this NON-MATERNITY dress is almost even, which means that my butt has grown at the same rate as my belly.
• I honestly didn't know my belly was this big until I saw this picture. Ignorance is bliss. What would I look like if not for all the vomiting? Like I did soon after this picture was taken? (You had to know that I couldn't let a week go by without a vomit reference.)
  
• I have more hair than ever and clearly don't know what to do with it.
• At the time my bridal pic was taken, I felt fat. Now I would give just about anything to look like that again.

The good news is that my obstetrician informed me at my 24-week appointment that my belly measures perfectly for how far along I am. Shocking, I know. The bad news is that I have 16 weeks of growth to go.

Giving me time to adopt the motto, "Go big or go home."

Garrett got in the game and poofed out a sympathy belly. How do men do this with their bodies? My belly, on the other hand, is all me, all the time.

Notice that he spread out his legs in an attempt to get down to my height. I am clearly a Woman of Short Stature.

In other baby-related news, my hard-working husband cleaned out the garage last week to make room for storing some of the furniture that's in the baby's room right now. I wish I'd taken a "before" picture so that you could fully understand what a major undertaking this was. Now we sometimes walk into the garage just to look at it. We're so proud that we may host tours highlighting the "Wall of Yard Tools" and "Tank That Used to Hold Our Dearly Departed Lizards." Lizards never had it so good, dead or alive.

While Garrett was slaving away in the garage, I busied myself with chatting on the phone and reading a forgotten book. Until I felt guilty and made him a nice dinner that did not involve microwave steamer bags or take-out menus. It did involve the oven and many, many dirty dishes.

By the time the day was over, Garrett could barely move from all the lifting and nailing, and I could barely move from all the standing while cooking. It was debatable whether or not we'd have enough energy to climb the stairs to the TV room just to throw ourselves on the couches for some mindless channel-surfing.

So we attempted to check ourselves into a retirement community, but were turned away for acting too old.

Because everybody knows that you're not really retirement-ready until you can at least have as much fun as some dead lizards.

Pregnancy - "Facing Reality" or "Pictures That I Will Later Regret Sharing"

http://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/pregnancy-facing-reality-or-pictures.html

I know you didn't ask, but still...

Who knew that the never-ending TMI on this blog would result in an award?

My blog friend Tara was kind enough to offer The Late Bloomers the Honest Scrap Award! I knew Tara was a kindred spirit when she wrote this post about watching my favorite movie. I was so moved that I spent entirely too much time writing my own post about it. But oh, it was fun.

To accept this award, I need to:

• list ten honest things about myself
• nominate five other bloggers

10 Honest Things About Myself

Let me start off by saying that I already feel sorry for you that you're reading this list. When you're done, you may curse yourself for giving up 90 seconds of your life that you'll never get back. Consider yourself warned.

