Today was a BIG day in the world of babies!!

Several college friends gave birth this week (actually, it's been a multi-week long bonanza of little girls, starting on July 1; first came Elise (Karen), then Elisa (Jenn), then Adilynn (Melissa) yesterday, and today, Jaime had Corinne. And then Sarah, non-college friend but great Las Vegas friend, had little Isabella tonight at 6:31pm. So much excitement! So many babies! So little sleep that will be had by all parties for the next eight weeks! (eek)

And then, just to add to the excitement, the Whippersnapper stopped by with a red velvet cake (um, delicious), to see the house, and to show off her baby bump! Turns out she is four and a half months along...that sneaky devil. She found out right as we were closing on the house and has kept quiet this long. She has a poker face, that Whippersnapper. But she is glowing in her teeny-tiny adorableness and had about a million questions for me. I pulled out my Belly Book and some pictures of Scotty in the womb (that I stuffed in an envelope and appropriately titled 'Scotty in utero, 2009').  We talked for a couple hours and have a lunch date planned...after all, these babies can be complicated, especially for first-time mothers. Trust me, I know.

Well, combine re-reading my Belly Book over a glass of wine tonight while looking at all of these new baby pictures on Facebook, and it amounted to a very weepy Kim. Poor Brian was left to deal with my "We are going to have another baby, right?" questions, even though we know it's not possible for at least another 18 months. (the dreaded fibroid - and surgery - still linger. More on that later). But either way, Scotty as an only child or Scotty as a big brother, big, HUGE congrats to everyone who has just recently had a baby...such an exciting time!!

The Laptop is back! Rejoice!

I feel like I've reported on a lot of housing stuff lately, but very little Bear info. Long story short: the Bear is fabulous. As in, most awesome baby ever. He's adorable, he coos, he eats his nummy-solid foods with zeal and best of all, he is sleeping like a champ. I cover his little cheeks daily with thousands of kisses and he and I just can't get enough of each other.

I am also starting to feel a little like a celebrity in my own community. I have trouble going places without people stopping to coo at him. Seriously, I'm not trying to brag (and I hope it doesn't come off that way; perhaps this is how the world responds to a chubby baby? Not sure.) Especially in his forward-facing stroller, everyone has a great angle to glance at him and whether we are at the grocery store, the local mall or out for a walk, I would say 90% of the people that pass by look at him and smile, and then smile at me. 70% of these people vocalize something to him, and about 50% actually stop and squeal. (these are rough estimates, fyi). There is the small 20-30% that actually tries to hug me or attempt to touch my child (which results quickly in me running in the other direction), but I have to admit, all of this attention is really kind of fun. And terrible for my already-inflated ego.  I'm the mom with the really cute baby. And Scotty is such a ham, I swear everyday is like a parade for him. He just sits in his stroller in his one-float parade, smiling and waving (not really) at everyone.

It's great that things have finally settled out. This cuteness, combined with the fact I'm only pumping 2x per day, is making things almost...easy. Scotty is only taking 5 bottles per day (6oz each) so our dirty dishes are practically nil. I'm only donning the pink rubber gloves twice daily which  means I have so much more time for the important things, like blogging. :-) And thinking crazy, crazy thoughts. Like...let's have another baby.

The other day, during our final walk-through of our house, I found myself standing in one of the bedrooms. We have already assigned rooms for different purposes: guest room, our room, Scotty's room, etc. The first loft will be my writing area (!!) and the second loft will be the kids' playroom. There are still two open bedrooms, which made me start thinking (and yes, you read that correctly...kidS' playroom - as in multiple...)...maybe we should think about expanding the family? I mean, we have all this room...and a really adorable, well-behaved, sweet little boy...I'm staying at home, I've done the newborn circuit once so I have some real hands-on experience...you know, why not?
I'm not getting any younger.

Mind you, just weeks ago, I was bemoaning the idea of being pregnant to a friend. "We're adopting!" I trilled shrilly to her. "I'm NEVER going through that again!" But now, with a content baby, a quiet pump, and a huge house in front of us, I have to admit, it's tempting. Mom-nesia is a powerful sedative...

