Our second baby shower was Sunday, out at Side Cut Metropark, which must be a great place to go to be alone because it's so hard to find hardly anyone ever makes it there. Several of our guests almost didn't. But everyone showed up eventually, and the site and the party were lovely. We got lots of very nice gifts and cards, including one reading "A humble offering to the most exalted little Evil Overlord. May your conquest be swift and absolute. --Your Most Loyal Minions." I think L.E.O. will be pleased.
She will also be very warm. She now owns twelve blankets, not including, you know, my uterus. It's really making me reconsider the quilt I'm making for her, or any quilt I plan to make in the future for other babies.
Yesterday we went to Babies R Us to spend our gift cards and store money and get the things that I was going to feel slightly insecure until we got: a crib mattress, a changing pad, a diaper pail, and so on. (We also got things like a Boppy cover and car mirrors and a Pack 'N Play, which are not as essential to my mental well-being but are still quite nice.) If we get a box of size 1 diapers, and maybe the diaper bag that Mom keeps saying she'll get us, I think we're pretty much set.
And I went for another checkup today and everything is still looking good, which made me especially happy since I've been a bit stressed out about other things and presumably my stress isn't affecting L.E.O. all that much. After getting it straight with the midwife that Yasmin was the name of my old birth control, not my baby (apparently the student midwife I talked to last time wrote cryptic notes), I asked her something I'd been meaning to ask in childbirth class: what determines whether they'll let me stay at the hospital when labor comes.
"Labor is actually defined by change in the cervix," she explained. "If you're at three centimeters but you're not really progressing and you're having irregular contractions, they're probably going to send you home. If you're at three centimeters but things are really changing, they'll want you to stay." She looked down at my chart. "However," she added, sounding almost reproachful, "you've been doing everything else perfectly, so you probably won't have a problem with that either." Maybe I'm too boring a patient.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Childbirth Class III: Addenda
DHA. Apparently they put this stuff in everything, especially formula but also dietary supplements for pregnant and nursing women, and I'm sure it will eventually show up in all multivitamin supplements much like other omega-3 fatty acids and lycopene. It was mentioned as a supplement last night and I asked in whisper why--it's a direct product (OK, intermediary) of glycolysis! What purpose could it serve that adding sugar couldn't?
Oh. The DHA we're talking about here is all-cis-docosa-4, 7, 10, 13, 16, 19-hexaenoic acid, as it turns out, and not the much simpler dihydroxyacetone. But of course, putting that name on a bottle is just asking for sales to plummet. Presumably acronyms with three letters are automatically OK? Well, except for BPA. And BHT. And PVC. SDS? It's the reason you're not supposed to swallow toothpaste, and possibly the main ingredient in your shampoo (after water). But DHA and ARA are A-OK.
See? This is why we have IUPAC nomenclature! TLA is officially a four-letter word!
Meantime, apparently placental abruptions are correlated with nicotine use and cocaine use. So we're going to be laying off the crack from here on out.
Also, stock in the producers of Nubain seems to be off the table, as the patent has long since run out. Probably the original company has been purchased several times by now.
OK, enough about chemicals for now.
Oh. The DHA we're talking about here is all-cis-docosa-4, 7, 10, 13, 16, 19-hexaenoic acid, as it turns out, and not the much simpler dihydroxyacetone. But of course, putting that name on a bottle is just asking for sales to plummet. Presumably acronyms with three letters are automatically OK? Well, except for BPA. And BHT. And PVC. SDS? It's the reason you're not supposed to swallow toothpaste, and possibly the main ingredient in your shampoo (after water). But DHA and ARA are A-OK.
See? This is why we have IUPAC nomenclature! TLA is officially a four-letter word!
Meantime, apparently placental abruptions are correlated with nicotine use and cocaine use. So we're going to be laying off the crack from here on out.
Also, stock in the producers of Nubain seems to be off the table, as the patent has long since run out. Probably the original company has been purchased several times by now.
OK, enough about chemicals for now.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Childbirth class III: It Cuts Both Ways
Eric eyed the rising slopes of Mount Baby the other day. "You're playing Risk with L.E.O.," he said. "And L.E.O. is winning."
Jackie appears to think so too. "Hi! How are you?" she said this evening when I arrived for class. I said, "Fine, how are you?" but she didn't hear me because she was saying "Oh, look at you, you're so cute with your bump!"
