Posted by Lily on Jul 31, 2008 in
pregnancy The other morning I stopped by Sonic to get drinks for the nurses at work. Because we are in love with Sonic. I think it is the ice. Although it might also be the fresh limes they put in drinks. Somehow the combination of ice and limes makes it irresistible to us. It way my turn for the Sonic run. For those who have never been, it is a drive-in, not a drive-thru, so you sit in your car and order and they bring your stuff out to you.
When I drove up there was a guy sitting at a table (there are some tables for those who want to sit in an exhaust filled area and eat in the blistering heat) eating breakfast. When I drove up he checked me out and kept staring. I do still get checked out, the only difference from pre-pregnancy is that once I actually get out of the vehicle the interest wanes VERY quickly as the wandering eyes fall upon the Bogey Belly. But if I stay in the car, I’m pretty hot stuff.
There was a malfunction with the credit card machine so the Sonic lady had to take my card inside to run it. I thought she said I should follow her so I jumped (ha. who am I kidding. loped) out of my car to follow her. By the time I navigated myself out of the car and around the car door without hitting the ordering sign or getting stuck, she was already inside. So I closed the car door and stood next to the car.
And the checker-outer? He kept looking! The belly didn’t phase him! Which actually gave me pause when I really thought about it. Way creepier to be into the pregnant lady than to lose interest. Then he spoke.
Checker-Outer: “Do you like your car?”
Me, thinking it was kind of an odd pick-up line, but I was at a drive-in. And if you’re going to be into the pregnant lady, might as well comment on her mom vehicle: “Yeah. It’s great. I love it.”
CO: “how’s the mileage?”
Me, starting to wonder where this is going: “It’s pretty good. Not like a small car, but not bad like a giant SUV.”
CO: “what do you get on the highway?”
I then realize this guy has zero interest in me and is totally into my car. My mom vehicle. I politely answer all his questions, give him the average MPG I get in the city vs. the highway. All the things I like about the car. Everything else he wants to know about it. So glad I could assist in his car hunting.
I eventually got back in my car, as gracefully and with as much dignity as I could while the Sonic lady brought out my receipt. Drove off and watched as he checked out the vehicle’s rear. Glad my car got some looks. One of us should be sleek and shiny right now.
The good news, besides the fact I think I could do psych study on missed social cues when pregnant, is that someone asked me what I was having the other day and on my first try, without batting an eye I said “a boy.”
Posted by Lily on Jul 28, 2008 in
parenting,
pregnancy I mentioned awhile ago I would at some point discuss why we opted for the prenatal testing that we did (or really didn’t) get and then promptly forgot about it. I also have promptly forgotten what I ate for dinner twenty minutes ago. But something jolted my head and brought the testing issue back to the surface, as murky as it may be, so I figure I would write about it before I totally forget.
At the beginning of the pregnancy I started seeing an OB/GYN (sounds so illicit) and at one of the visits she went over the timeline of the pregnancy, what would be expected at each visit, etc. She ran through the speel and said and at the ? week visit (I don’t remember which one) they’d take blood for all the genetic testing and then the next week, blah, blah, blah. I was tuned out. Because I was expecting a discussion about testing, not to have my blood drawn and have the tests run without discussion. This was just one of the many, many reasons I ended up going with the midwife. I believe the final decision was made by John who calmly asked whether coming home and crying after each OB/GYN visit was really what I was looking for in the whole pregnancy/birth chapter of my life.
The midwives offered a consultation visit (which I know some OB/GYNs do, just not the ones I had been referred to) in order to discuss what the midwives do, what would be expected at each visit, etc. When she got to the genetic testing, it was presented entirely differently. She said at the ? week visit there would be the option of genetic testing if that’s what we wanted and that would be a discussion we would have at that time with our midwife.
I had asked at my first visit to the OB/GYN about what happened if I wanted certain things different than how they did it, such as not all the testing, wanting my baby with ME right after he was born, etc. I was given a blank look by the nurse and told the doctor would answer my questions. The doctor gave me less of a blank look, more of a judging one (ah, she’s going to be one of THOSE women) and said well, yes, there were papers I could sign to opt out of certain things if I really felt it was necessary.