Brian dismissed my musings as crazy talk. "We could do it," I pressed him. "Maybe not in the next few months, but after Scotty's first birthday..." Even I couldn't believe what I was saying, but it sounded right. After all, once you get through the newness of the first baby, the second one just kinds of folds in, right? Like doubling a batch of cookies.

Fast forward to today. In my glowing fog of Motherhood, I've forgotten about a few things. One - when not at home, I am mostly likely in an environment that is somewhat child-friendly. After all, it seems like everyone I know either has babies or toddlers, is pregnant, or trying to get pregnant. As a result, I've developed a false sense of confidence about not only my mothering abilities, but also my child's behavior. (after all, when you are surrounded by toddlers, it's easy to feel like you are the best mother ever. Your child doesn't run, break stuff, or beat up other children.  You just sit back and gamely think, "My screaming child is SO much better behaved that that kid that is drawing on the walls. Bad, bad kid. Good baby. Bad kid, good baby.")  And Two - Scotty is bound to have some tough days. He's on the edge of teething, after all, and he has a right to have a grumpy day every once and a while.

So today, I *ahem* attempted to have lunch today with a few friends (former co-workers) that have older kids. Kids that attend school and were not present and are old enough to not try to eat the napkin at the restaurant. Or scream at the top of their lungs or flip around like a little fish when they want to be released from the shoulder harness in the stroller. Or vomit on you - twice - because you overfed them, since you confused their crying with hunger when it was really about teething. Or cause you to run out of the restaurant, tail between your legs, clutching your baby, diaper bag, to-go food and keys, just praying to get home before the Meltdown launches into Stage 5 (the point of no-return).

Needless to say, it was the shortest lunch ever. But it was also a very healthy dose of reality and a good wake-up call to my crazy talk - baby? Another one? Really? Hellll no. At least, not until Scotty can walk, talk, type, and possibly, make his own sandwich. And then make one for his Momma. :-)

Big congrats to Courtney and Jason on the birth of their new baby girl!!!! Samantha Michaelene came into the world yesterday, November 3rd, at 8:02am. She weighed in at 6 pounds, 15 ounces and is 18.5 inches long. Mom and baby are doing great, and I'm hoping to visit them sometime this afternoon or evening.

I told Scotty about Samantha, and his eyes got really big. I think he already knows that she will likely be his girlfriend in about eighteen years. Let's hope he doesn't vomit or poop on her the first time they meet. Nothing like making a bad first impression.

I should have known...living in Vegas, it would be trip #7 to Labor and Delivery that did the trick!

There is so much I want to say right now - I have been blogging mentally in my head for the last 60+ hours, even during the pushing phase of labor- but am in that official 'mom' phase where I don't have a moment of free time and my brain is so soaked in prolactin that nothing is making much sense. I have a little 8lb, 6oz bundle of perfection that has captivated all of my attention and quite rightly so. He's so freaking awesome I can't even describe it. Considering how stressful the pregnancy was, the delivery was nothing short of amazing, all the way up to little Baby B (now aptly named "Scotty") entering the world.

I'll try to give you the basic details since Brian and I have yet to call/talk to many people - sorry, we're just trying to find our footing here in the new world of parenthood. We probably won't be easy to touch base with for the next several days, and I'm sure you all understand. Thank you for all of the wonderful text messages, Facebook comments, emails, and phone calls! We feel so loved right now.

Anyways, here's the short version: went to my appt. with Dick on Monday as scheduled. WIthout going into vivid details, as Kelly's update post mentioned, "interesting" things were happening. It involved lots of bodily functions and something the size of a small body organ falling out of me while in the hallway of the doctor's office. Seriously. This thing (technically a blood clot, per the nurse) fell out, bounced off my foot, and landed on the hardwood floor.  It was the size of my fist. I thought I was going to pass out, but the nurse was quick to calm me down and send me to the hospital. I don't think I'll be wearing those flip-flops again.

Both docs decided this pregnancy was getting dangerous, and I had the hoice of a c-section that day or trying to go natural (with induction). Per Kelly's posts, I rolled the dice and opted for natural (with an epi). By 8pm Monday night, I learned that LABOR SUCKS and women who go med-free really do need a ticker tape parade or at the very least, a national holiday. The epidural was given by a nice man with a lovely New Zealand accent and I'm fairly sure I proposed to him on the spot. Mmm, pain meds.

