Julia

Twister

I hate amazon. I really really do. Many's the time I have sworn never to use them again and then... gosh but that one-click ordering is seductive.

Steve's 40th birthday is on December 8th. Since the rooftop party with live band and two-man vodka luge is out this year, I struggled to find something suitably momentous to celebrate his Very Special Day. Something that would stupefy and astound but could be planned and implemented from my couch and would involve no other effort on my part than providing the three digit security code on the back. Sensibly, I gave up and decided on a gift and... well, nevermind. I'll get to that later. Always a possibility that Steve might decide to while away the 45 minute stretches we go without seeing each other by reading my blog. Not bloody likely, mind you, since  his frequently stated position is that he gets more than enough of me as it is, but still possible.

So  I settled on this gift which is comprised of the actual present plus two smaller, related accessory presents. Let's say, for the sake of illustration, that I got him a boat and then a life jacket and some zinc oxide nose cream to go with it. OK? Well, I looked around online for the boat and the jacket and the cream and hesitated over ordering them from amazon but that siren song of one-click combined with super saver shipping swayed me. I don't know if we have discussed this particular failing of mine as we have gone over my numerous unattractive faults, but I have a thrifty side that borders on parsimony.  Poor Patrick has been walking around in pajamas that look like knee breeches all autumn because I had been unable to locate fleece boys' PJs that met my dual requirement of being $10 and offered with free shipping (Carter's outlet, by the by - no shipping but we have one fairly close.) But I digress.

As I was checking out I noticed the deceptively subtle notation from amazon that indicated the boat and the life jacket were ready to ship, but the zinc oxide would not ship until November 19th. Work with me on this. I needed Steve's presents by the 7th of December at the latest. I placed the order on November 13th. They offered to let me ship items separately but I would have to forego the super saver free shipping. And I am... frugal. So I believed them and said, fine, hold the order another 6 days. No big deal. And it would not have been a big deal if they weren't lying liars who lied. November 19th my ass. November 19th was just the day they started sending emails indicating that everything would ship on the 23rd. And then the 25th. On the 26th I got a message saying that they had shipped! The life jacket. On the 27th I got another message saying that the nose ointment would not arrive until after Christmas (presumptuous aren't they?) and the boat would be here some time between December 6th and December 15th. Not cool.

So I called them (NOT easy to locate an actual telephone number) and asked what the deal was. And they told me that the zinc oxide would not be available until February 11th and since I had asked to consolidate shipments.... fuck the zinc oxide, I said. Obliterate it. Cancel it and just get me the boat. I will now give unto half Steve's kingdom to insure that he has an actual gift on his actual birthday. I mean, in addition to the life jacket that is entirely meaningless in the absence of the boat. So the guy said okey-dokey and charged me a kidney for overnight shipping to insure that the boat that I had originally ordered back in early November would get here by December 7th. And I thought dark thoughts but agreed. And was relieved.

Until I received today's email. The email today joyfully announced the overnight shipment of... the zinc oxide.  For an extra $20. The thing I canceled. And the boat? Still MIA. Bastards. Yeah yeah, I know in the general scheme of global suffering the fact that my husband's birthday presents are getting screwed up ranks fairly low. But I like him and life is in the details and it is bumming me out.

My apologies for my insensitivity when I referred to our cat Kelvin's adorable little quirks (like repeatedly destroying our electronics) with mock hostility. I only realized later that my comments might have been erroneously construed as somehow less than 100% loving. Allow me to assure you that our entire goddamned house has been rearranged as a freaking cattery, from the special cat creche for Neurotic Beloved Cat #1 that is our master bedroom closet (litterbox, food, water, padded ramps) to the fact that Kelvin (Neurotic Beloved Cat #2) sleeps on Steve's lap all day and gets carried around when Steve needs to pee or get a sandwich. I cannot help but notice that I still have a few of these "pregnant and cranky" cards left in my hand, so forgive me when I do something appalling rude and actually laugh publicly at a commenter. Lady, when you find yourself suggesting that Steve and I (STEVE AND I) are somehow neglecting the emotional needs of our cats I can assure you that you, personally, have gone over the deep end. We epitomize crazy cat people. We have specially designed cat entrances cut into the interior walls of our home, for heavens' sake. If you are standing in a place where consultations with a veterinary opthamalogist (pay attention) fail to move you, then may I urge you: step away from that place. Criminey. Although I acknowledge that it would have been more respectful to call Kelvin "spacefuck mentally ill." So sorry about that.

