A Teeny Tiny Update with Little to No Information.

I’m still here.

Still (miraculously, amazingly, unexpectedly) (18 weeks!) pregnant.

We’ve told our families (shock!) and our friends (awe!) and all my new various doctors (confusion!) and I’ve technically told the internet full of strangers (hello!) but we haven’t made anything Facebook official.


Eh, I don’t know. Probably because every time I tell one new person my first thought is, “WHAT HAVE I DONE?!” and every time I purchase a new baby outfit (twice) I immediately think, “YOU MONSTER, YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING.”

So, I guess you could say I’m dealing with a little bit of anxiety.

Despite having four or five ultrasounds now, and doctors repeatedly finding the heartbeat on the doppler, and maybe feeling something kick me sometimes, I’m still finding it a little bit difficult to believe this is happening. That it’s happened at all. That it will continue to happen.

Someone asked me a few weeks ago when I felt confident in my pregnancy with Gus, and I told them, completely honestly, when I was walking into Labor & Delivery and my contractions we’re two minutes apart.

And yet, I am surprisingly less anxious than I was back then. Maybe it’s the fact that now I no longer feel the pressure of being barren forever. Maybe my cold agnostic heart has been touched by a freaking angel, and I can’t help but feel like this is something that is supposed to happen.

Time will tell, I guess.

So far, so good.



Counting Down

I opened a new half-gallon of milk the other day, and noticed that the expiration date is after my induction date.  That’s insanity, amiright?

(Also, if you’re not doing it already, you should really switch to drinking organic milk — because it lasts forever.)

After my baby shower last weekend, I spent the last few days getting everything organized, washed, and (sort of) put away. I have no idea how big Mr. Baby is going to be when he gets here — right now he’s measuring around four pounds, so I’m guessing he’ll be around six, or seven-ish pounds in six more weeks? So I feel compelled to go buy some newborn-sized stuff, which I don’t really have a lot of. The sizing on baby clothes is driving me insane, because it’s not consistent at all.

I don’t really know what to do with baby clothes. Do you hang them? Keep them in drawers? Can’t we just all wear our PJs for like 12 weeks? I ended up putting everything I have on baby hangers and in the closet organized by size — his dresser has super-deep drawers, and I think I’ll end up losing tiny little onesies in there, so I decided to use that space for swaddles, sleep sacks, blankets and sheets.

I want to get all the artwork hung in the nursery, and I guess I should put together the Pack ‘n Play, and the swing, and the Rock ‘n Play — in case Mr. Baby decides to make an early appearance. But I have four doctors appointments this week — FOUR. I’m exhausted already just thinking about it. Thankfully three of them are local, and just regular checkups — I just have to make the all-day trip to Georgetown on Tuesday and I’m hoping it’ll be my last trip pre-baby, but we’ll see.

I need to finish the thank you cards from my shower. I’ve been setting bits and pieces for the hospital bag aside for the last few weeks, I need to finish that too. And we need to pick up a few more essential items from our registry before he gets here.

Also, I want a whole package of Oreos — I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I don’t even really like Oreos.

Anyway… everything is like 60% done. I seem incapable of picking a project and finishing it 100%. My nesting instincts either haven’t kicked in yet, or my desire to nap is just a lot stronger. We’ve got some childbirth classes, two weddings, a housewarming party and my cousin’s 18th birthday coming up between now and my induction date — and that’s assuming I make it that long (which I really, really hope I do).  I need to get my act together, because time is running out (despite Mike’s many reassurances that we have plenty of time.)

Mr. Baby: By the Numbers

29 — I’m 29 weeks pregnant today. It seems like yesterday we were on pin and needles, hoping to make it past six weeks, and then 12 weeks, and then into the second trimester, and then waiting to find out if baby was a Mister or a Miss. And now the doctors are all, “Oh, well the pregnancy is viable,” like I should just stop worrying about things and take it easy. Umm, I appreciate your optimism — but let’s let him bake as long as possible, athankyou.

11 — … So that means I have 11 weeks left to go. I met with my Hematologist yesterday, and he recommended that I push my OB and the High Risk docs for an induction. It’s sort of a long, medicinal story, but basically taking blood thinner and having a baby gets sort of complicated towards the end (especially if you want an epidural, which I do, because I’m not a hero). His opinion is: 1) take the meds as long as possible, 2) if you wake up one day after 37 weeks and feel funny, skip the shot, just in case. and 3) ask for an induction date so we can schedule my last dose of blood thinner accordingly. I’ve got no issues with getting induced, as long as all the docs are on board and I’m like 38+ weeks along. So we’ll see what happens…

4 — I’m still giving myself four shots a day. Two in the morning (blood thinner and insulin) and then insulin before dinner, and at bedtime. Insulin needles are adorable, compared to blood thinner needles.

