A Little Blues Does a Baby Good

Saturday evening Dave and I met up with some friends in Homer, NY, for a blues concert by Duke Robillard. We brought our very pregnant friend, Kira, with us. It was Saturday and she was due on Sunday. Her partner, Jason, couldn't come because he had work to do, so we didn't think she'd want to come, either. Oh, but we were wrong. Kira was hoping that a little live music might force her unborn child to boogie down the birth canal.

So imagine what it looks like to have Dave enter a blues club with not one, but two noticeably pregnant women on his arm. This might be good or bad for his reputation, depending on your idea of what a reputation actually does for a person in a place like Homer, NY.

The music was a big hit with both in utero babies - lots of kicking and squirming and knocking around the walls of the uterus. And after the show, Kira admitted that her stomach felt a little funny, and not just because she'd eaten a whole bunch of yogurt-covered raisins. But as of the time of this publication, Kira & Jason's baby has not been born - at least not to our knowledge. I'm sure we won't be the first to find out, after all. But a little blues does a baby good.

My favorite stanza by Mr. Robillard is the following:

"Fish make love underwater,

Worms make love underground,

Rats make love in the garbage can,

So woman, don't turn me down!"

A Brief List of Updates

Just to keep you up-to-date:

1. Today is the beginning of week 27 - it's the last week of the Second Trimester!

2. I had a 3 hour fasting glucose test last week, and I passed with flying colors! This test diagnoses gestational diabetes, which is a growing concern for pregnant women. Special thanks to Dave for always making me eat my vegetables - it helps that he makes such great food. Last night he made his first sauerbrauten roast with cabbage and potatoes... what a feast!

3. In the past week both Dave and I have dreamt about the baby as a human being, and both of us have attached a face to the baby in our dreams. It seems strange to dream about someone's face whom you haven't even met.

4. I can no longer read aloud - I become winded and start panting like I just raced up the stairs two-at-a-time. My lungs are squished!

5. We bought a crib. It was becoming an existential dilemma, but then we asked our landlord John point-blank what he thought, and he gave us some very sound advice: all new cribs are built with safety in mind, so go with what you like. It was a good thing we went ahead and ordered the crib, too - it takes 10-12 weeks for delivery, which in my book is cutting it a little close.

6. We are starting a baby registry, but we aren't going to tell you the site yet. I need to tweak a few things first.

7. My uterus is the size of a basketball, which is exactly what I look like. A basketball with four limbs and a head. Today I tried on four different shirts while getting dressed, and when Dave asked what was taking so long, I told him that I felt like a lump. He said, "You don't feel cute and pregnant and adorable, which is what you are?" I reiterated that, no, in fact, I felt like a lump. But it's nice to know that my husband isn't thinking, "Why is there a lump in my bed?"

No More Feet

It's official! I can no longer see my feet when I stand up. And yesterday I could barely put on my socks - Dave came into the bedroom to see what all the noise was about, and there I was, huffing and puffing and trying my hardest to pull up my ski socks for our cold walk to the Syracuse Basketball game from our house. And I'm not doing that much better with my winter boots.

What I've discovered is that the belly with the baby in it is not in any way like a belly with extra fat on it - the baby belly is hard and unmovable and like an extra limb. I cannot squeeze by people's chairs in restaurants or suck it in when I lean over. It is large and in charge. As is the little person inside.

The Toilet Seat vs. the Baby

The toilet seat is broken. Suddenly, somehow, based on increased use or increased weight or some other factor, the toilet seat cracked. (Insert pregnant lady joke here)

Our landlord, John, came right over with a new, improved one. I apologized for breaking the toilet seat, and of course, he said he understood, since his wife just gave birth in September. (Insert another pregnant lady joke here)

I feel bad. I broke the toilet seat. Baby 1, Toilet Seat 0.

Our First Childbirth Prep Class

Last night was our first childbirth preparation class, hosted by the hospital where we will eventually give birth. We did icebreakers about the best part of being pregnant (one guy said all the cute maternity outfits his wife now wears, and everyone replied, "Awwwwww.") and we practiced some relaxation exercises on the floor and we watched a video of a birth. The best part of the video was that the mom and dad were from Boston and they constantly said, "Wicked," in total sincerity, like, "Honey, this contraction is wicked bad," and "Sitting in the shower while being in labor was a wicked good idea."

But then we saw the actual birth, and whoa. The mom was pushing and then the dad saw the head of the baby and started crying and then the baby was pulled out and placed immediately on mom's belly and mom was crying. Since all the people in the video were crying, I began crying, but then the video was over immediately and the presenter turned on the lights and I had snot and tears all over my face. I looked wicked glamorous.

The best part of the class: staring at all the pregnant bellies and comparing due dates with belly sizes. And not being the only pregnant lady in a group of people.