The internet cracks me up sometimes. Truly.

I am very excited about my appointment tomorrow. Steve disagrees but I feel like 13b has dropped about four inches. His/her/its head was right here for a couple of weeks, totally obvious to the touch, like a hard grapefruit, but now it is gone. I am not sure quite where the head went, actually. The thing four inches lower feels kinda like a bottom, now that I poke around some more. I have started thinking about labor and I guess I should ask my OB what the deal is. I had been imagining things being exactly like when Patrick was born, plus another baby at the end, but I just realized that with 13b transverse breech and bigger than 13a I will probably be in an operating room for starters, won't I?

I notice online that when women (myself among them) reach a point of presumed viability with a pregnancy that had been questionable they tend to get a little punch-drunk. Whoooooohooooo! 32 weeks! Bust out the pinatas! In fact I googled my way onto one of those Ask the OB sites and this woman (not that I am one to gossip but really) wrote in to say: I am 32 weeks, 50% effaced and 1 cm dilated. What can I do to move things along? "Move things along"! At 32 weeks! The insanity. And I assume that people who have lived through NICU experiences probably look at this general dismissal of hospitalization for prematurity with a fairly large dose of disdain. Like it was probably annoying when I breezily said that I know the babies will not be coming home right away if they are born in the next few weeks, as if the 13s will just be stopping off somewhere en route. A party, perhaps, or Target.

Actually, I dread the idea of having these babies early. I just don't know what to do about it. Apart from promising not to start having copious sex and vacuuming everything the moment I hit 36 weeks, I can just continue to do what I have been doing with the understanding that it may or may not have anything to do with when I deliver. But I did want to acknowledge that the initials ICU have not escaped my attention and if I seem a little happy with the thought of delivering at 33 weeks it is only because I had moments in which I was fairly terrified that we would have them at 26 weeks. So there it is.   

PS When the Simpsons' children are handed over to the Flanders' family (Hi-di-ley-ho neglecterinos) one of the things the child protective services workers notice is the sign on Maggie's back saying: I'm a stupid baby. "But stupid babies need the MOST love," says one worker disapprovingly to the other. I assume this also applies to cats. Really makes you think.

Ebbs

This damned cat is going to be the death of me. I should post a picture of him some time. He's quite beautiful - are you familiar with Ragdolls? They look like long-haired Siamese, sort of like HImalayans but less Persian-y. Anyway, Kelvin has gorgeous blue eyes and chocolate markings and is just a lovely creature. He is also completely spacefuck crazy.

This cat threatens suicide more frequently than the entire combined population of a large suburban high school. He will literally hang over the... what do you call this thing? Our living room is two stories tall and around the top half is the upstairs hall... whatever it is called he squeezes between the railings and dangles himself over the edge, crying until someone notices him. He eats: rubber, plastic, photographs, tape, cardboard, elastic, foam, and the corners of books. He pees in our bedroom for no apparent reason. When Steve gets on a business call and accidentally shuts Kelvin out of his office Kelvin will wail and fling himself against the office doors. To date he has been to the vet more times than our other three cats combined - and he is the youngest. He once had emergency abdominal surgery to remove the digested baby monitor antennae tip that was causing a near-fatal obstruction. He was born with congenital cataracts and only sees with peripheral vision; a fact we established after taking him to a veterinary ophthalmologist. He has scars on his lip from his electric cord chewing addiction. Oh, and he gets chronic urinary tract infections that can only be managed by feeding him small lumps of gold.

We have tried to Kelvin proof the house as much as possible and we have him on an anti-anxiety medication to help with the compulsive chewing but... it doesn't help much.

Last night, and this was where I was going with this, he was asleep on my feet while I watched football and used my laptop. He stirred in his sleep, stretched a bit, opened his eyes, and then sank one sharp canine tooth into the cord running to my laptop's AC adapter, killing it instantly. You know, the thing that charges the battery? So although the laptop is fixed and the battery is mostly charged my time is very limited. We tried using the car charger cigarette lighter thing as a backup this morning, but when Steve left (late) to get Patrick from kindergarten we discovered that my laptop had drained the car battery.

