From Fetus to Baby

I started his blog entry last week when baby was scheduled for be born on 11/21 (that’s today!) but he surprised us by demanding to come out on Saturday (11/16). I’ll be updating with that story soon.

Dear Baby,

Your dad and I joke around about if it’s possible to anthropomorphize you with statements like, “The baby likes pudding!” or “The baby is mad and showing his anger by kicking me in the cervix.” On the one hand you are human and you surely have little fetus wants and feelings but I have no way of knowing what they might be. Your kicking could be happy or sad or indifferent. Right now I know very little about you beyond the normal baby stuff -- you won’t know how to use a toilet, you can’t dress yourself, you need someone to feed you every few hours, you will need a lot of help with pretty much everything. But I’ve made some guesses based on your in womb behavior and documented them here. I can’t wait to see how right or wrong I am.

Things I knew about you before you were born:

• You will not turn over. Maybe you can’t. Maybe you don’t know where the womb exit is located. Maybe sitting on your butt is just so comfortable. Maybe you didn’t know about turning over. Hopefully you’re not panicking (though an apology when you get here would be nice I’m not counting on one).  It’s cool, we’re gonna get you out. 
• You hang out on my right side so much that sometimes I can push my hand down hard into the left side of my belly and it just sinks into the squishy flesh where no baby parts live. 
• You push your head up against the top of my uterus so vigorously that all 3 of the the ultrasound techs that we’ve seen in the past 3 weeks can never get a picture of your face.  
• You’re sitting in a position called “stargazer breech” though the breech part keeps changing -- some days you’re squatting on your heels, others you have your legs crossed, yesterday you had one foot dangling down. We saw one tech two weeks in a row and she didn’t recognize Geoff or I but as soon as she put the probe on my belly and saw you staring up at the top of my womb she exclaimed, “Oh! I remember you!”
• You will be born on or before 11/21/2013 but c-section because pushing you out butt first with your head tilted back is likely to injure you.
• You’ve been putting on the pounds in the last 2 weeks -- there’s some guessing here but the ultrasounds tech estimates a 1.25lb weight gain in 14 days that’s over a 20% increase in body weight! I think we might know who was demanding chocolate pudding this week -- I thank you for storing the calories yourself.

Assumptions I made about you:

• You will have little to no hair -- this is just because your dad and I were both hairless babies and so we assume you will be the same but on one ultrasound the tech pointed out some hair so we may be wrong.

Things I hope for you:

• I hope your neck is ok. Everyone says it probably is but you’re also holding your head weird and it worries me just a little bit. Apparently your cousin Zayden also had a hyperextended neck and while he was born with a mass in his neck it turned out to just be muscle trauma from the birth canal and he’s more than fine now.
• I hope you will like nursing and not be too much of a pain about it -- I know I’ve done nothing to earn an easy baby since you made pregnancy such a breeze (though I think my body deserves a little bit of credit there) but hope doesn’t care about what it’s due. 
• On that same note I hope you inherit your dad and I’s love for sleep. We could all have such lovely naps together; don’t ruin this. 
• I hope you will look a little like me and a little like your dad. I would love it if you had something super obvious from me -- I’d recommend my dimple over, say, my not so great eye sight.

Bottoms Up Kid.

As a child it was common knowledge in my family that my brother had been born breech (aka butt first). This is not the kind of information you should share with an older sister who enjoys nothing more than little brother tormenting and who is very much not in need of additional material. I used the fact that Kurt has been born butt first (a much more embarrassing description than “breech”) as the source of many joke for years.

Some classics:

“You were born butt first which mom and dad should have seen as a warning about what a little ass you were going to be!” *ZING*

“Everyone says that you were born butt first but the truth is that your face was so ugly that the doctors just thought it was a butt” (This can segue so easily into calling your brother butt-face for the rest of his life or until you are sent to your room).

I found out 7 weeks ago that my own baby is happily hanging out breech -- not a major concern at 29 weeks… “He’ll flip,” they all said. At 33 weeks I could still feel his big old head (husband’s gene for head size having been a concern from the beginning) nuzzled up under my right ribcage just as close as he can get his mouth to the boob while still in the uterus -- here’s hoping that at the very least this bodes well for nursing.

