Night Sweats

Woah. Woah. Woah.

No one ever told me I'd sweat like an Eskimo in Death Valley after my baby was born. I vaguely remember reading online that women lose water weight by sweating post partum. But I do not recall any book/website/unsolicited advisor telling me that I would sweat buckets while I slept at night.

I feel so gross! I'm fine during the day- even walking around outside in hot weather. But each time I wake up at night to feed Jacob, I find myself covered in a thick sticky layer of blubbery water weight sweat. My hair will be drenched. A pool of sweat would have collected between my massive Astroboobs- is that a flea doing the backstroke in my boob pool? When I sleep on my side the layers of clothing between my legs are sopping wet. In desperation, I used the edge of my bedsheet to try to wipe the warm, smelly sweat drops off my forehead. Hours later, that part of my sheet is still pretty damp.

This is seriously insane. It's HAS to be wrong for a human to sweat this much. This isn't a mild symptom to be casually included among a list of post partum discomforts...this is the kind of thing that deserves a whole page-worth of mentioning in a baby book.

I've been trying to beat the night sweats by sleeping in as little clothing as possible. The only outcome is that the sweat that would have drenched my clothing just pools all over my skin. Good thing Jacob doesn't care what his mommy smells like at 3:00am in the morning. I sure wouldn't want to suckle off a hot sweaty boob for my breakfast.

My Husband, My Hero: An Incredibly Long Birth Story

So maybe I did all the work in this "birth" story but it's my husband who is the real hero.

Tuesday September 2nd, 2008 was the most traumatic day (and night) of my life, hands down- hands so far down that I'm actually stepping on them. I wish I could say it was the most miraculous, amazing day but none of those miraculous moments happened until hours past day's end.

As I was calmly awaiting my induction date, I started having contractions on Sunday night. Despite being quite uncomfortable, they were pretty random. I even stopped timing them and tried (key word) getting some sleep. I woke up with stronger contractions but they kept coming and going- they had absolutely no pattern at all. I suffered through them all day waiting for 9:00- the time I was scheduled to arrive at the hospital. As 9:00 approached, I remember feeling nervous, anxious, excited and terrified. It was an emotional day.

When we got to the hospital, it was oddly calm and organized. The nurses were prepped and ready, my room was set up and the front desk lady even announced "you must be Ms. Palmer" as I approached. I got tucked into the hospital bed and began the most horrifying experience of my life.

First came the IV. That hurt like a b*tch! I writhed in pain as they stuck that thing deep under my skin. The nurses put monitors around my belly and confirmed that I was indeed having contractins on my own but that, despite the intense pain, they were exteremly random in length, intensity and frequency. They offered me some morphine for the pain and, duh, I JUMPED at the offer- until they informed me that it was administered via needle. Into The Butt. OMG. The shot was seriously more painful than the contractions. But, at least, with the morphine, I was able to get some sleep.

When the morphine wore out a couple hours later, my contractions became completely unbearable. Like I thought my abdomen was going to explode with each one. Oddly enough, they were still coming on randomly. The first morphine shot hurt so much that I put off the second one for 45 minutes, choosing instead to suffer through the contractions. When they finally gave it to me (my poor butt) it did nothing! They checked me and noticed that I hadn't dialated AT ALL. WHAT?! After all that?! As awful as it was to go through the pain, I felt just as bad for my husband who stayed by my side for a lot of the night watching me writhe all over the hospital bed. He held my hand and told me it was going to be ok. I knew it was hurting him to watch me.

In addition to the IV sticking into me, I had two monitors on my belly, a catheder, and an internal monitor that was attached to the baby's head. This was BEFORE the epidural was placed in my back. I was a mess and so uncomfortable.

I got an epidural before they started the labor inducing drugs (and even though I was not dialated). I LOVE EPIDURALS. The numbing shot felt like a pin prick - the IV and morphine shots were 100 times worse. Then I felt great. No pain at all all. This began my love affair with the epidural. I could just barely feel my belly tighten with the most intense contractions but beside that, I was the most comfortable I had been in months! Things were starting to go well and the nurses kept commenting that I would have a baby by noon on Tuesday- just six hours away!

Then things went horribly wrong. I dialated all morning but then stopped at six centimeters. I was still having random contractions. Two together in a row and then a third five to ten minutes later. In hours I had made no progress. I started getting the chills with a fever of 101. Because of the fever, they had to keep giving me antibiotics through the IV. Then I had a large contraction and the baby's heart rate dipped from the 140s to 50 then back to normal again. The nurses started to fuss all over me and then gently explained that I might need a c-section. I did NOT take this well. I bawled all over the place and panicked. My poor husband kept trying to calm me down and reassure me. Looking back, I'm amazed at how strong he stayed for my sake. He held my hand and kissed my cheek. I would have realized again how much I loved him if the possibility of major surgery hadn't been dangling in my future.

