Monthly Archives: February 2014


Annika Josephine. 6 lbs 5 oz, 18.5 inches.


She actually made her grand entrance last Friday night. It was a long labor and a scary delivery, but all is well now. I’m not really up for sharing the whole drama here just yet…maybe eventually. For now, we’re just enjoying our little girl and adjusting to life as a family of three.

Needless to say, we are in love. And yes, I realize how cliche that sounds. But it’s true. <3

(Oh, and first postpartum beer was a Sweetwater 420. Nice and simple. It was delicious.)

Incubation: day 275

So. Because all I do is pilfer from Marie these days, and because I don’t know if I’ve ever done one of these so-called “day-in-the-life” posts (and I’m too lazy to go back and look through my disorganized archives), and because it seems like the sort of thing bloggers do when they’re hard up for content (been there for months)…here you go. My yesterday.

4 AM: Wake up to pee. My stomach is also growling loudly, so I go downstairs and eat a yogurt.

This pre-dawn snacking thing has become a habit, and I’m 50/50 on getting back to sleep afterward. Today is a good day, and I must drift back off immediately after slipping back in to bed because suddenly it’s morning.

7 AM: Rise, shower, breakfast, blah blah blah. Eye coffee maker longingly as I prepare a cup of Raspberry Leaf Tea, which tastes like ass but is supposed to help “ripen my cervix” or something. Gross, I know.

As it’s steeping, I fire up the blood pressure cuff. 111/80. Not bad.

Also, I call a plumber, as our guest bathroom toilet remains mysteriously clogged in spite of a weekend’s worth of aggressive plunging. My husband and I are baffled by this: even if either of us were to admit to dropping a pipe-plugging deuce, this would not be our throne of choice. In the back of my mind, I’m blaming the contractors who were here last week.

The plumber says he’ll come out between 1 and 4, and for what seems like the millionth time I thank my lack of a real job, because if I had one I would have been fired long ago, constantly having to take time off to deal with shit (har!) like this.

9 AM: Time for yet another pregnancy appointment! My “care group” includes a team of midwives and an MFM, and since the onset of the low blood protein thingy/growth concerns/hypertension issues, I’ve been seeing both weekly (at separate offices/appointments) for a while now. See comment above about being thankful for the fluid nature of my employment status.

Before I head out, I realize I am dressed in something other than yoga pants so let’s knock out the weekly belly selfie. 39 weeks, 2 days:


Everything goes fine at the appointment, except that the nurse gets 150/82 when she takes my BP. What in the motherfuck? I honestly don’t know how my systolic pressure can jump 40 points in less than two hours. I am asked to “sit calmly” in a dark room for a few minutes (fat chance of that, because now I’m all shaken up) before taking it again, but that doesn’t seem to help.

Fortunately, the midwife I see is one of my favorites and she’s pretty laid back about it. She looks over my log of thrice-daily home BP readings as well as those from the MFM’s office, all of which are much lower, and concludes that “we must just make you really anxious around here.” I still have no other pre-eclampsia symptoms and my labs and NST from last week are perfect, so she dismisses me with instructions to keep on keepin’ on, and give us a call when you go in to labor! Oh believe me, I will.

11 AM: I have a couple of hours before my date with the plumber and I’m feeling pretty good, energy-wise, so I knock out a few errands, including a trip to the Container Store to return a step-stool that’s been banging against the backseat of my car at every red light for nearly a month. (I bought it because our kitchen  was designed for a giant and I got tired of climbing up on the counter every time I needed something from a cupboard, but the feet were slippery hard plastic and sucked on our hardwoods.)

It ends up being a draw, financially, as I leave with a shelf for the baby’s room and a bunch of really cute, colorful storage bins for storing…something. I don’t know what yet, but babies have a lot of crap, right?

1 PM: Home, lunch, blah blah blah. Assemble shelf and find crap to put in storage bins.

nursery shelf

(We made a lot of progress in the baby’s room over the weekend! I dare say it’s nearly functional.)

3 PM: Plumber arrives. I apologize in advance for whatever mortifying thing he might find down in the bowels (har!) of the toilet and emphasize that it wasn’t us that did this, I swear, we don’t even know how it happened. He nods cordially but I can tell he’s trying not to roll his eyes. Sure, lady, it wasn’t your monster turd. It never is.

