Killing time...

Actually, I almost feel like I could/should/would kill someone or something else. No idea what, though, because it's really nobody's fault that, again, at almost 1 in the morning I'm sitting at the computer, trying to figure out what to do with my body. 

(No, it's not about my life; I'm not being hit by any sort of mid-life chrisis, or anything.)

In all honesty, I wonder if I will ever sleep again. Technically I know I will, perhaps some years down the road, or maybe even sooner than that, if I get lucky every once in a while. Right now, however, it just doesn't work. In order to fall asleep and get through at least one small portion of the night, I need to be literally dead tired. I feel that way quite a lot during the day, but who cares if I'm at work, right? I can't really get up and leave, just to crawl into my bed and get some deserved rest. When I finally get home, even though I still feel pretty damn beaten up, all I can do is ignore the exhaustion and carry on with my day until some more or less reasonable sleep time.

Then I sleep. I can't say that I don't. It just doesn't really last all that long because I either have to pee, or the cat decides to annoy the hell out of me for reasons that I'm not even sure she understands herself. This usually happens after about two hours of my initial sail-away time, and then I am, for the most part, done for. If I do sleep again, it's more of a session of tossing and turning and some semi-conscious slumber. Bleh.

Tonight I didn't even get as far because I stupidly crashed around seven in the evening and snoozed for a couple hours. I went back to bed around 10:30 and accomplished nothing, other than perhaps nearly finishing Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. Ok, I suppose that's an accomplishment of some sort, but it doesn't really help with the chronic lack of sleep, does it? 

My back is falling apart if I sit in this chair, the couch makes the kid goes crazy if I attempt to sit in just about any position, I can't lay flat on my back either and my sides... I'm not sure those can deal with the pressure anymore. The left one has been numb for weeks (I read somewhere the other day that the sciatic nerve tends to do this to you) and the right one is just overall not particularly comfortable. It makes the baby hate my stomach, pretty much. 

I suppose I still need to consider myself lucky, because if I really think about it, this is the one and only thing I can really complain about when it comes to pregnancy. I've been enjoying it, otherwise. I got out of the first trimester with just about no morning sickness (ok, no morning sickness at all, because whatever icky sensations coming from that area of my body were actually appearing in the evening, without any grand finale kind of things). My blood pressure has been perfect, or actually low, as opposed to sky-high, which easily could have been expected of someone of my age (and size). No gestational diabetes, which seems to be a pretty rare thing at least here where I am (I keep hearing that the majority of women at least fail the first glucose test, if not both, especially if they're my size). So none of that, for me, either. Even my iron looks good and I tend to get more or less mild anemia when not pregnant. I still do yoga twice a week and have pretty much nobody do any housework or other chores for me (I did attempt to have a cleaning lady over last week, but I think I won't do that again, as I'm way too anal to have someone else mess with my things). I sit at work because I have to, but once I'm done for the day, I keep (stupidly?) running around. 

I really do wish I didn't have to work, though. I wouldn't want to trade it in for boring days in front of the TV (we don't really have cable or anything similar, to begin with), but I would enjoy spending more time outdoors while it's still possible, and I would definitely enjoy taking a nap here and there, to make up for all the sleepless nights. But oh well, I suppose. It was my own choice to get stuck in pretty much the one and only developed country that has not yet heard of maternity leave, so I get to have my cake here, as well as eat it. Whee. 

Either way, I'm not ready to get the little guy out just yet. We've got a month and a few days left, at least, and that's how it should be. We got to see him on Monday and he was doing well. Perfect heart rate, good movement, good amount of fluid, placenta in the right spot... etc. Estimated weight was 2666 grams (5lb 14oz), which was the 70th percentile for his gestational age and still means we're growing a hippo. Or so says the doctor. At the same time, I am not so convinced he's a giant because the majority of Croatian women who report the estimated weight of their babies, around the same time in pregnancy, happen to have either bigger ones. So either Croatian doctors exaggerate, or the American Hadlock scale really does run off of different percentages. Who knows. And who cares, actually. So many women say that it's easier to get a big baby out, so I'll just choose to trust them on that one. The doctor said that, at this point, they would not stop labour should I start getting contractions. Hm. Well, I hope I don't get to experience them just yet. There needs to be some more cooking time, as far as I'm concerned. 

We're meeting with our doula tomorrow and then, I suppose, I really need to work on my birth plan. I've not written one yet. Oops. My hospital bag is nonexistent as well, even though I can at least say that, for the most part, I own things that should be stuffed into it. Or have an idea of what they should be. 

