With a side of dilation, please

"Questions of science, Science and progress..."

It's like Chris Martin had my pregnancy in mind when he wrote "The Scientist."

Today at my 37-week appointment, there was indeed a little progress. I am now between 2-3 cm dilated and between 60-70% effaced.

Well, that was nice. Pleasant even.

My doctor also told me that if I have not delivered by next Monday's appointment, we can pick an induction date then. Seeing as she is on call on Tuesdays, my money is on Feb. 7.

Josh thinks she will wait a whole week after next, meaning The Blob would be a Valentine's baby. And now come on, who really wants to share a birthday with a Hallmark holiday? Although we do have a verrrry cute little Valentine outfit for him already.

But I digress.

I of course love love LOVE the idea of an induction. It allows me to be in control. And I do love me some control. How great would it be to wake up, shower, straighten my hair and pop a kid out of my crotch a few hours later?

Obviously, I understand it will not happen that way. In reality I would likely spend the night before in the Perinatal Surveillance Unit with some lovely gel on my cervix and things would move along the next morning, but hey, I can get a little James Frey on you and compress events in my memory.

And it goes without saying that I could still go into labor this week, WHICH, HI, WOULD BE JUST FINE WITH ME. But we do have this pesky issue of the floors being redone and me needing to stay at my sister-in-law's house and wouldn't that be unfortunate if my water broke at her house? So all in all, if he could stay in just one teeny tiny more week, I would be in a happy place with a finished house.

Not yet...

No baby yet. Some small contractions this afternoon, but nothing to see here, move along.

Never had to consult Labor and Delivery yesterday; the Braxton Hicks bullshit never progressed into anything real.

Sigh.

We wait...

Pain in the ribs

Is it labor if it falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it?

So I am a wee bit unsure if what I am feeling is labor or just me freaking the freak out about The Blob sticking his little ass into my ribs.

The situation thus far: Today we got home from Costco around 1:05 p.m. and I was minding my own business eating my hotdog (hey, you can't beat $1.50 for a dog and a soda) and surfing the Internets when I noticed the left side of my ribs was KILLING ME.

Which is nothing new with this pregnancy. The Blob, he likes inflicting the pain.

So I am IMing my mom and telling her about how my ribs and my back hurt, and she asks me if they are in any pattern. I say "Noooo, they are just rib pains." But then I think about it and they do kind of seem to come and go, lasting a minute or so with each.

Now normally, in the "Contraction/Not a Contraction" game, I would say "not a contraction" because it's really high up and you know, not involving the cramping or the cervical area.

But the last time I was in Labor and Delivery, these same pains were showing up as contractions on the monitor. Huh.

So I timed them for two hours and yep, still there, and yep, about every two minutes lasting a minute. Huh.

So we (read: me, Josh did not want anything) decided to mosey on over to Starbucks and took a little jaunt around the 'hood with stops at Pottery Barn and Crate and Barrel. I told him either the pain would go away if they were not real contractions, or they would continue if they were. And while out, I noticed the pain, sometimes a lot lower, but nothing major. Huh.

OK, so we come back home and I sit down at the computer and the pain, it returns. So here we are, blogging and surfing and generally ignoring the fact this may or may not be the beginning of labor.

I'll tell you what though. Tomorrow is my birthday. I really don't want to share with The Blob. But I really really want to go out to dinner tonight and tomorrow night. So I shall ignore these freaky ass pains for as long as possible.

Painting a picture

I have not spoken of the Great Remodel 2006 in the last few weeks, mainly because there has been progress and it's much more fun to bitch about holes in your roof than to talk about boring stuff like tile.

But the remodeling, it is alllllllmost done. Our kitchen is in its final stages and the floors should be refinished early next week.

Thank the lord.

As part of the remodeling, we need to get all the painting done. The painting is being done by us (OK, mostly Josh) to save some monies. We painted the kitchen this weekend -- and by us, I really do mean both of us. I did the trim and the low spots, Josh did the high spots and the ceilings.

We also purchased new slatted closet doors for the laundry closet, which is in the kitchen. They needed to be painted, natch. Of course, painting slatted doors is a huge pain the ass.

So yesterday afternoon, I took them off the wall and propped them up on a drop cloth and started in on the job. I got one door completely done when Josh moseyed downstairs after finishing up with work.

As he flopped down on the couch and picked up the XBox 360 controller, I turned and looked at him incredulously.

Amy: "Are you seriously going to sit your ass on that couch and play XBox while your NINE MONTHS PREGNANT wife paints this door?”

Josh: "Yep.”

Amy: "I am SO blogging this."

Josh: “Go right ahead.”

No change

Hi, my cervix? It can't make up its mind.

For 16 weeks it was all, "I suck. I want to open. I want to screw with your mind and I will require rest. All the time. Or I will dilate and shoot the baby out like a pinball."

