We’ve come a long way, baby!

It’s been two months since I last blogged. My friend Meg started her blog when her daughter was born, because she wouldn’t sleep. I always wondered why she wasn’t sleeping; if she was able to write, her kiddo must be asleep, right? NOW I understand.

First of all, every single person that says “sleep when baby sleeps” is full of it. Or they have a silently sleeping baby, which I don’t believe for a second. Every time I tried to nap when C did, he would wake up within 10 minutes, guaranteed. It’s like some silent alarm went off inside of him, screaming, “Your exhausted mom needs to sleep before she murders the mailman! Know what would be funny? Pee your pants NOW and scream about it!” But even if he stayed asleep for a bit, babies are the loudest creatures on the planet. They sleep soundly while snoring, grunting, smacking; you name the sound, a baby will make it. And new moms are especially tuned to react at the slightest noise. I’m just now, nine weeks into it, starting to get a little bit of sleep where I actually dream. That didn’t happen for the first six weeks. I hereby swear to never advise a new mom to sleep when baby sleeps, because I know it’s next to impossible.

I’ve come a long way in the last couple of months. The first night we were home from the hospital, I didn’t sleep because I was obsessed with watching C’s chest rise and fall; I was so afraid of SIDS. (It still makes me nervous, but we’re getting closer to being in the clear on that.) And it seemed that every time we all tried to go to bed at the same time, C would immediately wake up, which led to me sleeping on the couch with him in his bassinet next to me, because Justin had to get up to go to work in the morning. What sucks for new moms, though, is even if you’re on maternity leave, it’s not like you get to hang out and watch TV all day. I mean, you do that, but you also take care of a very needy creature at the same time. If he’s not hungry, he’s wet, and if he’s not muddy, he needs to be burped. It’s always something. I was basically asleep on my feet in complete zombie mode for the first several weeks. My only relief was when one of our moms would come over to watch him so I could nap. But there were two big drawbacks there; I either felt too bad to ask for help, or when they came over, I felt like I should entertain them and not sleep. Lose, lose for me.

When we first brought our sweet bundle home, we were obsessed with not leaving him alone, mainly for the fear that he would stop breathing. We took shifts that first couple of weeks, because it seemed like C never slept. And it was to the level of, if whoever was on duty had to pee, C went to the bathroom with us in his bouncy chair. He was NEVER alone, ever. It probably annoyed even him. Now I can take a shower while he naps and leave my ear cocked for his cries. We’ve come a long way, baby.

I’d also never changed a diaper in my life. I’m 32 years old and have never wiped an ass other than my own. Weird, right? Even in the hospital, I was off the hook. I didn’t change C until we were actually home. And you know what? I can do it! My thoughts may change when he’s eating actual food and the poo is a little more….human-like. But I’ll be an old hand by then.

I’ve done all kinds of things I never thought I would do….I have dug boogies out of my baby’s nose, even though I think they bother me more than him. I’ve also used a Q-tip to dig sock fuzz from between his toes. (Again…me bothered more than him.) But still, those are big steps for me.

We took a class on how to care for a newborn, and I was too nervous to change clothes on a DOLL, so you can imagine how tender and gentle I was with an actual baby. Now it’s like he’s a doll, and I’m getting the hang of it. The most fun part of my day is picking out his clothes. The only sucky part is, he keeps growing too fast to wear all of his clothes. We’re kind of in the in-between stage at the moment; he’s too big for his newborn clothes, and too small for his 3-6 month stuff. Which sucks for me, because now his wardrobe seems very limited, even though his closet is bulging. Kind of like his mom!

I will say, although I never thought I had it in me to be a mom, it turns out that I actually am fairly decent at it so far. I haven’t left him in his car seat on top of the car, and I haven’t walked in the house and left him outside. So that’s a plus in my favor. He’s finally starting to smile at us sometimes, and that really does make everything worth it. Even when he spits up on me when I’m ready to walk out the door, it’s still the best thing I could possibly imagine.

I love you, Canaan Ray, and I hope you’re not embarrassed by this someday.


The Big Arrival of Our Small Bundle of Joy

I had been on bed rest for a few weeks. I was working from home, and I was sick of it. Tired of endless daytime television, tired of trying to stay on top of work while not being in the office, and tired of being alone all day long. My husband was sick of me calling him six times a day “just to say hi.” I was sick of suffering from blood pressure headaches and I was sick of feeling fat and miserable.

