A sappy love letter to my baby

Yes, I get serious and even sappy sometimes. I figured I'd share the other side of me. The slightly less evil side, in the 11th hour before my sweet little boy is born:

Thursday, October 12th, 2006

Dear Jackson,

It's early morning and I'm the only one awake. Your dad and I will leave for the hospital in just a couple of hours and will hopefully be holding a beautiful you by day's end. It's a surreal experience to know I'll finally be able to look you in the eyes and smell your newborn scent.

Yet, as excited as I am to meet you, a part of me is saddened at the thought of letting you go. You have been growing inside of me your entire life thus far, which has been the better part of a year; a gem glittering in the light for me alone. A special treasure. Sharing something so precious with the rest of the world is a sense of immense pride coupled, perhaps, with a small yet selfish desire to want to keep you to myself.

It seems like only yesterday when I stared at two lines on a pregnancy test: one of them was fairly faint, but I knew what it meant. Life would never again be the same. Reality had shifted in the most amazing way. It was a Monday evening and we were preparing to have our financial advisor over to discuss life insurance. It was a typical, uneventful day with few surprises - until you let me know in no uncertain terms that you were there.

Shock turns to fear and fear into pure joy. From that moment, Joy has been a constant throughout our journey together thus far, despite the typical miseries that come with the gift of a fertile body. Pregnancy is emotionally challenging and physically exhausting, to say the least, despite its obvious reward. I would be lying if I said otherwise!

But I would take none of it back, sweet Jackson. None of it at all. How could I? You wait at the end of this rainbow. There is no bigger reward than that.

I will never forget the first time I felt you wiggle inside of me. It wasn't a gentle, bubbly feeling like I experienced with your brothers, but a mighty kick that surprised me from someone so small. Since then, your strong movements have been a constant reminder of the amazing work my body has done in helping you grow. They bring a smile to my face no matter what kind of day I've had.

I've never felt more beautiful than I have with you growing within me. My belly, while quite large and cumbersome at this point, serves an honourable purpose that makes it gorgeous in my eyes. My body is working on a masterpiece that fills me with pride. One would think that by a third pregnancy I might be less impressed with these things than I was the first two times around, but that simply isn't the case. The truth is, I appreciate it all the more this time. Yet another gift I've received from you.

I will miss having you growing inside of me. I'll always remember sharing this very special bond with my last baby boy. And yet I know there's so much more to look forward to. Tonight I will hold you in my arms instead of in my womb. I can't wait, little one. May our journey today be peaceful and endlessly rewarding.

With so much love and anticipation,
Mom

Oh, I've got a lovely bunch of contractions!

Dee dee lee dee dee!
There they are all hurting in a row,
Big ones, small ones, ones as big as my head,
Some of them are big enough to wake me up in bed!

The blogtunes(tm) in yesterday's comments are killing me! Impossible Mom even sang me some of her original score on the phone this morning. That's love for you, people. That's love.

I just got back from a trip to the Old People's Mall with my friend, Lushgrrl. I bought nursing bras, underwear, track pants and a t-shirt. All the exciting stuff that makes The Maven what she is.

The woman at Sears felt bad for me and gave me a candy. I guess she figured it couldn't hurt, since I'm already bigger than most of the people who are big enough to ride on those motorized carts (I'm slightly jealous of them lately in a highly irrational way). I wore my orange shirt and walked around as The Great Pumpkin for the last time *sniff*.

Not surprisingly, the stretch and sweep caused a bunch of holy hell contractions which mostly died off by 11pm last night. They started up again today but I feel no closer to labour than I was before. So, tomorrow at 8:30am I will be getting assaulted by a crochet hook and hopefully greeting the spawn of Maven shortlt thereafter.

I'll have to come up with a clever name for him while I'm recovering. Intrepid, Gutsy and... ?

While we're at it, any bets on weight?

