Signs of Labor

If having a lot of energy and wanting to clean your house means that you’re about to go into labor, then I’ve been about to go into labor for the last nine months…or nine years.

The other day, though, for the first time, I felt extremely tired. Like crazy sleepy. Like boring-work-meeting-can’t-keep-my-eyes-open fatigued.

I thought, “This is strange. I wonder if this could be a sign of labor.”

I typed into Google: Extreme Fatigue + Sign of Labor and all these results came up, saying it was indeed a sign of labor. There were stories of women who, instead of having a burst of energy, got really sleepy and whaddya know? Hours later their babies popped out.

Well that was Friday and I’m still not in labor.

But since then I’ve looked up other “symptoms.”

--Craving for graham crackers + sign of labor
--Pain in the right inner thigh + sign of labor
--Hysterical laughing + sign of labor
--Baby moving a lot + sign of labor
--Baby not moving + sign of labor

All signs. So I’ve decided that you could basically type in anything + sign of labor and somebody out there will have a story about it.

That's because women have decided that whatever they did the day they went into labor is what caused their labor:

“I watched an old episode of King of Queens and I went into labor during the ending credits. I guess Kevin James makes people go into labor!”

“I remember I went to get the mail and I had my first contraction. My son was born four hours later. That means the postal service brings on labor!”

“I was sleeping and I went into labor!”

“I was unloading the dishwasher…”

“I was picking my nose…”

Here’s hoping “I was writing my blog…” works for me.

Worth a Try

I'm not superstitious but since I like eggplant parmesan and didn't feel like cooking anyway, we thought we'd make a pilgrimige to Scalini's, a restaurant with a legend for speeding up labor.

Read the story from their web site.

Plus, if you have your baby within 48 hours you get to come back and have dinner for free and your baby gets a Scalini's t-shirt!

So far the only thing we have to report are a few stomach pains...from Frank.

Working on our Manners

"BS, don't you know it's not polite to be late?"

Especially when everyone is calling, asking where you are!

The Big 4-0

Today is my due date. I think.

At first my doctor said my due date was April 14th. Then we had our first ultrasound and it changed to April 24th. Then I saw on some paperwork that it was April 23rd. One day I noticed that my online account with the doctor’s office said April 28th.

I tried to ask, but they get all huffy:

“So which is my real due date?”

“Um…the 24th…”

“Okay, because I heard the 23rd and then I heard the 28th so I wasn’t sure…”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter. That baby is gonna come whenever it wants.”

“Yes, but every two minutes someone asks me what my due date is and when I say ‘I don’t know’ they think I’m stupid. And they might think I’m an unfit parent and report me to social services.”

That’s when I decided to go with the 23rd, because it was the soonest. But that was a mistake. Because basically, ever since April 1st, people have been acting like I’m overdue:

“You STILL haven’t had that baby!! I can’t believe it!”

And when my doctor said they would induce me one week after my due date, I INSISTED on knowing the real date. I mean, now it matters. If my due date isn’t until the 28th, I have to wait until Cinco de Mayo to have this baby.

He said the 24th. And that’s today. So I have to have the baby by Uno de Mayo.

And since there’s no action going on as I write this (except for a lot of hiccupping by BS), you can probably rule out today, my due date. You could probably rule it out anyway because only 5% of babies are born on their due dates.

And BS is not exactly cooperative.

So good news: I’m not sick. I made it to 40 weeks. There is an end in sight.
Bad news: The milk in the fridge will go bad before BS gets here.

Minute 14 of my 15

Yesterday when I was sick I really needed some Gatorade. And not just because Frank works for the company that makes the stuff but because the nurse I talked to on the phone said if I couldn’t keep anything else down then I should try the big G. You know, for the electrolytes.

But how would I procure this thirst aid? I was too weak to leave the house and as much as people had offered, “let me know if you need anything,” I couldn’t bring myself to call someone and say, “Could you get me some Gatorade?”