When I went to the visit with my midwife in which it was time to have the discussion about testing, it was presented completely the opposite way. She had done an EXTENSIVE medical history of me, my family, and John’s family and found nothing in any of those histories that put us at a high risk of genetic abnormalities. Therefore, unless we would like to get the testing done just to know, which was fine, there really wasn’t a need for a slew of tests to be run.
I had been dreading the discussion up until that point because I felt that I was going to have to fight and have a long drawn out explanation of why we didn’t want extensive testing and why that didn’t make me a bad parent. But I never had to say any of that. Because it wasn’t expected. I felt at that moment I could have said I wanted every test under the sun plus three extra or I could have said, I don’t even want an ultrasound and she would have fully supported either decision. Without judgement.
I of course still did have to sign a piece of paper saying I had been told about the tests and understood my decision not to have them done. Which I guess would be considered opting out. But I didn’t feel like I was opting out. I felt like I was signing an informed consent of my decision.
Then the curve ball.
There is one other test, she said. To test the parents to see if they are carriers of CF (Cystic Fibrosis). Mom is tested first, if she is positive, then Dad is tested as it is a recessive gene so both parents would need to be carriers in order for the disease to be present. Even if Mom and Dad are carriers, there is only a 25% chance Bogey would have it. So nothing would be answered by the test, except that if we both were carriers, testing on Bogey would be done immediately at birth.
I said, well actually I did want that one. Having spent quite a lot of time with kids who had CF, I have seen the difference early detection and intervention can make on the overall outcome for the child. It was a no brainer.
John said, well actually he did not want that one.
I believe the midwife actually witnessed my head spin around on my neck.
Surely John was joking or misinformed I thought. No John, we do want that one, I said. It doesn’t hurt or change anything and it is testing me, not Bogey. John said, exactly. If it didn’t change or hurt anything, why would we do it?
At this point, he and I sat there, looking at one another. And my midwife, perfectly timed, without intruding, said, guys. There is absolutely no rush on any of this testing, especially this one. Take these forms home, talk with each other, let it sit. Next time you come in, we’ll see where you are.
So we took the forms home. And began our discussion. To me, it was one of the most enlightening times of our marriage. John and I don’t tend to disagree on much, and when we do it isn’t on anything fundamental and we usually end up agreeing to disagree. All of a sudden here was a decision that 1) we couldn’t really agree to disagree on 2)I felt I was completely right about 3) I felt was about my body, so it was MY decision.
But there is someone in my body now. Someone who is equally John as he is me. Therefore John felt he should have a part in that decision. It rocked my little Bogey brain. Oh my god. My days of stubbornness and waging wars because I WAS RIGHT were numbered. Because it isn’t all about me anymore. There is this little baby who has two parents who will have differing opinions, but need to try and make decisions together.
Of course, in the end I won. I’m not the Queen of Stubborn for nothing.
Seriously though, we talked a lot about the test. It turned out John’s concern was that if we both turned out to be carriers, we still wouldn’t know about Bogey and I would then spend endless months worrying myself sick over whether or not he had CF. Because I am a worrier. I admit that. I am an impressive worrier. John had reason to be concerned. But as I explained to him, this was a situation where I felt I would be worrying a lot less just knowing. Knowing that we weren’t carriers or that we were and Bogey would be tested as soon as he was born. That made me feel better. Eventually John agreed to the testing because he saw that it meant a lot to me, more he thought, then it meant to him.
We got the test, I’m not a carrier. That issue is finished. Who knows what else could be wrong with Bogey. Who knows what amazing things could be right with Bogey.
What we both knew at the time of the testing was that if we did all the testing out there, it wouldn’t change a thing. It was an unreal experience when we saw him at 9 1/2 weeks, little eye sockets, limb buds, and strong beating heart. There was no way we would do anything different if we found out there was a problem. That was one of the easiest decisions.