Tonight's childbirth class was mainly on C-sections. "Don't zone out!" Jackie told us. "I know you're all thinking you're going to have vaginal births, but three out of ten couples have c-sections these days." She described legitimate indications for C-sections, and indirectly described what she considered illegitimate ones--convenience, extreme caution due to fear of malpractice lawsuits, media influence. We watched a video on C-sections, planned and unplanned. She discussed inductions, and how they work, and potential natural alternatives. She passed out a handout on eating well, saying "Is eating junk all the time bad for the baby? Well, no, it probably isn't, but the mothers who say 'I feel terrible' are always the ones who say 'Oh, I had some doughnuts for breakfast...and a Code Red Mountain Dew and a bag of chips for lunch...'" And we did a relaxation/visualization exercise. Our snarkiness during this last got a little much for me, but otherwise it really was relaxing. The session went pretty quickly overall, despite my being hungry. One more to go, and then we'll be ready to be parents! Ha!
Jackie appears to think so too. "Hi! How are you?" she said this evening when I arrived for class. I said, "Fine, how are you?" but she didn't hear me because she was saying "Oh, look at you, you're so cute with your bump!"
Tonight's childbirth class was mainly on C-sections. "Don't zone out!" Jackie told us. "I know you're all thinking you're going to have vaginal births, but three out of ten couples have c-sections these days." She described legitimate indications for C-sections, and indirectly described what she considered illegitimate ones--convenience, extreme caution due to fear of malpractice lawsuits, media influence. We watched a video on C-sections, planned and unplanned. She discussed inductions, and how they work, and potential natural alternatives. She passed out a handout on eating well, saying "Is eating junk all the time bad for the baby? Well, no, it probably isn't, but the mothers who say 'I feel terrible' are always the ones who say 'Oh, I had some doughnuts for breakfast...and a Code Red Mountain Dew and a bag of chips for lunch...'" And we did a relaxation/visualization exercise. Our snarkiness during this last got a little much for me, but otherwise it really was relaxing. The session went pretty quickly overall, despite my being hungry. One more to go, and then we'll be ready to be parents! Ha!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Potential consequences
My coworkers have just suggested a truly excellent idea for getting enough sleep on maternity leave: once L.E.O. has reached six weeks, send her to daycare and stay home by myself the rest of the time.
This may be the major problem of planning for a child we fully expect to take over the world and order our execution along the way. We don't really have to worry about whether L.E.O. will turn against us as a teenager or abandon us in our old age. We're never going to get the bill if she needs therapy. No matter what we do, she's going to kill us anyway.
This may be the major problem of planning for a child we fully expect to take over the world and order our execution along the way. We don't really have to worry about whether L.E.O. will turn against us as a teenager or abandon us in our old age. We're never going to get the bill if she needs therapy. No matter what we do, she's going to kill us anyway.
Monday, June 8, 2009
32 weeks
Here we are at seven and a half (approximately) months, and I am definitely looking pregnant.
(Sorry for the blurriness. Blame Eric.)
Apparently I look pregnant enough now that strangers don't hesitate to identify me as such. I went to Joann yesterday to get fabric to make L.E.O.'s quilt and "bumper," and the clerk looked at my selections and said, "Is this a quilt for the new little one?" Later, I went to Andersons for fruit and cheese and a basil plant (since none of the seeds I planted came up) and slipped on a raspberry in the produce section and fell flat on the floor. There was this horrified collective gasp by the people around me; a couple of people rushed to help me up, and a woman walked up to say "Are you here with anyone? Did you slip, or did you faint?" (I fell on my side, and L.E.O. didn't seem to be hurt. In fact she seemed to have slept through the entire thing. Before long she was bouncing around as usual. Apparently she thinks the way to get out of me is by punching a hole through, like a chick in an egg.)
(Sorry for the blurriness. Blame Eric.)
Apparently I look pregnant enough now that strangers don't hesitate to identify me as such. I went to Joann yesterday to get fabric to make L.E.O.'s quilt and "bumper," and the clerk looked at my selections and said, "Is this a quilt for the new little one?" Later, I went to Andersons for fruit and cheese and a basil plant (since none of the seeds I planted came up) and slipped on a raspberry in the produce section and fell flat on the floor. There was this horrified collective gasp by the people around me; a couple of people rushed to help me up, and a woman walked up to say "Are you here with anyone? Did you slip, or did you faint?" (I fell on my side, and L.E.O. didn't seem to be hurt. In fact she seemed to have slept through the entire thing. Before long she was bouncing around as usual. Apparently she thinks the way to get out of me is by punching a hole through, like a chick in an egg.)
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Childbirth class II: Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll
The second class consisted of a couple of videos, a long lecture on medications, pelvic exercises, visualization/breathing exercises, and some wicked props. First, Jackie (the instructor) announced, she would be eating strawberry shortcake while we watched a video on natural versus medicated childbirth. At least she did it quietly. The video included graphic, explicit depictions and explanations of how epidurals work. "I loved mine," said one of the coaches when Jackie asked us afterward if we'd had or known anyone who had had an epidural.