1. I could drink Coke by the gallon. While sucking on a lemon. This can be an expensive habit. I was almost shamed into giving it up when I discovered in college that my parents hid Coke from me when I came home to visit. Keyword: almost.
2. I kinda sorta want a Snuggie. When I first saw the commercials, I thought it was the stupidest thing I ever saw. But, somewhere along the way, my heart changed and I began to feel a sense of longing. Shame caused me to keep this longing hidden, especially as Internet ridicule of the Snuggie and its cousin, the Slanket, increased (like here, which made me laugh so much). And I can understand the ridicule. I once counted myself among the hecklers. But then I saw that someone I highly respect gave in to her desire. So I finally got up the nerve to tell my husband. More ridicule ensued, which has so far kept me from running out and making the purchase, but, as in the Coke situation above, I have a feeling that shame will not keep me from fulfilling my desires.
3. I honestly and truly dislike the taste of water. And don't tell me that water doesn't have a taste. With all the chemicals they put in bottled water, there's some kind of after-taste going on. I find Ozarka to be the most offensive. If you can bring me a glass of water straight from a mountain stream, I'll be willing to re-evaluate.
4. I love to watch my husband nap. He just looks so peaceful and relaxed and his mouth does this cute little pucker thing. I would take a picture and post it but suspect that would be crossing some sort of line. So you'll just have to trust me on this.
5. My clumsiness knows no limits. Just this morning as I was making breakfast I dropped a freshly-cooked slice of French toast and a slice of banana on the floor. I've been known to fall down the stairs (three times), walk into a glass door (once), and walk into walls and doorways (countless times). I don't know what's wrong with me.
6. I love sushi. Wait, you don't understand. I reallllly loooove sushi! Seriously. As a matter of fact, I prefer to eat raw salmon over cooked salmon. Spicy tuna rolls, shrimp tempura rolls, and anything with cream cheese and avocado. Oh, be still my heart.
7. I like the smell of gasoline. Hold on a minute - don't picture me sniffing gasoline in a closet somewhere. I'm just saying that when I have to pump gas, I don't hate it. That's all.
8. When I first met my husband, I asked myself, "Could I kiss those lips?" The answer is yes, yes I can. And I have. Many, many, many times.
9. There is no end to my hair. I was born with a head full of hair. Growing up I called it the "mane" (as in lion). Many women look forward to having thick luxuriant hair during pregnancy (because not as much hair falls out), but not me. I neeeeeed for hair to fall out. It is OUT OF CONTROL.
10. I am the anti-athlete. I've tried to be athletic and sporty. I really have. I've thrown myself into Ultimate Frisbee, physical training lessons, and an ill-fated two weeks of Boot Camp at my church. All to no avail. The only things I got out of it was a sprained ankle, a growing awareness of my asthma, and a T-shirt.

Nominations

I don't know that many bloggers, so I'll have to limit this list to four.

Margaret
Cristie
Jennifer
Missy

I know you didn't ask, but still...

http://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/who-knew-that-never-ending-tmi-on-this.html

Links Worth Following 3/14/09

• The 10 Songs 'American Idol' Finalists Should Avoid Like the Plague - The producers of the show really need to take this advice to heart. What was with the whole Michael Jackson thing this past week?
  
• Mom Jeans and the Dreaded "Long Butt" - May I never make this mistake.
  
• Facebook Made Me Do It - Do people have no shame??
  
• Baking Soda Beauty: 13 Reasons To Move It from Your Fridge to Your Medicine Cabinet - Maybe I can find a use for all of the baking soda I found in my pantry this week. I really need to keep inventory of what I have.
• This word should be stricken from the English language. After all, there are other options.
  

Links Worth Following 3/14/09

http://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/links-worth-following-31409.html

Pregnancy: I wonder if my child is channeling Seinfeld

Welcome to the latest installment of the Vomit Chronicles.

I know y'all have been waiting with bated breath to get an update on my nausea issues, so let's just get that out of the way: I'm in my 22nd week and still throwing up pretty much every day.

Honestly, I don't even care anymore. It's become a way of life. I just always hope to get it over with before leaving the house. I'd hate to have to pull over on some freeway and lean out my car door, only to cause a ten car pile-up due to all the rubbernecking.

On to more pleasant news...

On February 17th we had our long-awaited 20-week ultrasound. This ultrasound was the gating factor for such decisions as nursery decor, onesies color, and the colors of the stripes on the blanket I'm crocheting.

That's right, you read correctly - CROCHETING. Engineer by day, homemaker by night. How "every woman" of me.

So anyway, Garrett and I were sure we were having a girl. Besides always imagining that I would have a girl-child first, time-tested old wives tales also indicated that our first-born would be a daughter.

So you can imagine our surprise, nay, SHOCK, when the ultrasound tech announced that it's a BOY! Little Michael Thomas Maddox is on his way!

Those old wives clearly don't know what they're talking about.

It really didn't matter to me if it was a boy or girl. I just want a chubby baby in my arms. But I was absolutely thrilled for Garrett that he was getting his boy.

