Saturday, May 25, 2013

Alright, Let's Do This

Okay, why did I never know about this?

I suppose I should've done my research, right?
Here I am, trying to figure out how long visitor hours are...
...and, say what, I get a fluffy complimentary robe?
Man, I thought the apple juice and rabbit turd ice was awesome!
And then, SAY WHAT, we get to eat a delicious meal?!

Birth may suck, but I get a baby AND dinner at the end.
Still incredibly nervous to give birth for the first time...
...but this semi-makes me feel more comfortable at the idea.
Because, you know, babies, freebies, and food fix all things.

I shouldn't be as excited as I am for this.
A fluffy robe AND a steak?  So there it's insane.

Also very, very excited for the George.  Very.
Still a tad frightened.
Ready to get 'er done.
Is it May 29th yet?

Thursday, May 23, 2013

40-Weeks and Still Counting!

Yesterday was George's official due date.

Well, George has actually had four due dates.  First was May 24, then May 25, then May 18, and the final decision was apparently made to be May 22.  Really, it was all over the place, so I haven't put much merit to his due date.  His Aunt Alix was two weeks late, and I actually envisioned my first child being a lot like her (because I think it would be hilarious), so I just sort of expected George to be past his due date when he finally popped out.

But yes, as of yesterday, he was due to be here.  According to whatever math equation doctor's use (it still semi-confuses me).  However, as you can see he's still not here (and as such already following in his aunt's footsteps, CUTE)!  Which, really, does not bother me.  I just told George, "Look, either you pick out your birthday or I will."  So, unless he decides otherwise in the coming week, he is allowing his mother to pick out his birthday!

WHICH I TOTALLY DID.  Yes, I did.  At my final doctor's check-up yesterday.

(Okay, technically I just said, "Induce me ASAP," which cannot be done until 41-weeks, so... that would be his birthday.  So I really didn't make any sort of decisions there.  Yep, just threw out the "ASAP" card, that was my big decision-making.)

But without further ado... George is due to report to this planet on May 29th sometime between 12:00 PM and 3:00 PM!

Tuesday morning I'll get a phone call of when I'll be coming in that night to begin softening me up to poop a baby out.  (I'm sure there was a more elegant way of saying that, but all I'm saying is that's basically what I'm doing anyway, right?)  Dr. Later said that'd be somewhere around 9:00 PM that night.  Around 6:00 AM the next morning, I'll be put on pitocin.  Then, George should be born somewhere between that noon to three time frame.  AND WHA-BAM.  Heather and Bradley officially become Heather, Bradley, and George.  Big landmark, there!

So, in the official no-qualms-about-it, last week of my pregnancy, let us reflect on what I am perhaps going to miss and what I am not going to miss about being pregnant...

Going to Miss

Feeling like I ate a human being.
Basically, feeling George's kicks.  So funny.

The late-pregnancy look of having an excuse to
be excessively wide in the stomach area.
It's nice to never have to suck it in!

Having an excuse to always take the elevator.
Whenever I choose to take an elevator at work,
I felt like a fat kid.  But because I technically am
a literal fat kid, I feel legitimatized in my decision to
elevator it up!
Stairs are evil, people.

Talking to my belly.  It's fun, seriously.

Not Going to Miss

Hip pain.
Is this what it's going to be like to be old?!

I'm very grateful to have only had it in the
last few weeks of my pregnancy.
Because it totally sucks.
I will literally have a vein popping out
of my left foot sometimes from swelling.

Peeing all the time.
'Nough said.

Not being able to do anything on my own.
Now I'm stay-at-home, and I can't even stand up to
do the dishes for ten minutes without my hip hurting
and having to take a rest, it makes me feel very useless!
Especially knowing my husband's out working hard.
I don't like it.
I can't even shave without difficulty for Pete's sake.
It's mostly an independence thing.  I really don't like
needing help.  I'd rather do it on my own.

All the attention.
No joke.
I've never enjoyed center stage!
However, I realize that's not going away any time soon.
Considering I'll have an uber-cute Mr. Man with me.
Maybe if he's a total jerk that'll slow things down...
(Just kidding.)

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Our Unique Mother's Day Weekend Celebration

Because I am sort of like a half-mother (or a mother who has eaten her kid, either way), Bradley was very sweet and decided to take me out for a Mother's Day dinner date to a restaurant that's just a few blocks from our apartment in downtown Provo.  We've been wanting to try this restaurant ever since we first drove past it who knows how long ago, and now that we live two feet from it we were like, BAM, let's do this.

Before we left, my sister had requested a belly picture to show her co-workers.  Yep, still pregnant.  Over 38-weeks along right here!

Early the next morning, however, Bradley and I found ourselves checking into the hospital at 4:30 AM, with me looking more like this...

...and with this lovely thing stuck in my hand (that was their fourth attempt at an IV--I had thrown up on my way to the hospital and was so dehydrated that they kept breaking through my blood vessel's valve)!