Intrepid: Born at 39 weeks and 1 day, weighing in at 10lbs 6oz.
Gutsy: Born at 38 weeks and 2 days, weighing in at 10lbs 4oz.
InUtero Boy: Should be born at 40 weeks and 3 days, weighing in at ???

Wish us happy labour vibes! I'm so excited *hops (hobbles) off*

Insane in the membranes!

Is it wrong that I was really looking forward to using that title?

By wrong, one could assume I mean pathetic, which is true.

So, that whole membrane stripping thing isn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was over in a matter of seconds, although I can't say I feel much different now - about half an hour later - than I did before it happened. It's still early, though. I'm going to vigorously clean the house and hope I can get some type of labour going. I'm wondering if I should buy the doctor some roses now that we've been, you know, intimate.

But regardless of this outcome, I shall have a baby by the end of Thursday. It has been decreed that I, The Maven, will have my water broken on the morning of October 12th if labour has not commenced on its own by then. My doctor will be working in the hospital that day and wants to oversee the proceedure (she's not there again until the 25th). We both decided this was the best course of action to avoid a cesarean in my particular case. She's afraid that if she sends me there on a day when she's not around, they may decide not to break the water and instead just slice and dice up my poor tummy without giving the spawnling a chance to crawl out on his own.

I would love to go into labour naturally and really hope I do sometime tonight or tomorrow. However, if that doesn't happen I'm feeling really positive about what an active role I've taken in making this as good for InUtero Boy and I as possible.

I'm still 2cm dilated and have lost another cm as he's dropped further into my pelvis. I'm now only measuring four weeks ahead at 44cm. Horray! Maybe he won't be the monster I was anticipating (my definition of monster is weighing over 11lbs - it's slightly distorted from what most people consider a big baby. But when you've birthed 10lb gremlins before, it's natural to have a skewed view of these things). He's also fully engaged and ready go to now, which is why we can safely do the membrane rupture on Thursday if necessary.

I would post more, but I'm more excited than a rich kid of divorced parents at Christmas and have about a million things to do over the next 12-48 hours, depending on how things go.

Weeeeeeeee!!

Much a-due about nothing

Today is my due date. I'm still pregnant. I shall say no more about my misery, except that I also have a cold and my computer required reinstallation due to a virus. I've complained enough now, thank you.

I did get some shopping therapy in, though. Nothing for me, necessarily, but I got a (half-sweet, pumkin spice) latte out of the deal and the gremlins were excellent in the maul. I also got an hour long nap and made a dinner any slacker mom would be proud of. Booyeah, Maven.

Bored, sick, incredibly pregnant women have very little of interest to say, as you can probably figure out by my posts over the last few days... weeks... ok, months. Making fun of others has become a passtime of the utmost importance. Today is no exception. Has anyone else noticed Dr. Phil's new teeth? Robin apparently got to the good doctor over the summer months, convincing him that it was time to blind his audience every time he opens his mouth. All I can do is stare in horror. He's having a hard time speaking with those fake pearlies, too. They look so very, very wrong. I keep wondering if he's going to take them out and drop them in a glass right before the commercial break. Eep.

Now, I'm not opposed to dental work when its needed. I had some very old, yellowed crowns as front teeth, acquired at the age of thirteen after an, um, car accident. Yeah. A car accident which had nothing to do with a teenage Maven chasing her gerbil onto a highway and getting hit by a Toyota as a result. Nothing at all. Desperate Bon-Bon Eater's honour.

*AHEM*

Anyway, I had to replace those baby chicklets with something that fits my adult mouth. This resulted in a not-so-cheap, six tooth bridge. But you know, I gots a purdy mouth now. My upper front teeth look like they had braces on them for a few years. The difference between what I have vs. what the McGraws have is that mine aren't likely to cause permanent retina damage in the person I smile at. I have the whitest natural colour. Key word: natural. It doesn't look like I just swished with a mouthful of bleach.

Celebrities are just bored. They have too much money and nothing to spend it on. It's becoming increasingly easy to convince them that they need something. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes bought an ultrasound machine, for goodness sakes. Imagine what that child was exposed to in utero. I'm guessing the reason they didn't show off baby Suri for months is because she needed her third eye and the nostril in her neck removed before picture day.