Half an hour later he emerges with a sack full of soggy paper towels. Paper fucking towels. I curse the contractors because really, who the hell doesn’t know not to flush paper towels? Especially when there is a Costco-sized pack of Charmin sitting right there in plain sight? GAH.

Oh well, at least it was a problem easily solved. And no oversized feces were involved. I thank and pay the plumber and as he is leaving, guess who shows up?

4 PM: The GC’s project manager stops by to do our final walk-through. He gives me a quizzical look as the plumbing van pulls out of the driveway. I explain the paper towel situation and he is appropriately outraged. He apologizes and promises to take care of the charges. I honestly don’t care at this point. I just want this done.

The PM and I walk the house from top to bottom, examining all of the areas where our home has been systematically taken apart and put back together over the last six months. I run my hand over the newly painted walls and imagine their insides, packed full of fresh pink insulation, healthy and free of the black rotten wood and mold that was there before. It has been a long road to get here and I am thrilled that we’re finally at the end.

I sign the punch list, write one last barfworthy check, and with a final handshake send the PM on his way. He’s a nice guy, but…good riddance. I hope we never have to deal with something like this again.

6 PM: Climb up on the counter to fetch ingredients for dinner. Damn, this is annoying. I really should buy a step-stool. The cats hear the siren call of cupboards clanging and appear in the kitchen, positioning themselves directly underfoot as I (unsuccessfully) attempt a graceful dismount.

7 PM: Dinner, watch TV, blah blah blah. (I would describe exactly what I watched, but I’m saving that for a whole separate post, when I’ve really reached the bottom of the blog-content barrel.)

9 PM: Bedtime. Blood pressure check: 115/77. Outstanding. I even gloat a little as I note it in my log.

As I’m winding down for the night, as usual, baby is just hitting her stride. I wrap my arm around my belly and fall asleep feeling her tiny foot press into the palm of my hand, wondering if tomorrow might be the day we finally get to meet her.

Under pressure

So this is the point where I open my blog posts by stating that I’m still pregnant, yes? Okay. I’m still pregnant.

In a few days I’ll be “full term” (according to the new 39-week definition) which is crazy. This seemed so far away back in June. We are going to have a real live baby soon. Yikes.

Still waiting for baby to “drop” (I think). You tell me. This was last week at 37.5 weeks:


And today, at 38.5 weeks:


Her feet are still firmly engaged in my ribcage, so I’m thinking no.

Otherwise, things are going well…ish. I feel fine, but my blood pressure has been creeping up at my last couple of appointments. My BP tends to run a little high normally (when I’m not pregnant), so while this doesn’t strike me as particularly alarming, it causes justifiable concern among my doctors and midwives due to the dreaded (and potentially dangerous) pre-eclampsia. So far, all of my labs have come back normal and I have none of the other signs of pre-e (no headaches or vision problems or swelling – still wearing my wedding rings!) but I am currently in the middle of another round of indignity with the 24-hour pee-collection jug, so we shall see.

In the meantime, I have been instructed to “take it easy.” Not bed rest exactly, but no more formal exercise or unnecessary exertion. This is…well, if I’m being honest, it’s a little frustrating because I feel fine. But I understand the reasoning and am doing my best to comply. No more gym, no more swimming. (Sorry if you came looking for bare-bellied weight room selfies! No #fitpregnancy inspiration here.)

As for baby, she seems to be doing well, passing last week’s non-stress test in just a few quick minutes on the monitor. She continues to look a little runty, so my MFM advised me to make sure I’m eating enough (I’ve still only gained about 20 lbs, which is so surprising to me – because, um, I’ve never had trouble putting on weight) and suggested milkshakes as a good, easily-digestible snack. (Okay, he actually said smoothies. My sweet tooth is painting his recommendation with a broad brush because do you know how delicious McDonald’s strawberry milkshakes are?)

So basically, I am under medical orders to be a lazy ass and eat as much as possible. This is probably the only time in my life that this will ever happen, so I’m just going to enjoy it. (#fatpregnancy? <– TM Marie!)

I guess that means that someone else will have to deal with this disaster:


That would be the nursery. Clean your damn room, baby! No allowance for you.

Oops, I guess I’m jumping ahead a few years there.

1.5 weeks to go.