Whoops.

Fortunately we were able to get a hold of a friend of mine who very nicely not only picked Patrick up but brought him over to her house for lunch and a playdate. Score. Still, I will need to remedy this laptop situation... again. Stupid cat.

Appointment. Friday. 32 weeks.

Although they checked the babies via ultrasound they did not take any measurements so I have no idea if 13a is growing or not. I did ask my OB after she checked the images if A is starving to death and she laughed and said no. They will check them again this coming Friday so we'll see. I had a couple of mighty contractions during the NST which prompted the nurse to say oh my, OH MY and my doctor to check me again. Although still nowhere near REAL contractions, they are strong enough now that I gasp through them. I also turn bright red and my heart races. Not sure what that is about. I am still about 50% effaced and dilated to 1 cm so.... no news there is great news. A is very very very low. I know I keep saying this to you but they keep saying this to me so I guess it bears repeating. 0/+1? Something like that. Everyone I talked to (nurse doctor and Doreen) said that when and if the membranes rupture we need to hightail it to the hospital because 13a WILL practically fall out. Good to know. Of course we have the logistics of getting Patrick squared away first but... no matter. 

My OB said that she did not think I would stay pregnant as long as we had been thinking. I asked if we had been thinking I would stay pregnant until 40 weeks (because I had been, secretly) and she said no, 37. So I said, misunderstanding her as always, great! 37 weeks! And she said no, more like 35. And then she gave me this hang in there slugger grimace and said that she just needed another two weeks from me. Just two more weeks. And she said that she did not want to increase the drugs and she thinks I am doing everything I can. Which technically is nothing. But I do nothing very well. So... yay me.

The rooms are ready except for the doors, which need to be planed. Steve (who knew?) does not do planing so we need the wood guys to come back. My mother heard that the smart money is on the twins arriving in less than a month and promptly went delightfully bananas. Not only are the dressers set up now but I am literally getting boxes every day from her with stuff to put in the dressers. I love my mother. Even if these putative baby boys are going to be somewhat... festive in a few of my mother's choices. She did point out that many men are gardeners, so I guess there is no real reason why boys cannot wear, oh, say, lavender with petunia appliqués. Patrick is deeply convinced he will be getting a brother and a sister so he greeted the clothes with approval: "Ah! Very nice for the girl!" he said as he looked at a sleeper that could, I suppose, be a manly peach but looked an awful lot like a girly rose from where I was sitting. It is fun, frankly, and whoever suggested that there is pleasure to be had from opening lots of little things is right.   

Steve graciously braved Target on the Friday after Thanksgiving while I had my appointment and got some stuff off my list. I know that if we do have these babies in the next few weeks I will not be bringing them home immediately anyway, therefore I have lots of time to do this - but I don't care. I want to feel ready and part of feeling ready is having spit up rags.

Hmmmm, blinking power light. Oh well.

Treble Clef

I hate to jinx things but I feel really, really good. 

I had weeks there in which every contraction felt like it was fraught with dark purpose but for the past few days they have been sort of... unimpressive. It is hard to describe but I am just feeling more normal and provided 13a is actually growing I think my chances of having babies later rather than sooner are pretty good. Aurelia pointed out that the thing to do is have them check blood flow to the babies and when I read that I remembered that they had done so. And no one screamed or anything so I guess everything checked out ok. Not to mention the fact that they repeated the fetal fibronectin on Friday and it was negative. I could have sworn I put that in my last post but I see that I did not. Anyway, the situation is pretty rosy as far as I am concerned. I feel confident that I am good for another few weeks yet. But how clever of me not to waste money on lots of maternity clothes. 99% of the time I wear my normal nonpregnant pajama bottoms and a long sleeved maternity shirt or something of Steve's. Am I cute? No. Comfortable? Emphatically.

Julie (linking on my laptop is such a drag. you know Julie. alittlepregnant. grand duchess of infertility blogging) is in town doing an IVF cycle and she came over on Sunday brimming with her usual charm and bearing gifts. She brought the NICEST present for Patrick. Every time I think about it I get all misty. She hand dyed him 11 socks in 11 different brilliant colors. Yesterday he spent five minutes trying to decide which combination to wear and finally held up the one that was a shocking pink: "If I was a girl," he said, "I would wear this one."