I'm hoping InUtero Boy will not have anything abnormal but the horns and tail I'm anticipating. Maybe some little fangs, which I can excuse away until after Hallowe'en, anyway.

Tomorrow I go see my doctor for the membrane stripping party. Woohoo! I just love uncomfortable proceedures that may or may not put me into labour! After that fun time, we get to book the slicing and dicing of yours truly, just in case the doctor's magic fingers don't do the trick. If I feel no labour coming on by Wednesday morning, I'm going to get me some accupuncture and prenatal massage, in hopes of avoiding surgery later this week or early the next. The whole staples-in-the-stomach-while-caring-for-a-newborn thing doesn't really entice me a second time. It's through the hooha or bust! (then again, I'd rather the babe not come out my bust - that might make breastfeeding challenging).

And I wonder why a lot of guys don't read my blog...

Cabbies bring out the worst in me

al‧ter‧ca‧tion  /ˌɔltərˈkeɪʃən/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[awl-ter-key-shuhn] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation

–noun

a heated or angry dispute; noisy argument or controversy.

—Synonyms quarrel, disagreement, clash; squabble, tiff.

So I had a bit of an altercation yesterday with a taxi driver. From previous posts, you may be thinking we were driving in a school zone and he hit a few children while passing me at well beyond the legal limit. In fact, I was on foot and not in a slow-the-hell-down area. Apparently my rage extends to all areas of the road. Do something well or don't do it at all, I always say.

I was at a busy intersection in the downtown sector of our city and was waiting to cross at the light with Intrepid and Gutsy. Intrepid had the day off and we were making our way to Gutsy's preschool to drop him off. In fact, we were right across the road from the preschool. All we had to do was wait for the walk signal and we could go. There were vehicles making right turns in front of us at the red (which is legal where we live).

When the light went green and the walk signal came on, I looked to see if anyone else was making a last minute turn in front of us. There was a cab driver on his cell phone who was stopped, so I presumed it was safe to go. We had gone a few steps into the intersection when he started making his turn, oblivious to the fact that we were in front of him. He slammed on his break about five or six feet from Intrepid and rudely motioned for us to hurry up.

Now, I don't know about you, but I would never rudely motion a very pregnant woman with two children across the street when I didn't see them because I was too busy chatting on my cell, nearly hit one of her kids and she has the legal right of way. Something about it being my fault might make me not want to do that.

I made eye contact and pointed to the big, white, shiny guy attached to the street sign across the street that indicates a 'walk' around here, then continued to walk my children across the street.

The friendly taxy driver slammed his horn on in protest.

At this point I think I did what any mature, thirty-year-old mother would do in this circumstance: I extended my arm over and behind Intrepid's head so as to obscure my children's view and flipped the guy off. I'm nothing if not classy and level-headed.

At this point I think the cabby did what any mature, middle-aged professional driver would do in this circumstance: He rolled down his window and, mostly veiled under a thick accent, yelled something about crossing the street and called me an asshole.

That was the end of it. I wanted to lodge a complaint with the cab company, but I didn't get the guy's license or taxi number. I also wanted to pretend that one of the dads I sit on the preschool board with didn't see me flip off a taxi driver in the middle of the day with my children present. It was just a tad embarassing.

I need to get my senses back. That means I need to pop out the spawnling, get through the first few sleepless weeks and go collect my brain from storage.

Tonight's a full moon. I've started taking a homeopathic (very mild) blue cohosh on top of the evening primrose oil. Let's hope it's enough to get this labour shizzit going, yo. Any longer and I'm likely to start swearing at imaginary people and putting tinfoil on my head. Nanu, nanu.

Geekster for the gold!

Pregnancy is just not meant for wussies like me.

Yesterday Geekster sat down next to me and asked what was wrong. It was apparent something was amiss, as I wouldn't meet his gaze, was fairly quiet and in full-out pout mode.