Karma, perhaps? It’s probably a case of “too little too late” but if karma cares I’m happy to apologize to my brother (who, it should be noted, seems fine and who, also, is a pretty attractive dude whose face is almost never confused with his butt.).

I’d really rather not have a c-section for the obvious reasons (fear of knives, desire to keep organs internal, lack of interest in picking up crying baby while recovering from a flesh wound. THE USUAL) but vaginal delivery of a breech baby for a first time mom is not a very safe option for the baby. If he stays butt down both my doctor and I agree that he's coming out Alien style. So I started researching baby flipping techniques. It turns out they are mostly hilarious.

The big suggestion you’ll find online is something called the “breech tilt” this is fancy language for “lie upside down and try not to pass out.” I did this by stacking a bunch of pillows on the floor, positioning myself backwards on the couch and having my husband slowly lower me and my giant belly into a headstand. It turns out that as hilarious as lying upside down sounds the actual experience sucks. The official recommendation is to do this for 20 minutes at a time 3 times per day but obviously that is impossible. Not only do I need to avoid the headstands right after eating but I can only execute them when my husband is around to assist and after one 20 min session I need at least 24 hours to convince myself that another one won’t make blood rush out my ears. Also, lying there is super boring (despite what you see in this picture enjoying the Daily Show is very difficult). ALSO this all seems like crazy voodoo and every uncomfortable minute spent on my head made me feel more and more like a sucker who just might be part of some elaborate Candid Camera plot.

After one week of lying on my head everyday I came down with a head cold. Related? Probably not, but this killed any commitment I had to the experience. I switched over to holding a bag of frozen corn on the top of my stomach in the hopes that the fetus, like most of us, hates cold and/or corn on his head. I find it hard to believe that cold can actually lower the temperature in the womb but surprisingly the fetus squirmed and kicked like crazy. However, no effort was made to lower his noggin towards my pelvis.

Other suggestions include “place a paper towel tube [at the bottom of your belly] and have family members speak through it or play Beethoven.” Little known fact: the only music fetuses' like is Beethoven.  My husband stuck his iPhone with REM on repeat into the waist of my maternity leggings. No noticeable fetal reaction was felt.

Yoga instructors and other hippies will tell you to go to an acupuncturist or a chiropractor both of whom might have mystical techniques for flipping babies. If you’re a huge skeptic like myself considering this will rip your brain out. First you’ll go to various acupuncturist websites as recommended by the local parenting listserv and observe that 1. No one in the alternative medicine field crossed over into the world of Web 2.0 and 2. In addition to various needle poking services the proprietors would also like you to purchase some magic nuts from Brazil that will solve all of your life problems. (I am not making this up). You will close your browser and let yourself have a Coke, empty calories be damned.

At my 35 weeks appointment the doctor was no longer amused with the little one’s antics and we had to have “the talk.” The one that starts with her hand in my vagina and the words “Yep, that’s a foot.” and ends with “Let’s just check my schedule and see when I have free time to slice open your abdomen and pull your pain in the ass child out by his toes.” (Nov 21) She also recommended I go ahead and give the acupuncture a try since there was some evidence that it could work.  She offered no opinion on chiropractic services or magic nuts from Brazil.

Because I am, possibly, a huge racist who loves cliches I very much wanted my acupuncturist to be an old Chinese man -- ideally with a Chinatown basement office and, perhaps, a long hair growing out of a facial mole. Alas, everyone recommended by my yoga teachers and my doctor was, instead, some version of a patchouli scented white lady. Obviously. My expectations dashed I made an appointment for Monday morning.

The acupuncture technique used for flipping breech babies is called moxibustion. I researched it before my appointment so I was prepared for possibly some needles in my feet and some smoke blowing around my toes.  Though Wikipedia did mention that some practitioners found smoke insufficient and instead burned your toes until they scarred so… that sounded great.

The appointment was fine. A middle aged European woman asked me a lot of question about previous injuries and my pregnancy (seemingly sad to hear that I had no real tales to tell having had a delightfully boring life, medical complaint speaking). She put some needles in my feet, calves, arms and collar bone. I asked her what they were for but her explanation made no sense so I stopped asking questions because I felt bad. After the needles were placed she made me lie under a space blanket like I just ran a marathon and left me in the dark to whisper to my baby and whatever Chinese gods were present that yes, this seemed like some crazy voodoo but if baby would just flip over we could return to our regularly scheduled skeptical existence.