The morning of Saturday, November 19 dawned; it was my nephew Zander’s eighth birthday. I was determined to go to his birthday party and get out of the house for a little bit. (Plus, I really wanted some birthday cake.) I got up and got dressed, and casually mentioned to Justin that I had yet another headache and I was feeling a little dizzy. Out came the blood pressure cuff, and the result was that my reading was 150/106. In other words, through the roof. I was sent back to bed to pout, while Justin went to represent at the birthday party. I sat home and felt sorry for myself. (In Justin’s defense, I told him to go, plus he came home with Cheesecake Factory cheesecake and a pound of fudge for me.)

Justin returned home with the news that he was taking Zander hunting the next morning, so the newly minted eight-year-old would spend the night with us. Justin headed back out that evening to run some errands for me, and let me know that his mom would be bringing Zander around 7 p.m. I was lying on the couch, getting ready to watch a Lifetime movie starring James van der Beek and chatting with my best friend Lezly (also my sister-in-law and Zander’s mom) when the doorbell rang. I could hear Zander outside, so I lumbered my giant hippopotamus self off the couch to answer the door. As I opened it, I told Lezly, “I think I just peed my pants.” Zander entered, full of excitement about his X-Box that he got for his birthday. I realized that I was still peeing all over myself (so I thought) and told him to hang on. I went in the bathroom and started laughing as I realized….MY WATER BROKE! This was followed by relief that I had not lost control of my bladder. I told Zander to go fetch my mother-in-law from the car, called the doctor, called my mom and Justin….and the whole time, Zander was bummed that he a.) wasn’t spending the night at our house, b.) wasn’t going hunting with Uncle Justin the next morning and c.) was going to have to share his birthday with his new cousin.

I reached the doctor and was told to head on down to the hospital; it was time to cut that baby out. (My doctor was not on call, but I’m glad to report that I did not have a meltdown like Katherine Heigl in “Knocked Up” and threaten my doc with bodily harm.) I was already scheduled for a C-section on December 2, so there was no question how little Canaan was going to make his entrance into the world. He just wanted to come a little early!

We arrived at St. John at 9 p.m. I still had a towel stuffed down my pants and “water” running down my leg. It was honestly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Imagine wetting your pants for a solid hour and a half. We got up to Labor & Delivery and were immediately taken to Triage. Everything seemed to be clicking along nicely, and I was told that I would be prepped for surgery shortly. And then I started to get scared for the first time.

I was wheeled down to the operating room, and Justin was told to wait outside; they would come and fetch him when it was time. I sat on the bed in the freezing cold OR, shaking, shivering and terrified. As I sat there, I had plenty of second thoughts, mainly, “I don’t want to do this!” but I realized that I was in a little too deep for that. The part that I was most scared about? The spinal block. I sat there eyeing the anesthesiologist, who sat in the corner reading a magazine, completely convinced that I would end up paralyzed because I couldn’t stop shivering. He actually turned out to be a very dear man, who constantly kept me updated on what was happening, and what was going to happen. The nurse was an angel, too, and held my hand and talked to me to keep me distracted. After half an hour of waiting, it was time for the dreaded spinal block. And you know what? As usual, I worried for nothing. I barely felt it, and even asked, “That was it?” after it was finished. The anesthesiologist realized how cold I was and had someone fetch something that looked like a dryer hose to put under my gown. It may have looked funny, but it felt like I had a hair dryer on my chest and it was amazing! When he said, “And the doctor has started,” I realized that nobody had rescued my husband from the hallway. I begged for him to get Justin, and he did. Justin sat next to me and held my hand while we nervously talked and laughed and I felt my belly being tugged and yanked in all directions. He kept looking over the curtain and I told him not to; I didn’t want him to have mental images of my guts spread all over an operating table. We talked the whole time, but we were really just waiting to hear the sounds of Canaan’s first cry, and we both breathed a huge sigh of relief when we heard that tiny wail.