Late Tuesday afternoon, my OB decided that we should wait things out if the baby's heart stayed strong. She increased the pitocin and said that if I made any progress in two hours, we could do a vaginal delivery. PHEW. I calmed down and prayed for more dialation with each contraction. Two hours later I had progressed to 8 centimeters! I was so relieved! An hour later, I was close enough to a ten that they let me start pushing.

I started pushing at 7:30pm. It would be an understatement to say that that was a lot of work! My husband bravely helped push one of my legs towards my abs with each push as the nurse pushed the other. Halfway through- in addition to the strong contractions, I felt a tremendous pain in the side of my pelvis with each contraction. The pain brought me to tears and I was miserable. The nurse had no idea what it was. My husband kept telling me I was doing a great job and that I was so strong. The truth is I was worn out and broken down. It was amazing to hear the nurse say she could see almost see his head. But two hours had passed and baby was not coming out. He was coming out sideways, was stuck and unable to get through my pelvis.

My doctor came in and tried to help him out with the vacuum. The thing made an awful sucking noise against the baby's head as she plunged and I pushed. I kept imagining her ripping the baby's head right off his body. At this point I was hurt and tired (having slept three out of twenty four hours and enduring two days of contractions) and definately scared. When the vacuum failed, my OB broke the news to me- I was heading in for a c-section, immediately.

My worst fears materialized. I'd never had surgery before and now I had no choice. I hyperventaled and couldn't breath. I sobbed until I thought I would explode. I wished to be anywhere but where I was. I felt helpless and scared. Although my husband was right there experiencing his own fear and pain, I felt so alone. He bravely and calmly took my hand, told me it would be ok. He had tears in his eyes but he was trying to soothe me as much as he could. I just kept thinking of what was ahead of me and completely broke down.

I cried helplessly as they cut off my monitors and the anesthesiologist inserted more drugs through my epidural. They rolled me onto a moveable bed, put the oxygen mask over my mouth and wheeled me into a completely different, foreign room with bright lights and white walls and tools everywhere. My husband bravely followed alongside with his own gown and surgical mask on.

The doctors kept pricking the lower half of my body to see if I felt the pain. I finally fell numb and became completely immobile. They placed a curtain in front of my face. I began to shake incontrollably in my arms and hands. My neck was cramped and sore from pushing for two hours and the pain was shooting down my spine as I lay on the operating table. Tears kept flowing but I just kept looking into my husband's eyes and tried to carry on a distracting conversation with the doctor. He told me the entire process lasted an hour. OMG. How could I lay still and let them cut me up for an entire hour?! I felt tugging and pulling in my abdomen. I could hear squishing and slurping noises. I was trying to control my shaking and my tears.

Then I heard someone say "it's a boy!" My husband left my side for one minute to just take a peek at the baby. I will never forget how when he returned the tears welled up in his eyes and had dampened his surgical mask. I will never forget that he told me "He's so beautiful. He's so beautiful." as he held back more tears. Then he grabbed my hand and said "He's definately a Jacob."

That was the one precious moment amongst twenty five hours of pain, fear an uncertainty. It only lasted twenty seconds, but my memory of those seconds makes the other memories of the night seem pale and distant. At that time I had no idea that I would not be able to see my son for the first time until three hours later or that I wouldn't be able to hold him for even longer. I had no idea that I would stay in the hospital four more days experiencing hot flashes, mandatory additional fasting, intense incisonal burning, multiple needle sticks in the arm, pain from laughing, coughing, breathing too deeply. I still had no idea I would be leaving with a staple-covered incision and fully dependant on pain medication. But despite the chaos and uncertainty, I found twenty seconds of pure happiness.

So after 25 hours of hard labor including 2 full hours of pushing, my son finally entered the world via c-section on Tuesday September 2, 2008 at 10:50pm.

Jacob Jessie Palmer entered the world weighing 8lbs 8oz with a soft head of dark brown hair and the most enchanting newborn face. I'm so incredibly happy and our lives have been turned so completely upside down that I have to pinch myself to be assured that it's all real.

Summer Is For Concerts

There were so many concerts I was dying to see this summer. For example, Jack "The Hot Talented Earth Friendly Surfer" Johnson. Last year, I just about died when Jack Johnson took time off from touring to be at home with his new baby because I had just missed his Seattle performance the year before. Now, thanks to the stubborn spawn of mine, my bad luck continues and I may NEVER see him perform live for AS LONG AS I LIVE.