Now, it is trying to play it all cool.

I have not dilated any further from Friday, my doctor told me today she thinks I am between 1-2 cm, "so essentially the same."

What the hell is that? There is no stitch holding it closed. It should open wide. And proud. For the world to see. Oh but no. Now it gets stage fright and acts like a scared little bitch.

I thought there would be a little more progress. I mean I lost my mucus plug this weekend. In case you are not familiar, let me share. Your mucus plug looks like a HUGE GOB OF SNOT.

I was dying laughing in the bathroom. I came out with a huge smile on my face and all giddy telling Josh. He of the "not knowing what the mucus plug is" class of citizens. I asked him if he wanted to know what it looked like and I got an emphatic, "NO" in response.

He then advised me to lie down. I told him it really doesn't mean anything, and you can go two more days or two more weeks after it comes out. Which it has now been doing over the last 24 hours. In several bursts.

Seriously, this is some great shit. I have never been so excited about something so gross. If the mucus plug is this good, I am positively giddy about the placenta.

Oh yeah, and about the jug of pee in my fridge... I am not in any danger. My protein came back fine and my BP was 120/80 today and the swelling seems to be a tadly bit less. So no pre-eclampsia for me.

But there is no fun like the big fun of collecting your pee for 24 hours. Including at your husband's company party. In a public restroom. In a Gatorade bottle. When you can't see where you are aiming your stream.

Free at last

So the stitches are OUT. Out damn spot.

The removal was painful and sucked, but it is done. She was really digging for the second stitch and the speculum was pinching me so bad. I was doing some deep breathing and digging my hands into each other while I stared at the drop ceiling and Josh rubbed my arm.

It took less than five minutes, but it seemed to be an eternity.

I asked to see the stitches and they looked like green and black electrical wire. I could have been conducting light bulbs all this time.

After she finished up, she pronounced me 1 cm dilated, 60% effaced and he's -1 station. I did not have a single contraction at the hospital so they sent me home.

Now for the crappy news -- I am spilling protein in my urine, have high blood pressure (139/83, which I am normally 100/60), my legs/feet are horribly swelling and my bloodwork came back so-so -- all the fun signs of pre-eclampsia. So I have to do the 24-hour urine collection and they will be able to get a better picture of my status by tomorrow night.

So my new Subzero fridge has become the place I store my pee.

No, that's not apple juice in my fridge.

So now I guess we hang out and wait...

Sorry for the lame-ass post. I will be better on Monday.

The cerclage is being evicted

So tomorrow is the big day. Well kind of the big day, not the big big day.

Anyway, tomorrow I get my cerclage removed. I can't believe this day is here. When they told me 16 weeks ago that I had to have surgery and I would have these stitches until 36 weeks, I never thought this day would come.

But here it is.

And now I don't know what to do with myself. Now I am a regular ole pregnant lady. I have to wait until my contractions are 5 minutes apart for an hour before I can go in. I can't whine and get special treatment. I can't even justify complaining about contractions, since I will be getting them now and nothing bad can come from them.

I will miss my old friend, the stitch. It served me and The Blob very well. We had a good run. Now the stitch will be discarded like a piece of medical waste. What a terrible end for such a strong and loyal piece of string.

I am thinking about asking if I can keep it. You know, for the baby book. I mean nothing says love like a piece of shoelace-thick stitching that has resided in my cervix for the last four months.

I am certainly going to ask to see it. That's a Hallmark moment if I ever heard of one. They should make a card for this occasion. Maybe one of those sappy "Between You and Me" versions, something with a cheesy ode to my cerclage and how much it has enriched my life.

We go in first thing and they will keep me for a bit and monitor my status. Things they will be looking for: regular contractions and dilation past 3 cm. We all know the Blob is head down and fully engaged, so he's ready to go. Just depends on the level of scar tissue in the ole cervix and how fast it wants to open up and say ahhhh.

So we might have a baby tomorrow, and we might just come home and hang out and attend a work party for Josh. And of course, there is the sex. The pelvic rest? It ends tomorrow.

Nesting on crack

Yesterday was a very bizarre day in our house.

The nesting instinct has kicked into high gear. There was nursery furniture organizing! And closet cleaning! And painting!

I also assembled the Diaper Genie.

Which ended with me yelling, "Man down!"

I was trying to get the damn thing together and when I had the top open and was snapping it onto the base, I accidentally let go of it and my face was in the way and it closed on my nose and took the skin off.

I am now sporting a festive scab. Which should be just super in all the pictures if I go into labor anytime soon. Not to mention at Josh's company party.

I cannot be trusted with assembly of baby items. How can I ever be trusted with the baby? What if I get him caught in the Diaper Genie? His little nose would have been chopped off completely.