"You can wear that one," I told him.

"Great!" he said. And he did. With a turquoise on the other foot for balance. He, in turn, had picked out all of his Vermont state quarters for her so there was a ritual gift exchange that insured that the honor of both our tribes was preserved. Quite nice.

Julie was supposed to come over again last night but apparently she took ONE VALIUM and was so flattened by it she sounded like the older sister in "Sixteen Candles." The one with her wedding veil stuck to her tongue. Oh, Julie swore me to secrecy about that by the way, so don't tell anyone. Just... if you are ever looking for a driver for your magical mystery bus may I suggest you keep looking? ONE valium. Jeesh.

Someone on the last post mentioned that she is a planner and therefore the idea of Least Resistence Parenting gives her the wobbles. I sympathized utterly because I, too, am a planner. Actually Steve (he's so darling) uses the term "scary control freak" but you know... tomato, tomahto. So because I do not know, for example, where the 13s will sleep, I have six different options ready for them: two soon-to-be-finished bedrooms complete with two cribs, a co-sleeper, a Moses basket, the historic family bassinet in which Steve's father first dozed, our bed once I get the waterproof mattress pad on it, and a twin bed setup in what I think will be baby B's room in case I need to sleep up there with them. Wait, how many options was that? Enough. And you can bet your sweet biscuits I am not the sort of person to accept that someone can just run out for newborn diapers later. I have a list, a combination Target/Babies R Consumers list, that I have been working on steadily for weeks now and I am just waiting for the opportunity to go through it like a sirocco. I could send Steve, of course, if I have to but  it  would give me so much pleasure to cross things off as I go that I hope I get to do it. I asked my OB when she thought I might go off the terbutaline pump and she said that as long as I am still responding to it then I will have it until 37 weeks. She went on to remind me what term is and gave me a look that told me not to be such a pansy.

Steve is going to Patrick's Math Curriculum Celebration at the school today, whatever the hell that is. I think they have finished one unit and are starting another. Since we have not received a single piece of information from Patrick's math teacher all year apart from those few completed worksheets that he had doctored I am anxious for Steve to report back on what they are doing in there. Patrick says that math is his favorite thing about kindergarten so he must be happy enough with it. Oh and he is certainly learning how to show his work, so to speak. This morning he was complaining about his oatmeal and I told him that he was leaving for school in 15 minutes whether he ate it or not. He then asked how many seconds that would be. I told him he needed to multiply 15 by 60 and then he said, pause, 900. Which I admit impressed me so (after I thought about it - math is not my thing) I said yeah and how did he work that out? September Patrick would have shrugged and said he just knew it but November Patrick said: 15 is triple 5 and there are 300 seconds in 5 minutes and 900 is triple 300. Ta da. And yes, I did just brag about my five year old's math skills. So there. I think it is really cool. I keep thinking that his math teacher might send a note home saying golly but your child is very consistent in adding together single digits, or something but... no. Not a peep. However, and I mean this so please do not yell at me about the Importance of Childhood, he is obviously learning process if not content and he says he likes it so no worries.

Julie is coming over again in a few minutes. Be back later.             

Cornflakes

I have started a few posts this week but they were all so crotchety I did not bother to post them. I am not feeling particularly crabby, I swear, so I do not know why I keep writing these snippy sentences about how ANNOYING I find the Talk to Your Kids About Sex ads (my two second objection: I am fine with everything about the campaign up until the point when they say: "tell your kids to wait until marriage to have sex" at which point I grit my teeth not just because I personally think this is completely absurd - a message not reflective of my beliefs, shall we say - but in fairness I would be equally offended if the message was "tell your kids that they should wait until their late teens/early twenties and always use condoms and hold off until they know the interesting party well enough to call them on the phone without needing more than one word to explain who they are, but after that: enjoy!" because this would conflict with, say, your belief that sexual intimacy needs to be reserved for the sanctified confines of marriage. I don't get why the federal government needs to take a moralistic approach one way or another. why not just remind people that they need to discuss THEIR values with their children? huh? it irks me. also, ps, abstinence programs do not work. the end.)