Yes, this summer was a great one for concerts in the Seattle area. Too bad I had to miss them all because, you know, I was supposed to be HAVING A BABY!

I'm going to start tallying the concerts that I'm missing out on this summer so that I can hold it against Baby many years from now. Like when I want him to do the dishes. Or clean gunk out of the shower drain. Or eat the "experiment" I made for dinner using the only ingredients in the fridge: refried beans, carrots and mustard.

This summer I am missing:

Bumbershoot - Seattle's Annual Music Festival
Maroon 5
Boyz II Men
Jack Hotness Johnson
Coldplay

This kid soooo owes me, big time.

Baby Update

Things are looking up now! My doctor scheduled my induction. Hopefully, if all goes well, I will be meeting my baby boy on Tuesday!

I have to go into the hospital late Monday night to get all hooked up and "ripened" (ew, I hate that term). Then Tuesday morning they will break my water and start the drugs. My doctor said I will be holding my baby by dinner time! Of course there is a slight chance I could still go into labor before then but that is pretty unlikely according to my doctor.

My dad thinks its hilarious that my labor will be induced on labor day. I think its not so funny.

So I have four more days to kill but I think I'll survive. It feels so good knowing there is a definite end in sight. In fact, I kind of like knowing exactly when- down to the hour- I will have to be at the hospital. It's nice to be able to plan it all out and to mentally and emotionally gear up for the event.

September 2nd isn't a bad birthdate. In fact, I kind of like the sound of it. My baby will share the same birthday as Keanu Reeves, Salma Hayek and the United States Treasury Department.

I can't believe that I will be meeting my son in four short days! I have so much resting, sleeping, and t.v. watching to do!

Oh and thank you all for your kind supportive comments!

Prepartum Depression

Is there such a thing? I think I have it.

This is the third day in a row that I have absolutely no appetite. I force fed myself toast last night because I knew I had to eat something. Then I sat on my couch and stared at the wall for three hours. I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted from waiting. If I knew it would take so long I would have saved my mental energy but I expected to be done with this awful journey called pregnancy by now.

I'm sick of thinking about babies and hospitals. I know it sounds really awful but I can't stand anything baby related right now. I want to be myself again. And I'm even starting to wish I never got pregnant in the first place. The longer I sit on my butt waiting, the more time I have to think about what it means to bring a life into the world. That's more time to feel daunted by the 18 year commitment. More time to dwell on the fact that someone will call me "mom."

Worst of all, this waiting is creating a tremendous build-up. Before, I was so sick of being pregnant that I just wanted to go into labor right away. But now I have moments where I think about it too long and realize- "Holy shit. My body has to do THAT?!" And I feel trapped and scared and I can't just get it over with whenever a moment of courage passes over me.

I have no desire to do anything and this just makes me more bored and depressed. I don't want to go out because I'm sick of people asking when I'm due. Plus I feel even bigger than before and I don't have ANY shirts that fit and I'm sick of people staring at my belly! I'm so uncomfortable and even simple things- like bending over or getting off the couch- take a lot of effort and energy and maneuvering.

This depression is pretty bad. I know it's bad because I don't even want to eat ice cream.

I've Made A Huge Mistake

Of course I didn't realize this until two hours AFTER I had taken the Castor Oil.

Twelve long insufferable hours later and I'm finally able to stand up without something coming out of either end of my body. Sorry about that image.

I may never be able to smell/touch/look at olive or vegetable oil ever again.

What the hell was I thinking?! Oh yeah, I wasn't. As they say, curiosity killed the overdue, desperate pregnant lady.

10 Things I Can't Wait To Do Again!

To celebrate my due date, I decided to stay positive and think of all the things I'm looking forward to doing again when baby finally decides to come...

1. Sleep on my stomach

2. Relax in a jacuzzi

3. Wear my Real Clothes (as in pants without elastic waist bands)

4. Walk without waddling

5. See the underside of my belly

6. Drink a potent margarita (or two)

7. Wear sexy lingerie

8. Go on a very, very long run

9. Put on panties without falling over

10. Bend over (without having to resort to the feet-apart "Sumo" stance)

Just More Bitterness, Immaturity And Waiting

My cousin became a dad yesterday. I know I should be happy for him. But I'm not. His baby wasn't even due until two weeks after mine. How is that fair at all? I kinda wanted my baby to be the second great grandchild- now his kid gets that glory (I know second isn't as cool as being first- but now my baby has to settle for third and no one cares about third).