"You've already seen the video, so you know most of the stuff on this poster," she said afterward, holding up a poster on the potential risks and side effects of epidurals. "So I'm not going to beat you over the head with it." She proceeded to describe each one in loving detail: lowered blood pressure, itching, fever, restricted movement, lack of sensation, failure to progress, inability to push, stoned-seeming baby, spinal headaches, and (rarely) seizures, paralysis, and death.
"Then there are the narcotics," she said. "If you could buy stock in a drug, Nubain would be a good one, because we go through so much of this stuff. The narcotics will tend to mess with your head; you'll feel the contractions, but you won't care." The one second-time mother in our class said, "I loved Nubain."
After the medication briefing we saw another video, this one on natural birth, and listed all of the various techniques the couple used. "The thing is, even if you choose to use medications, you still need to know this stuff," Jackie said. "You're still going to have some pain, you're still going to have to labor a little."
During the break we looked at the epidural kits and the forceps and suction equipment she'd brought along to show us. Eric went up to her and asked after the drugs put in the epidural. "Are you the chemistry person?" she said when she'd answered him. "I must be boring you to death." He laughed and disclaimed, saying he'd never be a childbirth expert and expertise in one area didn't translate to another. "It's like the people who think a nurse is a nurse," she agreed. "My family members will come up to me to say, 'I have some chest pain, what should I do?' and I'll say, 'Well, how many centimeters dilated are you?'"
After the break she had us practice pelvic tilts (even the men--Eric said, "I need a white suit and some rhinestones for this") and Kegels. This, she said, would make pushing much easier. "You can do this whenever you want, no one's going to know," she said brightly, "and you should practice it as much as you can. Just do five reps here, five reps there, and no one will be able to tell. Another good place to practice," she lowered her voice, "is during intercourse." The men perked up.
Finally, we scattered around the room with our blankets and pillows and were told to try visualization while Jackie played a tape of beach sounds. "Coaches, I've put something in a paper towel next to you," she said after a while. "Place it in your partner's hand and close your hand over it."
She guided us through breathing (in through the nose, out through the mouth--we don't know why, but yoga teaches the same thing) and said, "Now a contraction is starting. Visualize yourself in your happy place and breathe through the pain." The thing in the paper towel turned out to be an ice cube, and after a bit it really did provide a simulacrum of pain that had to be endured, since Eric's hand was closed over mine so I couldn't just drop it. "A masochist would love this exercise," I whispered to Eric.
After the class we toured the maternity ward--which Eric and I had already done, of course, but I wanted to look again. We packed six pregnant women, six coaches, Jackie, and Jackie's cart of props into the elevator. "Are we over the weight limit?" someone said.
"We're going to get stuck," said someone else.
"I've actually delivered someone in an elevator," Jackie said.
"Yes, but did you have more room that time?" I said, trying to keep someone's elbow out of my face.
We looked through the ward and toured one of the two jacuzzi rooms, and Jackie described how she had only once in eight years seen both rooms (out of sixteen) full when another woman wanted one, and when it happened she went into one of the rooms and begged the mother to let Jackie move her to another room so the new patient could have that one. "Of course!" the mother said, and started packing her things immediately. Apparently the jacuzzis are hot stuff. Our due dates are fairly spread out, so with luck any of us who want one won't be competing with the others when the time comes.
"You've already seen the video, so you know most of the stuff on this poster," she said afterward, holding up a poster on the potential risks and side effects of epidurals. "So I'm not going to beat you over the head with it." She proceeded to describe each one in loving detail: lowered blood pressure, itching, fever, restricted movement, lack of sensation, failure to progress, inability to push, stoned-seeming baby, spinal headaches, and (rarely) seizures, paralysis, and death.
"Then there are the narcotics," she said. "If you could buy stock in a drug, Nubain would be a good one, because we go through so much of this stuff. The narcotics will tend to mess with your head; you'll feel the contractions, but you won't care." The one second-time mother in our class said, "I loved Nubain."
After the medication briefing we saw another video, this one on natural birth, and listed all of the various techniques the couple used. "The thing is, even if you choose to use medications, you still need to know this stuff," Jackie said. "You're still going to have some pain, you're still going to have to labor a little."
During the break we looked at the epidural kits and the forceps and suction equipment she'd brought along to show us. Eric went up to her and asked after the drugs put in the epidural. "Are you the chemistry person?" she said when she'd answered him. "I must be boring you to death." He laughed and disclaimed, saying he'd never be a childbirth expert and expertise in one area didn't translate to another. "It's like the people who think a nurse is a nurse," she agreed. "My family members will come up to me to say, 'I have some chest pain, what should I do?' and I'll say, 'Well, how many centimeters dilated are you?'"
After the break she had us practice pelvic tilts (even the men--Eric said, "I need a white suit and some rhinestones for this") and Kegels. This, she said, would make pushing much easier. "You can do this whenever you want, no one's going to know," she said brightly, "and you should practice it as much as you can. Just do five reps here, five reps there, and no one will be able to tell. Another good place to practice," she lowered her voice, "is during intercourse." The men perked up.