Then, after all the nesting later in the afternoon, my feet were approximately 25 times their normal size. And quite red. And I freaked out because I thought it was a bad thing. So I give a ring to the on-call doctor and she says to swing by OB triage for a quick check.

My mom was coming to town to take care of me and had to be picked up at the train station. So I tell Josh to drop me off and go get my mom and then return some paint to Home Depot and then come back.

So I get there at 7 p.m. and they have me change and hook me up for monitoring as well. I laid there for a bit and I really needed to switch to my side because the posture was killing me, so the monitor moved. Well they wanted to make sure it wasn't the baby's heart rate dropping so they put me on an IV and did an ultrasound to measure fluid -- which at 13 was perfect. Duh, I knew that, I just had an ultrasound the week before.

Anyway, they said my blood pressure was slightly high for me (117/83, when I am normally 100/60). They didn't think it was high enough to be concerned and there was no protein in my urine, but they wanted to run labs to be sure. I was told it would take an hour.

THREE HOURS LATER, they tell me the tests were "not filed right" and they were still waiting. At 10 p.m. Josh tried to convince them I would come back if they showed anything bad, to no avail. He told them I had not eaten since lunch, so they said he could bring me some food.

A chicken soft taco supreme and chicken ranchero soft taco later, Josh's run for the border was muchly appreciated.

They finally got the tests back and sent me home at 11 p.m. They were, as anticipated, all clear,

So the moral of the story is, "better safe than sorry" visits are annoying and not worth it.

They said they will see me Friday for the cerclage removal. I asked if they were sure it wasn't Friday yet seeing as I had been there so long.

The countdown begins

So we are officially on Baby Watch 2006.

I get my stitches removed one week from today, at 8:30 a.m.

UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...

That means we could potentially have a real live BABY in seven days. This is blowing my mind. I mean sure, I've had nine months to get used to this idea and well, sure, the surgery and enforced bedrest for 14 weeks was a great reminder. But now it's all so real.

The construction on the house remodel is almost finished, which is also very helpful. Only thing still ongoing is the kitchen, although we do now have actual working appliances. We lived with a dorm fridge and a microwave since July 31. Now we have a full-size fridge and even an actual stove that you can use to make food. It's a new concept in this house. Cooking -- jump on the bandwagon!

Of course, I am sure the last of the dust will be swept up and I will immediately feel my water break all over the new hardwood floors, ensuring I enjoy not a minute of my new house in a child-free environment.

But the again, I could go into labor in March. Which, with my luck, will be the way it goes down. I spend all this time getting ready and prepping for next week and I will walk around 2 cm dilated for the next month.

That should be fun. A ticking timebomb who whines every time my husband has to leave town for work two hours away. Because Josh loves it when I whine. Seriously. He asks me to do it more often because he doesn't hear it enough.

But, because he puts up with my whiny pregnant ass, he is granted a reprieve. This weekend, potentially the last free weekend he may ever have, he will spend with his friends in Cincinnati. Look at what a great wife I am -- I deserve a freaking medal of honor. Here I am, 35 weeks pregnant, encouraging my husband to drive five hours away to have fun. I am awesome. Model wife.

So he will go play and my sister, Beth, and her husband, Paul, will come hang out with me for the weekend. Beth and I will shop and annoy the ever-living shit out of Paul, who in turn, will put the baseboards and doors up in the upstairs.

Drinking excessively vs. washing and hanging baby clothes. I think we know who is getting the better end of the deal here.

Edited to add: It's still De-Lurking Week! De-lurk, De-Lurk! (I just had a mental image of Herve Villechaize from "Fantasy Island" yelling that and cracked myself up.)

It's National De-Lurking Week

So it's National De-Lurking Week. For those of you not in the know, last year was De-Lurking Day. This year, it's whole week! Wheeee!

Basically, that means you should leave me a comment instead of just reading and lurking. So come on, I know you kids are out there, so drop a comment on my ass and say Hi!

Gimme five

We had our last ultrasound this morning. The next time we see The Blob, he will be a real baby, not just an image on a monitor. That's kind of whack.

He was looking cute with his little lips pursed while he was sleeping. He was tired since I am a meanie mom and chewed some gum on our way to the appointment, so he was all hopped up and coming down from the sugar high.

Upon measuring him, we found he was weighing in at 4 pounds 14 ounces.

I wanted him at least 5 pounds so I am bummed out. Two stupid ounces shy of it, but still. They said he is fine and normal weight and ranks in the 33rd percentile and they normally only worry about anything under the 10th and over the 90th.

But ummm, hi, overachievers here. The 33rd percentile isn't even in the top half. If this was high school rankings, he would be headed to junior college. No child of mine will be in the bottom half of his class.

Is there an appeal process for this weight thing? Can he take a prep course and sit for the test again? Would flashcards help?