Is there a point to this post? Not really. Just one view on prenatal testing and how we came to the decisions we did. They were right for us, but might not be right for others. For me, it was a huge lesson in the different view points out there on pregnancy and the importance of taking control of my own pregnancy.
Even if that means having to share the decision making with my husband.
Posted by Lily on Jul 23, 2008 in
Bogey .jpg)
I have gotten some feedback saying people want to know about the actual being INSIDE The Pregnant One. Really? I don’t know why. I’m about to spend the next 23 or 24 years (I figure I’ll give him two years post-college before I boot him out of the house) boring all of you with endless stories about my child and the many mundane, repetitive accomplishments that I think are totally awesome and why he is The Smartest and The Best and The Fastest and The Funniest. Well, he will be The Funniest. I’m convinced. But I’ll play along. Technically the blog is about him.
The next midwife
appt. is not for a couple of weeks, so I have no official things to report, but I’ll give an unofficial rundown.
I’m at the end of my second trimester and about to start the third and final one. For those who think saying a fourth trimester is funny, just bite it because this kid will be out by the end of three. Truly. I will take him out myself.
I swear that Bogey is actually aware we are transitioning into the third trimester because all of a sudden during this week, he has decided to act like a third trimester old creature. His movements and kicks are moving from awwwww, that’s so cute and bubbly! to oh my god, did my rib actually just poke through my abdomen? Just look, John. Look. Sew it back together. And Bogey is only about 2 lbs at this point. 2lbs of straight up flexed arms and legs. I have this image of him in there floating around like a starfish with his arms and legs sticking straight out, occasionally bending to get enough momentum to rearrange my internal organs when he straightens them back out.
He has also found a new hot spot to take all his peeps. Until a couple of weeks ago he seemed to be unaware there was a right side to my uterus. Now, not only has he discovered his living space is twice as big as he thought, but that there is a rockin‘ dance club in there. With a catchy name. El Bladdero. That’s right, we’re raising him bilingual. Apparently he has a VIP pass and likes to party all night. I know this is just going to get worse. But I figure soon he’ll be too big to do quite as much free movement in the club. He’ll end up just sitting on it, which may be worse, we’ll see.
My sleeping is starting to lessen, perhaps due to the late night operations of Club Bladdero, but I’m also going to have to put a lot of that on the dogs as Serena has decided to mimic me peeing two, three times at night. Not to be outdone, Sam has taken up avid hunting in the middle of the night, successfully bagging a young opossum last night in fact.
I try to stretch everyday and that combined with wearing only supportive shoes (bye, bye flops) and the prenatal massage has helped my back tremendously. I think John appreciates this maybe even more than me as the constant heating and massaging of my back he happily did at my constant bidding has dropped off significantly.
Finally, my brain. Nothing washed for awhile. My new thing is apparently with feeding the dogs, who due to medical reasons have different foods that the other cannot eat. I have now NUMEROUS times taken both dishes over to their food containers, filled up one dish, taken the empty dish to the other container and filled up the FIRST DISH THAT ALREADY HAD FOOD IN IT. All the while holding the empty one in my hand.
And the other day? I walked into the bathroom because I knew I had to pee, but forgot that I actually had just peed about five minutes before.
It’s an accomplishment that I haven’t peed in the dog food. Yet.
Posted by Lily on Jul 21, 2008 in
pregnancy,
travel I went to Kansas this weekend with my sister, Reed, on what was really my first trip while looking the part of The Pregnant One. I’ve traveled while pregnant, but it wasn’t quite as noticeable then as it is now. I didn’t think it would be that different. I figured that instead of being kind of awkward when slinking down airline aisles, I would now be super awkward and almost dangerous when carrying bags. I learned over the course of two days however, that traveling pregnant is like opening a portal into a world where the sunbeams shine, the birds sing, and everyone can’t help but smile.