And then at 12:30am, the damn thing wore off. Ironically, at 1am, I was 10 cm and ready to push. Holy heavens to betsy. It took about an hour of pushing, and one comment from George to bring Scotty into this world: "One more push, Kim, and you won't be pregnant anymore." Oh, that was ALL he needed to say. That was the push that brought our little man into the world along with about 27 gallons of fluid (all of which that ended up on George.)

We were discharged earlier today after less than 48 hours in the hospital. I feel great - and happily deflated. Scotty is more amazing and beautiful than I ever imagined. Watching he and Brian cuddle seriously makes happy charges explode in my brain. Breastfeeding is off to a fantastic start.

I think I'm still delirious from pain meds and adrenaline, but I hope this feeling never ever wears off. My little monkey is calling right now - time for another feeding - but thanks again for reading! I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing. I've gotten a lot of questions as to whether I will continue to write after bed rest is over, and the answer is a definite yes.

Oh and quickly - Scotty's cousin Ben came into the world 6 hours after Scotty did, weighing in at 7lbs, 10oz. Kelly is a super star for blogging for me just hours before her big day. They've had some complications up in MN, but at last check, things were on track and Ben is doing great. Keep sending those prayers up there!

Yes, that's right...lucky number 6.

I really thought last night was the night. Everything felt like it had just lined up perfectly - my contractions were 3 minutes apart and getting stronger and earlier in the weekend, I had had some interesting things happen too graphic to print here.  All correlated with signs of early labor in all three of my baby books (I like to cross-reference).

And yet, by 11pm last night, we were back at home. No baby.

Things started on Friday (again, I'm not going to describe it because 1. it's gross and 2. it's kind of personal). By Sunday, I was feeling some really strong, rhythmic contractions. We broke out contractiontimer.com and hit the button every time a contraction started or stopped. It felt a little like pushing the button on LOST - I kept wondering if we would get those weird symbols on our computer at one point (or at least a pop-up that said, "GO TO THE HOSPITAL!"). After 2 1/2  hours of this, and the contractions getting stronger, I told Brian, "It's time."

He shaved for the occasion and put on a nice shirt. I swept the kitchen floor, he put the bags in the car, we secured the cat together, and off we went. I knew the first bad sign was that I didn't like our nurse. She ended each statement with a weird inflection in her voice, almost as though she was asking a question instead of making a comment. ("Here is your apple juice?" "Baby's heart rate looks good?" "I'm going to check you now?") I'll be fair, I probably would hated anyone on site as my nurse, including if Erik the Vampire from True Blood (yum!) after she gave me the first round of bad news - still 1 cm dilated, 50% effaced, and the baby is so high up there, the nurse said he was in "Alaska."  ("He's in Alaska?")  Yes, he's just floating around in there, no head engagement, which means no pressure on my cervix, which means no dilation.

She was just as stumped as we were as to why things were failing to progress. I was having major contractions ("with bite" as she described them. Or, more accurately, "with bite?") that were getting stronger and happening every three minutes. She was like, "Well, you did exactly everything right...you're just not dilating." I was pretty horrified at that point, and asked...so am I supposed to do this, like, indefinitely? How in the world am I going to sleep? Or walk? Or function? She said most people with extra fluid usually will have their membranes rupture on their own, and my case seems to be unique. She also said my doctors would  not let me go on like this for weeks - after three days of "prolonged latent labor" they would "call it" (eek! That phrase again) and either induce or do a c-section. Both of which at this point, still require an amnio. Which Brian and I don't want to do.

So I feel as though I am stuck in the purgatory of pregnancy. I had prepared myself for physical pain and emotional upheaval, but what's surprising me is the psychological torture of never knowing what the hell is going on, and even when I DO think I know what's going on, being WRONG most of the time. It's really doing a number on my self-confidence.

Not to mention, my body is giving up on me. I'm starting to realize it's not walking or movement that is causing these back spasms - it's being pregnant. Laying in that hospital bed (i.e. medieval torture device) was almost as painful as experiencing the damn contractions. By the time I got home, my body was just spent. I couldn't bend, I couldn't stand up straight, I couldn't even walk up the stairs. Several warmed corn pillows later, along with more Tylenol, things felt more manageable. Even as I'm typing this now, I am hunched over in pain.  My short little torso has never had this amount of pressure put on it before and it's starting to buckle. Literally.