After that, the nurses whisked Justin away to take pics, cut the umbilical cord, and do whatever else you do when a baby is born. I heard someone say that he scored a 9 on his Apgars, which is damn near perfect, but I really wanted to SEE this baby that had been kicking me for the last nine months. After what seemed an eternity, they realized that I kind of wanted to lay eyes on him, so a nurse brought him over and placed him next to my face. I just stared in wonder at this tiny, round-headed baby boy with big bright eyes. He didn’t cry, he just stared right back. And I fell in love.

After a flurry of congratulations from the nurses and doctors, we were whisked to the recovery area, and it was like a party. My mom, mother-in-law, fathers-in-law and best friend were all on hand. I was high on all kinds of drugs and numb from the chest down, and I didn’t even care. I was just so excited that it was over, and that everything had gone smoothly. Justin, Canaan and I were taken to our “real” room at 3 a.m. We were exhausted, but we didn’t sleep. I guess an event like that causes too much adrenaline to sleep; who would’ve thought? Ha.

Canaan Ray was technically 22 days early. He arrived on November 19 at 10:50 p.m. (Ladies, want to hate me? He was born three and a half hours after my water broke, and I never had a single contraction.) He weighed 7 pounds, 2 ounces and was 19.5 inches long. He’s adorable. And he’s perfect. But I may be biased.

Thanks to everyone who played a part in Canaan’s birth; thanks to everyone who came to visit us or brought us food! And thanks to the wonderful staff at St. John Tulsa; you all were amazing!

Bitch and moan

I’ve been determined since Day One not to be one of those people who obsessively tells everyone I come into contact with every single detail about my pregnancy. I hope that I’ve accomplished that goal and only bored those close to me with the endless bitches and moans about living with a bowling ball in my belly. Thanks to the internet, though, it does make things more difficult to contain. But hey, if you don’t want to know, you don’t have to read it!

So far, minus the whole Down’s syndrome fright, everything has been pretty easy. In my mind, I haven’t gotten as fat as I figured I would. I didn’t battle constant morning sickness, I haven’t developed diabetes, and I haven’t resorted to wearing a muu-muu and slippers in public….yet.

But last week I went to the doctor and my blood pressure was high. So high, in fact, that I had to get a blood pressure cuff and have Justin start monitoring it at home. I didn’t even know what a proper blood pressure reading was two weeks ago (it’s 120/80, in case you’re wondering), and now I have a week’s worth of numbers committed to memory. In addition to the high blood pressure, we found out that Canaan, who was supposed to weigh about four pounds at the time, was actually 6.3 pounds. Even more exciting? He’s breech. Yay for a C-section. (Sense the sarcasm. Although the whole “expunging a human from my loins” thing doesn’t sound fun, either.)

I had to start working only half days last week until today, when I had my next appointment. And after the doctor found out what my blood pressure readings have been, she pulled me out of work all together. So now I have mixed emotions to deal with: I have this feeling that I’m letting down my co-workers by not being there, and I’m less than thrilled about the prospect of sitting on my ass all day, every day, for at least the next three weeks. But I know my health is the most important issue at play here, so please don’t lecture me. I’ve already heard it.

But the silver lining in all of this is that there’s an excellent chance I won’t carry this baby all the way until mid-December, which is nice, because I’m over being pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a wonderful experience and I admit I still lift up my shirt to watch him breakdance in my belly (I don’t do this in public, by the way), but the last week has been fairly miserable. I’ve developed this really interesting pelvis pain; it’s by far the worst issue I’ve dealt with since this ordeal began. I can hardly walk, it hurts to stand, it hurts to sit…the only thing it’s good for is providing those around me with a good laugh. (Fortunately, my boss just had knee surgery, so it’s really giving my other co-workers an opportunity to laugh at the office cripples. At least I’m not alone.) I mentioned the pain to my doctor today and basically was told that it sucks, but it’s life. The theory is, the more I stay off my feet, the less it will hurt. Somehow I doubt that, but I guess it’s a good lure for me to stay down and lower my blood pressure. Maybe I’m being tricked.

I guess I’ll spend the next few weeks watching endless bad TV, doing as much work as I can from home, feeling my ass fall asleep in my recliner and watching the clock. I apologize in advance for any complaints that my come out of my mouth. I try to limit the worst of the bitching to my husband and my best friend, who are basically saints. And although Justin doesn’t fully understand what I’m going through, he really is trying.