The acupuncturist returned to burn some yellow dried weeds on the edge of both of my pinky toes which were, thankfully protected by a coating of some black cream that seemed to mostly block the heat from reaching my skin. She used some fancy looking incense to light the dried weed on fire repeating this over and over again until I could feel the heat 3 times. I observed that each additional pile of ash made the spot on my toe look more and more like a really ugly toe mole -- hot tip if you’re interested in dressing up like a wart covered witch or an authentic looking old Chinese medicine man (the weed itself could for sure be fashioned to look like a mole hair).

And that was it. “If he doesn’t flip please come back on Thursday or Friday and give me another $150. “ (not a direct quote).

2 days later at my 36 week ultrasound his head is still pushed against my ribcage -- on close inspection you can see that his neck is tilted back and his little face is literally smushed up against the top wall of my uterus as if he’s trying to push himself out in the wrong direction.

The next step (besides, possibly another acupuncture appointment and/or a visit to the chiropractor) is something called an External cephalic version which is basically just the doctor pushing on the baby’s butt from outside of my tummy in the hopes that he’ll somersault himself over into the head down position. This procedure has a pretty good success rate (over 50%) but they won’t do it with a baby whose head is tilted up…. so we’re hoping the womb dweller decides to look down sometime before the procedure next Wednesday. Stay tuned.

Jinx

What has pregnancy been like so far?

Easy.

So easy that I worry about some karmic pregnancy due that must be paid through a designated amount of pain and, since I’ve had it easy so far, the last 3 months and the (*gulp*) birth are bound to be as awful as possible.

I have had no morning sickness though I do have the occasional urge to throw up when I contemplate the enormity of birth and parenting. So far everything has stayed down save a few tears.

I’m sleeping pretty well even with the frequent bathroom trips -- so well in fact that I have caught myself starting to doze while perched on the commode sometime around 3am. Once I drag myself back to bed I’m on the express train to dreamland faster than I ever was pre-pregnancy.

I have had a few bouts of the drowsies -- mostly in the beginning, all were met with copious couch time, which was fine -- I have Netflix streaming and an iPad, the couch and I get along great.

My ankles are still as (un)svelte as ever, my belly bares no dark line, I’ve had no fainting spells, no aversions to smells, no midnight cravings, no achy joints. I know I am getting away with something and that if ever a blogpost needed a “jinx” label here it is.

Honestly, this is exactly how I would have predicted pregnancy would go for me (had I the cajones to tempt fate like that). Perhaps it was the years of battles struggling to fit birthing hips into skinny jeans that cemented my internal belief that I would be spared the months of agony that many women seem to slog through only to be rewarded with a screaming infant.

There has been one challenge of pregnancy over the past few months -- weight gain. I could have also predicted this outcome -- my birthing hips love nothing more than to become even more birthing. Staying this side of chubby has been a battle I’ve fought (mostly successfully) for years and I always knew that pregnancy would be the enemy’s secret weapon.

When I started to seriously think about getting pregnant I entertained the idea of tracking calories through the entire pregnancy to maintain a sense of control and, hopefully, avoid packing on too many pounds. Once I actually became pregnant this idea seemed absurd. In addition to the fact that doing this would make me look insane (which I might have sort of enjoyed) it would have also meant continuing to feel guilty for eating things, and I desperately wanted a break.

Things seemed great at the start -- up through month 3 I gained 0 pounds.

At month 4 the doctor said, “The weight was going to show up sometime.”

At month 5, “Ok, now you’ve caught up to normal weight gain.”

At month 6, “So let’s talk about your diet.”

Looking on the bright side there have, possibly, been enough tears shed over the past few days to bring me down at least a pound in “water weight”. But I fear upcoming conversations like “Does the grocery store near your apartment have any ice cream left or did you eat it all?” “Did you feel that earthquake when you walked in?” and “MOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

The main problem is that I have only two eating modes:

1. Eat the things I want which includes copious veggies and fruit padded with extra servings of ice cream and empty carbs. (Heavy on the copious -- I could managed to gain weight on an all raw veggie diet.) 
2. Eat as little as possible. 