I decided I would have to leave the house in my condition. Now let me type you a picture:

Grey sweatpants (that I had been wearing for the past two days and nights)
A grey t-shirt
Stringy hair
Glasses
No make-up
Unbrushed teeth
An overall sickly, pathetic appearance
And of course, my giant pregnancy bump, poking out from said grey t-shirt

Walgreens was the closest but I hesitated. What about Wally? Will he try to talk to me? I felt so miserable that the very idea of having to make conversation with someone made me want to puke (which actually wasn’t that difficult since that’s the kind of sickness it was).

But then I thought it would be silly to go somewhere farther away, just to avoid Wally.

So I went to Walgreens. As soon as I walked in I realized that I had bigger problems than Wally. I had my public.

Surely, if I kept my head down people wouldn’t talk to me. Yet after I picked up my two giant bottles of Gatorade and walked through the store, not making eye contact (and looking the way I did, refer to description above), I still got comments:

“Hey!! You look like you’re about ready to hatch!!”

“Is it your first? Your second?”

“What are you having?”

“That child will bring you so much joy!!”

To these I answered, “I’m sick.” They might have thought I was rude but if they knew how long it had been since I brushed my teeth, they would be glad that I was short with them.

When I made it up to the counter after pushing my way through my “we’ve never seen a pregnant woman before fan club” I had to face Wally. To my surprise (and relief) he said nothing about my pregnancy! He didn’t even make small talk with me.

As I escaped the store I again reflected on how this is similar to being a celebrity. Like Eva Longoria, I can’t just walk into a local Walgreens without lots of questions. But unlike Eva, nobody wanted to take my picture. And if she ever looked the way I looked yesterday, she would definitely send her personal assistant instead.

50/50

The poll is even with only hours left to go! This is way more exciting than that whole Pennsylvania extravangza.

Expanding Recap!

Get your votes in!

There are only four days left to vote on BS’s gender. I picked that day to close the poll because it’s a few days before my due date. So when you see “poll closed” next week it doesn’t really mean we know the gender. But we might.

At press time the race is tight: 51% girl; 48% boy.

In real life the votes are more lopsided—in favor of boy. People who don’t even know that I don’t know will say, “Are you having a boy?” All I can say is, “Maybe!” I’ll hear the occasional, “I think it’s a girl” but it’s rare.

I, myself, have boys on the brain. I don’t have a logical reason for thinking BS is a boy, just the following clues:

--In my dreams BS is always a boy.

--Whenever I talk about BS, I accidentally say “he” or “him.” (Does that fall under a Freudian slip? Or does it not count since I actually don’t know?)

--BS’s behavior: Surely, a sweet little girl couldn’t be this aggressive.

I’m not trying to sway your vote. In fact, I think I voted for girl way back when. But it might have just been because the blog is very pink.

The Amazing Bowl Holder

Last year our friend Shannon came over while she was about eight months pregnant and just casually placed a bowl of fruit on her belly. She wasn’t trying to amaze anyone but she did. Well, she amazed Frank. “Look at that!” Frank said and insisted on taking her picture.

He hasn’t stopped talking about it. In fact, I think that’s one of the reasons he was excited that I was pregnant.

We tried the bowl holder trick in the Bahamas…although all I could manage at the time was this plastic cup. It was more like a coaster.

We tried it since then but I always had to hold the bowl.

Last week…bowl holding success.

Look, no hands!!

P.S. BS does NOT like this trick.

The Belly Game: A Rematch

Geometry finally worked in Frank’s favor. I am now the belly loser. It took 38 weeks of pregnancy but I now have a belly bigger than my husband’s. I think I’ve got an inch on him (Although it still appears that I am at least 22 inches bigger. Maybe it's because he's sucking in. No fair.)

Since Frank is a “glass-half-full” kinda guy, he sees this as a sign that he can change his ritual to “Five Beer Friday.”

Super Dad, Super Swaddler

We’ve watched our Happiest Baby on the Block video (thanks, Team Patel!) and we’re sold on swaddling. We even understand how to do it—conceptually.

But we’re both hands-on learners so we needed to practice. BS has lots of stuffed animals but they don’t have human-like arms and legs.

Thus, we ended up with Bart Simpson.

Frank was a natural. Watch him swaddle the other BS!

All you have to do, according to the video, is remember the acronym DUDU. It means “Down, Up, Down, Up.”


