And then there were three... A birth story.

Since my baby is almost four weeks old, I figured I better get this birth story written down before I forget.

After my failed induction debacle, I was sure that my body would naturally go into labor on its own before they could get me back to try inducing again. WRONG. So, picking up where we left off, here is how the next week went...

Monday: Went in for a growth ultrasound to make sure baby was not the size of a whale. Ultrasound tech wouldn't tell me anything (not allowed, I get it, but geez) went home and waited for Dr. to call and tell me the results of the ultrasound, nothing happened.

Tuesday: Walked around Costco, lifted flats of water and Diet Coke, bought an exercise ball and started bouncing. Still no call from Dr.'s office, so I called them, OB isn't in and nurse won't tell me anything. Give up bouncing and spend the rest of the day watching dumb CW shows on Netflix to distract me from the frustration of it all. Stefan or Damon? I just can't decide.

Wednesday: Official due date. Despite walking, bouncing, jumping jacks, spicy food and a whole lot of wishing, not a single real contraction. Went in to regular weekly non-stress test and OB appointment. No progression, no dropping, no dilation. Good news is that baby's vitals still look good, although he is measuring a little big, according to the ultrasound. Dr says I will need to be induced again on Thursday night - and this time I'm not leaving the hospital without a baby.

Thursday: Repack the hospital bag for the 27th time. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Call the hospital at 10:30 pm to see if we can come in for 11 pm scheduled time. Nope, too full, "try to get some rest and we'll call you when we can get you in." Right. Rest? Ha!

Friday: 5:20 AM, come on in! 6 am, arrive at hospital. Given first kind of labor inducing medication, wait four hours. Nothing. Started on petocin around noon, feeling mild contractions but they aren't painful yet and they are still pretty far apart. Dr breaks my water around 4 pm, still only dilated to a 3-ish. Petocin is maxed out, contractions are finally starting to hurt, but they are still irregular and baby's head is really high. 9 pm, epidural. All of a sudden I'm more comfortable than I've been in months. It's like a magical unicorn ride to fairy land - that is how awesome epidurals are.... except for the part where my blood pressure plummeted and they put me on oxygen... small price to pay for the unicorn ride. On the epidural, they give me even more petocin. Don't care, feeling great.

Saturday: 12:30 am, check again, still only at a 3, baby still high. Contractions are strong, but irregular. Dr. thinks that either his head is too big, my pelvic bone is too small or he can't get into the right position. We are given the option to go straight into c-section or give it two more hours. We wait. 2:30 am, no further progress. Husband and I decide its time for the c-section before we risk infection or harm to the baby. I start shaking and throwing up. Awesome. At least all I've had to eat are ice chips for 22 hours. By 3:15 am we are in the OR. Thank goodness for my amazing husband distracting me and helping me stay calm. Thank goodness for anesthesia and modern medicine. Thank goodness my doctor is still on call and is the one performing the surgery. If I could just stop shaking violently this would all be a lot less terrifying. 3:45 am. All I can see are the bright lights and the ceiling tiles and the blue sheet in front of my face. But then.... out of the jumbled sounds of the operating room.... I hear him. The tiniest little cry. He's here!... And then I hear my doctor say, "He's perfect." And I look at Husband who can see him and its one of those moments that is beyond description. But the shaking hasn't stopped and I'm throwing up again and I feel like a drug-addled mess. The NICU nurse has him all wrapped up and brings him up by my head where I can see him. He is perfect. He has perfect smooth skin and the tiniest little face and intense dark little eyes. Then they take him away and Husband goes with him. All I want is ice chips. Go figure. Sometime around 4:30 am they get me out of the OR and into the recovery room where Husband and baby are sitting behind a sheet. For 30 minutes I listen to my anesthesiologist complain about the new computer system while I slowly come out of the worst of the drug haze. I can hear Husband and baby, but I can't see them. I start to get super annoyed at this anesthesiologist. I can wiggle my toes again, the violent shaking has subsided to a slight tremor. Then they clear me for baby contact and the NICU nurse brings him over. They lay him on my chest and his tiny body just melts onto me. He keeps lifting his head to look at me and somehow he keeps scooting himself higher and higher up my chest to be closer to my voice and my heartbeat. And his skin is so soft and completely flawless and his head has the softest whisper of fluff for hair. And Husband is there and we hold our baby and all is right with the world.

Shopping without the shopping...

I still haven't bought a single thing for this baby, partly because I don't know what to buy, and partly because we will be moving before he is born. Once we found out he's a boy, I wanted to start getting stuff, but every time I walked into a baby store I was baffled and overwhelmed, so I left empty handed.

Enter my perfect solution: Baby Registry! I signed up on myregistry.com because it allows me to add stuff from anywhere, and I even have an app on my phone that I can use to scan bar codes if I see something in a store to add.

So in an effort to make some effort to prepare for the little dude, I started adding the most random things to the registry. I started with the familiar, some of my favorite children's books from Barnes & Noble. Then I took Ian on a "date" to Babies'R'Us where we scanned any little boys clothes we liked that didn't have silly sayings on them like "Mommy's little rock star." Since then I have ventured into the blogging world looking for suggestions and added a few more odds and ends.

The farther afield I go, however, the more foreign the language and the terrain becomes. What, for example, is a wubbanub? I go on to these sites and read through these baby registry lists and I feel like I'm trying to decipher Swahili. Not to mention all the bossing around and guilt tripping.... Baby wants this, and baby will sleep better if you buy this, and you will pretty much fail as a mother without this. Are you kidding me? Who can make sense of this barrage of information?

 My list is still woefully haphazard and incomplete, I'm sure, but registering makes me feel like I'm doing something to get ready, sort of.

Baby Boy

So we had our ultrasound last week and we were so excited to find out that we are having a boy! I can't wait to dress him in bowties and teach him how to ask out girls and watch Yankees games and go hiking and pull him out of trees. Knowing that we are having a boy has made it so much more real for me! I realize I'm supposed to be enjoying the journey and appreciating each unique stage of pregnancy, but let's be honest, I just want to get this little guy here and start hanging out with him all the time.

And I melt...

I'm 18 weeks along today, that's just two weeks shy of the half way point. I still can't really wrap my head around the fact that in 5 months, taking care of a little person will be my life. The only time this pregnancy feels real is when I'm at the doctor's office and I can hear the heartbeat. I haven't even bought a single item of baby paraphernalia.

My mother assures me, however, that it's about to get real very soon and remain so until it takes over my life.

Do you ever feel like you're imagining it all? At what point did it really hit you that you're having a baby?

Foreign Body

My body has become foreign to me.

It makes me feel a little out of place.

Over the years my shape has waxed and waned, but the angles and the range of motion have always been familiar.

 But now, not so. There is a tightness in my lower abdomen that puts a damper on my Zumba hip swiveling. When I lean to tie my shoes, it is the slightest obstruction, but I cringe to think of the road block it will shortly become.

And where there once was cause and effect, now there is only chaos. Before pregnancy, symptoms could be traced directly to their sources. Marinara = heart burn. Three diet cokes = dehydration headache. Staying up too late = bleary eyed exhaustion. But NOW, the bonfire of acid in my chest seems to burn without fuel, the feeling like there is a spiked cudgel imbedded in my lower back seems to have come from nowhere, and headaches seem to blossom out of thin air after three bottles of water and only one diet coke.

It's anatomical anarchy.