'Everything,' I replied with a downcast stare and a sigh.

'Do you want to talk about it?' he asked .

'No, because there's just too much to talk about,' I retorted in the whiniest voice possible.

Then the floodgates opened and I cried like a big sissy baby about how I want the baby to come, but I don't want him to come before he's ready, but how do I know when he's ready, and what if he never comes on his own, and how I don't want a c-section, but I'm a little scared of childbirth because of my past experiences, but I'm also scared of a c-section, and I dread the recovery time, but what if something happens during labour, but what if something happens during a c-section, and how awful is it that I'm dying to get this baby out when it's my last pregnancy, and will I go into postpartum depression because I'll feel bad that I wished the last few days away, am I depressed now because I'm crying, or is this normal, or is nothing normal because I'm just a spaz, and is it going to be anticlimatic when he's born, and what if he cries all the time and I want to put him back in, and...

Like I said: Big sissy baby = me, The Maven, who should be called Wussy Psycho Pregnant Chick, or The Artist Formally Known as The Maven.

It's amazing what a good partner can do. Within minutes he had me calmed down with a reassuring voice and a hand on my knee. He didn't minimize my fears, not did he add to them. He was just there. Exactly where I needed him to be, saying exactly what I needed him to say.

There's a reason I do very little complaining about my husband. There really isn't much to complain about. He can be a big whiny sissy baby too, but I think he only does it so that I don't feel inadequate. He realizes I need to save the day sometimes to maintain the level of ego I've grown accustomed to. It's very nice of him, really. Thoughtful, even.

As a result of my sobfest last night I am feeling a world better today. I'm 39 weeks and 3 days. The world hasn't ended. My body is still holding up (read: in various states of pain and/or discomfort depending on the time of day and/or circumstances, but still largely intact). InUtero Boy is still happily kicking away in there, finding new ways to pinch and prod at my insides. He's healthy and I'm healthy. I'm looking at the bright side of things. I want to meet him so badly, but I can wait until it's time. Whether that time comes naturally or via a scalpel we have yet to see. I'm not going to stress about it right now. We still have time for things to happen on their own; frankly, we have as much time as I want there to be, providing that he's still content in there.

The gremlins are doing quite well. I haven't posted about them lately because they've been surprisingly well-behaved most of the time. What's the fun if I can't bitch about them, you know? It sort of takes the zing out of it. No matter: there will be a new baby to shake things up fairly shortly and I'm sure Gutsy will be showing us a whole new side of him, giving me plenty of new material to explore in my blog. It doesn't help that he's going through a cuddly-love-my-mommy stage, either. The results of having a newborn attached to my breast 24/7 may prove catastrophic to our family due to a distraught preschooler. Suffice to say that the next few weeks will prove to be memorable.

Well, time for ER. I must check on Abby and her baby. I'm such a sucker.

There is no baby, only Zool

My phone rings around lunch time today.

"Hello?"

"Oh. Okay, then," says Jobthingy on the other line.

"...Sorry?"

"I was just calling to see if there was a baby yet. You haven't posted in your blog so I thought you might be having a child."

"Um, no. But obviously I'll be calling you when the real thing happens."

"Ok, good. Thanks."

"..."

Jobthingy and The Madre are very similar in many respects. This is a scary discovery, as I didn't realize the world could handle two people... uh, like that. I've decided never to let them meet as I have a feeling I couldn't handle them both at the same time. They'd gang up on me in under five minutes, especially if I haven't posted in my blog yet that day.

So no, there is no baby. There is no sign of a baby appearing in the very near future. I'm still contracting, I'm still miserable and I'm still the size of eight soccer fields. I still get many pitiful/mortified looks and extremely bright comments. Here are some of my favourites:

'Wow! You have a big belly!'

I would love to look down, go wide-eyed and start screaming: 'OH MY GOD! OH CRAP! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT??! SOMEBODY HELP ME!'