The first indication of something being different was on our flight to Kansas City. Reed graciously took the middle seat so I could have the aisle seat as it was easy access to the bathroom and much easier to semi-elephant-gracefully plop down into. When the flight attendant came to take drink orders I asked if by any chance there were pretzels I could have instead of the peanuts they were offering. Big smile, and an of course! from the flight attendant. I got up to pee and when I got back to my seat the flight attendant was standing there saying something to Reed and holding my drink. I sat down to two bags of pretzels on my tray and a very apologetic flight attendant saying how sorry she was, but she ran out of pretzels and had instructed another flight attendant to bring some right over. I said no problem, (as I already had two bags) thanked her, and took my drink.
Reed just looked at me. Apparently the flight attendant was beside herself when I was gone because there weren’t enough pretzels and would not trust Reed with holding my drink, instead insisting on holding it until I returned. Might seem over cautious, but I say good show to the flight attendant as you never know what my family might slip in a drink when they have to fly with me.
Saturday evening, we were in a store when Reed really had to pee. I’d like to be able to make some snide remark about how it was the non-pregnant sister who had to pee, but seeing as the reason I didn’t have to pee that badly was probably because I’d already peed about five times during the two hour car trip, I don’t think I have much room to be snide. So we’re in this very small store that clearly does not have a public restroom and a salesgirl asks us if she can help us. My back is to her and I hear Reed ask if by any chance there is a restroom we could use. The salesgirls hems and haws a little but says yeah, she guesses so, at which point I turn around and say “oh gosh, thanks, that would be WONDERFUL!” The salesgirl nearly falls over herself at seeing The Pregnant One and starts saying oh, we should have said something sooner and OF COURSE we can use their restroom and quickly rushes us back to the employees only section where she reveals the vaulted bathroom. You could almost hear her heart squeal.
I asked her advice on names, she gave me a few dozen, found out her favorite name for a girl is Lily (that’s my name! I replied) and my entire purchase ended up being 50% off. Reed bought a mug and graciously did not shatter it over my head.
Sunday morning we returned our car to the airport. The Kansas City airport has a rental car terminal. An actual terminal dedicated to rental cars. This means everybody gets on a bus and is bussed out to the rental car terminal together where they then disperse to their various rental car companies. When you return your car, same deal, but in reverse. Drop the car off, walk to the terminal, wait for the bus. Not when you travel with The Pregnant One. We dropped our car off and were in the process of getting all of our luggage and cleaning it out when the rental car guy said, do you guys want a ride to the terminal? yeah. Let us do that. It will save you guys lots of time and you don’t have to wait around. He calls one of the other workers and instructs him to valet us to the terminal. Literal door to door service.
We are on our way home, at the check-in counter getting our boarding passes and checked baggage tag and I finish first, then wait for Reed. She comes up to me with papers flying, trying to keep together all of her boarding passes and tags and id and such together. I hold up my airline envelope that the agent put together for me and stapled my baggage tag to and ask, didn’t she get one? She said no, and kindly refrained from stapling my envelope to my head.
On the flight back however, as I was basking in the glow of traveling pregnant, I watched as the flight attendant stopped a poor mother on her way up to change her baby’s diaper in the lavatory and told her she was not allowed to do it in the front lavatory, only the back, she’d have to turn around now.
And the clouds became dark. And the birds stopped singing. And the smiles were gone. Because in a few months? There is no traveling as The Pregnant One. There is traveling as The Woman With That Baby. And that traveling is filled with angry looks, annoyed eye rolls, and snorts when I ask for pretzels.
Posted by Lily on Jul 17, 2008 in
pregnancy Long story as at why, but last night we went out to dinner at a restaurant that was cafeteria style. You walk down the line, picking out what food items you want and there are workers on the other side of the line ready to help you get what you want.
There were two women working there when John and I went through, one who seemed put together and one who seemed not quite as much so. Very sweet, but not the brightest bulb. She was the one helping me, and as someone who loves those with some mental challenge, I was chipper and pleased to have her help me out.
The following is our conversation:
Cafeteria Worker, smiling broadly: Do you know what you’re gonna have?
Me, smiling broadly: I think I’ll have some mashed potatoes please!
CW: (hands me my food, smiling) Do you know what you’re gonna have?