As a result, all of my successful weight management in the past 10 years has been at the hands of 1200 calories per day and a spreadsheet. When you dip down to 1200 two things are almost always true:

1. You will lose weight 
2. Choices make themselves -- You probably can’t afford to eat whatever it is you would like to eat right now so put it down. 

It turns out that neither of my modes is particularly well suited for pregnancy.

I am loathe to make excuses about weight gain. Years of dieting have taught me that excuses rarely lead to solutions and you’re better off being hard on yourself. That said I do not know where this weight is coming from and I don’t really see it on my body (Extreme denial? Perhaps.). Additionally, if I’m going to be putting on mass poundage I would like to be eating a lot more pizza slices, hamburgers, chocolate cake and milkshakes -- as things stand I seem to be gaining primarily due to bigger than average servings of pasta with kale. I’m sort of torn between really going to town on all of my dream foods (you only gestate once?) and getting serious about monitoring my food intake. But, ever the good little student, I can’t bring myself to disappoint my doctor with Big Mac rebellion -- defeated, I have taken up calorie tracking yet again.

Practical German Sense of Responsibility: 1
Hedonism : 0

Reboot: The Geoff and Brianna Story

Six years ago I went on a very bad first date. Or rather, I stood outside of a bar for 30 minutes before deciding that the date I thought I was going on was not happening. I had been stood up.

Luckily this is exactly the sort of thing romantic comedies are made of.



After a few weeks of exchanging witty messages over an online dating site, Geoff and I had finally decided to see if our real world selves were anywhere as compatible as our online personas. The afternoon of our date my mystery man (That’s Geoff) had emailed to say that due to troubles at the office he’d be about 15 minutes late to our 7pm meeting. “No problem,” I said. So when I arrived at the prescribed drinking hole at 10 to 7 (ever the early bird) I had no reason to expect to be anything but alone at the bar. I quickly glanced inside and didn’t spot anyone matching the pictures I’d seen of Geoff so I decided to wait on the curb. At the time I told myself that this was because a classy lady such as myself would not sit by herself in a bar but really I just hated the awkwardness of being alone in a place where people are usually together. I waited and waited and waited until 7:30, until 7:45 and then I called a friend to bemoan the pain of being stood up.

If someone had told me on that day that the stander upper guy would go on to become my husband I would have believed them -- I was a big believer that “the one” could be ANYONE. Even some jerk who didn’t see fit to actually show up for our first date. I was the type of annoying romantic comedy ingenue who underneath her cynical exterior was just so ready to believe in love! If only the right guy would show up and buff out her hard exterior! If only she would stop making off color jokes long enough to put on a little eye make up! If only she could let her inner lovey-dovey girly-girl SHINE!!!!!!

Geoff would tell this story differently. He was so excited about our date that he thought “screw work” and left in time to arrive at the bar early. He sat at the bar nursing a drink alone. He thought he had been stood up. (He thinks my waiting outside is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard). But even if he is totally wrong about how date #1 didn’t go down he still deserve credit for being brave and calling me up to find out what happened and arrange a replacement date. He is the type of romantic comedy romeo who might seem a little clueless on the outside but in the end comes through as the nice guy that the audience wants me to fall in love with as soon as possible.

I’d like to say that after we finally got around to a Hollywood perfect first date  (a stroll in Central Park followed by dinner followed by chaste handholding (classy lady, remember?)) we rode off into the sunset together -- but what kind of romantic comedy would that be? Before the happy ending someone has to spill their drink on the other person, someone else has to overhear part of a phone conversation and take it the wrong way, someone’s ex has to show up and say ridiculously inappropriate things, both people have to yell and shed buckets of tears and probably get drunk in some horrible dance club with friends who encourage them to let random strangers grind their private parts against theirs (Thanks guys!). Geoff and I would do it all.

We would fumble around in the relationship that is now known as “1.0” for almost a year before months of refusal by each of us to let down our guard and actually talk about feelings (eww.) resulted in the break up. I did what any recently dumped romantic comedy star would do -- I cried a lot, went to therapy and I made “dating other guys” my full time, get over him, job. Clearly that was a huge failure because here we are in our 2.0 relationship headed to the 3.0 of wedded bliss.