If anything, it would clear out the Tim Horton's line and I could get my coffee faster.


'Are there twins in there?'

I actually replied once with 'Septuplets, actually. I'm due in six months.'


'Have you popped that kid yet?'

I normally just say 'No, not yet', but last week, when a member of my 12 step group asked (jokingly, of course) I said 'Yeah, but he was ugly looking so I put him back in.'

Oh, the joys of late pregnancy.

Today marks the longest I've ever gone in a pregnancy: 39 weeks and 2 days. To celebrate, I had my black and white belly picture blown up to an 8x10 and bought a nice frame so it can be put up in the nursery (read: so when Geekster needs a break from Hormonal Beast Girl, he has an excuse to disappear and do something productive). I also made Rice Krispy squares with Gutsy and will be doing some laundry in a bit, as I only have two pairs of pants and three shirts that fit over my belly.

I don't know what it means that InUtero Boy is taking as long as he is. He must be mastering an entirely new form of evil. Something that will put his brothers to shame, or at least bring them to their knees in admiration. I just hope he doesn't grow a tail while he's in there. The horns are enough of a giveaway. And at least for those I have an array of newborn hats until he's old enough that I can file them down.

My prenatal went well in the sense that the babe and I are both very healthy. He's measuring 45cm instead of 46cm this week and is lower than he was. Hey, I'll take any sign of impending labour right now, thankyouverymuch.

However, remember the prelabour I mentioned over the weekend that lasted for over 20 hours and sent me into 'We should go to the hospital because this might be it?' mode? I told the doctor what had happened, that I had been examined and was told there had been no change. She tried to be the positive person she is and said 'Well, let's check again, ok? Because I record not only dilation, but cervical position, effacement and firmness. So I might find that it actually did bring you closer'.

Then she stuck her fingers into places that are quite uncomfortable, felt around a bit and said 'No change from last time. Sorry.'

And you know what? We had a good laugh. Because really, that's all you can do. Especially when you're already bordering on insanity like I am. Giggling is far more fun than crying or gnawing on things.

In the end, what was supposed to be my final prenatal most likely isn't. I see her on the 10th - my 'official' due date - to get my membranes stripped (if you don't know what that is, lucky you) and book a cesarean for a few days later. *sigh* I don't want a cesarean, so I am willing to try just about anything to promote labour coming on its own. The hospital won't induce me because of the risk of placental abruption in VBACs. I don't know if I quite agree, but I do know that Pitocin fills me with a pain I would rather not experience for a third time, so I'll go with their recommendations. I'm going to try some massage and accupuncture later this week if nothing happens on its own.

Remind me to use 'Insane in the Membranes' as my blog post for the day I get my membranes stripped, ok? It's just too great a line to pass up.

***
Last, but not least (but last because I had to whine first - it's a mandatory end-of-pregnancy requirement):

A BIG congrats to the VTs (that would be Kate's family) who have welcomed baby Boston into the world! You can find adorable pictures here. I'm so thrilled for them!

Hey! Guess who's having a baby?!

Please guess. Please. Don't say 'The Maven' because you'll be wrong. There is no baby coming out of this uterus any time soon. InUtero Boy is called 'InUtero Boy' for a reason. Did you know you can use Air Miles to stay in Hotels? Well, apparently you can at Chateau Maven as well, and the spawnling has a platinum card with 17,839,375,943 points.

Anyway, the answer to the question above is 'Kate'. I keep waiting to hear about her baby. Her last blog post has left us all anxiously anticipating baby Boston's arrival. Whats' up with that? You'd think they're busy or something, and that's not really fair. If I can't have my baby yet I need the instant gratification of celebrating someone else's baby's arrival. Not cool at all. The Great Pumpkin shall bring her no gifts.

I contracted for 19 hours before going to the hospital. At the end they were three minutes apart and just over a minute long. They hurt, they didn't go away when I would change positions and I was absolutely exhausted from having only slept three hours (due to the contractions).