The worst part of the class: being asked to share our bodily changes with everyone, and when I mentioned that my breasts leak (not a lot, but often, and I have to keep washing my pjs more frequently than I would like) there was a nice, deafening silence. Apparently we can watch babies be pushed out of women's vaginas, but we cannot talk about leaking breasts. Hmph.

Classes run for 5 weeks, and are 2.5 hours every Sunday night. So if we're not around on a Sunday night, it's because we're trying to learn something about newborns and delivery and labor. And we're trying to make some friends, even if I am the pariah known as the woman with the leaking breasts. I hope another couple will want to sit with us next week. Otherwise I'll be wicked sad.

NEWS FLASH: Baby Joins the Traveling Wilburys

We've been living in a Traveling Wilburys world lately - Dave bought me the CD/DVD collection of the greatest musical supergroup that ever existed for my birthday, and we play it pretty much nonstop now. [For those who don't know, the Traveling Wilburys consisted of (from left to right) Bob Dylan, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, George Harrison, and Roy Orbison, and they put out their music in the late 80s/early 90s]

So today I came home from the clinic office to find that Dave had learned not one, but two Wilburys' songs on the guitar. The songs were a little rusty (after all, he had just learned them), but as soon as Dave started playing, we were singing and having our very own Traveling Wilburys concert.

And the baby, who had been so quietly hanging out in utero today as I went to court and won a custody case (yay for my client!) and then completed a whole bunch of paperwork, etc, etc (oh, the glamorous life of an attorney)... the baby, after being quiet all day, suddenly was pushing against my belly like his/her ear was pressed right up to the side. Dave and I sang, and baby was PRESENT. This is interesting to me, because baby wasn't kicking or moving, just THERE. All day baby had been hanging around and I couldn't tell you where baby was located, but as soon as the guitar came out and the singalong began, baby was as far forward in the uterus as he/she can get. If baby could have pushed through to the other side, baby would have been rocking out with us.

I've read that at this stage of pregnancy, a fetus's hearing is developed enough that it can respond to sudden noises (like it'll suddenly startle at the scary part of the movie because of the music). But this was different - baby was responding to the guitar/singing, which I guess I could argue is a sudden noise, but we were no louder than the hair dryer, and baby doesn't give a poop about hair dryers. But baby has let it be known that guitars are different, especially if there's singing involved... and especially if it's my first love (Dave) imitating my second love (Tom Petty).

Quack, quack.

I'm standing in line at the post office, waiting to buy stamps because the self-service stamp machine never has anything in it. I think everyone is staring at me. I try to seem sunny and upbeat and famous, but really I feel self-conscious. Everyone can see that I am pregnant. And everyone is just dying for me to do something "pregnant-y" - like on a sitcom, where suddenly I cannot stop from eating a giant ice cream cone with a pickle on top, or my water breaking while I stand in line. But I am just buying stamps. I am not doing anything "pregnant-y." Unless you count the way I siddle up to the counter, hips swinging, legs apart, like a Western High Nooner getting ready for a shoot-out.

I know that I am beginning to waddle, and remembering how I used to quack at my step-mother when she was pregnant with my brother, it seems like just desserts if someone quacks when I waddle by.

I'm glad that I don't have a white feather coat, or orange sneakers. Because then I really would be mistaken for a duck.

In 4th grade I wrote a short-story about waking up and discovering I had turned into a duck (very Kafka-esque), and in that story I had to waddle all the way to school with webbed feet. I don't have webbed feet, but I have waddling down pat. Dave says I look cute waddling around, but Dave thinks I look cute when I brush my teeth, too, so perhaps he isn't the best judge.

Then I come into the law school clinic on Monday, and the administrative assistant who is also pregnant and due around the same time tells me that she is suddenly so famished that she would eat a whole lasagna for breakfast.

I am hungry, but I wouldn't eat a pan of lasagna for breakfast. Not even for lunch. But I do like bready things, and I will eat any bread item if so presented, including cookie crumbles or stale crackers... and ducks like bready things, especially crumbled, stale items... ergo, I am a duck. Quack, quack.

Arlo vs. the Baby

I am sitting on the couch, reading a book. Arlo is sitting on top of the belly, enjoying the nice big pillow of my body.

Suddenly, the baby kicks him, right in the bum. Arlo looks over his shoulder, but there's nothing there. Then the baby kicks again, and Arlo, perturbed, jumps down from my lap and goes over to Dave, where he can have nice, quiet lap-time.

The baby wins. Baby 1, Arlo 0.

Happy New Year!

We hope you're excited for 2008 - to say we're excited might be an understatement!

Baby is growing, I am growing... in the past eleven days I have changed shape substantially (pictures are forthcoming after we return to Syracuse)- there's no doubt anymore that when a stranger sees me, they know I'm a pregnant person. Baby's foot (head? hand? who knows!) sometimes gets shoved under my rib (very uncomfortable), but I have discovered that if I jump around or lay on my left side, baby will move into a better position and leave my ribs alone.

I am trying to get Dave to put on a little baby belly, but so far, no luck.