I'm so jealous that they don't have to experience the awful last two + weeks of waiting. Everytime I see someone else with a baby, I want to throw a fit worthy of a toddler. I hate that pregnancy is turning me into a fat steaming pile of immaturity!

Crazy Emotions

My OB confirmed today at my appointment that there is absolutely nothing going on "down there." I really thought this week would be different. I was sure baby would give me some sign that he was ready to meet the world. My due date is only three days away- how much longer can he just hang out? It's not like there's a TV in there!

So, my doctor scheduled me for a non stress test next week. I have no idea what that is except that it involves monitoring the baby. My doctor also informed me that if baby doesn't come by then, she will schedule to induce me sometime the week after that- we're talking SEPTEMBER people!! SO NOT COOL.

Scheduling the appointment for next week just made it all sink it. The reality of the fact that I will likely be pregnant for ten more days suddenly weighed down hard on me. I lumbered out of the doctor's office (picture the stride of a bow-legged lumberjack with his head hung low), climbed into my car and had a major melt down. I felt disappointed. Let down. Sad. Depressed. Angry.

Part of me knows that it's best to wait until my body is ready. Part of me rationalizes that ten more days is nothing after waiting nine months. The other part of me DOESN'T GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT RATIONALITY. I want to meet my baby and I want to meet him RIGHT NOW. After nine months of tortue, the least I deserve is for my due date to be accurate.

After my melt down, I took my immediate material happiness into my own hands. I went to the mall and had some General Tsao's chicken. Then I rented two discs of Season One Desperate Housewives. Finally, I went to the grocery store and bought a box of chocolate chip granola bars and Peach Snapple. I was beginning to feel much better already.

As I waited patiently at the back of a long check out line, a grocer lady approached me and, calling me by my last name, she offered to help me at the next check stand. 1. She remembered my name! I was so flattered and felt so special. 2. I went from the back of one line to the very front of the next one.

Granola bar in one hand and my Snapple in the other, I walked out of the store feeling high as a kite.

At Least My Feet Are Happy

I know the secret to getting rich.

All you have to do is start a wide-spread rumor that the product/service you offer has been known to induce labor. I promise that all the nine month pregnant women on the continent (that's a lot of women) will try it out of sheer desperation. Why? Because waiting to go into labor is WORSE than waiting for law school grades to trickle in. 100 TIMES WORSE!

The common theories of today include walking a lot, having sex, eating spicey food and getting a pedicure. Guess how many women at 39 weeks pregnant are doing all of the above with voracious frequency? I'll tell you. At least one- Me.

This week, I decided to try a foot reflexology treatment. People say hitting certain pressure points in your feet will bring on contractions. Aside from decreasing my checking account by a butt-load, getting my feet all oiled up while I napped and drooled on the spa bed- nothing happened. I feel like a complete idiot for buying into that one.

However, I have no problem with the fact that the other wives tales haven't worked either. It gives me an excuse to 1) get my husband in bed with me as much as I want, 2) eat Mexican and Indian food every night, 3) keep up my running despite my husband's pleas to take it easy (if walking is supposed to help- imagine how much the bouncing of running should work in my favor).

What Part Of "Get Out" Don't You Understand Baby?

I was hopefully optimistic when I planned my last day of work to coincide with the beginning of my 38th week of pregnancy. You know, babies can come early. It happens all the time right? Apparantly not to me. I'm probably destined to be one of those 2 weeks overdue people- which JUST PLAIN SUCKS.

So this is my second week at home and I've completely run out of things to do. I'm so bored out of my mind. Last week I had two young kids over for a sleep over. I sewed some curtains for the nursery. I de-fleaed the cats and either washed or vacuumed every inch of the house. I cooked dinner for my in-laws. I started running. And I already watched like 8 episodes of Desperate Housewives. Seriously. What is left to do?

I'm actually wishing I could go back to work again. I would kill for a legal research project to work on. I even wish I had a horrid memo to write! Maybe I'll read the Housing and Community Development Law book (or various other law books I took from the "free" pile at our school) and start outlining it for fun. Isn't that just ridiculous- outlining for FUN?! This is what the pregnancy waiting game has done to me!

If baby would come sometime this week I would be ecstatic. He's getting so strong that everytime he moves, he either crushes one of my bones or it feels like he's going to tear my belly right open. I'm so uncomfortable- I'm either super hot or super cold. I'm always naseous and hungry. I feel like I'm going to burp and poop at the same time. UGH. PLUS, I'm just so anxious to meet him.