I had my now weekly appointment yesterday. I give it a 5 - some good, some less good. 13b is 3lbs 10oz which is great. 13a is estimated to be 2lbs 14oz which is less great. B has always been bigger but the difference between them is getting larger. However, my OB feel that A is probably not that small. They calculate fetal weights based upon three measurements: abdominal circumference, femur lengths and head something or other like circumference. Since 13a's head is literally submerged almost entirely in my pelvis it is extremely difficult to get an accurate measurement on it. The doctor said she does not believe that 13a is starting to show real indications of growth retardation, but we will look at how things are going next week. I admit that of all of the things going on this is the one that worries me the most. Beyond the sizes she checked to see that they were moving and practicing their breathing and doing other gestationally appropriate things. They were. Oh and A is, obviously, head down but B is still breech. B is stretched diagonally across my abdomen with his/her/its head resting on top of A's feet. In my fantasy birth scenario 13a exits and 13b tips downward as a result and the whole thing takes about 5 minutes. We'll see. An uncomplicated, nonsurgical delivery would be nice but I am not going to worry about it. For what it is worth my OB practically wears a button stating "Ask Me About How Excellent I Am At Breech Versions" - it is rather a point of pride with her.   

My cervix is now funneling - a new development from last week. Funneling is when it opens on the inside, which google tells me precedes dilation. Of course, google also told me that dilation precedes effacement after a first pregnancy so this is hardly set in granite. Cervix to date has effaced, funneled, changed position, softened and dilated a little. I realized yesterday that my OB's "fingertip" is everyone else's "one cm." Not a big deal but I like to keep accurate records. Meanwhile baby A has descended to about -1/0 station. You know, this would actually be a perfect pre-labor pattern if only it were all taking place about five weeks from now. After the ultrasound showed a veritable Panama Canal threading away just below A's head; Steve kept me company during a non-stress test while I fretted about the possibility of having the babies, say, this week or next. My OB was very reassuring, though, and I am no longer as concerned as I was. My mom and Steve are betting on early December. My OB never guesses about anything. Friday I thought I would have them this week, Saturday I settled on Christmas, 2:18 last night I voted for this morning when a full-bore very real very painful contraction woke me up. 2:22 I reassessed the situation and concluded that nothing was actually happening - the contraction had been corked like a warning gator.

Believe it or not I am really enjoying this pregnancy. Parts have been a little nerve-wracking and the bed rest has been a challenge (I have started dreaming, literally dreaming, about re-organizing Patrick's play room and stacking baby stuff on closet shelves in neat rows and making real food for myself) but it could all be so much worse. I could have actually had the babies already. Steve could work away from the house. A few years ago I would not have had so many friends to take Patrick and bring us food and come over to keep me company. I have started throwing up again in the morning (good grief) but  other than that I feel great. And it is exciting. It is wonderful to have something so immense to look forward to.

Steve and Patrick got the other room painted yesterday and they assure me they will get the wood trim put up and the door put in place today. Right now there is just a door hole and the drywall scraggles to an end half an inch above the carpet. Someone, somewhere asked if we were planning on putting them in separate rooms and the truth is we have no idea; although we will have two rooms set up. Patrick slept with us for the first six months and I expect these babies will be in our room a while. In keeping with my copyrighted "Theory of Path of Least Resistance Parenting" allow me to assure you: we will do whatever is easiest. If the babies cry more when they are together we will separate them. If they cry more when they are apart we will let them share a shoebox if they like. I have no problem with developing ideas about how you will do things before your child arrives, I just think it is silly. I know nothing about these kids. Nothing. In retrospect we should have moved Patrick out of our room muuuuuuch sooner than we did. I was stubbornly attached to the notion that I was soothing him with my presence when in fact I was just disturbing his sleep. Patrick now sleeps in an extremely dark room with the door shut and as little noise as possible. It wasn't until he was able to talk that I was informed that he DID NOT LIKE the music playing while the fell asleep and he DID NOT LIKE the night light and he DID NOT LIKE the door open just a crack. Personal preference. This time around I have promised myself that I will be more receptive to nonverbal cues. If a baby sleeps better curled up on my chest and tucked under my nightshirt - awesome. If we get an extra five minutes by letting the child sleep in a corner of the basement in a car seat - terrific. I am open to any and all possibilities.   