I took a Benadryl last night per the recommendation of the nurse and slept okay for the most part. I'm supposed to call George today and tell him about last night, but I don't think I will. Why? I had called his office yesterday afternoon to report my symptoms, and not surprisingly, never received a call back (Strike # 39,832). I mean, what is he going to do? Nothing. He'll tell me everything is fine and come to my appointment on Wednesday. That's if I even talk with him; I'm sure I'll get some slow-talking nurse who takes 10 minutes to find my chart and then 2 minutes to answer my question. I see Dick this morning (or at least, Dick's staff) so hopefully they'll be better able to advise me.

And I think the real cherry on top, aside from the disappointing news at the hospital and all of my twisted pain, was coming home to find four to six teenagers hanging out on our neighbor's porch, drinking 40s. Yup, 40s. Who even does that? It was close to 11:30pm and they looked like they were having a fairly good time. All were clearly underage with their eyeliner applied carefully, their mohawks standing straight up, and their leather pants adhered to their skinny legs. Brian and I just sat silently in the car for several seconds until I turned to him and asked, "Seriously...who did I piss off in another life? Why are we dealing with this?" He didn't answer, but just took the bags out of the car without a word. If there are cans in our yard this morning, I'm raising holy hell.

I'm grumpy. Sorry. I'm tired, I'm in pain, and I fear this child is going to float around in "Alaska" happily for the rest of the pregnancy. I also feel like that Greek mythology character who was punished for some wrongdoing against a god by never being able to fully quench his thirst or sate his hunger. Do you know who I'm talking about? I can't remember his name, but he's the guy who would reach for a drink of water at his feet, only to have the water ebb away, and then when he would reach for the grapes near his head, they would be *just* out of reach. Seriously, just chain me to a boulder and have an eagle chew on my liver for the rest of eternity. It's got to be better than this.

                                             ******************

In happier news, my nephew is coming into the world tomorrow! Little baby Ben should be here via c-section around 7:30am, PST.  I'm not even going to pretend to lie and say I'm not jealous that Kelly has a definite END to her pregnancy. What a wonderful (and exciting) feeling. So be sure to send good thoughts north to MN tonight and tomorrow as they prepare for their little guy to join them. Congrats, Kelly & Jake!

Okay, I first need to say, major props to Susan for commenting on the last entry. Susan, I cannot believe you've read 'Waiting for Godot'! Good for you. If I thought the play was excruciatingly painful, I can only imagine it in written form. Ouch.

Anyways, I got the best email yesterday from my mom. It was nothing short of a howler. (for those of you not familiar with Harry Potter terms, a howler is a mean/angry letter from a someone. The owls would swoop in and drop off the mail during breakfast time, and if it was a howler, everyone in the Great Hall could hear the letter screaming before it ever arrived in the hands of the unfortunate recipient.)

So, I guess my mom read my blog (which I know she does, which I love) and didn't like the idea that I went for a walk on Friday night. The email started with (and I quote, verbatim), "OHMYGOD, Kimberly! Would you please take it easy?" and ended with, "Consider yourself scolded."

::giggle::

The whole thing made me smile. Kimberly? She hasn't called me that in years. I felt like I was 16 years old again. Although I think she yelled at me at my baby shower (not yelled, but scolded - you know what I mean) in June, and she used my maiden name, not my married name, when she did it. I guess old habits die hard.

So, Mom, I got the message. I'll be good. :-) Your howler has been heard.

So, when I was in grad school, I went through this artsy phase where I tried a lot of new food cuisines, attending plays and art exhibits, and tried overall to be more cultured.  My success was limited at best - my favorite meal is still a Whopper Jr. with cheese - and I'm not sure I'm any smarter for it.