But I have an awful feeling that I will still be pregnant for my 41 week check up.

Well, I finally thought of something I can do: look into various natural induction methods...

A Return To Running

Up until I was 6 months pregnant and before I started my full time summer internship, I was a pregnant running beast. I was averaging 5-8 miles per day and it felt delicious. When I started work (with a 3 hour round trip commute), I just couldn't fit runs into my day or at least I was way too exhausted to try.

Now that I'm done with work and just waiting for the baby to come, I'm starting to get back into running. When I hit the track yesterday for the first time since my 2.5 month recovery, it felt like heaven. I can't believe how much I missed running. I can't believe I allowed myself to miss out on the experience for 2.5 months.

The rythmic (yet waddling) swish of my feet hitting the pavement is like a music all its own. The slight burning of my lungs being pushed beyond capacity and the stinging strain of my calves felt incredible. I jumped right into that run as if I never missed a day. I couldn't keep the silly grin off my face as I completed lap after lap, it felt SO GOOD! I didn't even mind that the high school cheerleading squad gawked at me as they practiced their drills.

For the first time in forever, my mind felt totally and completely peaceful. My body felt like its old self- minus the incredible pressure pushing against my lady parts, of course. Everything felt so right. It was a runner's homecoming.

Of course, it feels very different running at 39 weeks than it did running at 28 weeks. To be honest, I was really scared yesterday and feared that I wouldn't be able to run at all. But it really wasn't bad. My leg musles are in atrophy and need to be coaxed into taking on mileage. The pressure bearing down with each step is also considerable greater. I mean, I am running with a 7 pound weight in me. Even though I'm running slower, I feel like my legs and lungs have to work harder. Also, after the first mile, I usually get pretty crampy (yay! maybe it's inducing labor!). But other than that, running feels just like it always has- euphoric.

Yesterday I managed to keep a running/jogging pace for 2 consecutive miles and today I made it to 2.5. Hopefully I will get up to 3 miles tomorrow but I'm not going to push it. This might sound sick but I can't wait until my post-baby work outs when I can start running harder and increasing my mileage!

Are We There Yet?

Another baby/pregnancy post. Being that I am in my 38th week, babies are pretty much the ONLY thing on my mind :)

I went in for my last ultrasound. My doctor thought the last one was wrong because it showed that my baby was HUGE and had a MASSIVE HEAD. Both are bad things for a vaginal birth experience, I guess. Anyway, this ultrasound was much better. It put my baby's weight and size back in the "normal" track.

This was my fourth ultrasound, but they continue to mesmerize me. I couldn't keep my eyes off that "whitenoise" looking screen. Poor baby. He looked so squished in there. I thought I saw his hands waving around by his head but I was surprised to learn that they were his FEET. His feet are in his face!

My husband graciously commented, "If his feet smell anything like yours, I feel really bad for the guy."

I also saw his face again. He already has little chubby cheeks and is practicing moving his tongue around. I swear he was mouthing the words, "Get me outta here," or maybe it was "feed me an ice cream sundae, please."

Then I had my doctor's appointment to do my internal check. The waiting room was unusually empty. Everyone else on the planet must have already had their babies, dang it! The verdict is that I'm still completely closed up. This could be a long two weeks, maybe four (I hope not!). No change at all from last week or the week before that. UGH.

When the doctor was listening to Baby Palmer's heart beat she started staring at my belly and got this weird look on her face. She asked me to hold my breath. What? I was confused and worried but I obliged. Then she laughed and said, "I can see your baby breathing! I can see his chest rise and fall by looking at your belly." Apparently that's not a common thing to see. I remember a couple times putting my hand on my belly and feeling it move rythmically up and down. I thought maybe it was baby hiccups or I was feeling my own pulse. I guess that's what the mystery movement is- Baby Palmer breathing! How cool!

As I left the waiting room I saw a couple bring their five day old twins in. The babies were so tiny- around five pounds each- and so sweet! Seeing newborns makes me super anxious to meet Baby Palmer.

For now, I'll just follow his orders and feed him an ice cream sundae.

Adding Insult To Pregnancy

I'll admit that I'm shallow and insecure and that whenever I get hit on (whether the guy is decent or a bum) I come home and brag about it to my husband. I don't know why I do this. Maybe I like to let him know that some lunatic singled ME out of a handful of passerbys to berate with desperate cat calling. Or maybe I like to remind my husband that other people find me somewhat attractive and that he should be lucky to have me. Or maybe I just like to make him jealous.