Me: Ah, I’ll have some hush puppies please.
CW: (hands me my food, smiling) Do you know what you’re gonna have?
Me: Um…I guess I’ll have some macaroni and cheese please.
CW: (hands my my food, smiling) Do you know what you’re gonna have?
(this continued through a dinner roll, strawberries and bananas, and a piece of pie, as I did not not want to disappoint her eagerness at helping me get lots of food. The piece of pie however, was my stopping point.)
Me: Um…I think the piece of pie is plenty for me. No room on my tray for more food! Thanks! (all said with a big smile)
CW: (hands me my food, smiling) Do you know what you’re gonna have?
At this point I just stand there. Not quite sure how else to indicate that I think I have something from every possible food group they have. While pregnant, I don’t eat THAT much. At a loss for words I just stare at her. And her sweet, goofy smile. And notice she is looking directly at my Bogey Belly.
Me: Um…A boy.
CW: Oh, that’s so exciting! Is it your first?
At that moment, as I see John heading towards me, eyes widening at the vast expanse of food spilling over my tray, I realized I didn’t really have a good explanation. Because when I recounted the story, it was hard to differentiate who the really sweet slow lady actually was.
Posted by Lily on Jul 16, 2008 in
pregnancy John and his siblings were raised with Nintendo, something I was not, so they are skilled masters at pretty much all Nintendo games. Their reflexes defy the laws of physics and I soundly get trounced whenever I play with them. His brother even sets me on a multiple lives handicap so that I’ll live longer in certain games. Longer being defined as long enough to actually get through five minutes of the game.
When Wii came along, all bets were off. This was a new game entirely. No longer was freakishly coordinated finger skills an advantage. You needed full body coordination. Every one’s learning curve started at zero.
In fact, if you had actually played the sport in real life, you seemed to be at a disadvantage in Wii Sports. Seeing as the only sport I ever really played was soccer, and that was not one of the games on Wii Sports, I was at an advantage. A serious advantage.
To make matters worse for John, I seemed to be a natural at Wii Sports. I dominated in everything I played. I don’t play the golf or boxing games because I don’t have patience for them. Baseball, bowling, and Tennis are my expertise.
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Particularly tennis. I am a tennis pro. Truly. Wii has me listed as a Pro. Much to John’s chagrin. Now to be fair I must admit that once I realized my dominance I didn’t let John practice the game because I wanted to keep it so I was better than him at some video game.
But now I don’t play any more frequently than he does. I haven’t been playing as much since I’ve been pregnant and the other day John suggested we go downstairs and play. It had literally been months since we played and honestly, I was a bit nervous as to how my tennis game would be.
Awareness of my pregnant body in a spacial plane has not been my strong suit as my coworkers would tell you because they watch me run into things or get stuck pretty much on a daily basis.
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Not to mention my inability to get my brain to focus on something for a two minute stretch, let alone a five set tennis match.
And the worst thing I can do is lose. Especially at something I dominate. On a regular basis. But I took John’s challenge. Mostly because I couldn’t come up with a good excuse not to. So we played.
The results? Mama still got game. Crushing, dominating, Tennis Pro game. I trounced John. Straight sets. While he would never say it, the hurt was even worse for John as his out of practice, expanding ball of a wife still had her quick reflexes and power serves.
There is no competitiveness in our marriage.
However, just so no one thinks my head is too big, while doing laundry last night (nothing but clothes was washed, yay) I put in multiple dryer sheets over about a two minute span because I kept not being able to remember whether I’d put one in or not.
Cat like reflexes. Sloth like brain.
Posted by Lily on Jul 14, 2008 in
pregnancy You may or may not know that part of my hyperactive immune system is that I have extreme reactions to insect bites/stings. Nothing systemic, my throat doesn’t swell up and I don’t stop breathing. But I do get a fairly impressive local reaction, which I treat with Benadryl until I give up and ultimately end up on a course of steroids.
