34 Weeks!

Well, we've made it past the 34-week mark. This is a big deal. In my 34-week update with Megan, you can read the info about this time from http://www.babycenter.com/, which says, "If you've been nervous about preterm labor, you'll be happy to know that babies born between 34 and 37 weeks who have no other health problems generally do fine. They may need a short stay in the neonatal nursery and may have a few short-term health issues, but in the long run, they usually do as well as full-term babies." So that's good. I'm just trying to keep Sprout baking for as long as possible. But as I learned with Megan, it really isn't up to me!

We had a lovely Thanksgiving. Here's Megan wielding a drumstick. I think she's saying to herself, "So, let me get this right. I'm wearing a stupid bib and you just stuck a drumstick in my hand. And you want me to smile? Are you serious?"

Our Little Bruin

Megan tried on Daddy's baseball jersey today. As you can see, it will be a long time before she can wear it...

In other news, Megan is taking lots of steps now. She hasn't gotten the hang of it yet, and she can't stand up without holding onto something, but she is taking off without any "come to Mama!" prodding. Let the games begin...

Sprout at 32 Weeks

We went to the perinatologist yesterday (she's a specialist in fetal medicine--I see her because I'm of "advanced maternal age"--over 35). We got to see Sprout, which we hadn't done in a long time (most OB appointments are just listening to the heartbeat). He looks good--blood flow to the placenta is good. He's big, though--5 lbs., 7 ozs. (For reference, Megan was born at 6 lbs., 4 ozs., four and-a-half weeks after this point.) So it's likely that he'll be huge, and it's possible he'll come earlier than Megan.

So now the plan is for me to stop work next Tuesday, try to take it as easy as possible, and try to keep Sprout baking for as long as possible. Of course, as I learned with Megan, it's not up to me! So we're just waiting and hoping he'll stay put for as long as possible.

My leg pain is a little better. Sprout is laying like this: head face down, under my right rib. Spine facing up towards my chest and running from my right to my left. his rear end is under my left rib, and his legs and feet are hanging down into my pelvis. In the words of my doctor, "No wonder you're in pain!" She agrees with my OB that he's sitting on a nerve or two.

While I don't want Sprout to arrive today, I must admit I'm feeling emotionally ready to get going. I'm nervous about the balance of having two kids--fear of the unknown--and I just want to get on with it. But, of course, right now I'm cherishing waking up a few times in the middle of the night just to use the bathroom, as opposed to having to get up for a diaper changing and feeding! The rest will come soon enough, I know.

Message for my 38th Birthday

Click to read my messages for my 36th and 37th birthdays.


Recently, a friend sent me one of those “getting-to-know-you” e-mail surveys, and one of the questions was, “What was your most recent memorable birthday?” To tell you the truth, I really had to think about it. Because I’m married to a college baseball coach who works seven days a week, we’ve never spent my birthday together. This Saturday, for example, he’s got practice and high-school recruits coming in, so he’ll be gone until late Saturday night. But hey, I knew this about him when I married him, so it’s hardly his fault! (And, for the record, I’ve only spent one of his birthdays with him—and I’m not really sure how we managed that!) Five years ago, I spent my birthday with some wonderful friends in Las Vegas. Most years now, I get to spend my birthday with my sister and her family. This year, I’m having brunch with a friend, spending the rest of the day with Megan, and having dinner with Nancy and crew.

My birthdays have been weird. One year, I had to go to a funeral. Another year, I bought a house, and the settlement date was my birthday. Heck, when I was a kid, I was renowned for missing some of my birthday parties because I was sick.

And I remember the worst birthday of all. November 8, 1997. My first husband had left, I was living in our house in Virginia that we had only been living in for a year before he decided he was unhappy and left. My mom drove down from Baltimore. I specifically remember two presents I got that year—both perfume: Estee Lauder “Beautiful” from my mom and Clinique “Happy” from my sister. And, I gotta tell you, I felt neither beautiful nor happy. I was devastated, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to pick myself up and pull myself out of the huge hole I felt like I was living in. There were days when I wished I could just lie down and go to sleep for days. And sometimes I did.

But day by day, piece by piece, year by year, things did get better. And six years later, when I was on my way to Las Vegas for my birthday, I had one of my first conversations with P.C. on the phone. I remember it distinctly: we hadn’t met in person yet. I was sitting in the airport. I don’t remember who called whom, but I do remember promising him that if I won big in Vegas, I’d send a limousine to L.A. to get him. Well, I didn’t win big that weekend, but I was at the start of another chapter of my life.


A year later, two days before my birthday, P.C. proposed. It was really done “P.C. style”—no pomp, no circumstance, a simple drop-to-one-knee proposal. I called him an asshole because he totally surprised me and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth after I said yes. (I know, I know…really classy. Believe me, I’ll never live it down.)


Two years ago on my birthday, I was getting ready to start fertility treatments and packing to go to Denver to meet my mom, my Aunt Marilyn, and Cousin Kate for a girls’ weekend (Kate’s birthday is the 10th—HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATE!).

Last year, I celebrated my birthday with my miracle baby, Megan. And now? Well, now, P.C. and I are about to be parents again. Two years ago, we were on our fifth fertility treatment and not sure if we’d ever have ONE baby, and now we’re on the road to TWO. So I don’t know that this birthday will go down in history as the most memorable one, but it is one where I feel so, so grateful.


As I say in my message each year, “I hope you will count your blessings when you can. I know I will try to do that more … Here’s to another year of “’blessed days.’”

Birthday Update: I got to spend my birthday with P.C. after all. I’ve been having some pelvic pain because Sprout is hitting a nerve—what fun!—and P.C. decided that being home with me was more important than working. What a good guy. Another reason to feel blessed…

Walking

Megan took two steps on Tuesday. Then two steps yesterday. Woo hoo! She's still got a long way to go, but at least she's on her way!

She loves standing up by herself. I say, "Get your balance," and the steadies herself, then lets go of my hands. Then I count to see how long she's able to stand by herself. The record so far is about 25 seconds...

It's only a matter of time before I miss the days when you could plop her down in the middle of the floor and know she wasn't going to go anywhere.

Halloween

Megan's daycare teachers made fish costumes for all of the kids. Then they participated in the Halloween parade. I've learned something very important about Halloween this year--15-month-old kids just don't care about it!

Megan was fine during the parade, but afterwards, it was "get me the heck outta here, Ma!"

We dressed Megan as a ballerina that night and rode up to Nancy's house, but no trick-or-treating for us. It was sleepytime!

Why Daycare and Photo Day Don't Mix

When we received the order form for Photo Day at daycare, P.C. wanted to order the biggest package we could get, so we could give everyone copies of Megan's "school picture." Personally, I would have been fine if they didn't take Megan's picture. I understand that the daycare also has a preschool, so it made sense to take pictures, but I couldn't imagine that this photo of my baby would turn out to be one for the photo album.

Well...here it is. Oh, it makes me so sad to look at it. You can see that she was crying before they took the photo (look at her sad little eyes), and her arms are out like she's saying, "please get me out of here." And this is just the internet version--in the live photo, her eyes look even sadder. P.C.'s mom was so troubled by this picture that she came to the house after she received this just to get a glimpse of "happy Megan."

It did make me feel better, however, to realize that hardly any kids at this age take a good photo. I mean, look at the class picture.

Cute kids, but they all look like toddlers who have no clue what is happening!

I suspect these pictures will be brought out years from now to embarrass Megan...luckily, we'll have plenty of originals. I don't think we'll be giving out her class photo this year (although P.C. did take one for his wallet).