Breaking up was the best thing we ever did. It gave us both the opportunity to look around at the other goods on offer in New York City and decide there is no way we could do better than each other. It made us admit that our relationship was worth being vulnerable and embarrassed. It made us fight for our future.

I’ve really struggled with writing this essay. I want The Story of Geoff and Brianna to be so many things. I want it to be sweet and romantic -- I want everyone who reads this to feel how much my love overwhelms me with joy. I want it to be witty and funny -- perhaps the best thing about our relationship is its silliness. I want it to be smart and snappy. I want all of you to like us.

Despite the huge smile that I’m predictably wearing at the end of this movie I am still cynical enough to be just a little embarrassed about writing the next sentence. Most mornings I wake up and can’t believe how happy I am, how lucky I am to be sharing my life with someone this great. I follow that up with a brief internal freak-out about the possibility of Geoff dying in his sleep and then I fill my cereal bowl with raisin bran and get on with the day. Somehow he keeps waking up alive. I am blessed.

Disneyland Top 10

This past weekend in honor of my niece, Dalanie's, 6th birthday we went to Disneyland. As loath as I am to sound like one of those crazy adult Disney fans.... it was awesome. Here are my top 10 
Disneyland moments.

10.  Dalanie quietly asking “Is this real?” while sailing past the giant boa constrictor on the Jungle Cruise. (And the whole family nodding yes).

9.  Zayden watching a video of himself on Autotopia and exclaiming “Bubba driving!!!!” (yes, my nephew refers to himself as Bubba....) .

8. Dalanie spending half of Fantasmic sticking her tongue out at the evil queen from Snow White.

7. Zayden yelling “Hi Buzz!” at top volume whenever a Buzz Lightyear picture, robot or character should appear in the park.

6. Dalanie screaming at me to put my hands in the air before the Big Thunder Mountain railroad has even started up the first hill.

5. Kurt helping Zayden moon his mom from the window of our cart on the California Adventure ferris wheel. (and Dalanie jumping up pants half down for a the follow-up moon).  (Appreciation for the hilariousness of bare butts is my brother's main gift to his children).

4. Zayden posing for a picture with Goofy and at the last minute sticking up his little thumb to copy Goofy (who clearly is a cool dude who makes awesome posing choices).

3. Dalanie asking me which princess was my favorite, which princess dress was my favorite, which princess tiara was my favorite and which princess boobs were my favorite..... (“I don’t really think about that much but they all seem nice.”).

2. Geoff trying in vain to maneuver Dalanie onto his shoulders to view Fantasmic and crying out in frustration, “I don’t know how to do this! I’m not a dad!”

1. Dalanie exclaiming at the end of Fantasmic when the paddle boat emerges carrying pretty much every princess, “This is the best day of my life!!!!!”

GTYT

My brother and his wife have a kick-ass parenting trick that I’ve long admired. Their kids are young and like most young kids they have a tendency towards temper tantrums, pouting and overreacting (luckily they have an equal tendency towards adorableness so we forgive them). When their first child was two years old they started greeting skinned knees and playground spats with one phrase, “Man, good thing you’re tough.” I was amazed over and over again at how often this statement was met with a whimpered “yeah” and a quick return to the swings. “Good thing you’re tough” is tantrum kryptonite.

I recently had a revelation -- “Good Thing You’re Tough” (GTYT) is not just brilliant parenting -- it’s brilliant life-ing. Shit be hard, yo! And, sadly, that isn’t going to change. Life is full of mean girls and ice cream scoops that slide off of your cone and onto the floor. GTYT! Cause if you weren’t tough there’d be afternoons of moping on the couch where there could be another ride on the merry-go-round. If you weren’t tough whole weeks could pass in a blur of pouting -- whole lifetimes could be wasted. But not yours! Cause you’re tough!

I often mid-pout remind myself that my life ain’t so bad and that I should buck up and move on rather than embarrass myself with a pity party. This usually works -- a few thoughts of folks stuck in a war zone or facing famine and I’m chagrined enough to wipe away the tears over expensive wedding venues or the breaking of a favorite glass. But GTYT is a vast improvement on “Shut Up, Cry Baby." GTYT says, “Hey this IS hard! no need for embarrassment!” GTYT says, “You’re awesome and you can handle this!” GTYT implies, “Other bitches would be hyperventilating with sobs by now, but you’re better than that!”