As steroids would not be the best thing for me right now, i have been hyper vigilant this summer about bees and wasps, which are what give me the most severe reaction. I haven’t been running around outside barefoot. Much. I’ve been careful. Saturday, as I am walking (yes, barefoot) from our kitchen into our dining room I step down and feel a shot through my toe. One of those moments where you look down to try and find both the grenade that just blew off your toe, and all the pieces of toe that must be splattered around the room.
Shockingly there was no grenade, and my toe was in fact still attached to my foot. On the underside of it there was a white circle with a perfect puncture point right in the middle. There was no glass, shard, splinter, or piece of anything. There was no stinger, or hobbling bug or wobbly bee. Eventually the pain subsided and I figured I must have just stepped on a rock or pebble or some small thing that punctured, but nothing more.
Cut to 5:00 Sunday morning when the fire in my toe began. And it had swollen up to look like a little Vienna sausage. We spent Sunday out, trying to register for baby things, a tale that will be for a later posting once I can speak of it without a therapist and I am convinced my marriage actually will recover. The point being I was on my foot all afternoon. Then I was off it while I slept, then on it today.
I get home today and take off my sock and now my other little toes are swollen, the bitten one rock hard, super itchy, and sore. John decides first thing we need to do is reduce some of the swelling because a lot of the discomfort is probably due to the super taught skin stretched to its max. He gets out a bowl of ice, with a little water. Not ice water. Ice, with a little water.
He then proposes I stick my toes in it for five minutes. I think I made it twenty. seconds. Before I ripped my foot out in excruciating pain. As John pleaded with me I told him he had to do it too. So he sticks his hand in. I pull back out after about five seconds.
As I sat there and John went to fill up a bag with ice. I had a horrible thought. I couldn’t sit there with four of my toes (I made John hold out my big one because it hurt the worst) in ice water for a minute. How exactly do I think I am going to get through countless hours of labor without drugs? Apparently by having John do it too. Oh, but wait. Not really a way to say, “hey babe. Could you just split your groin in half for endless hours and then could you just squeeze this massive 6-8lb object out of there? I’d feel so much better. Thanks. That’d be super.”
No I have to come up with some other way. And fast. Especially if I don’t want to use drugs. Because honestly? If John had offered me an epidural this afternoon? I’m pretty sure I might have said yes.
Posted by Lily on Jul 10, 2008 in
Animals It’s been awhile, but it is time for animal number two to be introduced. Today’s guest of honor is Dodger, one of our cats.
The first set of pictures here are a demonstration of how Dodger likes to be picked up and held AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. It is a fluid series of movements followed by the requirement of carrying him around as long as your muscles will hold out. Dodger was the first animal John and I adopted. We got him from our vet, where he and his two brothers had been dropped off as babies. They were too young to go home and had worms, but our vet knew we were looking for a cat so she let us go ahead and get an early look and pick out the one we wanted.
John picked him out, and I went back in a month when Dodger was old enough and dewormed, to take him home. In the interim month tragedy befell the Dodger brothers. Dodger and one brother contracted a horrible respiratory ailment. The brother died, and Dodger got very, very ill, but survived. Dodger however was verrrrry attached to brother that died and when they separated him from his brother he literally wore a hole in his paw from clawing at the cage trying to get to dying brother.
This may seem like extraneous information, but it is important to understand his current attachment issues. I brought him home from the vet with his wounded, bandaged paw. John was in Montana during this time visiting friends. Another important point. I wasn’t working yet, so Dodger and I set up the apartment. I carried him around to whatever room I was in and he hung out with me while I put things together. At night he would crawl up into my hair and nuzzle and knead it until he fell asleep curled up in a nest he had made on my head. This is the only way he slept.
After a week, John returned home. Little kitty now with a full blown attachment disorder, would slowly kick John in the head with his rear legs at night if John tried to get close to me. It was subtle and for awhile we didn’t actually notice. Once John picked up on it however, that was the end of the pushing.
But Dodger still nuzzled in my hair.