I guess since Frank has DUDU down, he’ll be in charge of swaddling. Does that mean I’m in charge of the other DUDU?

BS: “Who you callin’ little?”

Last Friday the docs said BS may be small. Not freaky small but just smaller than average. They can tell by taking a vertical measurement of my belly. I measured at 34 weeks instead of 37. My doctor said, “You’re small so it would be great if you had a small baby. But let’s get an ultrasound just to be sure.”

In the days after that I told BS, “See? Everyone was crazy for saying things to us like, ‘are you sure you’re not having twins?’ and ‘you’re not gonna make it until April!' You are actually quite petite."

I assured BS that it was okay to be little. It’s much for fun than being Amazonian tall. Or really fat. “You’re just a wittle baby…a wittle baby who’s going to make labor easy for mommy…thanks for being so itty bitty,” I told BS.

Well, BS struck back.

By Monday I had gained FOUR more pounds. That’s in one weekend. And when they estimated BS’s weight on the ultrasound, he/she weighed 7.2 pounds. And I still had three weeks to go!

I asked the doctor, “This baby seems to be getting big, is there a chance you would induce me early?”

“No,” he said. “You’re a little lady. But I’ve seen some big babies come out of some little ladies.” He then went on to tell me a tale of a 12.5 pounder he once delivered. And I’m not talking about a C-section.

Ouch.

Here is a picture of our potentially gargantuan baby. The top is BS spazzing out as usual. And the bottom one shows a giant eye but they assured us it's just the "eye orbit" and that these non 3-D ultrasounds don't pick up eye balls.

BS does not think this picture is flattering and asked that I not post it. But hey, it’s the only one we’ve got! I just hope he/she doesn’t punish me by gaining more weight.

Professional Nesting

They say if you suddenly get the urge to clean your whole house, you may be about to go into labor.

Today I got that urge.

But when I got to the master bathroom shower, I got fed up. I can never clean that thing good enough! I scrub and scrub but it never looks clean. I actually shouted at it today, "This is not clean! It's not even cleaner! It actually looks dirtier. I'm so ashamed!"

So my question is, does it still count as nesting if you quit your household chores and call professionals to come clean your shower?

They'll be here at 10 tomorrow. I hope I'm not in labor.

Way Better than a Manger...

...because it's a GREEN manger!

We've got all the essentials in BS's room. This weekend when we were getting the curtains, Frank said to my belly, "I sure hope you like green."

Check it out:

Baby got Back

With only three weeks to go we’re at the point where I can tell which body parts are doing the kicking and punching. Well, I can’t really distinguish between hands, feet, knees and elbows but one body part is very identifiable: the bootie.

BS loves to stick out its butt. It makes my stomach look all out of whack. One side is deflated and the other side has this round thing poking out.

When BS does this I like to say (in my high-pitched mommy voice):

“What’s that? Is that your little bootie?”

“Are you putting on a show?”

“Oh, der’s a wittle bootie. Oh, so cute. Whatcha trying to say?”

“Show daddy! Show daddy what you’re doing!” (BS, who is amazingly uncooperative for an unborn child, usually does the opposite.)

But when we get a big bootie show I like to sing Sir Mix a Lot’s “Baby got Back” with lyrics I wrote especially for BS:

I like big butts and I cannot lie
Those other babies can’t deny
When my baby dances around
All over the place
With a round thing in my face
I say, “Hey, baby, what’s going on?”


Okay, that’s all I got so far.

This might inspire a whole new career path for our child. And BS is a pretty cool rapper name.

Playing the pregnancy card

A bump can get you a more comfortable seat, a better parking spot, an earlier boarding time on a plane...

...but, apparently, it can't get you out of jury duty.

Me, to the clerk, "I'm due in the three weeks, can I be excused?"

Clerk: "Do you have a note from your doctor?"

"No, I have this," pointing to my enormous belly.

"Have a seat."

But I'm not going to get discouraged. After all, trial by jury is what makes our country so great. And as they reminded us yesterday, it is an HONOR to get chosen for jury duty. Plus, my fellow jurors tell me they're planning on throwing me a baby shower!