I'm getting the car seat installed by some Public Health person next week, right before my next doctor's appointment. Actually, she wants me to give it a go myself and then bring it to her for further inspection and an install from scratch, too, if need be. I told her I could as well try to duct tape it to my back seat, because that's how much I understand the installation process. I'm also working on getting a pediatrician for the kiddo. My ob/gyn recommended someone and I've been trying to schedule an appointment to meet the guy before we commit to his services (it's easy to switch doctors, too, but I'd still like to know in advance who to have the 1-week appointment with, I suppose).

The list of things that are still not done is actually pretty much endless. The upstairs is still being worked on, too, but at least we're now fully done with the filthy parts and it's all more related to various degrees of fine tuning. Another trip to Ikea is due, thanks to my random spurts of creativity, as well as this goldfish brain I've been nurturing for the past month.

I'm also getting hungry, which is just plain ridiculous. Hippo, there's no reason for you to want more food, really. I've gained a total of 10 kilos up to this point, which I guess is pretty decent. Hopefully I won't add another 10 to it within the next month, or something.

Hm.

I guess I'm done with my random rant for the night. If there are typos, please make sure to enjoy them. After all, there need to be some visible signs of all the insomnia.

Five weeks, some days

Yup, that's pretty much what we have left to end this race if our Hippo decides to stay inside until his due date (November 19th). Forty-three-days-to-go. Scary. 

I don't know if I'm excited. I suppose it's hard to describe the feeling. Of course I'm looking forward to have the little guy around, well, around on the outside, but at the same time, I am not sure if I'm ready. Not so much ready for motherhood itself, as I believe you can never really be prepared for something as random and unpredictable; it's much more about being more or less anxious about the whole labour and delivery thing. But can one be really prepared for that? Hm. I suppose. Some women say that they can, or could be, while some, from what I can see, don't really care much about what is going to happen there.

Well, I care. Probably even a bit too much. 

I'm a pretty big control freak, but at the same time, I'm aware that this particular event won't really be something I will organize and manage the way I'm used to. While it's good to have some plans and general, uhm, guidelines, I'm fairly sure that the little Hippo, as well as my body, will actually lead the way. I'm not scared of pain, as weird as it sounds, but some other things terrify me to at least some degree: puking and C-section. The first one is just an old irrational fear of mine, while the second happens to be something I really would not like to be put through. I know they are sometimes necessary and, yes, I'm aware of the fact that it still might happen for some reason, but I just don't want it. It's too hard to even imagine being conscious and right there, while they cut you open and whatnot. Ick. At the same time, though, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't agree to be put fully under either. 

Another thing I know I don't want is an epidural. Ick, again. I suppose the main thing about this one is some sort of a, hm, primal instinct, perhaps? Basically, I need my legs. I need to know that, if I have to, I can use them. Granted, it's really highly unlikely that I will start running away from the scene, out of my room, then out of the hospital and whatnot, but I need to know that I can, okay? I guess that's the animal in me speaking. If I can't run, I'm not safe. So please shoo that thing away from me. (We had our preregistration meeting at the hospital the other day and I did put in my chart that I would not like to be offered any drugs at all. I said I'd request them myself if I really wanted some, instead.)

Speaking of all this hospital-related stuff, I suppose I should finally pack my bag, too. I have most of the things ready, as in lying around and/or existing in the first place, but they are not organized, let alone folded into some sort of an actual bag or a suitcase. (What does one even take in, anyway? A carry-on bag? Or a full-sized suitcase?!) People around me, well, mainly those from my online group of mothers-to-be whose due date is also in November, talk a lot about their babies' coming home outfits, so I assume that's something we should pick, too. Hm. Well, I hate planning outfits in advance even for myself, let alone somebody else. Argh. At least all the diapers are ready. Washed (several times), stuffed and put away. I wonder if Hippo will even fit in his collection of the smallest, newborn ones. Last time the doctor measured him, which was in September, around 31 weeks, he was estimated to be 1990 grams (4lb 3 oz). 75th percentile, if I remember correctly. Piggy-hippo! I hope I won't be delivering a giant, to be honest. Even though, as long as it's manageable and doesn't include puking, I suppose I'll gladly push out a ten pounder, too. 

Hmm. What else to say? Not much, I suppose, for now at least. After nearly a month and a half of no posts, I shouldn't just overdo it, right?

I also have absolutely no pictures to show. Hippo is too big to fit into an ultrasound printout and is, actually, to hard to see on the screen, too. I get to watch him move pretty much all the time, though. He pushes and pokes and rearranges the furniture, err organs, pretty much all day long. Well, okay, he's more of a night owl, just like his parents.