However, cat calls and desperate flirting is NOT flattering when you're nine month pregnant. Rather, it's down right insulting.

Today, I was walking to the ferry when a guy on a park bench winked at me and called out, "How YOU doin'."

I ignored him and walked three feet before some teenager on a bicycle yells to me, "Hey, you dropped something!" I had my hands full so I turned around to see what I dropped. That's when he smiled mischeviously and said, "you dropped your smile."

First of all, that's the worst attempt at flirting I have EVER heard. I dropped my smile? What the hell? That's not an attempted compliment or a flamboyant inuendo. It's simply lame. But what should I expect from an un-seasoned 15 year old. Young padawon has a lot to learn if he wants to get lucky with a comment like that.

Secondly, yelling out to a nine month pregnant lady is not flattering or even funny. It's plain disgusting. Not to mention, insulting. It's like calling a fat kid "slim" and asking if he likes cake. It's like tripping an old man with a cane- and then punching him in the back while he's still planted face first on the ground. Like asking a one-legged kid to a race. Or asking a bald person with cancer who their hair stylist is.

I'm tired, nauseous, huge, waddling and definately FAR from being the object of anyone's desire. Especially now since I looked in the mirror and noticed that I've been walking around sporting a HUGE ketchup stain on the bottom of my shirt. It's located on the bottom of my belly (the southern hemisphere of my globe) and, apparently, visible to the entire plant but me.

Nothing To Do But Have A Baby

Yay, work is done. Boo, work is done.

It was kind of a relief to put work behind me. The last two weeks have been especially difficult forcing myself to be motivated enough to get out the door. The ferry boat seats were starting to get uncomfortable. I was getting so fed up with people staring at me like I'm a spectacle too-at least they should have the decency to be inconspicuous in their gawking. Then I had the uphill walk to work. The time it took me to battle those hills was steadily increasing. I noticed that I was getting to work a little later each day. But it was a good work out I guess.

The past three months I mostly stayed in my office and work fervently on my projects. I really only chatted with the attorneys I worked with. But I was surprised at how many other people seemed genuinely sad to see me go. I thought they barely knew I was there. But I got hugs from a lot of unexpected people. The partners told me I could come back next summer too!

I had a great experience writing real motions and researching all kinds of interesting legal issues. The attorneys went out of their way to involve me in the strategies of litigation and to make sure I was learning the ropes. I think I know what is expected of a first year associate now. I'm a lot more confident in my abilities too. But all that said, I'm ready to be done! This is my first real break from law since Christmas break and I'm totally gonna eat it up.

At the same time, I wish I extended my termination date by a thousand weeks. Now I have nothing to keep my mind off being pregnant. I have nothing to occupy myself as I go through the infamous "waiting game." Now, I actually HAVE to have a baby. There is no backing out now.

Last week I was anxious to be done and to just meet the baby. Now that it's looming over my head and could practically happen anyday, I'm getting a little freaked out.

The magnitude of how our lives will change and what I will have to go through is starting to dawn on me. It's not just a fun game- it's not like waiting nine months for the best concert of all time. It's a major event and it changes your life forever. Plus, it involves IV's, pain, hospitals and sharp needles....yikes. It's not just a "someday" looming over the horizon. It's actually gonna happen. And supposedly, it will happen in less than two weeks!

Excuse me while I run to the store to rent two weeks worth of Desperate Housewives re-runs to keep my mind from thinking about it. And two weeks worth of powdered donut holes.

Evil Pregnancy, Your Days Are Numbered!

I talked with my doctor and she confirmed that my due date is, in fact, the 23rd and not the 29th. Wow. So, I'll be 38 weeks in a couple days. Scary. That means a baby could be here any day.

Of course, knowing my luck I will end up being two weeks overdue. *knocking on wood* that that DOESN'T happen. This is the third week the doctor has checked me and my body is giving no sign that it plans on letting the kid out soon.

I was in the waiting room and the girl next to me was having mild contractions not very close together. She was talking about how she was so excited and that she expected to have a baby in 24 hours. Then she said she just turned 37 weeks and was glad that she would get out of three weeks of pregnancy. That's so NOT what I wanted to hear. I'm so jealous. B*TCH. I hope she's having nothing more than evil braxton hicks contractions. Or I hope that baby's big fat head puts her through 48 hours of labor. Or it comes out looking like one of those creepy furry gremlins that I still have nightmares about. Or worse, like Pee Wee Herman!

Ok I know that's really harsh and totally uncalled for and that I would give anything to be in her shoes, but I'm so sick of being pregnant. And it seems like the entire world is having their babies before me. Plus I have an annoying zit on my sun-burned shoulder and it's completely RUINING MY LIFE.