Reader -- you’re tough too. And if you’re not feeling tough there is no better way to toughen up then to keep telling yourself GTYT. My brother’s oldest is almost 6 and in the past couple of years I’ve caught her a comforting herself with a little GTYT after which she moves on all alone, no parental GTYT-ing needed because the toughness is internalized, its something she knows about herself. Its something we’d all do well to learn.

The Cost Per Pound

Lately I’ve been trying to lose the 10lbs that I’ve been trying to lose (sort of....) for 3 years. This time I’m seriously trying to lose them. I just ate 2 carrots and pretended that they were delicious. While watching The Wire I considered the calorie content of crack cocaine. I am on my own personal running tour of Prospect Park. My dieting mojo is back! I’m even joking about writing a diet book, selling it to a publisher and getting rich. To that end I’ve decided to write up a few of my unique diet tips! If you’re looking to lose a few pounds and you have a lot of internalized guilt about actually doing the things you tell yourself that you’re going to do please feel free to take my advice. If you’re a book publisher with an advance check signed and ready to go please, call me. If you’re a skinny girl with no need for diet tips, have a red velvet cupcake for lunch in honor of all of us who must eat spinach salad.

How much would you pay to lose weight? Think about this number in as many ways as possible. How much per month? How much per day? How much per pound? It probably won’t cost that much (“Listen here little lady, I can get you a good deal on some weight loss!”)... but it will cost something.

I just bought an $11 salad on my way to the office. $11 for a salad is borderline ridiculous (Thank you Dean and Deluca). I could have put together the same collection of greens and goat cheese and tomatoes for under $5. But I didn’t. Instead, I dragged myself home from a business meeting last night and collapsed into bed with my migraine and a cold compress. I got up earlier than I’d like (but later than almost every other working schlub I know so I’ll shut up about my 7:30am alarm) and headed off to another business meeting over breakfast where I certainly could have mentally justified bacon and eggs but somehow managed to order the oatmeal.

That $11 salad is the cost of my diet today. I could have had a $3 hamburger or a $7 pint of udon. But I am not paying $11 for mesclun and vinaigrette but for the knowledge that its sitting in my work refrigerator and that it probably only has 300-400 calories which is certainly all I can afford on a day with no time for a run. $11 is a steal.

This same philosophy applies to snacks.

At 3pm everyday I want a treat. Usually, I have done very little to deserve a treat. Usually, I ate lunch a mere 2 hours ago. Usually, I am sitting at my desk opening and closing the top drawer in hopes that the chocolate fairy paid me a visit over night. Thankfully he has not. I long ago learned that 3pm discussions between my mind and my belly, (“You’re not even hungry! Shut up!” “FEEEEEEEED ME! ME WANT COOKIES.”) are wholly nonproductive and that 3pm treats are a necessity -- some food stuff must pass my lips and this food stuff better feel special.

Normally, I refuse to pay $3 for 10 ounces of coconut water. Normally, I only allow myself one Starbucks visit a week. Normally, I try to conquer 3pm with a piece of fruit brought from home. But The Dieting 3pm won’t stand for this cheap-ass regimented shit. The Dieting 3pm has barely recovered from giving up the top slice of bread on her tuna fish sandwich. She’s already planning on ordering vodka and soda water at tonight’s happy hour even though the weather is just right for a margarita.

Sometimes my 3pm treat is a walk to the corner store followed by 10mins of reading the ingredients on food labels only to settle on a yogurt that I could have just brought from home. Sometimes its a whole container of raspberries even though they cost $6. Sometimes its 2 chocolate truffles from the little shop that looks like it fell right out of France (which would at least sort of explain how they justify $3 per chocolate). All of the choices would normally have me rolling my eyes over the cost but not today

In my effort to lose weight something has to give. Because I am a lucky, lucky person who, thank god, has enough extra money lying around to make the choice to spend cash in exchange for losing weight I do just that. I let myself spend in exchange for not letting myself eat. Usually it works.