While I was in this phase, however, I went to see a play called 'Waiting for Godot.' If anyone out there has also seen it (or read it), major props to you. It was probably the longest two and a half hours of my life. Literally. The play, written by Samuel Beckett, is about two men, a boot, a tree, and this guy named Godot. The basic premise is these two men are waiting for Godot (hence the title) in this post-apocolyptic world. While waiting, they have many conversations about the meaning of life, the purpose of man's existence, etc. Blah, blah, blah. You get the drift. There are many interpretations of the play - everything from an allegory about the Cold War to a Jungeian description of the four archetypes of personality development. Whatever your interpretation is, the only thing I remember about this play is that GODOT NEVER SHOWED.

I keep thinking about this play as Brian and I sit around and wait for Baby B. The whole scare of last week - changing out schedules, keeping people on stand-by, etc - was really annoying. Just as annoying as the whole damn play.  Like I've said before, it's not that I'm super anxious for this child to get here (cook, little fellow, cook) but it's more of when he will decide to make his entrance. And the 'when' part is making me crazy.

So we're kind of a modern tale of 'Waiting for Godot.' But instead of two men and a boot, we are a man, a woman, and a small brown cat, waiting for a baby. Feel free to draw your own existential interpretations. :-)

I had grand expectations about blogging about the day that bed rest ended - an aptly-titled entry ("Freeeee-dom!" ala Braveheart) and me extolling the benefits of being able to drive, shop, and walk to my heart's content.

But bed rest ended with more of a whimper than a bang (as most things do) and it slipped by so fast I didn't even record the day. For those of you who are curious, as of last Wednesday (August 12th), George said I was free to stop the medication and go off of bed rest. I confirmed this with Dick, and he agreed. (I think he would have agreed to anything during my tear-stained break-down). So since Wednesday, much to mother's chagrin, I've been walking to the mail box, going to friends' houses, and enjoying my many trips up and down the stairs in our house.

Last night, however, I got a little full of myself. Brian and I went out to dinner with a friend, and I boldly declared that I would like to go for a walk after dinner. The shopping area was pretty and there was a live band playing, so it seemed like a nice idea. We took a hot lap around the complex and I felt great.

Then, right around 5am this morning, my back did that weird spasm thing it did a few weeks ago (when I thought I was in labor). Poor Brian was once again wakened by me poking him in the shoulder, begging him to get me some Tylenol and a warmed corn pillow. The pain continued for a good four hours (with the corn pillow being warmed two more times) until finally around 10am, when I finally was confident I would be able to walk without falling. Or crying.

Brian was kind enough to make me breakfast (coffee, English muffin, and trail mix, per my request) and I've been laying on the couch ever since. He was joking with me that he's going to get a t-shirt for me that reads, "Ow, ow, ouch," since those are the most frequent words out of my mouth these days. Especially with our new-found love for 'Wheel of Fortune,' he said an appropriate bonus round puzzle for me would be:

__ __, __ __, __ __ __ __!

And yes, if you ask for an O, a W, and an H, try to guess the final answer:

OW, OW, O__ __H!

Seriously, I think I learned my lesson. I need to not over-do it. I keep thinking that walking will be like walking when I'm not pregnant, and I forget about this extra 35+ pounds I'm carrying in the front of my body. Whoops.

Sorry for yet another pregnancy post. I really tried hard to pay attention to "More to Love" this week and had a great idea in my head for a review, but this week seems to be dominated by pregnancy-related news. I'll do the review maybe tomorrow.  As for now, I am too tired to get into the nitty-gritty, so let me just give you the Cliff Notes version of my appointment with Dick:

Part I: NST Test
Baby B was asleep. Kim drank apple juice. Baby B still did not respond. Baby B got the taser. Baby B responded. Kim was hooked up to the monitors for over an hour. Kim's back hurt. Baby B's heart rate accelerations were finally deemed appropriate and Kim was released from the chair.

Part II: BPP
Fetal breathing/movement was fine. Fluids were measuring 27cm - up 7cm from Monday - and Kim was feeling especially large. Now we know why.