I keep thinking that this post is going to blossom into something if I continue to tinker with it but I have been writing it piecemeal for days and it is never going to turn into anything. So, forgive me for the banal update.                        

30 Weeks

Item the first - Mandy wanted to know more about the terbutaline pump and the contraction monitor. It is about 2 inches by 3 inches and weighs less than 3 oz. It comes with a little case that theoretically clips to your belt loop but believe it or not my pajamas were not designed to be belted. I usually just carry it around in my hand. Actually, I usually forget all about it until it falls on the floor and starts bobbing after me. And then the cats pounce or Patrick steps on the cord or something. Many people think the age of physical comedy is dead but not me, sister. The difference between a continuous low dose and intermittent higher doses is that I no longer feel any terbutaline side effects. No shaky hands, no racing heart. Of course, I also  have not had less than four contractions in an hour for over week and I am more frequently getting seven or nine or even twelve. I might be better off with a cotton candy pump. They have increased my dosage two times now and added a permanent extra dose yesterday. We will see.

The logistics of contraction monitoring is just like the setup at a doctor's office, only smaller. You get the velcro belt, the circlular plastic thing and a cord that attaches to a monitor. The monitor magically records contractions for an hour and then you send the recorded data to the nurses (I think mine are in Texas) via a fax-like machine. Within an hour the nurses call to tell you how many contractions you had and what they want you to do next.

To be honest, I do not think it has anything to do with preventing preterm labor but I am positive it prevents unnecessary L&D visits. In an ideal world we would all spend our pregnancies doing yoga and drinking kelp shakes but should you wind up worrying about an early baby the terb pump/monitor deal isn't so bad. And it is reassuring to know that someone who knows what they are doing is keeping an eye on you. That is my summary and I hope that helps.

Item the second - Since I showed hubris and mentioned that I am  not suffering from any back pain or sleep problems or swelling or troubled breathing I have been smacked with something arguably worse. As is right and proper of course; never show hubris. I have gotten a migraine every single day since Wednesday. And I don't mean like gosh, my head sorta hurts, but a full-fledged 30 minutes of jagged  flashing lights in the shape of  a greater than sign followed  by a CRUSHING headache. On Thursday I curled up on the couch and cried before throwing up into a bowl. Steve was so concerned he actually called my OB on his own initiative. Yesterday I had not one migraine but two.  Thank god for Fiorcet and let me just say that the next person who criticizes the pharmaceutical industry in my presence is getting smacked in the mouth.  Migraines are awful. Migraines while contracting are... there are no words.

But other than that, I feel terrific.

Item the third - Steve took Patrick to his parent-teacher-child conference this week. Being a parent is hard, that's all I have to say. We have NO IDEA what the right thing is to do with Patrick. None. We seem to be in a situation in which his existing mastery of the material is perceived as a good thing. Like, see? He got these problems right on this worksheet, so school is going great for him (although he needs to cooperate more with cleanup). Meanwhile, he had flipped the page over and written new problems for himself that were harder.

It's a pickle.      

Item the fourth - I am finally realizing that I am most likely not going to carry these babies to 38 weeks. Steve and my mother were both, like, snuh, ya think? but I have really been thinking that I was not going to go into labor until I felt like it. Apart from a few scary moments over the past five weeks, I rarely feel like I should have a toothbrush in my purse or something just in case.

At  Friday's appointment I was 50% effaced, a fingertip dilated (totally meaningless, probably just  a souvenir from Patrick) and Baby A is at -1 station. I don't think any of these tell us anything, really, but combined with the contractions and the shortening cervix and the twin thing and the not gained much weight thing... well let us just say I am a candidate for 2007 babies. So I need to buy some long-sleeved undershirts and maybe get someone to wash the car seat that Steve was using to hold potting soil. Worse thing that happens is they sit in a closet somewhere for another two months.

Steve and Patrick finished one baby room and even put together the crib and the dresser for that room. Patrick filled the crib with couch cushions and a throw blanket, which actually looks pretty nice. A total hazard for the babies, of course, but I have noticed that designers always care more about how things look than how they work. Frank Lloyd, for example, did lovely things but when you go into a Wright house you will notice that there is no place to put actual stuff. Like shoes and baking powder and scissors. Stuff. Function. I told Patrick that babies don't sleep with pillows because they might suffocate and he stared at me for a long time before saying, "But these pillows are orange."      