Guess what? Upon a cervical check, I was told they made absolutely no difference. Surprise! And by the time we left the hospital yesterday they had tapered off to every 4-7 minutes. Bah, humbug.

No, I didn't burst into tears, but I nearly did. Very close. I've been trying to stay positive and all that crap.

The good news is that I got a good night's sleep and that I feel much better today. I have my supposed last prenatal checkup at 1:40, where she'll undoubtedly tell me - you guessed it - that there's no change. I've already concluded that this will be the case, so it's impossible for me to feel disappointed. Also, as of Wednesday, InUtero Boy will have been gestating for longer than either of his brothers did. Gutsy was born 11 days before his due date. Intrepid was born 6 days prior. I have 7 days to go until my due date and the Evil Entity is nowhere near ready to make his appearance and dominate the world. He's too busy dominating the inside of my body right now. He's probably done a bunch of cave drawings in there that will only be discovered when my body is autopsied later in life. By the pain he inflicts, I think he may also have some arrowheads stashed away.

***

Pregnant Pet Peeve # 5739: People who drive fast in school zones during school hours. Every day I drive through a school zone and every day I slow down to the recommended speed (or at least very close to it). Nearly every time I either have someone impatiently driving up my bumper or watch as they whip past me in another lane.

What the hell is up with you people? I want to slap you all senseless. McDonald's will still be serving breakfast when you get there 10 seconds later than you would have had you actually slowed down like you're supposed to. If you hit a child, you're going to miss out on your precious McMuffin completely because you'll be too busy, oh, say, GOING TO JAIL FOR BEING AN IDIOT.

Lately I've been paying attention to just who the School Zone Speed Demons are. Mostly guys in minivans. It's like they're afraid that driving a van already makes them look like a sissy and if they slow down and watch for young children then they might as well have a flashing 'I'm sexually repressed' sign on their foreheads.

Also, contractors tend to speed through school zones. I'm so anal that I can say for certain I wouldn't hire the guy to do my plumbing based solely on the fact that he has no regard for the safety of others. And don't tell me he didn't see the school zone.

A) He's a contractor and drives all over the city, so he knows where the school zones are.

B) If for some reason he's new to the city and not aware of said school zones and their indicative signs, there is a GIANT FREAKING SCHOOL there to tip him off.

I've often wanted to go vigilante on these people, but I don't know how. I've contemplated road spikes, but the whole potential of having them swerve into the school yard with flat tires might increase the risk of injury to the children a little bit. I could wait on the side of the road and hit their vehicles with paintballs, but I don't think I could run away fast enough if they come after me. It's a no-win situation.

I just glare at them. It's passive aggressive, but it makes me feel better.

Anyway, off to get ready for my appointment.

*skips* (hobbles) away....

Hey, everyone...

Want to know what's worse than contracting about every seven minutes throughout the day?

Contracting all night and barely getting any sleep. Yeah! But the best part is that when I sit up, they don't hurt nearly as much as when I lie down. So if I could figure out how to sleep sitting up I'd be all set.

I might put Biography on or something equally as dull on and prop myself up with pillows. Maybe then I'll doze for a while.

I did manage some rest between 3-6am. Oh, and prior to that I slept from Midnight to 12:51am, when Gutsy came in to our bed. As I was settling in on the couch to give myself more room, Intrepid ran upstairs with a bad dream and plopped himself down next to me.

No way, says Shamu. Into bed with your father and brother, young one. This couch is for miserable, contracting women who would are hanging precipitously on the edge of sanity and just barely keeping in the exciting 'could this be it?' thought because she's been disappointed too many times in the last little while.

I finally succumbed to the idea that a decaf is more enjoyable than lying on the couch, awake and uncomfortable with my stomach in a giant ball. So, a coffee and a blog post. No definitive labour signs yet, but I think we're getting closer (duh - my due date is in 9 days).

Happy October, by the way. The Great Pumpkin sends blessings to her followers. Please send prayers of rest, my lambs. Or of babies flying out of giant pumpkin bellies. Thank you.