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.

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.

We're HOW MANY weeks?

Where has the time gone? 27 weeks pregnant is coming up this Saturday. The best part about that is, if for some reason, Wesley HAD to be born, he would have an 85 % chance of survival. Good news, yes, but let's all hope he stays right where he is for the time being...

Meanwhile Grace is walking! Seriously...she is walking and sometimes RUNNING! And she's so proud of herself. And we're so proud of her, too... Its been a rough couple of weeks for her. Starting three weeks ago, when Ms. Martha (the best day-care provider in the world) called me in my classroom and says, "I'm just calling to make sure...you know Grace has Thrush, right?" to which I responded, "Ummm....what's thrush?"

So, one doctor's visit and three prescriptions later, we were treating thrush, the yeast infection that goes with it, oh...and let's not forget the ear infection that somehow snuck in there.

Flash forward about 10 days; the end of the antibiotic. Grace is running a fever and has a cough. We go back to the Dr. Seems her Thrush is all cleared up (on both ends) but the ear infection switched sides? We were prescribed a stronger antibiotic. That was Friday. Today is Wednesday. I haven't slept since then. I took Grace BACK to the Dr today, convinced she STILL had the ear infection. The kid was whiny, clingy, not eating, not sleeping.... No ear infection. Turns out the meds were making her sick. So, because the infection was gone, we ditched the rest of the antibiotic and are hoping for a good night's sleep tonight, and seriously, it would be nice to make the rest of the school year without having to take time off to take her in!

Back to Wesley: I read in some other pregnant someone's blog this past week that being very pregnant feels like being crowded. I couldn't put it any better. I feel crowded. I'm being squeezed out of my own body. Of course, this someone was 36 weeks pregnant, looked like a blond supermodel, and her 36-week belly looked like my 12-week belly, and I hate her. Yet, I digress...

I am still jogging and doing strength training. I had another appointment last week. I only gained four pounds the previous month. I'm very proud of my not getting out of control with my weight-gain. Like I said before: anything less than double the recommended weight gain and I'm golden.

I'm starting to notice the swelling, though...feet and face (I don't mind the feet so much, because I can't see them anymore). Of course I'm watching the sodium, but it doesn't help that everything delicious has a ton of sodium. AND the back pain...I feel like t his kid is ripping me apart, and he's starting at my tailbone! All I can do is stretch, because getting to the chiropractor requires extra energy and also child-swapping coordination, which Jerry and I have not quite perfected yet...

Wesley is extremely active. Grace was, too, but this is different. This kid means business. He's so rough! Maybe he's trying to chew his way out, or something?

Ok, so, next appointment is June 5th, and I'll be doing the delicious glucose test, for the second time this pregnancy, hopefully, with equally stellar results as the last time. (The only reason I can hold that glucola swill down is knowing that if I yak, they're just going to make me drink another one.)