It isn’t often that one 24-hour duration, one turn of the Earth, changes our life and imprints every moment of itself in our memory, earning the title of “the best day.” My wedding day earned this title two and a half years ago and now February 8th, 2014 will no doubt remain vivid in my mind forever.  It was the most physically challenging, emotionally exhausting and ultimately rewarding experience all at once.  It was the best day of my life.

Last Friday afternoon, I was in the middle of one of my due date “treat yourself” activities getting a relaxing massage and thinking about where I wanted to go to dinner with my husband.  But we never went.  At around 4pm I started feeling measurable contractions and we started timing them with excitement and anticipation, waiting until they were about 5 minutes apart so we could call the midwife and go to the hospital.  Earlier that morning I had gone in for a check-up and was told I was dilated 2cm.  I had a ways to go.  It could take hours or days.  

At around 8:30 the contractions were stronger and more frequent, less than 10 minutes apart.  I decided we could wait no longer! To the hospital! Drew put the bags in the car and off we went.  I hobbled up to registration and managed to spit out my name in between contractions.  Within minutes I was whisked off in a wheelchair to triage, where nurses started asking all sorts of questions and testing my vitals. I was relieved when my midwife arrived, but not relieved to hear what she said a few minutes later.  Three centimeters dilated.  Only three?! Four hours of contractions and I’d only progressed one lousy centimeter? That’s what I meant to say. What I actually said was a little less eloquent with a little more profanity.  We went back home to continue early labor.

The contractions remained strong and frequent for hours.  I rotated from the warm shower to my birthing ball, Drew following each step of the way cheering me on and offering help however he could.  I was determined to stick it out until I was sure our next trip to the hospital would end with a baby.  Perhaps I waited just a bit too long. When the contractions felt like one unbearably painful contraction with no space in between, I told Drew to drive as fast as he could.  It was 3am.

When we arrived at the hospital I could barely open my eyes.  We checked into triage and my midwife entered the room.  “It looks like we’re ready to have a baby,” she said.  She filled up a laboring tub to ease the pain of active labor and I got into the warm water, Drew sitting beside it telling me I was doing a great job.  I’d just stepped in when I had another contraction and my midwife told me it was almost time to get out and push.  That part didn’t take long at all.  Less than an hour and a half after I’d arrived, I was holding my baby.

Drew and I had planned on taking video during the whole process.  We were so prepared with cameras and printed birth plans, a music playlist for labor and even a cord blood donation kit for Be the Match, that we ended up forgetting in the car.  We took no video and my neatly printed “birth plan” turned into whatever noises I could utter between contractions.  But it didn’t matter.  Staring down at two tiny brown eyes staring back, I couldn’t believe that we did it.  We had a baby. 

And AZ Baby B is perfect.

The long-anticipated due date is finally here! After a full 40-hour work week and regular routine with almost no signs of increased activity, I wasn’t sure whether or not this day would be just like every other.  That’s why I scheduled some “treat yourself” activities to both indulge in some pampering and encourage the little guy to come meet us soon.  A massage, mani pedi, and due-date-date with my husband and some spicy food are all on tap for this weekend… if baby lets me.

Last night I started showing some definite early signs of labor and visited the midwife this morning to find out things are moving along in the right direction! We’ll see if baby boy has his mother’s punctuality.

With just one week left until our due date, Drew and I are completely prepared!  Well, we’re prepared for a trip to the hospital. I’m not sure we’ll ever be prepared for the trip home with the tiny human that will make us a family.  

Our cameras are charging and ready.  I’ve packed a bag for myself and one for the baby boy.  Mine’s the one with the snacks and the teddy bear.  I’ll be experiencing the most physical pain I’ve ever had in my life, I’m not too proud to admit that I may require the help of Teddy.  Plus, later on I can say I just brought it for the baby.

Not pictured here is Max’s overnight bag. He will be having a sleepover with his best friend (my 2-year-old niece) while we’re gone.  It’s hard to tell if he knows what’s happening but I think with the changes going on in the house he knows something big is coming.

And hopefully that something will be here soon!