I’m also going to do my best to not destroy everyone’s Thanksgiving. I promise. This is a selfish goal, too, because I really don’t want to spend my Turkey Day eating melted Jell-o in the hospital while everyone else enjoys a feast. And now I want some mashed potatoes.

Facing fears

I’m having a baby. After 29 weeks, it finally sunk in yesterday at the doctor’s office. At the end of my appointment, my doctor said, “Oh, let me give you your pre-admission paperwork for the hospital.” THAT is what it took. Not the weight gain, heartburn, shower planning,  insomnia, chronic peeing….it took a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

Holy crap.

Oddly enough, I haven’t been panicked about what happens after December 11 (or whenever he decides to make his debut). It’s the big show that’s freaking me out.

I’m due in the wintertime. I live 21.6 miles from the hospital. Earlier this year, we all bore witness to “Snowpocalypse.” Put those pieces together and what do you have? Me giving birth in my bathtub during a blizzard. At least my husband is an LPN. And my new neighbor across the street wears scrubs, so either he’s an OB-GYN or a veterinary technician. There’s a small chance he could pitch in and help, too. Of course, I may want to meet him in advance, just in case.

In all reality, I’m sure that I will make it to the hospital with plenty of time to spare. I will most likely be one of those women that makes 18 trips to the hospital while in false labor, just to be sent home again. But it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

I’m terrified of the pain. My rational side knows that thousands of women give birth every single day. Most of my friends have had babies, and they’ve all lived to tell about it. Quite a few of them even have more than one. And yes, I know the logic: if labor was SO terrible, people would never have multiple children.

Plus, I’m all about drugs. I mean, the legal kind. I know that an epidural will make things more bearable; then again, I also know that the needle that they will use is about seventeen feet long. So I’m really afraid of the procedure that’s going to make the really terrible procedure better. Does anyone else see the irony in this?

Let’s say I make it through the awful needle experiment and I’m ready to deliver. Then I get to face the prospect of (let’s quote Kirstie Alley here!) pushing something the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lemon while surrounded by strangers.

That’s something else that bothers me. I know that over the next several weeks, I’m going to be examined more times than I care to be, and it will be even worse at the hospital. My wonderful husband has attended every doctor’s appointment with me, so I’m not worried about him. I know that a lot of people choose to be surrounded by friends and loved ones, but I just can’t bring myself to be okay with that kind of exposure. I want my doctor, her team, and my husband. Everyone else can just wait outside until my lady bits are covered up again. Is that so wrong? I’m not down with having people watch me while I’m at my worst, and I certainly don’t want a video camera aimed anywhere near me. More power to the people who want that kind of memory, but it’s just not for me. I’m perfectly content with photographs of my newborn son, and with a professional photographer for a mom, those won’t be hard to come by.

I haven’t even wrapped my brain around the possibility of a C-section yet. How many other fears are going to creep into my head over the ensuing weeks?

I just keep telling myself: it will all be worth it. It will all be worth it. It will all be worth it….

My so-boring life

So I’ve been getting some flack lately over not blogging in a while. To be honest, nothing that exciting has been happening (other than my uterus growing by the minute, and who wants to read about that?), but I feel like it’s been too long. Let’s see what we can come up with.

We did have a scary doctor’s appointment a couple of months ago. We went in for a routine ultrasound, and were told that we were being referred to a high-risk doctor, as the baby showed two markers of Down’s syndrome. Well, that just about made my heart stop. Then we had the joy of waiting another week to visit the high-risk doctor, only to be told the same thing. I literally had a meltdown right there in her office, which was frankly, a little embarrassing, as I’d only met her 10 minutes earlier. And then, we were told to wait another SIX WEEKS before coming back.

So I did what any normal person would do. I freaked out, I called a few very close people, and I got on Google. Most of what I read was actually encouraging, as it said that in most cases, the markers disappear by weeks 26 or 27. I also spoke to one of my friends who had been through the same situation with two of her other friends, and their babies were both fine. But still. I had to wait SIX WEEKS. Justin was convinced that I would be a complete basketcase until the next appointment, but I’m proud to say that after the initial shock, I decided to roll with it. I couldn’t change anything, so why bother worrying? (Odd that I can’t apply that wisdom to other areas of my life.)

But I’m very pleased to say that we had our follow-up visit last week, and we got the all-clear, and were officially released from the high-risk doctor. Whew. Insert deep sigh of relief here.