While waiting for the doctor to see us, we busied ourselves with phone calls and text messages sharing our news. Now all we had to do was get the ol' "Everything looks great" speech from the doctor, and we could be on our merry way, imagining life with our son.

So the doctor finally comes in, sits down, and starts talking about kidneys, ureters, and bladders. It took me a few seconds to realize that she wasn't saying, "Everything looks great." She said that my baby boy has more fluid in his right kidney than they like to see, so we would have to go for a higher level ultrasound.

I started to panic.

The doctor saw my eyes glaze over with shock, so she scooted a little closer and stressed that this didn't have to be a problem, her son was born with the same issue and he grew out of it by the time he was three. Apparently it's pretty common in little boys due to the nature of their plumbing. And everything else did look great, picture-perfect. This made me feel better, but I'm sorry to say that the damage to my emotions was already done. Garrett was a champ and took up the question-asking after that so that I could just take it in.

I was numb for the rest of the day. I did talk to various family members on the phone, excited that now we could really plan in earnest. But I was glad that I'd decided to work from home that day because I really needed the time to myself. The cubicle farm environment just doesn't afford the privacy necessary to a worried mother.

I held it together for most of the day, but finally had a meltdown that night. Full-fledged worry and panic ensued about everything from the serious to the mundane:

• Worry that my baby's kidneys would get worse.
• Worry that I didn't know how to mother a boy. I didn't realize until that day that I was scared to death to be a mommy to a little boy. Preparing a son to be a man, to be both strong and gentle, seems like such a huge undertaking to me.
  
• Worry about the nursery. I didn't have anything picked out for a boy!

Garrett spent some time talking me down from the ledge, so to speak. I felt better the rest of the week, but I'm still praying like crazy for my boy's kidneys.

We went to another facility for the higher-level ultrasound a week later. Before looking at the kidneys, she checked out the rest of Michael's body and saw that it all looks good. We then asked her to confirm that Michael is indeed a boy, just to make sure.

The tech in our previous ultrasound didn't have any problems checking out his boy part. But this time around Michael got a little shy and kept his legs closed.

And, really, can you blame him for being shy? I don't care what kind of viscous goop he has covering his body right now, being in fluid for months has got to do something to your skin, including the boy part. Sometimes I wonder if little boys in utero want to hold up a sign saying, "I was in the pool! I WAS IN THE POOL!" (Everybody remember George Costanza?)

(Michael just kicked me as if to say, "That's right!")

Just when I was thinking that the doctor would have to give up and move on, she started to pound on my stomach with the ultrasound wand in an effort to get him to move.

I found that particular maneuver to be quite ironic considering how vigilant Garrett and I have been about keeping our pets from jumping on my stomach. And here the doctor is, pounding my stomach like it was a ball of bread dough.

If she had just asked, I would have been more than happy to jiggle my belly for her. And it probably would have achieved the same result. But I'm not the one with the medical degree.

Michael finally did move and reveal the family jewels. So we can proceed with decorating a little boy's nursery with confidence.

The doctor then looked at his kidneys. She found fluid in both kidneys, but said that it wasn't anything that she was too worried about, it was probably just reflux. But she also cautioned that things could progress, so we're going back in two months for a follow-up ultrasound.

Most of my worries have been calmed, but I have to work at it sometimes. I'm comforted by the fact that my son isn't developing randomly, but being formed in my womb by a loving God.

Now the big question is: what's he gonna look like? We're predicting that this short, dark-skinned Puerto Rican girl is going to birth a big white baby boy. Which means that I will forever be mistaken as his nanny.

But I'm cool with that. I'm just looking forward to having him in my arms and looking down at his chubby-cheeked face, knowing that all the vomiting was worth it. I can't wait to meet my son.

Pregnancy: I wonder if my child is channeling Seinfeld

http://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/02/pregnancy-i-wonder-if-my-child-is.html