As for his parents, we're doing fine, too. Excited, anxious a bit, but overall more or less ready for the unknown. Or so we think. :panic_mode_on: 

I really don't mind this whole pregnancy deal. Sure, life is getting a bit harder now, but I'm still very far from feeling miserable. I wish I could sleep more, but that's about it. Okay, I have to admit that I hate going to work now, too. All the countless hours of sitting are outright killing me. I feel better when I have to walk all day.

Off to bed with me now!

3D/4D Ultrasound Festivities

I mentioned the other day that we gave in and scheduled an appointment at this... awkward place. I mean, the place itself looks fine, it was the idea that sounded a bit weird to me: I'm used to seeing ultrasound machines at doctors' offices, which this place was not. I do assume that the person performing the scan did have some sort of medical background, or at least it sounded like he knew what he was saying. 

So, yup. I spent about half an hour in a weird, but comfy bed in a dark room inside of an office building in Bloomington. Derek and his mom were with me. We could have purchased some whatever internet access package thing, too, and had my family watch the whole thing live, too, but that really would have been too much, right? Eventually, we went home with a CD full of pictures, DVD with the whole session on it (very cute, actually, despite some cheesy music) and some printed scans. They gave me some junk from Similac, too, and I managed to refuse a bunch of formula coupons and a baby bottle. It just didn't look all that good/special and I still hope I won't really need any... at least for a long time.

At this point, there really shouldn't be any surprises: all the boy parts are still there. The kiddo measured about 40 centimeters today and, according to the ultrasound guy, that's pretty long. Longer than normal? Our baby? Weird. He also seems to have big feet. Our baby? Weird. And there was, apparently, some hair on his head. Weird again! We were glad to see a round piggy nose, though. Well, I was. I'm scared of that big thing on Derek's face!

Here are some pictures of the little guy:

And here's one of his huge foot!

He seems to enjoy hiding behind his arms and chewing on his foot. Weirdo. He was also breech, facing towards my left hip. Hm. This is getting a little bit frustrating, I suppose. Every single time someone looks in there, he's in a different position. I suppose breech won't be the last one, because I really don't want a C-section. Yes, I know it can happen for several reasons, but I suppose I can still not want one, right?

The whole ultrasound experience and its weird setting was actually kind of nice. I can't say it wasn't worth it. It is definitely different than a scan you get at a doctor's office. I suppose I'd recommend this to others, too. 

The rest of the day, we shopped at IKEA and drove around. And ate. I might've gained about a kilo in 10 days and I have to admit it bothers me a little. I've not changed my eating habits and I do understand that the majority of it has gone towards the little guy, butbutubutbut.

Oh, btw, we think the name we have for him still fits him.

A Quick Update, a.k.a. Wednesday Ramblings

We had an appointment with our doctor last Wednesday and everything went fine. I had my glucose challenge and I lived. The drink sure is disgusting, but it's a lot better than what I had to down more than ten years ago in Croatia. That one had no flavour to it and for whatever reason wasn't even refrigerated. There was less of it, though. What they had me drink last week was a pretty big bottle of some orange... something. But like I said, I lived. I really only wanted to climb the wall and walk on the ceiling a few times, but that was it. An hour later, they drew my blood and my results came back really good: 102 in whichever American units, which equals 5.7 in those that'd be used in Croatia. That's fairly close tolerable numbers for fasting glucose, or even within those limits, according to some charts.

So - yay! No gestational diabetes here (even though I wasn't really worried about it, to be honest). My blood pressure is still very good (as in - low) and everything else looked fine, too. We had a quick scan because Derek had to be at work earlier than normal and, unfortunately, no pictures were printed. It's been a long while since we got any, really. Hmph. (I made sure to fix this, btw.)

The little guy (yup, still a guy!) is doing great. A week ago, his weight was 1044 grams or 2.3 pounds and had a heartbeat of, if I'm not mistaken, 146 bpm. He kept hiding his face behind his hands, so we didn't really get to see it. We didn't see much of anything, to be honest, because the majority of the scan was dedicated to the measurements that were important to the doctor. The kiddo's femur bone and stomach measured two days ahead of schedule, while his head was two days behind. But all of that is good. The pregnancy was once more time labeled as low risk and we have another appointment scheduled for September 20th. 