We went to register last week. I actually talked Justin into going with me; I really don’t think he knew what he was in for. Of course, we registered for our wedding, but that was stuff for US. He didn’t have to worry about things like binkies and onesies that time. This was a whole new world for both of us. Think about the fact that every single time I’ve had to buy a baby gift for a friend, I have dutifully entered Babies R Us, printed off the registry and attempted to make my way through the store. After about four minutes, I realize that not only do I have no clue what any of those items ARE, I have no idea where they’re located in the store. That’s when I panic, grab a gift card and run out of the store. And now I was expected to choose things for myself? Ha. Ha. Ha. That’s probably why it took us three hours, which is far beyond the limits of Justin’s shopping patience. But he was a trooper, I’ll give him that.

Basically, we wandered around and scanned things that looked fun. We did ask for help with the stroller/car seat situation, because I figure that’s pretty damn important. It will be interesting to see how many necessary items we don’t have by the time little Canaan arrives. As my sister pointed out, all he really needs is diapers, a car seat, an outfit to wear home from the hospital, and something to eat. We’ll go from there.

I also learned that babies go through an average of 320 diapers in the FIRST MONTH OF LIFE. Whaaaa???? That’s a little nugget of knowledge that I certainly didn’t know going in! The fact that I’ve never changed a diaper before is going to be altered dramatically after just a few short weeks, wouldn’t you say?

I managed to persuade Justin this weekend that the nursery really wasn’t the best place to store his poker table anymore, so he dutifully helped me by taking out all of the poker stuff, and all of our luggage, which was stored in the closet of what WAS the guest room. Now it seems like we’re back to square one: we have an almost completely empty room, save for new curtains, a new orange lamp and a rocking horse. The closet looks pretty magnificent, with tons of cute clothes filling the rack. And what’s in there is nicely organized (for now.) One of these days we’ll get around to ordering furniture, but until then, it looks quite tidy! I did order a fabulous wall decal that came in the mail yesterday that I’m absolutely itching to hang, but I decided to be responsible and wait for furniture. Otherwise I’ll definitely put it in the wrong place. But trust me, it’s awesome.

I will say that so far, minus the Down’s syndrome scare, I’ve had an incredibly uneventful pregnancy, and I’m very grateful for that. I’ve adjusted nicely to wearing maternity clothes (I love not having to worry if my fly is undone….because I don’t have one!) and I’m dealing with the feeling of having a basketball under my shirt. It sucks not being able to bend over easily, and putting on my shoes is kind of a bitch. Now my feet are starting to swell just the tiniest bit by the end of the day, so any shoes hurt. The win-win scenario for both of those problems is to just wear flip-flops all the time. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if I can do that in December, in the snow. (Yes, I’ve already thought of “What if we have another blizzard and I go into labor and have to deliver the baby by myself in the bathtub? So don’t point that out to me, thanks.)

The thing that freaks me out the absolute most is the fact that my belly button is gone. I’ve always been kind of partial to my button; it’s spunky and an innie and quite normal and cute-looking. Now I look like Kyle XY; it’s practically gone. And apparently my adorable button has been harboring a secret for the past 32 years; some doctor botched my umbilical cord snipping and left a scar, which until recently was always hidden. Now it’s out of the closet and it weirds me out. (To be fair, I don’t know if that’s what caused the scar, but that’s my theory.) And yes, I finally took my navel ring out, which left me with two lovely holes, in addition to the scar and the odd flat place where my button used to be.

UPDATE: After my belly button returned to its normal state, I realized that the scar was from the appendectomy I swore I’d never have. It just moved from its regular home during the pregnancy. I feel silly.

So there you have it: a synopsis of the last couple of uneventful months. To all of you who have been asking why I haven’t been blogging, now you know. My life has been peaceful, for the most part, and that’s a good thing. But not exactly blogworthy.

Little Boy Blue

So…in case you didn’t hear the big news that I purposely withheld for an hour on facebook yesterday (insert evil laugh here), it’s a BOY! Yes, I had my heart set on a girl. Yes, I wore pink Chucks to the appointment in a lame attempt to sway the fates. Yes, I had my perfect girl name ALL PICKED OUT. I am seriously in love with this name. But, it’s not to be.