2 — Pregnancy has given me a serious case of the dropsies — and so far I’ve dropped those aforementioned syringes twice, and tried to catch them. Well, I guess I successfully caught them, but I’m not sure if it counts as “catching” when you just end up with a needle sticking in your palm, and once under my fingernail. Damn cat-like reflexes.

4 — In between those four shots, I also get to check my blood sugar four times a day. Once in the morning, and then again after breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s really not that bad — aside from the morning check, which needs to happen around 7-8 hours after my last meal the night before. So, if I eat a snack at 10 and go to bed, I need to test between 5-6am. But I don’t have a “real job” and I get to sleep a lot, so I have to wake up like three hours early and prick my finger, while I’m half-asleep. #Housewifeproblems, I know.

20 — I mean, I have a job — I’m just not there very often. I work two days a week (and that’s assuming I don’t have to spend the day in Georgetown, visiting my Hematologist, despite my best attempts to schedule things on my days off). So, say I’m induced at 39 weeks — that’s only 10 weeks away, which means I only work 20 more days, and then I have a baby, which is crazy.

5 — Sorry pregnant ladies everywhere, but at almost seven months pregnant, I still weigh five pounds LESS than I did when I got pregnant (I’m not really sorry, I’m super excited).

2.5 — Yet, despite my magical negative pregnancy weight gain, Mr. Baby is weighing in at an impressive 2.5 pounds, and the internet assures me he’s the size of a butternut squash. I have another growth scan in a few days (the only plus of dealing with gestational diabetes, is lots and lots of ultrasounds) so we’ll be able to see if he’s still growing on schedule (which he has been so far).

3 — We (and by “we,” I mean “I”) registered at three places. Mike was a big help for our main registry — he followed me around and said things like, “whatever you want, dear,” and “sure that sounds good,” and “when I scan your head with the scanner, nothing comes up.” The other two I did on my own, because Mike could care less what crib sheets we have, or how many muslin swaddles I pick out. I cannot stop checking my registries to see what’s been purchased already (I did the same thing when we got married, don’t judge me!).

1 — Cases of “Sleep Sadness.” What’s that, you ask? Well, I sort of made it up. The other night I was asleep, on my wrong side, and apparently I started snoring right in Mike’s ear. So he very sweetly and quietly woke me up, and asked me to roll over, and I BURST INTO TEARS. I was just so, so sad that I was keeping him awake. He was like, “Gah! Don’t cry, I love you!” and I sleepily yelled (on my way to the bathroom, because helllooooo that’s all I do now), “I’m fine, I just have sleep sadness!” Mike insisted that’s not a thing, but obviously it is.

153 — The number of times I roll my eyes while reading posts on BabyCenter. Super-fertile people complain about everything, and most of them don’t understand anything about baby shower etiquette. It’s also nice to know there’s no correlation between being able to spell, or read and write, and the ability to get pregnant whenever you feel like it. Also, there are going to be a bunch of kids with really, really weird names growing up with Mr. Baby. In short, BabyCenter is the worst (unless you have to take blood thinner — those ladies are cool, and not annoying.)

1 — So, I broke down last week, and cheated on my GD diet, just once. I didn’t feel great, I’d had a terrible night’s sleep, and all I wanted was a bowl of pasta for dinner. Nothing else sounded remotely appetizing, and after doing a little reading — I decided to just indulge the craving. I figure a sporadic increase in blood sugar isn’t going to do any long-term damage to me or Mr. Baby (if it did, OBs wouldn’t order glucose testing, sometimes repeatedly, right?) and since I don’t plan on doing it all day, every day, I just said screw it — bring me the tortellini. Here’s hoping I don’t end up with a 13 pound baby.

3 — Starting in about three weeks, I get to go to the doctor(s) three times a week. Once to my regular OB, and twice for monitoring and non-stress tests with the High Risk team at the hospital. I’ll make the one- to two-hour drive to check in with the Hematologist a few more times too. It’s a lot of appointments, yes — but you won’t hear me complaining. After everything we’ve gone through to get to this point, I’m all for extra attention and monitoring. Thrice-weekly checks to make sure I’m not in early labor, and Mr. Baby is OK? That sounds good to me.