The important part was a chat we had with the doctor: I just had to ask him about things from our prenatal education (from hell). He was pretty surprised to hear some of the things and I really swear  I did not make anything up, or made it sound worse than it really had been. Either way, the doctor made both of us feel a lot better and I suppose Derek now doesn't really have to worry that I will decide to stay at home and have the raccoons and the cat help me out while I'm giving birth to the little one. The doctor said he wouldn't break my water, especially not for no reason, or if I showed up a bit too early. He did say that I should stay at home for as long as it's possible, simply because it's better for me (as in - more comfortable). He also likes working with our local doulas and supports the idea of bringing one along. As far as he is concerned, I can deliver whichever way I want and the whole hype about breaking the bed just means that he is not turning it into a regular ob/gyn table/bed with stirrups, but instead leaving it be. He wouldn't ban me from eating and drinking either, but he does advise women to lay off it because, from his experience, the majority of intake just comes back up. (Ok, that part scared me enough to really consider fasting! Haha.) To him, also, breech doesn't mean a C-section at 36 weeks, or even later. There's no reason to simply not wait and give the baby enough time to turn, or he can always attempt turning it. So that was good to hear, too. Another good thing is that he never does any routine cervical checkups, so I suppose he won't be poking around my private parts unless it becomes necessary.

So, yup, I feel a lot better now about the whole deal!

I went back to the class tonight, though and now I really feel somewhat stupid. It was, again, kind of masochistic. Tonight's topic was, for the most part, C-section, with a little bit of postpartum garnish. It was scary, even though I have to admit that this instructor was a lot better than the cheerful chipmunk we had the first three weeks. She still talked about the bad/icky/nasty things only and didn't forget to bring all the statistics up either (yup... the C-section rate for the US is still 33% and our hospital is even worse, because they rarely ever allow VBAC). I even ended up arguing with her at one point because she was, again, trying to present nasty things as facts, that are supposedly valid for any women stepping through the doors to the Mayo Clinic and then meeting any provider who works there. Oh, whatever.

As of tonight, I am officially signed up for an independent class, Preparation for Natural Childbirth, so I hope they will undo the damage this hospital trash has done! It starts mid September and I am actually looking forward to it. 

I took a picture of my watermelon-shaped self this morning. I've grown, that's for sure, but I have to admit I am pretty pleased with how I look. I've gained about 5.5 - 6 kilos, which I guess is okay for nearly 28 weeks, and it seems I've packed them only into the bump and boobs. I'm still sporting very thin ankles and small feet; probably smaller than ever in my adult life. No idea what's up with that, but it sure does feel good. Especially since I still work full time and sit 8 hours a day at a desk. 

27w5d - enjoy the view of our office bathroom, too!

As for the little boy, he finally has a name. Actually, he's had it for over a week now and we're fairly sure we'll keep it, unless, of course, he comes out screaming he is not that. I am, however, not sure what people who carry that name are supposed to look like, either. And we are nowhere near getting a middle name sorted. It might be something Croatian, since the first name isn't, but it won't be anything too local. I don't want the kiddo to have to spell every single part of his name nearly as often as I have. It grows old after a while, really.

The scans I mentioned earlier? Well, I gave in and made a phonecall the other day to some... place. I don't know what they are, to be honest. It's not a clinic; I assume it's more of a photo studio? Well, we're treating ourselves to a baby-viewing session. The whole deal feels almost a bit, uhm, extreme, but I am too curious to wait to see the little guy in person, if I can take a peak before then, okay? So next Saturday, we're going up to Minneapolis to get a 3D/4D scan of our baby. It's an actual, uhm, projection on a big screen, apparently, and we'll get a few photo prints, some black-and-white ones, as well as a DVD with the video, and a CD with the remaining pictures. Fancy, huh? LOL. Like I said, this makes me feel totally weird, but I just had to do it. Hopefully they'll be able to get some good shots; the little guy has been very, very active and I feel like he's trying to constantly mistake me for a punching bag. He goes into some fits of punching rage, I swear. Then takes a nap. 

Soon enough we might have some nice things to show when it comes to our upstairs. Most of the walls have been painted and some of the floors have been laid. Woohooo. I can't wait to get it all done and over with: I want to live in a clean house, too, and, I admit, I want to start sorting all the little person's stuff, too. (Amongst other things, I am getting very curious to find out how many doubles I've accumulated, haha.)

Childbirth Education: Round Three. Torture Room Tour.

Been there, done that. I mean, we survived the third class, which included the hospital tour.

The first part of the class was about pain medication and pain management and some weird... something. We were taking a walk from one comfort station to another (in reality, these were just desks scattered around the conference room) and reading random little flash cards with, again, mostly useless information on them. But oh well, right? I mean, I voluntarily signed up for this! During the comfort-trip, we learned that music may or may not benefit you, that you may or may not like essential oils, or that birthing balls can be good for you too. Or can't, depending on your preferences, really. Some people like massage, some don't. Some tennis balls have legs, some don't. Those with legs, apparently, tend to walk out of the hospital and, therefore, we were instructed to bring our own. I tried to imagine juggling the balls in labour, but I failed. I mean, I fail at juggling more than two, maybe three balls, even when I'm not in pain.