Cut to six years later, Dodger’s comfort thing, his favorite place, is nuzzling my hair. However he is no longer a kitten. As of his most recent vet visit a couple of weeks ago, his current weight is 16.2 lbs. Most of that is pure muscle. Or so I like to think. He is incredibly smart, listens to everything that is said, clearly communicates with a variety of chirps, and meows, and thinks he is our firstborn child. He would throw himself on a sword for me, and tolerates John pretty well. I am his one. His all. His
everything. He is waiting at the door everyday when I get home and follows me around until I pick him up. He never uses his claws on me, and almost never on John. He sleeps with me every night, now down by my feet but before I was pregnant and thrashing at night he would sleep on my stomach or legs. There is no way to truly express his pure and utter devotion and attachment to me.
If other cats try to cuddle with me or receive really any affection at all, Dodger will sometimes run them off, or sometimes allow it. If he allows it, he will then later go find said cat and beat her down. We’re a little nervous about his adjustment to a baby who actually is supposed to be carried around all the time and sleep with me. He is doing well so far with adjustments he’s had to make to pregnancy. But we do have a back up plan, which is that he moves in with his Auntie Reed for a couple of years. She does know about this plan, I promise.
Bogey Bottom Line: Dodger is the animal most likely to go for Bogey’s jugular within the first week home. However, he is also the most likely to try and tolerate new baby in order to please me. Especially if he ever sees Bogey as an ally in his battle for total domination over all the animals. A battle he is well on the way to winning, mostly due to his brain power being more than the rest of the animals combined.
Posted by Lily on Jul 8, 2008 in
Animals We went on a car trip this weekend and as per our routine, drugged Serena. When trying to describe to someone the misery that is driving with an un-medicated Serena we realized there actually weren’t words to describe it. Only sounds. Sounds that we couldn’t even replicate. High pitched whining sounds that no one should have to hear once, let alone for many consecutive hours. Hence, sedation.
We also have special dog seat belts we use to buckle our dogs into the car when we travel, something that we are made fun of on a regular basis by pretty much everyone. But the dogs LOVE it. Seriously. Well, Sam loves it. Serena honestly wouldn’t know if we super glued her to the seat. But Sam used to be kind of a nervous traveller. He didn’t mind it, but he was never settled. We started using a seat belt and he thinks car rides are the most exciting thing we have to offer. Well, that and wildlife in our backyard that he can kill. But car rides are a close second.
The seating arrangement in the car for these trips is Driver, Sam in front passenger seat (I know, his head will be obliterated by the airbag in case of an accident but it is a chance we take), Serena in the backseat behind the driver, and remaining human companion in the back behind Sam. This was something I did not lobby for, but when John takes him out to run errands, he always put him in the front seat. Because to him, Sam is The Great Weekend Errand Buddy that I am not. He therefore deserves the highest place of honor in the car, the front passenger’s seat. I learned this the first time we went on a long car trip after moving here and when I went to put Sam in the car he went right over to the front passenger’s seat, hopped up and settled in. When I exclaimed that I was actually part owner of the vehicle and didn’t actually remember him putting money towards the purchase and his place was in the back seat, I was rebuked. By my husband. Who apparently had forgotten to forward me the memo on the seating arrangements. Particularly where The Great Weekend Errand Buddy was concerned.
On the way back from that trip I did put my foot down and demand Sam sit in the back. It was one of the most miserable car trips we’ve had. Often I couldn’t tell whether Sam or John was whining louder.
The Backseat Human gets the honor of sitting with Serena for a number of hours. Even though she is buckled, the sedative actually liquefies all bones in her body and she therefore oozes over the ENTIRE back seat from door to door. As you need bones to jump up into a car she requires complete assistance for that task as well. Our rest stops are the most awkward you’ve ever seen.
Due to Serena’s oozing, Backseat Human ends up with the front half of Serena’s body in his or her lap. Generally this entails a good amount of drool and eye goop as the sedative also seems to produce large quantities of both.