PS Since you asked, the REDBOOK post about infertility was written by Julie and was accidentally posted on the mom site instead of the infertility site.

PPS If Baltimore, Arizona, Oakland and Dallas win this afternoon Patrick wins the pool.

Shrinking World

My mother was here and I still feel guilty about the crappy time she had. Four days spent waiting on me and Patrick hardly seems  worth the plane ride. She insisted that she didn't mind but I still feel like a jerk for imposing my slothdom on her. I was explaining this to my brother who said, "Oh yeah, you really need to thank her." Sometimes I want to smack him. Really I do. Golly, it had never occurred to me to thank my mom for getting up with Patrick every day at seven and spending the rest of the day either making comfort food for me or playing variations on a game Patrick invented called War Tug. The rules of this game are obscure but the execution involved a lot of running, shrieking and bodily slamming of boy into grandmother. The fun diminishes by generation, I think. Anyway, the point is that my brother clearly thinks I am an idiot. Or rude. Or both.   

It felt antisocial to stay in bed and read while she was here so I moved on to the couch to be closer to the action. When she wasn't otherwise engaged she would sit with me and knit a baby blanket (a suspiciously pink blanket  for a woman with three grandsons - not that she cares what we have, of course, provided they are healthy. and into American Girl dolls) and I would try to keep Patrick from mauling her. Eventually I decided to try to bribe the boy with a little Science channel. As I scrolled through the channels, however, I was momentarily riveted by a scene unfolding on the television. There was a bride. There were bridesmaids. Someone was crying and flowers weren't reddish-yellow they were yellowish-red and everything was RUINED and...  and it was awesome. My mother and I discovered the previously undreamed of world of 24-hour-a-day reality wedding shows and we laughed our heads off. Wedding shows are, of course, nothing but gateway programming so by the time I had to stay up until midnight redosing and remonitoring in an effort to get my contractions under six an hour my mom and I had branched out into reality real estate. Best line, from some woman who was trying to spruce up her house for sale by doing the most half-assed paint job I have ever seen in my life (Steve would have had an apoplexy): [after limply pushing a paint roller every which way in a three foot radius and looking at the broad expanse of wall still undone] "I'll get the cleaning lady to finish it tomorrow."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ohhhhhhhhh how we did laugh.    

I finally asked for some clarification on this uterine monitoring I am doing because it has been a complete mystery up until this point. They count anything that lasts longer than 40 seconds as a contraction. If it is shorter than 40 seconds they call it irritability, minor medium or lots. Irritability is meaningless. When I have more than six contractions in an hour they have me take an extra dose of terbutaline and then have me remonitor for another hour. Repeat if necessary. I can dose twice and monitor three times and then they call my doctor if I am still over the threshold. It is then up to my doctor if she wants to up the dose or send me into L&D. This has never happened to me so I don't know what my doctor would say. She seems pretty laid-back about it all, but I cannot figure out if that is because she does not think I am going to go into labor any time soon or if it is because she accepts the inevitability of such things and sees no point in pretending otherwise. I asked the ultrasound tech to measure my cervix again (did I tell you this already, sorry if I am repeating myself) last Wednesday and it is down to 2.2cm. I think it was about 3.5cm before ten days before that. I thought this was significant but no one else in the office did, so I suppose it is not. Oh, and A was just under 2.5 lbs and B was just over.

The babies are very bony and they don't kick so much as... undulate. I feel like a lava lamp.  Actually I still feel terrific all things considered. Hey here's a question for you - I should have asked the doctor when she examined me last week but Steve was in an incredible hurry to get the hell out of there so he could go have pheasants settle on his shoulders while he sang  in North Dakota and his impatience kept breaking my train of thought. Actually I wanted to kill him during that appointment but I am over it. One word for you though, people: p-r-i-o-r-i-t-i-e-s. But I digress. When the doctor did the cervical exam she noted that she was able to feel Baby A's head. Does that... mean anything?

Patrick and Steve have just arrived home so I should start trying to trick Patrick into telling me about his day. I figure it's the least I can do.