There are two questions every pregnant woman answers as soon as someone notices her baby bump- “Is it a boy or a girl?” followed by, “Have you decided on a name?” Most everyone who knows us knows that at this point the answer to the latter is, no.

When it comes to choosing a name for a child, there’s a lot of pressure.  Their name will define them, determine who their friends could be, or whether or not they’re made fun of on the playground, make or break their future resume, or even decide where they will sit during a middle school awards ceremony… which is where I met my best friend… as we struck up a conversation making fun of other people’s names.

What’s fun about names is that everyone has an opinion on every one of them, and even without a name our baby has acquired a few already.  He’s “Baby Kanye,” “Rocky,” “Drake,” and even “Alfred Robin” after Drew wouldn’t let me name him Bruce Wayne or my nephew’s suggestion: Batman.

Most of his current names stem from inside jokes, yet I’m not sure why they trend towards famous rappers.  Needless to say, they are all on the list of names we will not be choosing.  Also on that list are the suggestions from nearly all of my male friends and co-workers, who when I told the news immediately threw their own names in the ring.  I have yet to witness a female do this.  Maybe it’s a macho thing? Anyway, I don’t think Drew would be too pleased if I suggested we name our first born after the IT guy at work.  No offense Mike.

Though we’d like the name to be unique, we decided it doesn’t have to be as unique as the names so many celebrities have been coming up with recently, which seem to be predominantly inanimate objects.  I’m looking at you, Gweneth Paltrow.  Sure, it might seem like a good idea when you’re exhausted from the work of labor and you get handed that birth certificate to just glance across the room and go with “Lampshade Curtain Bautista,” but I don’t think we’d be doing him any favors in the long run.

Truthfully, Drew and I have a few top choices up our sleeves but we’re waiting until we meet our son to make it final.  In the back of my mind I’m still holding out hope that on the day of his arrival he’ll stand up, give Drew a hearty handshake and introduce himself properly.  That would certainly make things easy for us.

I don’t have swollen feet.  I didn’t have months of terrible morning sickness.  I haven’t been dizzy or faint, or plagued by several of the stereotypical side-effects of pregnancy, especially in the third trimester.  Perhaps that’s because it’s just not my body’s style to go with something so mainstream.  No, instead I have been diagnosed with Valsalva Retinopathy.  Two words that hadn’t entered my vocabulary until now.

On Saturday morning, I woke up with a blind spot in my vision, specifically in my right eye.  I figured if I ignored it, it would just go away, but by 9pm it was still there.  The same shape and size, annoyingly in my way.  That’s when I hit the computer and started researching, which is never a good idea when you have absolutely no handle on the field of medicine.  After calling the midwife and ruling out preeclampsia, I scheduled an eye appointment Monday.  

I went to a nearby ophthalmologist because I don’t have an eye doctor.  I don’t have an eye doctor because I don’t wear glasses or contacts, nor have I ever had any eye problems, which was pretty obvious by my excessive flinching every time the ophthalmologist got anywhere near my eyes.  After my check-up, he referred me to a retina specialist that same day.  A very apologetic me with dilated eyes headed downtown for round two.

Round two was a nightmare.  So many drops, bright lights, poking, prodding.  Even the pictures covering the exam room walls were disturbing real life renderings of corneas and capillaries.  I wondered where they’d managed to find a calendar covered in creepy eyeball pictures.  

When all was said and done, the specialist brought me to another room and said he’d return to explain his diagnosis and go over the photos.  Then, I realized as other younger staff members entered the room and stood around, that this must be pretty interesting.  

The specialist returned to explain and show everyone in the room including me, that intra-abdominal pressure from the pregnancy had helped cause a retinal hemorrhage.  It was most likely brought on by a simple cough, and will probably resolve itself after I have the baby.  He showed me the photo collage of my eyeball, pointing out the hemorrhage.  I have to admit, while it was as disturbing as those photos on the wall, it was also kind of cool.  Maybe I’ll even make next year’s calendar.

I’ve taken the liberty of making a rendering of what the inside of my eye looks like, for those of you who are interested in the science behind what’s going on in my eyeball and would like a visual aid.