(Yes, I do realize that's not quite the purpose of those balls, btw.)

We heard a lot of things about pain medications and that part was beyond scary. I don't mind needles, let alone needle-related talk, but I do mind hearing too much about possible side effects and overall downsides to some decisions or procedures. I never really planned to get an epidural or that other three-letter-thing (some drug that goes into your spine as well), but now I really want them even less. Scary. Too much nausea-related talk, amongst other things. And the idea of being paralyzed, even a tiny bit, freaks me out. I get the chills by just thinking about it, really. If there's anything I really hate (besides puking or even feeling sick to my stomach), it's losing control of my body. Any parts of it. I am even mildly uncomfortable when I get a novocaine shot at the dentist's office. One time they sprayed a tiny bit of lidocaine into my mouth and I nearly started panicking because I couldn't quite control my own swallowing. Or at least it felt that way. So I don't think these two things are for me, really.

The instructor was also talking about something that starts with an N, as well as the letter F, but I don't want those either. These were narcotics administered throgh IV and... they're not really good for the baby, in the first place. On top of that, the main side-effect is nausea and dizziness, so - nope. Can't do it.

What I realy disliked is the amount of time spent talking about pain medication and similar things. I mean, yes, I understand that labour hurts and that it's probably the most painful thing that happens over the course of a woman's life (average woman's, at least). No, I probably really can't imagine how bad it is, but I do strongly believe that it's doable and that the majority of women really are able to give birth without being drugged up their butts. I understand the freedom of choice, all the options and whatnot. That's perfectly fine by me. And I do want those to be available to me, as well, because I seriously can't guarantee that I won't need, or want any of these things. I plan not to, but we'll see. We'll know for sure once it's all done. But, at the same time, do we really need to listen about it this much? I understand that it's partially my fault, because I volutarily agreed to attend these classes while knowing who organized them and what they were going to be like, but... still? I wish they would have made labour and birth sound more women friendly. Or at least less dangerous and scary. I'll just need to get myself a clean toilet brush and use it to wipe off the inside of my head, really. That's kind of how I feel.

Then we went to the hospital. They did promise to wheel me in once I stop by and mention being in labour. I guess a labouring woman is, after all, a semi-disabled patient. So I guess I need to start looking into a pleasant wheelchair ride, too. 

I don't really remember where exactly we were, or actually what the room she stuffed us into was: the instructor overcomplicated the whole introduction to the story. Something was overbooked, so we couldn't go there, and instead she took us somewhere else... blablabla. Either way, the room we were in looked the same as one other hospital room somewhere in that area of the hospital where we went to see Derek's cousin's girlfriend and her baby. There was a weird looking bed in it, but I suppose that's what birthing beds look like. It was pretty low (but they can be raised, I assume) and it was plastic, but covered with some terry cloth thing. Apparently these beds fall apart (ok, are taken apart) when the pushing part of labour approaches. I also learned that my doctor is one of those who don't do the bed-breaking thing which, I suppose, I am okay with (as I never even knew they were beds that fell apart, in the first place!). 

I just did my best to find this beast somewhere online, but nothing looked like it. Most delivery or birthing beds look modern and funky, whereas this thing looked like a poor person's guest room cot from 1960's, or something like that. Either way, I saw no stirrups and I also heard that I wouldn't need to be glued to it. Apparently they would even let me deliver squatting, kneeling or possibly even hanging from the ceiling. I do believe I am incapable of the latter, though, as my arms just aren't strong enough for that kind of thing, even without the extra baby weight. If I am labouring without pain meds and other funky stuff, they'd let me walk around without the baby and other monitors, as well. Cool, I s'pose. The uncool part was the rate of C-sections the instructor brought up. I was curious, so I asked... and perhaps shouldn't have. Brrr. So the rate in the US is something like 30%, she said (33% was the number last time I checked somewhere), while our beloved Mayo Clinic Mankato sits proudly at its higher-thirties. Ugh. Scary. She tried to explain where the numbers were coming from and why they weren't supposed to be so terrifying, but I didn't really care all that much. Uuuuuugh!  (I did also ask at some point if I could just ask for a C-section, and then get one, if I get stuck in labour and they start bugging me with pitocin and other ideas I really don't like, and she said that I actually could, even though it'd still depend on my provider. I'm thinking that, in case things went wrong or unexpected, I'd still rather have a section that to be put through the whole ordeal of drugs and pushing and whatnot.... that would lead to the surgery, regardless.)