Odds 'n Ends

When I went in to pre-register at the hospital last week, the registering nurse had a copy of my medical chart from my OB. When she left the room to grab something, I took a peek at it. I've always been curious about what my OB sribbles on that clipboard.

It had mostly boring things like my fundal height measurements and a graph of my weight gain. Then I looked at the top of the chart where my due date was written. I was told at my first ultrasound that my due date is Aug 29th. The due date my OB has recorded is Aug 23rd. OMG, that's like a total week difference! I've been one week ahead this whole time? That means instead of being 36 weeks, I'm 37 weeks- full term! That throws my whole perception of this pregnancy off. But it also brings me one week closer to a baby!

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I was scanning the latest gossips blogs when I caught site of a headline about the release of the Brangelina twins photos.

Me: "wow, the pics of Brad and Angelina's twins are published!"
Husband: "Yup."
Me: "I didn't know that! I wonder what they look like."
Husband: "They look like babies..."

That's such a typical guy response.

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This weekend was my family's third annual family reuinion, called [insert family name]-Fest. It's becoming a famous event as new people are invited each year. Each year there is a special theme. The first year was a luau/Octoberfest celebration (hence the name). Last year it was Survivor themed and we had to break up into tribes and complete challenges. This year was a circus theme.

No matter what the theme, SOMEHOW the festivities always include my dad and his brothers being forced to dress as women. They usually don dresses, makeup, boob stuffing, and sometimes bikini coconuts. Each year it gets easier and easier to coax them into dressing in drag. I'm beginning to think they secretly enjoy it by now. They love all that attention as the crowd hoots and hollers at them. Bonus: each year I bring my camera and collect extra bits of blackmail to use against my dad. :)

Childbirth Education Is A BIG Mistake

I finally bit the bullet and signed up for an all day childbirth education class. For some reason, I felt inadequate and irresponsible NOT taking a class. My sister in law never took one and she had the easiest experience ever...but I felt like I HAD to do it.

The class turned out to be the most horrifying thing in my life. Before I got pregnant, the thought of giving birth totally freaked me out. Everytime I tried to read about it, I would faint. Just THINKING about it made me sick. That all changed when I actually found out I was pregnant. The farther along I was, the more my excitement drowned out any of my past fears. As long as I had drugs, I could do anything!

THEN I took THE CHILDBIRTH CLASS.

First of all, it was super lame. I would say that this class is for someone who knowns absolutely NOTHING about pregnancy and labor and has never read a book about the subject. This class would be more effective as a birth control method- let them teach THIS stuff to highschoolers! Things I DID learn from the annoying instructor included: how waves move on the ocean, exactly how heart rate monitors are like submarine sonar machines, how baby cats nurse, and how if we tighten one of our muscles the rest of our body will tighten as well (she made us all practice this too).

Then came the videos. OMG. Everyone else seemed to handle them just fine. Some people turned away during the graphic parts (including my husband). Some people watched with fascination while others expressed their feelings with eeeew's and uuugh's.

Me? I hyperventalated. Tears ran down my cheeks as I sobbed violently into my jacket. I found myself breathless and suffocating, forcing deep breaths as I emitted sick wheezing sounds. I wanted to run away. Not just from the class but from my pregnant, walking, time-bomb of a body.

When I caught my breath, my husband asked me if I was ok. Looking purple in the face, I softly told him, "I changed my mind. I don't want to have a baby."

Next came the "Intervention Methods" video. This is the one where they talk about and show you procedures to aid the childbirth process, including pain relief and happy drugs. Phew, this would make me feel better right? WRONG. The "pain relief" methods seemed JUST as painful as the labor itself. From the long epidural needle, to the episiotomy incision, catheders, IV's, forceps, c-section delivery. I felt trapped. No way out. Pain at every corner. OMG HELP ME. NO SEX EVER AGAIN!

I freaked out again. I felt naseous and dizzy. I couldn't breath. I felt like I was in a nightmare. Like I was slowly awaiting execution by guillotine. What the hell was I thinking? Can't there be an easier way to bring life into the world? Exactly how cruel can god be? I left the class feeling sick, shaky, depressed and scared.

My advice to pregnant women is to go into the process of labor knowing nothing more than the basic options your doctor explains to you. Just trust the doctor. DO NOT watch a video. Do not learn about the icky stuff. Education is over-rated. Just know that it's gonna hurt but be worth it in the end.