I admit, when the ultrasound tech gleefully said, “I see boy parts!” I felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. Because a.) I’m a girl, so I would think it would be easier to raise a girl, b.) I had my perfect girl name all picked out (did I mention that?) and c.) I really love pink.

But then I thought, you know what? This is just fine. I kind of figured it would be a boy, just because every single person I know that has given birth in the last two years has had a boy. I thought of some more positives: three of my dearest friends all have sons under one year of age, so maybe they’ll be generous and pass on a few hand-me-downs (ahem, ahem). I won’t have to buy prom dresses. I bet I won’t have to get a second phone line for my chatterbox child. There’s a chance that I will have to sit through endless high school football games, but after dealing with high school senior boys and their moms for several years, I always noticed how sweet those kids were to their moms. And never did one of those boys have a screaming match with Mom over senior pictures, but it happened plenty of times with girls. So there will definitely be less drama.

Now I’m tackling my first big baby project: crib bedding. I figure this will be my first major purchase, because the entire room will be based on the bedding. The problem: I have really expensive taste. (This doesn’t necessarily mean good taste, just expensive.) After hours of searching last night, I found the bedding that I think I want. Get this: it’s NINETY DOLLARS FOR TWO SHEETS. Let that sink in for a moment. Add the quilt (which he can’t use for years anyway, but I feel like I must have), the bumper (which I’m hearing may be dangerous, so that could save some dough) and the crib skirt, and we’re easily over 300 clams. For basically….sheets. But (*stomps foot) I WANT THEM! I just can’t help it. I know there are a million websites that carry crib bedding, but I have in my head what I want, and it’s just not cheap. I’m determined to work my way around this issue. Anybody have any great ideas for me? Please?

I really want to knock out this bedding issue so that I can spend the next four or five months accessorizing to make things perfect for the little man’s arrival. Of course, I’ve spent some time perusing my favorite DIY blog (www.thriftydecorchick.com) to get prepared. She’s all about the small touches, so I know she’s got some things to teach me. But I’ve got to get this stupid bedding figured out.

We got rid of the bed in that room (glad it was a guest room for three whole months), so now I’m staring at an empty gray room. (We painted both the guest room and the office a deep gray color, and it’s staying that way. No pastels here!) I’m itching to get started.

And oh, yeah, we have to find a name. But I’ve got plenty of time for that, right?

Vitamins and Vagina Farts

Tick-tock, tick-tock. Tomorrow marks 19 weeks into our fun pregnancy adventure, and Monday is G-Day. As in, Gender Day. We hope. I’ll down a liter of Diet Dr. Pepper on the way to the office…anything to make our little “Herm” show us the goods. Part of this is because I’m impatient, part of it is because I’m tired of calling it “Herm” and part of it is because I really want to start buying stuff for the empty bedroom.

Things still don’t seem quite real, although the visible baby bump should be like a flashing neon sign to me. But I’m doing my best to come to terms with all of the changes; I’ve been diligent about taking my vitamins, which I could never remember to do before, I’m drinking tons of water, and I’m actually reading all of these baby books. (But like my friend Meg suggested, I’m taking it all with a grain of salt.)

If you’re unfamiliar with the beautiful pregnant body (snort), you may not know that the bump just kind of appears. It really does. I started the plunge into maternity clothes at 12 weeks. The bump wasn’t really there, but things were getting a big snug. And I was desperate for new bras, because I was starting to feel like Pamela Anderson. Luckily for me, these beginning stages are falling during the summer, so I get to live in my favorite outfit of short knit skirts and wife beater tanks. If you get sick of seeing me in this uniform, too bad. I’m comfortable. (Except for that pesky heat wave that’s going on. But I’m dealing. I just keep telling myself, at least I’m not due now, because that would be MISERABLE.) The frustrating thing is that there is no point in buying a huge maternity wardrobe, so my choices are limited. And I hate staring at my closet every morning that is bulging with clothes that DON’T FIT. I just hope they fit again someday.