We also got to meet the weird plastic thing they use to break your waters (it sure did look like some knitting tool), some probes that get into various cavities (or, ok, just one, really), the infamous forceps (which turned out to be a really scary tong-like tool and it was so rusty and smelled bad that I nearly puked) and then also a vacuum. I have to admit that the latter did look weird and funky and nothing like a real medical piece of equipment. I can't really find a good picture of this thing online either, so I suppose this will be a dull, long post without images, pretty much.

Here's the ugly sack-poking thing. Brrr.

Hmm... what else? I guess it's nice that you are given your room, as opposed to sharing one with who knows how many other women (which would be a lot more common practice in Croatia). You labour alone, deliver alone and recover by yourself, too. (Ok, I guess later on you have your baby, as well as all of your family and friends, too.) There's a flat screen TV on the wall, you get your own bathroom that even includes a bath tub, there's a sink in the room and all of the carts and whatnots that might be needed during delivery (or after). They do drag you elsewhere if you need a C-section, of course. There's also a menu in your room and, as long as you're hungry between the right hours, you can order some awesome hospital specialties. During labour, you're banned from food, though. (Uhoh.) Once you deliver, and both you and the baby are fine, they'll leave you alone for about six hours and then start bugging the baby with its first bath and whatnot. So that's good, too. They won't vaccinate the baby or give it the vitamin K shot (or even the eye ointment) if you said so. And they won't give formula to breastfeed babies either.

And that's it. Two more sessions to go, and I think those will be about the newborns, not so much the mothers. I may or may not attend, we'll see.

We have another appointment tomorrow morning and it's going to be my big glucose thing. Ick, in advance. I am terrified of that drink, even though I've had it before, and it wasn't even flavoured. I didn't get sick back then, but for whatever reason, just the idea of it is freaking me out as I type. Ick, ick, ick. I sure do hope I pass, because if I don't, they'll have me come back and drink the poison again. I asked if I could just get the real OGGT test right away, since it doesn't give false positive results like the challenge, but nope... the rules and all.

The little guy's been kicking a lot, so I overall hope he's doing fine, too. We'll see in less than 12 hours.

Childbirth Education, round 2: Labour

It seems I survived the second round of the torture, I mean, Childbirth Education through ISJ-Mayo-Clinic-System, or whatever else they like to call themselves. Derek didn't particularly care to go this time and he got my blessing to stay at home. For good measure, I said he was at work when somebody asked, but I guess I didn't really need to lie as there was another sample of male species missing from tonight's class. And there's also a woman/girl coming with her mother, instead of some person with a penis. 

Our cheerful chipmunk, also known as instructor, asked us to go over a sheet of paper with some numbers on it (the scale went from 10 to -10 and, for an uknown reason, didn't include some of them) and then go stand by the wall, where the number of our choice was proudly displayed. This was all about labour pain and/or our plans when it comes to delivery. I chose -5, simply because -7 was worded so poorly I couldn't identify with it. Actually, I couldn't fully indentify with this -5 either, but it was close enough, I suppose. It said that my preference would be natural birth, with no medications. The part I didn't agree with it, or wouldn't right away, was a sentence referring to drugs that'd be given to me in case of long or difficult labour. I really don't know if I would. Three of us chose this, two women chose epidural, one said she had no clue what she wanted, a few were up for some drugs, but likely no epidural and the girl and her mom stood by -7. That one said the person would be embarassed and disappointed if they agreed to drugs during labour and delivery. I don't think I'd feel that way if I gave in, or simply decided that I needed something, after all.

And that was about it. The rest of the class was mostly about watching some boring slides and videos that talked about stages of labour from which I learned nothing new. In one of the videos, someone named Kristina gave birth to a baby boy and it was nice to see that nobody in the room was puking, gagging or overall dying from the explicitness of the recording. 

Disappointing things, even though they weren't surprising or new: our dearest Mayo clinic will do anything to medicate you or cut you open. Breech babies are also good enough reason to have a scheduled C-section (we're breech at the moment... again). If your little one is in an abnormal position at 36 weeks, you're doomed. Or so said our instructor. I suppose it doesn't matter that there are more than enough examples and stories about babies who turned the right way just before they were born, let alone within the last four weeks, or so. She did, however, say that some doctors will attempt to get the babies to turn (and luckily my ob/gyn is one of those who'd give it a try). The hospital rules also ban you from eating and drinking from the moment you're admitted as a labouring woman, up until you're done giving birth. Luckily our support people are allowed food and drinks so I can just steal theirs if I'll want any, since I can't really imagine ever wanting to dine on crushed ice or some whatever popsicles. Once your waters break, you're banned from the tub, too and they overall believe you need to show up at their doorstep the moment you notice the leak. And then, dearly beloved, they will induce. Let's also not forget the part where those videos mentioned puking/nausea during transition. Whee.

