Paper Towel Micro-Mini

I am now on an every-two-week OB appointment schedule. I guess they figure hey--she's 30 weeks pregnant, what else is she doing? Whatever. I don't want to argue, so I roll on in, and face the scale.

Today was my appointment. I am something like 31 weeks and 5 days. We were not scheduled for an ultrasound or anything "cool," so Jerry didn't go with me. He was at work, so Grace did.

My doctor had been called away to the hospital for a delivery. Would I like to see another doctor? Come back later in the afternoon? Reschedule? I was there. I was dressed. I was even wearing mascara. I had just single-handedly wrestled Grace into public-appropriate clothing and managed to keep her clean from the house to the car AND during the 45-minute ride to the Doctor's office. Did I mention it was apparently monsoon season, and we were both now dripping from the jog (yes, 8-months-pregnant and wearing flip-flops, toting a toddler and a 45-lb diaper bag RAN in the rain) from the car to the door? All I could do was stare at the nurse, trying to think of a decent way to express my sentiment. It must have been obvious, because before I could say anything, she looked me over, turned to her clipboard, and mumbled, "I'll put you on the shortest list."

After chasing Grace around the waiting room for a bit, I was called back. Weight gain? 2 pounds in 2.5 weeks--not bad! Blood pressure? Lovely considering the waiting room Olympics in which I had just contended. When the nurse asked me if there were any problems or changes, I mentioned I'd been having a good number of Braxton Hicks contractions. (I know it was because we just got back from a road trip and I was doing a lot of chasing Grace around in the heat, but I promised Jerry I'd mention it, so I did.) So, because of this, the nurse assumes the doctor will want to check me and hands me a paper blanket thingy, escorts me and Grace to a room, gives us the once over and says, "Bottoms off. " She leaves the room.

There we are. The three of us. Me, Grace, and the paper blanket thingy, which, for a normal-sized non-pregnant woman who is not chasing around and 11-month-old, I'm sure it drapes nicely over the lap.... I can picture this serene woman, lounging fully-covered, flipping through the latest issue of Vogue, waiting patiently for the doctor. Believe me, this was not the picture in MY exam room...

I had to settle for wrapping the thing around me and tucking it, like a towel while I chased Grace around the room. She was due for a nap, which for some reason always results in hyperactivity...So, as I'm crouched down, simultaneously trying to coax her into reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar, again, and pry the mystery medical instrument she just discovered in a drawer out of her fist, she decides that Mommy's paper dress looks interesting. She grabbed a fist-full and pulled. The second her little hand ripped the paper, her eyes lit up. She was either attracted to the ripping noise or the sound of my dignity flying out of the window. Suddenly, the child was all hands. Every time I looked at her, she had another fist-full of paper.

So, by the time the doctor, WHO WAS NOT EVEN MY DOCTOR OR PERSONALLY KNOWN TO ME, came in to check me, I was perched on the floor reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear, holding the biggest piece of the blanket thingy Grace had left me, which was, by the way, no bigger than a cocktail napkin. I just looked up and smiled.

The contractions were probably because I was dehydrated. Everything was/is fine. Wesley is measuring right on track. I'm to keep up the good work, etc. And I pray I never have to look that doctor in the face again.

Grace's birthday is next week. People keep asking me what appropriate gifts would be. Seems to me paper cover-ups pilfered from Doctor's offices would be ideal and cost-effective.

Pregnancy brain is REAL

OK, so I know most of you have heard of "pregnancy brain," right? Where pregnant women have difficulty focusing or remembering? I'm here to tell you its REAL. Lately, I've been really bad...It's taking me longer and longer to get myself together to leave the house, checking and rechecking things I've packed. I've put the salad dressing away in the Tupperware cupboard instead of the fridge. I spent at least 20 minutes trying to find my cell phone and couldn't for the life of me find it only to realize it had been in my hand the ENTIRE time. A woman on my pregnancy board nearly left home without her pants. I hadn't done anything THAT bad. Until...

Grace and I, celebrating our Summer vacation, had plans to have lunch with a friend. My friend met us at our house, and I was going to drive. She parked behind me. She asked me if I had enough room to get around her. I walked to the back of the car, looked, and said, "oh yeah...plenty of room." I then got into my car, started it, threw it into reverse and promptly smacked into the front of her car. Thank goodness there was no damage...but SERIOUSLY??? Is the oxygen in my blood being re-routed from my brain to finish growing this baby?

Glucola, Horse Shots, and Giant Babies

When you're 28 Weeks Pregnant, the doctors like for you to come in and be de-sensitized to needles. I had my appointment today. First, on my way there, I had to drink an unreasonably large serving of this Glucola drink...a cross between maple syrup and flat orange soda. The only reason I held it down was because I KNEW (from prior experience) that if I ralphed, the nurse at the office would NOT feel bad for me. And she would give me ANOTHER Glucola drink and I'd have to start all over....

At the Office...

After being weighed (4 pounds for the month, thank you...) and blood pressured (fine, fine...no worries) and given a "specimen cup" to umm....leave a specimen (and are these things getting smaller at each appointment?), the nurse unapologetically took at least three tubes of blood. And because my blood is Rh-, it was time for my Rhogam shot. Apparently, my doctor's office was out of regular injection needles and borrowed some horse needles from a vet's office somewhere. Needless to say, the nurse was able to inject the Rhogam into my marrow. She did have the courtesy to ask whether I'd prefer to be incapacitated in my right or left arm for the week...

Bandaged and bruised, it was off to the Ultrasound room. I knew I was going to be getting another U/S to check for low fluid (it was critically low with Grace, but we only caught it by accident. There is no increased risk for low fluid with this pregnancy. I think maybe the Dr was only checking because I was worried?) so I brought the team with me. I lay serenely on the paper-covered table staring up at the big-screen ultrasound, the baby inside me assaulting me from the inside with all his might, attacking every internal organ in his proximity (which at this point is all of them). The baby outside of me was attacking her dad with every ounce of force and all the skill available to an 11-month-old. While he tried to get her to focus on the books in her bag, she was screaming in her baby-language what Jerry and I know was "OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE!"

Despite the minor distractions, here's what we learned: Baby Wesley is doing great. He's measuring right on track for his gestational age. He has plenty of fluid to swim around in. He is DEFINITELY a boy and had his boy parts proudly on display. He's also measuring in the 70th Percentile for weight/length. So, despite my best efforts (and success, I might add) in the moderate-weight gain department, my baby is still on track to weigh in at over eight pounds when he's born. Ouch. Again.

On my way out, the nurse snagged me again...she needed just one more vial of blood....eh.