Finally, we scattered around the room with our blankets and pillows and were told to try visualization while Jackie played a tape of beach sounds. "Coaches, I've put something in a paper towel next to you," she said after a while. "Place it in your partner's hand and close your hand over it."
She guided us through breathing (in through the nose, out through the mouth--we don't know why, but yoga teaches the same thing) and said, "Now a contraction is starting. Visualize yourself in your happy place and breathe through the pain." The thing in the paper towel turned out to be an ice cube, and after a bit it really did provide a simulacrum of pain that had to be endured, since Eric's hand was closed over mine so I couldn't just drop it. "A masochist would love this exercise," I whispered to Eric.
After the class we toured the maternity ward--which Eric and I had already done, of course, but I wanted to look again. We packed six pregnant women, six coaches, Jackie, and Jackie's cart of props into the elevator. "Are we over the weight limit?" someone said.
"We're going to get stuck," said someone else.
"I've actually delivered someone in an elevator," Jackie said.
"Yes, but did you have more room that time?" I said, trying to keep someone's elbow out of my face.
We looked through the ward and toured one of the two jacuzzi rooms, and Jackie described how she had only once in eight years seen both rooms (out of sixteen) full when another woman wanted one, and when it happened she went into one of the rooms and begged the mother to let Jackie move her to another room so the new patient could have that one. "Of course!" the mother said, and started packing her things immediately. Apparently the jacuzzis are hot stuff. Our due dates are fairly spread out, so with luck any of us who want one won't be competing with the others when the time comes.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Drug week
"Have you decided on what medication you'll use, if any?" said the student midwife who saw me at the office today. "Are you going all-natural, doing IV medications, something else...?"
"I didn't know I had to decide already," I said, a bit taken aback by her seriousness.
She said, "Mmm," and continued to look intently at me, so I went on. "I'm taking a childbirth class and the next session is on medications, so I figure I'll wait until I get more details then to decide."
"All right," she said and went on to something else, what contraception I planned to use, I think. It struck me as a bit odd that in any other situation, the medical practitioner would be the one telling me what was best, but here I'm expected not only to choose myself, based on no prior experience (but then, they have no prior experience with me either), but to do my own research--they haven't given me any information on medications other than a bit on the side effects of epidurals.
Besides, I rather suspect she was going off a checklist in her head of "What to Ask a Patient at Seven Months."
Otherwise, the visit was very boring; I've only gained half a pound since I was there last ("Have you been eating better?" asked the nurse, looking at me suspiciously as I got off the scale; I said, "No, but I took a vacation and we walked everywhere," and she was satisfied) and L.E.O. is very squirmy but very healthy. "She's head-down right now," reported the student midwife, "though she may not stay that way. It's early yet."
I asked her when L.E.O. might be expected to settle into her final position and stay there and she gave me a vague answer that suggested she didn't know. I also asked her whether my mother delivering early meant I might deliver early, and she said that was a myth, but that the length of the labor might be correlated. I wasn't totally confident in her information (especially since she followed it up with anecdotes about her mother and sister) but when the real midwife came by to check on her and asked me if I had any questions, I decided not to embarrass the student midwife by asking them again. I'll ask again next visit, or in class on Thursday.
"I didn't know I had to decide already," I said, a bit taken aback by her seriousness.
She said, "Mmm," and continued to look intently at me, so I went on. "I'm taking a childbirth class and the next session is on medications, so I figure I'll wait until I get more details then to decide."
"All right," she said and went on to something else, what contraception I planned to use, I think. It struck me as a bit odd that in any other situation, the medical practitioner would be the one telling me what was best, but here I'm expected not only to choose myself, based on no prior experience (but then, they have no prior experience with me either), but to do my own research--they haven't given me any information on medications other than a bit on the side effects of epidurals.
Besides, I rather suspect she was going off a checklist in her head of "What to Ask a Patient at Seven Months."
Otherwise, the visit was very boring; I've only gained half a pound since I was there last ("Have you been eating better?" asked the nurse, looking at me suspiciously as I got off the scale; I said, "No, but I took a vacation and we walked everywhere," and she was satisfied) and L.E.O. is very squirmy but very healthy. "She's head-down right now," reported the student midwife, "though she may not stay that way. It's early yet."
I asked her when L.E.O. might be expected to settle into her final position and stay there and she gave me a vague answer that suggested she didn't know. I also asked her whether my mother delivering early meant I might deliver early, and she said that was a myth, but that the length of the labor might be correlated. I wasn't totally confident in her information (especially since she followed it up with anecdotes about her mother and sister) but when the real midwife came by to check on her and asked me if I had any questions, I decided not to embarrass the student midwife by asking them again. I'll ask again next visit, or in class on Thursday.
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