I had woken up with a headache that early, early morning and was out in the living room trying to get it to go away after many failed attempts, when I had realized that my normally spastic son was not moving.  Like, at all.  And hadn't for the past hour.  I then spent the next two hours trying the tricks to make him move--lay on my left side, drink juice, eat something sugary... none of it worked.

When I woke Bradley up and him bugging George did nothing to stir him, that's when I really freaked out.  Because, seriously, nothing makes him an angry wiggler like his dad bugging him.  At that point we were trying everything that pisses George off--shoving frozen bacon against my stomach, super full bladder, everything we could think of.  The little boy would not move!  And it was panic inducing!

However, getting to the hospital after over three hours of no movement... suddenly, George was fine.  He was moving like a fiend again.  His heartbeat was great.  That would be why I'm smiling in that not-so-attractive photo above!  My kid was okay!  He was just a butt weasel!  But really, George actually saved my butt.  My headache had taken a turn for the worse (which is why I had thrown up on the way there), and turns out I was getting hit-up with some pre-preeclampsia.  Like, not yet preeclampsia, but at risk.

So, to make sure that George and I were okay, Brad and I were at the hospital from 4:30 AM to 1:30 PM that Saturday.  This day included our Burrito Boy moving so much that the heartbeat sensor had to be shifted, like, every ten minutes, and then us going to the ultrasound appointment only to have him choose to spend the first thirty-five minutes of the forty minute appointment taking a nap.  Yep, he would not move for the ultrasound technician until the last five minutes.  He's apparently already a pill.

So, you know, beyond me breaking down into tears when they went to do their fourth try at an IV (yes, total meltdown.  Remember, needles are not my strong suit.  I'm just impressed that I didn't cry at any of the first three tries), and also sobbing because my headache got to proportions that I don't ever, ever want to return to, the hospital visit was actually really nice.  I mean, they gave me apple juice with rabbit turd ice and a bendy straw!  I also got to use a miracle drug that made taking a nap warm and comfy.  Unfortunately, that magic wore off within two hours and that's when the tears over the head pain began again.  Lortab fixed that, however.  Oh, thank goodness for Lortab!

But really, that kid of mine saved me.  If he hadn't stopped moving, I would've never thought to go to the hospital for my headache, and I was told that I could very well have developed preeclampsia (Downton Abbey and Sybil, anyone?).  So, thank you, Jorge.  For freaking out your parents, all to unwittingly save your mother from the worst headache she's ever experienced.  Without those pain medications, holy crap, I think I may have died.  Or something melodramatic like that.

Bradley also just went on to prove that, yet again, he is the most incredible man that could ever be called "husband".  Not only was he calm as this all was going on, but remarkably efficient--he packed a hospital bag in like five minutes flat all the while remembering that we should pre-register for the hospital online, as well as thinking to call his dad in the case another priesthood-holder was needed.  He told my mom what was happening because I couldn't without crying (and then made me talk to my mom anyway because he knew I needed to).  He helped me pull through three needle pokes without any tears and a lot less panic, and even during the fourth one, where I did finally cry, he helped me to cry it out and then let them finally do it.  Never once did he panic or make me panic, he was just there and calm and ready.

Oh, and when I barfed in the car?  It was in a barf bucket, thank goodness, but we had to stick it under our car because we didn't want it sitting in there stinking it up, so by the time we were checked out of the hospital at 1:30 PM, the barf had totally cooked into the barf bucket.  Just, baked.  And Bradley was the one to pick it up and throw it away.  He hates barf.  (And also may never drink V8's fruit juice again.)

Basically, he's greatness to a scale that cannot be computed.  He's constantly saving my behind.  And his son, however pill-ish he may be, saved my bottom, too.  And I love these two people.

(Even though the one is still in my belly.  And refuses to come out, even though his due date is tomorrow.)

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

And So It Begins...

Yes, indeed it has begun.
Well, technically it began around week 36 of pregnancy.
But, you know.  It's happened!


Oh, the swelling.  See those feet popping out of those shoes?
Yeah, this is swelling that came just from going to the temple.
(Also known as sitting-down-for-two-hours.)

For some reason, having fat feet makes them extremely warm.
All the time.
And as such, I'm sweaty and hot.
All the time.
And poor Bradley has to freeze to death from the car A/C.

Seriously, feet have an other-worldly power to control body temperature.
It's shady, to say the least.
Someone's made a deal with a demon, pretty much.
(Sorry, been watching a lot of Supernatural...)

Ah, and then the hands.
That's Brad's wedding ring on my ring finger.
He's a size eleven, I'm a size seven.
My fingers are like Puffed Cheetos, it's epic!

I'm very happy that I've only had to deal with this for the past
two weeks and only have two more weeks to ago.
I couldn't imagine if this was an half-the-pregnancy-dealio.

It's hard to not only not fit in your pants, but your shoes as well!
Let alone no be able to get your hands through your temple
dress sleeves without a struggle... cough, cough.

Currently one centimeter dilated and 60% effaced as of last Wednesday.
Check-up tomorrow afternoon, maybe I'll have progressed?!
Maybe George will be on time and I'll really only have two weeks left?!
(Not counting on it, but it's good to be optimistic.)