But we also got to see the doctor who performed my cerclage and he was all smiles and there was a festive mood all around. I told him I wasn't even on bedrest anymore and he said he was just so pleased to see me get to 34 weeks.

He also said there is no way to know if I will go into labor at 36 weeks when the stitches come out because sometimes the cerclage leaves scar tissue, which slows down dilation.

Now as a Type-A freakomatic freaker outer, I really want to know what day I will go into labor. In my mind, the stitch has been the only thing holding this kid in for the last 14 weeks. When they take out the stitch, logic tells me my cervix should part like the Red Sea and this child should pop right out.

Get the hot water and towels ready, here he comes.

But not so much. Which is annoying not only for my general controlling impulses, but also because HELLO MY HUSBAND WORKS OUT OF TOWN. How am I supposed to get through the uncertainty of going into labor when he is not here?

I am fa-reaking out about the possibility I will have to go to the hospital without him. I will feel so pitiful and sorry for myself if I don't have my husband with me. I know, I know, plenty of women give birth without their husbands.

But I really want mine here for the full effect of the labor. I want him to see the pain and suffering, to see the epidural needle, to see the placenta. He needs to experience it all because I need witness to my plight.

And I shall call it, Master P

These are the things I talk about with my sister, Beth, over IM. We think we are hilarious.

Amy says: Look for a new and improved redesigned website coming to a computer near you soon
Beth says: oh jeez
Amy says: we are working on it now
Amy says: it's going to be cool
Beth says: with a picture of the CERVIX
Amy says: HA
Beth says: that would be great
Beth says: and the PLACENTA
Amy says: well no, but the Blob and Max and Luce will be on there
Amy says: YES
Amy says: I will post a photo of the placenta
Beth says: nice
Beth says: YES
Amy says: I can't wait to see it
Amy says: that's the only reason not to have a c-section
Amy says: just to see it
Beth says: I think that might be more exciting than the blob
Amy says: maybe I will call you in as I birth the placenta
Amy says: you can be there to share in that special moment
Beth says: what did you do this weekend
Beth says: well
Beth says: I delivered my sister's placenta
Beth says: you?
Amy says: you lift it high above your head
Amy says: like a trophy
Amy says: and carry it around the room
Beth says: I could hold it in the heisman pose
Amy says: and then throw open the balcony door and present it to the masses
Amy says: BEHOLD
Amy says: Beth
Amy says: I am naming it
Beth says: b/c clearly there will be masses collecting
Amy says: it shall be called
Amy says: Master P
Beth says: if you name it
Beth says: you own it
Beth says: YESSSSSSS
Amy says: Master P it is

I am the boss of you

Today's weekly OB appointment left me wanting more.

Sure, there was the weekly weigh-in (grand total of 24 pounds at 33 weeks) and the stomach measuring (32 cm, so a week behind) and the test results getting (thyroid within normal range).

But apparently, at 33 weeks, there is no more love for the cervix. No peeking at it. No feeling it up. Nothing.

I feel strangely empty. What about the internal? How am I to function without knowing my cervical status? For the love of God, clue me in.

My cervix has been behaving as of late. Which is a good thing. It knows its place. It is my bitch. It does what I say when I say it.

Granted, it could wrest control back at a moment's notice. It would be a bloody coup on a grand scale. But for now, my dictatorship reigns supreme.

Color me uncomfortable

Welcome to 2006 -- The year of the Life-Changing Event.

Also, The Year of the Uncomfortable Pregnancy.

I mean sure, the backaches and the pains in the cervix and the butt in my diaphragm and the foot in my rib and the huge stomach are GREAT material. But it's starting to get a little old already.

How am I going to last another three weeks much less another six?

Case in point.

We saw another movie last night (Capote). It was fabulous. Not so fabulous were the contortions I put myself through in the search for a comfortable position.

It started out innocently enough. But degraded into me raising the armrest and slouching halfway into the seat next to me. But then the butt in the middle of my ribs protested by shoving itself even further upwards.

So I tried leaning toward the other side. That caused the foot in my rib to show its displeasure by trying to tunnel out of my skin.

I came thisclose to lying down on the floor in the handicapped aisle, but the thought of lying in sticky popcorn residue and the possibility the accumulated salt could pickle my skin stopped me.

For the last 15 minutes of the movie -- which coincided with the edge of your seat plot device -- all I could think about was getting the hell out of that theater. I think the male friend we were with assumed I was the most insane pregnant woman on the face of the earth. What with all the shifting and the sighing and the pained looks on my face.

But you see, I am committed to seeing the movies that will be nominated for an Oscar. In the last 10 days, we have seen Syriana, King Kong, Walk the Line and Capote. We have a few left to tackle before the stitches come out and by God, I will support the Motion Picture Association. It needs my $9.75.

So I will buck up and brave the pain and suffering. It's the least I can do. Besides, when else can you justify movie popcorn three times a week than when you are knocked up?