From The Desk Of Me: JD/Mom To Be

8:25: Get off the ferry boat. Try to manuver around the old, young, slothlike, and the humongous that walk super slow and take up the entire sidewalk. Then procede to walk up the monster hills of Seattle, wheezing and huffing in high heels (yes, high heels during pregnancy allows me some delusions that I am still attractive and not completely turning into the large Safeway deli lady with a mustach so long she should be forced to wear a mustach hair net).

8:40: Walk by five consecutive Starbucks and try to talk myself out of splurging on a Tall Skinny Vanilla Latte five times. So much willpower!

8:45: Walk past the firm's receptionist and hear her tell me that soon I will be needing a wheel chair. Great. Thanks. You look good too.

8:45: Sit in my office and check my personal email. Then check my work email. Then finally get to work having nothing left to enable my inner procrastinator.

9:15: First trip to the restroom. Walk past receptionist with my head still held high.

9:45: First snack- apples and water.

10:30: Second trip to the restroom. Try to coordinate this trip with a trip to the kitchen to refill my water bottle. Hope that receptionist is away from her desk for a minute (I know she counts how often I pee).

10:45: Second snack- heart healthy Kashi-version of cheerios, eaten plain like a five year old.

11:30: I eat my lunch while I work on an assignment. Somehow, breadcrumbs manage to slide down the crevice between my boobs. They eventually get stuck on top of my baby bump and make me itch for the rest of the day. I have to go to the bathroom again but try to hold it for when I go on my lunch break outing.

12:15: I can't hold it anymore. I run out the door and dart into the bathroom. The receptionist gives me a humorous look as I walk back in.

1:00: Go for a walk around Seattle. Get hit on by bums. Try to avoid the annoying street solicitors who work for political activist groups. If I fail to avoid them I have to explain that I can't save the cleft palate children of the world today because I'm only on my lunch break and I'd rather use that time by buying consumer goods that I do not need. Pee BEFORE heading back to my desk.

1:45: Snack #3- a banana and Diet Dr. Pepper (I pretend I'm drinking a beer and it tastes just a little bit more heavenly). Then it's the time of day where I magically begin to feel nauseous- it's like clockwork everyday.

2:30: Another bathroom break. I wonder how it is that a person can poop three consecutive times in one day.

3:30: Final bathroom break. My head is pretty much hung in full-out "shame" position as I walk by the receptionist AGAIN. Note to self to drink less water or get a key to the back entrance. I think about all the time I waste with my potty breaks.

4:40: Spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to bill my time. This is such a dreaded part of a lawyer's daily activities and it's such a freaking pain in the neck. I need a billing category just for entering my billing.

4:59: I'm out the door, walking down the intense Seattle hills toward the ferry. With the size of my belly, I should consider rolling rather than walking. It sure would be faster.

Harboring Baby Shrek

Last week I wrote a post about how my Dr. is on crack. This week, she surprised me with her own comment about crack...coincidence?

I had an ultrasound last week because my Dr. thought I was on the smaller side. She said I was measuring a couple weeks behind. So I submitted myself to the gooey pleasures of an ultrasound in the third trimester, which happen to make you feel barfy and lightheaded as well: oh joy. (why is that goo so hard to get off anyway? I felt like a whole bottle of KY had been rubbed all over my belly for the remainder of the day).

This week my Dr. gives me the results. Despite the fact that my own size is still measuring a couple weeks behind, Baby Palmer is, in fact, Baby Shrek. He measures somewhere in the 75th-90th percentile in size/weight. At 34 weeks, they estimated his weight to be 6lbs! WTF? Come on! Both my husband and I were 7 pounders and I've gained less than the average amount during this pregnancy- what gives?!

It must be because I didn't listen to the research advice that I posted earlier on my blog. This advice said if you run only partway through your pregnancy and then stop, you will have the biggest baby possible because runners have larger placentas and more effecient systems.

Right now I'm banking on the fact that ultrasounds are not 100% accurate. In fact, my doctor said it can be about a pound off- in either direction. Wait- so that means my Shrek Baby could actually be 5 pounds (which is right about normal) or *GULP* 7 pounds (give me drugs- no, knock me out cold)?!

My Dr. told me that if I was still pregnant at 38 weeks, she wanted me to have another ultrasound to check Baby Shrek's weight. Hopefully, this means that if he does turn out to be gigantic, that they will induce me earlier (please, please!).

I told my Dr. I was worried about the baby being so big and that I hoped the ultrasound got it wrong. I told her that I just couldn't believe that I could have Shrek Babies.

Her reply was simple and awkward, "Don't worry. It just means you aren't getting enough crack."