Good things: she mentioned my doctor as an example of those who do not induce because of broken waters, but instead give you up to 24 hours to deliver on your own; sometimes more, sometimes less. And he doesn't start his countdown at the moment of your leakage, but instead pushes the timer after the first vaginal checkup, because he believes that is, actually, your baby's first potential contact with the outside bacteria. This sure did make me feel better.

And then we were done. The class ended early and all I got from today's session was some weird sore throat sensation. I don't feel sick otherwise, so for now I'll just blame it all on the conference room and its horrible air conditioning. The place is way too cold and way too dry. I froze. And kind of starved to death, too. Since we were out earlier than expected, I wandered off to a store and bought some more stuff for the kiddo:

Aren't they cute?

Speaking of hunger/food, I still can't say I've had any real cravings at all, but I have noticed some increased desire for bread, for instance, and still almost no desire for salads or any other foods with vinegar. I have also been allowing myself more ice cream than I did during my restricted calorie days. I'm still doing fine, I suppose: in three days, I'll be hitting my 6th month mark (as well as full 26 weeks) and I've gained something like 11 lbs, all of which have gone into the dinosaur egg and the boobs. I've never had ankles this thin and my wedding ring has never felt bigger. Odd, seriously, but I'm enjoying it. I wish I wouldn't have gained anything, really, but I guess that would have been somewhat ridiculous, too. Our next appointment is a week out (next Wednesday) so I'll have another official weigh-in. I sure do hope that the gods of bathroom will bless me that morning, so I don't have to proudly display a higher number due to some, ugh, clogging. It happened last time and I thought it was pretty disturbing.They also have me down for my glucose tolerance test. Ick. Ick because I know it could make people sick. It could make me sick, I actually don't care about other people! I am that nice, yes. I've had the test before, way back when, but it was somewhat different. I passed it (it had nothing to do with pregnancy either) and I hope I'll pass this one, too. I don't really want to deal with gestational diabetes, but at the same time I'm pretty sure I don't have it.

I mentioned a dinosaur egg earlier... well, here's the thing, in a picture taken sometime last week (24w6d):

Meanwhile, it's actually grown a lot. Now it's sticking out a lot more and I think I'm carrying pretty low, too. But I might be mistaken, as well, because I don't really have anything to compare to. There's quite a lot of pressure on my bladder and I do get some shooting pains here and there, that probably relate to the round ligament. My back's starting to hurt, too, but that's, for now, only when I lay flat (on my back). It all gets better after a few steps. I've been doing yoga twice a week and walking as much as I can. I also need to go back to the pool. And I need to finally decide on a doula and let her know, too. So I guess this would be my current to-do list. 

I also need to become more productive in some other areas: by the end of the week, I need to draw, model in clay and translate. Oopsies. Things always happen at once, I s'pose. Or actually, procrastinators get them to be that way. Oopsies, I said.

Childbirth Education, round 1

To make a proper introduction, I should state that I expect(ed) next to nothing from this class. It is organized by the Mayo clinic and they say, or believe, that it will prepare us for the grand finale, as well as many other things, ranging from pregnancy and postpartum to infant care. I suppose it does so, if your pregnancy and birth related knowledge equals something an early elementary school kid would know.

Anyway. After our first 2-hour session, I sure do feel prepared to... give birth at home. 

I didn't really like the instructor, unfortunately. She's one of the nurses from the hospital and now that I've met her, I hope she won't be there when day D actually comes. (I kind of hope nobody would be there, really, and that my only option was to deliver on my own and have the raccoons cut the cord, or something. Or I suppose my doctor can be around, for just-in-case purposes.) There were too many ridiculous games she wanted us to play and, I'm sad to say, there are even more to come. The only thing I'm looking forward to is the hospital visit, simply because I'm masochistic - I'll probably freak out even more when I get to see all of the machines and other things they more than likely consider to be necessary.

One of the games was some random card thing, where she dealt them to all the couples and wanted us to say something about things that were written on them. So we had a rather boring lecture about preeclampsia, placenta praevia, fever, premature labor and, guess what else? Something I was given, of course. My card for tonight was this:

Not a big surprise, is it? The instructor also felt the need to answer my question with a yes, when I asked about nausea and vomiting during labor. Apparently that really is a very common thing. Well, shoot, I suppose. She also said they could feed me something through IV if I wanted it, that'd help with nausea, but... well, we'll see. I doubt I'd go as far as to take it, but I don't know how far I'd get if I do puke, either.