Part III: Meeting with Dick
Kim tells Dick that she is becoming increasing frustrated with the alleged mixed messages that appear to be going on between both offices. Dick assures Kim that her child is, in fact, very large, but no, there is no way to predict when the baby is coming. Kim expresses her concerns that a natural birth may not be possible as the baby continues to grow and does not feel comfortable trying to birth a 9+ pound child. Kim states that she feels George does not listen to her when she tells him about the baby's size. Dick offers another growth ultrasound, but later finds out it is denied by insurance (only one per every four weeks). Kim starts to cry. Dick turns into 'every-man' and begins offering Kim praise for her ability to grow a large, healthy baby. Kim is not soothed. Dick looks increasingly uncomfortable and scared as Kim continues to cry. Dick tells Kim that she can have a c-section at 39 weeks if she would like.  Kim begins to feel that what she wants - natural birth, small(er) baby - is no longer a possibility. Kim cries more, though she is unable to express why.  Fearful, Dick exits quietly.

Part IV: Meeting with the nurse
A nice nurse comes in to talk Kim off the ledge. Turns out there are several options:
1.) wait and go into labor naturally - whether that is tonight or September 16th.
2.) between 37 and 39 weeks, Kim can request an amnio to check for lung functioning. If the test comes back positive, she can schedule an induction at any time afterwards (usually within 24 hours).
3.) at 39 weeks, Kim can schedule a c-section (or induction) at her convenience without having to do an amnio.
Kim felt better knowing she had options. Kim stopped crying and finally exited the building.

**end of story**

So, as I've said before, we will likely go with #3 (unless #1 happens before 39 weeks). I do'nt want this child now - I want him to come when he's ready - and I just want both doctors to stop saying different things. I already feel better now that I've wrapped 39-40 weeks around my head, instead of having to go through this touch-and-go "anytime" mentality.

On a unrelated note, the nice nurse also provided me with a copy of my last growth ultrasound that CLEARLY states my child is in the ">95%" of estimated fetal size. I really, really appreciate her doing this for me, since seeing it in black and white makes me feel like I am not losing my mind. I mean, I argued with George for the first 15 minutes of our 20 minute appointment with him about this. I'm very happy to have it in print. I don't know what the heck he was reading (or wasn't reading...).

But as I read the report (which made me long for my days as a psych report writer for Juvenile Justice - I did love report writing), there was a section listed as "General." Oh, no, I thought. They are going to mention my affect (i.e manner of presenation). But it wasn't a psych report (which would say something like "appropriate," "flat," "or "incongruent"), it was a medical report. So it said, "Well-nourished female in no acute distress." Well-nourished female?! Is that their way of saying "fluffy?" I actually started to laugh at the check-out desk as I read this. My doctor was still lingering in the back, and I think he heard me. Dick probably thinks I've completely cracked up at this point.

::sigh::

It occurred to me last night that I am not really explaining myself very well these days...I re-read my posts from yesterday and it sounds as though I am super anxious for this baby to get here, and am really mad at my ob/gyn for giving me news I didn't want to hear. That's not what I meant, and if it came off that way, my apologies. I guess blogging while angry is never a good idea.

Instead, I am frustrated re: the lack of communication between both doctors. It's like Dick is saying, "Run - now!" and George is saying, "Huh? Chill, friends." It's like, start. Stop. Start. Stop. I mean, Brian didn't play golf last Saturday because we were both consumed with the fear that my water would break while he was on the 13th hole and I wouldn't be able to contact him. He cleared his schedule for this week at work, including finding substitutes for court hearings and an arbitration. This is a lot to coordinate, and it's not something we want to continue doing  for the next 3-4 weeks.  But we did it because Dick gave us such a grave warning last week. Only to walk into George's office yesterday and be met with his wide-eyed nonchalance. Which, honestly, makes both Brian and I want to start pulling our hair out and scream, "Someone, please, make up your mind!"

I really, really don't want our baby to come until AFTER August 15th; right now, he is still pre-term. I'd like this child to stay in as long as possible, God-willing. I'm excited to meet the little tyke, but don't want him to come before he is ready.

So, the real frustration isn't trying to predict when this child is coming - no one can predict that, and while I may be slightly crazy right now, I know I'm not delusional - but instead, being told conflicting information from two men who clearly have different ideas about our child will come into this world. This has been going on for months now - it started with the automatic c-section v. natural birth debate re: the fibroid, and now has just continued. Can I call a summit or something to get everyone on the same page? I'm feeling this need to mediate the situation.

Anyways, thanks to everyone on the tips to speed up labor, but as for right now, I'm actually fine being pregnant. I think I'm 'doctor-ed' out, that's all.