 

Overall, in the past nine months I’ve been on more doctor visits than the past 20 years, and have seen and learned more about my insides than I’d retained from any biology class.  While this latest adventure was a little scary, I’m still confident that I will get through the last obstacle of labor and delivery just fine.  Even if I have to do it practically blind-folded.

4… 3… 2… 1…

That’s all that’s on my mind as we embark on week 36! I can now technically be considered “full term,” so we will have weekly appointments until the big day in just four weeks! (hopefully)

Drew and I have nearly everything we feel we need for our little guy’s arrival, and we’re working on assembling, installing and arranging it all.  Soon, I’ll have to pack a bag for the hospital just in case.

It’s so exciting/slightly terrifying to think about how close we are to holding our son.  

Will things ever be the same again?

It’s the final countdown.

We hope everyone had a wonderful holiday this year! We are so excited for what the new year will bring with just six weeks until our due date.  Until then, we’re enjoying our time together and gearing up for the little one… literally.  Baby boy received so many generous gifts this Christmas!  With a new car seat, stroller, and a collection of adorable clothes, we are almost ready to bring him home, although I’m pretty sure Drew’s new least-favorite phrase is “some assembly required.”  He spent half a day putting together a 3,000-piece dresser from Ikea (because you can’t be a dad until you can follow instructions in Swedish) and we still have a few more items that will require some nuts and bolts before they can be deemed safe to hold, carry or entertain our infant.

Baby boy is anxious to stretch his legs, but I think he’s going to give us the time we need to get ready for him to arrive.

Drew and I have been attending a class for new parents with our midwife practice, and this week’s session was eye-opening to say the least.  Actually, I may have preferred closing my eyes.  This week we discussed the stages of labor, complete with videos. 

Watching each stage of labor including the grand finale, I was also struck by how long the whole process takes.  Drew and I will most likely be at home during early labor when contractions begin, managing the pain using techniques we learned in class until we can be admitted to the hospital.  That stage can take anywhere from 6 to 12 hours.  It sounds mind-bogglingly long, but we have a plan.

To pass the time, we will be watching The Hobbit, which I hear runs about 6 to 12 hours depending on your sound system and the megapixels in your TV.  If early labor exceeds the average or The Hobbit turns out to be shorter than expected (only a slight chance when Peter Jackson’s involved) we’ll just turn it into a marathon, relieving the stress and pain with quotes like:

I figure this approach will not only provide much-needed distraction, but also motivation.  If a tiny hobbit can make it to Mordor, I can get through labor.

I officially have 8 months of pregnancy under my very tight belt, and so far I think I’ve been very lucky with regard to symptoms.  The level of discomfort since my first trimester has been minimal, minus one thing:  heartburn.

I’d never had heartburn before pregnancy, but now it is non-stop.  Every moment I’m not eating, my throat is burning, regardless of what I eat or drink.  Finally this week, I decided to try something to make it stop.

A member of our parenting class mentioned her friend had tried a teaspoon of apple cider vinegar and that did the trick.  So when I saw a bottle of apple cider vinegar in the grocery store a few days later, I bought it.  How bad could it be?  Vinegar’s not terrible and I love apple cider.  Without any research, second opinion or second thought, I poured the vinegar into a teaspoon and swallowed.  

What I felt during the next 15 seconds is nearly indescribable.  I’m pretty sure what I really drank was a mislabeled bottle of gasoline or molten lava because my stomach caught on fire immediately.  My eyes watered as I yelled to Drew, “This was a mistake!” and ran to the bathroom.  Technically, I guess it worked because I wasn’t bothered so much by the heartburn anymore.  I later researched the home remedy and it turns out, you’re supposed to dilute the vinegar.  Lesson learned.

When it comes to pregnancy, there seems to be an old wives tale about everything,  so of course having heartburn has significant meaning.  People say that it means your baby will have a full head of hair! This common assumption may actually have more meaning than others, after a few studies have proven strong correlations.

The good news- my baby will probably be born with a thick head of dark-brown hair.

The bad news- it might stick straight up.  Like mine did:

We’re going to need plenty of hats.