Yesterday, I was in the backseat covered with Serena. John put on some music. Bogey started dancing. Serena popped her head up, looked at me, let out a world class sigh to let us and the state of TN know she was displeased, and then put her head back down. She did this a couple more times before I realized the problem. Bogey was kicking her in the head. And she couldn’t figure it out. Instead of moving her head, she just looked at me disgruntledly trying to figure out why she was being poked in the head. Repeatedly. By something she couldn’t ever find. And why wouldn’t I make it stop. Because it might kill her. Right there, in the car.
At that moment I wished there was some way for me to communicate to her the incredible change she’s about to have in her life and the fact that right now, her nuisance was contained in my belly. And that he wasn’t intentionally doing it. Wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. That in a year’s time this nuisance will be sitting there purposefully kicking her in the head. While she is SHARING the backseat.
We’re currently looking into the safety of traveling while in a pod on top of the car. No word yet as to who would get that luxury.
Posted by Lily on Jul 2, 2008 in
pregnancy I decided to take my midwife’s advice (ooooooh twist my arm) and I had my first prenatal massage yesterday. I’m going to create laws mandating all pregnant women get prenatal massages. If I could marry my masseuse I’m pretty sure I would. Or at least invite her to move in with me. For the next four months or so. And then forever after that because I’ll need regular massages after Bogey is born. And then someday I might be pregnant again.
Pretty much, it was amazing. There were many different components that were each remarkable in their own way. The first was the table. I would pay to just lie on the table for an hour. No one would even need to touch me. It was a regular massage table, but there were all of these added bumps and crevices. They do the prenatal massages there on your side so that is how everything was set up. For visualization purposes, imagine me on my right side. There was one big foam piece that the main part of my body (read-all the stuff that sticks out really far right now) nestles in. It felt like a belly mold that Bogey just tucked right into. Above my right shoulder there was a valley for my arm to just fall into and be supported. Imagine putting your arm under your pillow at night, but there was no bed under it, just glorious space so it could rest without any pressure points. My head was on a comfy cozy pillow, a bolster was put under my left arm for which kind of came in front of me, for support, and then a foam block for my left leg to rest on top of while my right leg laid straight. It might not sound very comfy, but trust me, it was deluxe. I am not kidding about paying to take naps there.
Another striking component was being massaged with a little somebody inside of me. To me, massage is such an intimate, introspective event. It is about centering yourself and relaxing your mind and body. This is something that is very challenging for me to do. As I started to get into that mode all of a sudden there would be a kick or a flip or a tug. It was startling at first and then kind of funny. What was interesting was that as I was able to relax and get into the massage, he calmed down as well. Completely and totally. If she hit a sore spot or a particularly tense spot, he would go nuts. I’d get these huge kicks, but they’d stop as soon as the discomfort receded. I don’t know what he was doing, whether I was sending a signal to him or it was a totally involuntary reaction due to a muscle spasm. Whatever it was, it was pretty cool. About halfway through I had this incredible moment where I realized it was just him and me and we were getting this massage together and we were totally in tune. I know you can go with someone and get massages at the same time or even in the same room, but somehow, having him right there tucked inside of me experiencing exactly what I was and reacting exactly how I felt was indescribable.
He also got his own mini massage. Right before she finished on each side she would gently rub back and forth across my belly. He LOVED it. Both times he started very gently kicking against her hands. I’ve known he is pretty tactile because virtually anytime John puts his hand on my belly Bogey starts kicking and moving right under it. But it was fun to think he was maybe enjoying a massage too.
Oh, and it was a great massage as a bonus. I felt more relaxed, rested, and energized than I have in weeks. I woke up at 5:00 ready to start the day. O.k. so maybe a dog vomited all over our bedroom carpet at 5:00, which actually woke me, but once awake, I was ready to go. Usually I reach over and punch John so he realizes the dogs need something and then bury my head under the covers while he deals with it. This morning I got out of bed and started my day. And nothing was sore. There are also about a thousand other reasons prenatal massage is beneficial. But nothing is sore is a pretty awesome one.
So I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to make it happen, but I will be getting one of these hours of bliss monthly until he is born. I’m thinking I could fund it by getting the bed set up the masseuse had and then selling hours on it to pregnant women. Charging hourly rates for women on special beds. Perhaps that has already been done…
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