I had no idea how many pills a pregnant gal should take. I have prenatal vitamins from my doctor, which I learned the hard way to take at night, because otherwise I’d fall asleep at my desk. I have been taking fiber pills (AWESOME..I’m like an 80-year-old), multi-vitamins and now, Zantac. I’ve tried to be a good person before and take multivitamins, but I was just bad at it. Then my best friend told me about gummy vitamins. Yeah, gummy vitamins. They make them for adults, so I don’t want to hear it. These things are awesome! They taste like gummy bears. Not the kind I like (which is exclusively Haribo) but they are pretty decent. I like the Target brand. Well, I recently read that I need to make sure my pills have iron in them. Guess what? Mine didn’t. So I hunted high and low at Target yesterday, reading a million labels, and you know what? The only pills I could find that contained iron were Flintstones vitamins. Yee-haw! Again, I bought the Target brand. I took one last night, and it sent me reeling back to childhood memories of watching “You Can’t Do That on Television” on Nickelodeon and eating Flintstones vitamins with my friend Amberlie. Good stuff.

Now, about these books. I’ve got all of the big ones that your friends will tell you about, thanks to Amazon, my local library, and my recently mommified pal, Kristy. I started with the big one, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” I bought it on my Kindle, and I read tons of reviews that said it was terrible. But I really felt like I was starting off on the wrong foot if I didn’t read it. Here’s the issue I have with it: it’s set up as a weekly blow-by-blow, so I don’t want to get ahead of myself. And since it’s on my Kindle, I can’t tell if it runs through the weeks and THEN gives you tons of info, or not. So I haven’t been as diligent about it as I could be.

Next on my list was Jenny McCarthy’s “Belly Laughs.” I kind of goofed on this, because I reserved it at the library. (Yes, I’m a library nerd. I blame my father.) I waited impatiently for it to come in, and rushed in to pick it up as soon as I got the call. I started reading the first chapter about exploding vaginas and thought, “Huh?” A longer look at the front cover revealed that I had “Baby Laughs”, which is the sequel. I honestly didn’t realize that Miss Singled Out was capable of writing two books. So I read them in the wrong order. They were entertaining, although the illustrations really freaked me out. As in, they were awful. And creepy. So don’t look at the drawings. They were spooky in a Shel Silverstein kind of way. I did learn a little bit of info, but the item that sticks with me the most is the knowledge that my baby will be able to poop and have it end up on the back of its head. And neck. And everywhere in between.

As terrible and negative as the reviews are, the tome I’m enjoying the most is the “Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy”. It’s real, and it’s honest, and it walks you through the entire process in order. It’s teaching me what not to look forward to, like “vagina farts” and “pregnancy rhinitis.” But that’s at the very end, so I guess I’ll have time to get used to the idea. It’s a little dated, since it informs the reader to bring a camera and plenty of film to the hospital, which gave me a good laugh. Obviously my edition was written before the advent of facebook.

But they don’t tell you everything. Today I placed a concerned phone call to my best friend, Lezly, and asked her an intimate question about my nipples. Her answer was something called Lanolin. So off hubby and I went to Target (that’s kind of a theme, isn’t it?) to the baby section. After searching the breastfeeding aisle (which was full of odd contraptions that looked like instruments of torture) and the baby lotion section, I lamented to Justin that I didn’t know where the Lamisil was; maybe they didn’t have it. He said, “Lamisil? Are you sure? That’s from the gross commercial with the cartoon toenail fungus.” A quick text to Lezly confirmed that he was right and I was wrong. I asked the sales associate where the Lanolin was located; she asked what it was for. This led to me acting out the need, charades-style, with lots of nipple gesturing. She found it.

The other adventure of today involved diapers. A friend recently mentioned that I should start buying diapers now, to prevent sticker shock after the birth. Seems like a smart financial move. Now, if you’ve never had kids (like me) and you’ve never changed a diaper (again…this girl), you’ve probably never been in the diaper aisle. Holy Huggies, Batman! There are entirely too many choices. So be forewarned.

On a serious note, while I’m terribly excited about Monday, I’m nervous, too. I know a few women in my life that have been in my shoes, giddy with excitement to discover if it’s time to buy pink or blue, only to face life changing and devastating news on G-Day. To these women, I don’t know how you did it. I can’t imagine that I would be that strong. To love and lose so much in such a short time is beyond the scope of my imagination. And while Justin keeps telling me that everything will be fine, and I can’t think about receiving bad news, I can’t help it. It’s a real, and sometimes necessary, fear.

On that note, I’m signing off. Be prepared for some big news on Monday.

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