She had us ask questions, too, and we were supposed to write them down on a piece of paper and put in her dinosaur-shaped baseball cap. So we did. I used a purple pen, which I had in my hand during all of the class, too, so I must've been really secretive about my question. I wanted to know how much control they would actually give me during my hospital stay and if they thought the whole birthing experience was more about the mother and the baby, or their hospital rules, after all. She was honest and said that, well, they did have rules. I didn't really expect any other answer, either. It does help to have a provider you can trust (oh, really?) and of course you can go over any and all wishes with them, but nobody can guarantee that they will be available when the baby decides to come. (Oh, really?)

So, for now, I am fairly freaked out. If things really are as bad as she made it sound (and I have no reason to believe it can be all that better, at least based on my small sample of women who I have met or heard of, who have given birth in the past XY years at the same hospital), I won't be looking forward to labour and delivery at all. Since we've not yet had a very detailed (and/or final) discussion with our doctor, I will give the whole thing at least some benefit of doubt and wait to see what he has to say about some of the things that bother me, or make me worried. So far, we've been on the same page with the doctor, but I am absolutely aware that he is, after all, employed by the dreadful institution and that he probably can't really do everything I want (as well as everything he wants, either). I know that he doesn't induce unless there are serious medical reasons, so that's good. And I know that there is a huge chance he will be there when I show up. But other than that... I suppose he still needs to tell me how limited his own choices and actions are.

I learned tonight that they don't do routine episiotomies (unless they are part of some whatever procedure that I personally would, or wouldn't agree with or consider it necessary) and that instead they let you tear on your own. I suppose that's something. There is no shaving and enema, which is also good. But there is all kinds of other, pardonmyfrench, shit. Routine IV is something that, according to her words, is very unlikely to be avoided. I actually asked about it, because I don't consider it to be an important precautionary measure. She said they don't do anything but saline, blablabla, and that it's there for, again, all those just-in-case (freaking Justin Timberlake comes to mind every time I write this, wtf.) scenarios, but I'm kind of thinking, hey, you know... if you can't shoot the thing up my vein when I need it, within seconds and all, how am I supposed to trust you with my, as well as my (un/new)born baby's life, if you can't even poke me with a needle?! Again, she said, there'd be a chance my provider would agree to do this. Or, well, not do it.

She said they normally let you delay delivery for up 24 hours once your waters break. Hm. That's better than 12 hours, or no time at all, I guess. Also, per her words, they'd just break them for you, anyway, if you show up at their doorstep in labour, but with the intact sack. (My only response was a strong urge to tell her that I'd break her neck instead, but I kind of kept my mouth shut, for once.) This is pretty bad; this ordeal is kind of making me more aggressive than I normally am. Damnit.

So I guess I wait and see how deep down the drain I'll be sending all of my plans and wishes, from avoiding this and that, to requesting some other this...es and thats. They gave us a worksheet that is, supposedly, going to help me write a birth plan, but now that I've heard just one single fifth of what they want to share with me, I have no idea why I would even waste time on all those words. (I will still do it, though.)

I guess I'll share some of the questions they suggest that I answer, because I've got nothing better to do at the moment.

• What would you like the atmosphere and environment in your labour room be? Do you people seriously care about my wishes? If I said I didn't want tons of people poking and proding me, bright lights and noise, would you really leave me alone?
• Is there anything the staff could do to make your experience more memorable? Is there, really?
• What are your feelings about pain medicine during labour and birth? Well, if I can't even avoid the saline IV, how do you think I go about avoiding the rest of the cocktail?
• Immediately after birth, would you like to have your baby skin-to-skin? Okay, this is the second time you're bringing this up as your kind-of-standard practice, so I might start believing you it is in fact true. 
• If your baby is a boy, do you want him circumcised. Hell no. (Note to self: make a huge sign saying NO NO NO.)
• etc.

Scary, the whole deal. Derek hated the class  probably even more than he thought he was going to and I have to admit I don't really blame him. Like I said, I didn't really expect much of it, but I also didn't think I'd dislike it this much. We'll go back, though, because I want to hear more about the hospital procedures and I really do want to see the hospital machinery.

At least, now we're both more than certain that we need a doula. At least one of them, even though an entire football team might be needed. Perhaps a few baseball bats would help, too. Either way, I need to contact the doula(s) of my choice and see if we can get this figured out.

Ugh. I seem to be feeling all kinds of things at the moment and it's like anything from rage to fear and hopelessness. Shitty. I do have time to get things figured out, but I still don't like the state I'm in.

I wish homebirth was a safe option for us, really.