Art History Sunday: The Blind Girl
8 years ago
Monday, June 13, 2011
Baby Pictures!
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Other Things I've Learned: End of Day Eight.
*Near/past my due date, I become a hermit. I don't want anyone to look at me. I don't want to go out in public, or to church. I don't want anyone to ask me when my baby is due, especially if it's then followed by a story about how their doctor "would never let them go so late..." Yeah, bite me.
*I also have started to consider lying to people when they ask if this is my first baby. Should I be flattered that I look like a first-time mom? Mentioning that it's actually my sixth always leads to more conversation than I'm comfortable with. Now that I think about it, I'd rather avoid conversation at all costs.
*We've been in this weird holding pattern for at least a week, if not more. You know, ready for things to happen at any time, and all packed and ready to go. Now, it seems like I packed the bags for the trip to the midwife's place so long ago, and I keep being tempted to go and make sure that I got everything, because I don't remember.
*All those folk remedies? Yeah, tried 'em. Pretty much everything but castor oil. We've done the fun ones, anyway. Still nothing.
*It's ultra-depressing when some of my more flattering/closer fitting maternity clothing doesn't fit anymore. I'm relying on one pair of jeans and some leggings, plus a couple of my longest shirts. Those are all that will consent to cover the belly.
*It's becoming harder and harder for me to not panic about how long this is taking. Is there something wrong with the baby? Is there something wrong with me? This is definitely the longest I've ever been pregnant, and eight extra days is quite literally an eternity. I want to cry every morning when I wake up and every night when it's bedtime, because I am not in labor. I normally cry about twice a year, not twice a day.
*Oh, yeah. There's a kid in there. I kinda want to meet him or her face to face, and sometime soon. Now I feel really selfish and whiny.
*I also have started to consider lying to people when they ask if this is my first baby. Should I be flattered that I look like a first-time mom? Mentioning that it's actually my sixth always leads to more conversation than I'm comfortable with. Now that I think about it, I'd rather avoid conversation at all costs.
*We've been in this weird holding pattern for at least a week, if not more. You know, ready for things to happen at any time, and all packed and ready to go. Now, it seems like I packed the bags for the trip to the midwife's place so long ago, and I keep being tempted to go and make sure that I got everything, because I don't remember.
*All those folk remedies? Yeah, tried 'em. Pretty much everything but castor oil. We've done the fun ones, anyway. Still nothing.
*It's ultra-depressing when some of my more flattering/closer fitting maternity clothing doesn't fit anymore. I'm relying on one pair of jeans and some leggings, plus a couple of my longest shirts. Those are all that will consent to cover the belly.
*It's becoming harder and harder for me to not panic about how long this is taking. Is there something wrong with the baby? Is there something wrong with me? This is definitely the longest I've ever been pregnant, and eight extra days is quite literally an eternity. I want to cry every morning when I wake up and every night when it's bedtime, because I am not in labor. I normally cry about twice a year, not twice a day.
*Oh, yeah. There's a kid in there. I kinda want to meet him or her face to face, and sometime soon. Now I feel really selfish and whiny.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Things aren't making sense.
*Disclaimer: This ended up being a fairly physical description of the end of pregnancy. It's a bit on the personal side, so if me discussing thigh cramps turns you off, just skip this one...
The blog ticker to the side is wrong, actually. I'm three days past my due date, not just two. THREE DAYS. That translates to an eternity, times three. I've been really close to my due date for each of the other kids, with the exception of Hollis (whose due date was sort of fuzzy.)
Here are some interesting things I've learned about the very end of pregnancy:
My mind will only acknowledge events that take place before the due date. There is no concept of time after, and any mention of an event that theoretically takes place after has absolutely no meaning in my personal frame of reference. What this means is that for three days I've been living in a weird limbo state, where I'm mildly shocked that life does go on as normal. How can this be?
Not only leg cramps, but thigh and bum and hip cramps are reality when I stand/walk for any length of time. Braxton-Hicks contractions (the practice ones that don't do much and aren't true labor) hurt more, too. I feel like my body is saying to me: "What the crap were you thinking, we just did this less than two years ago, and you're thirty-two now, and this makes six times in the last twelve years. ENOUGH, ALREADY!"
I could bounce a quarter off my belly, the skin is so tight. AND, Toby managed to give me poison ivy on the eastern hemisphere of it, and behind my left knee. Freaking massively itchy belly anyway, and now it's rashy and blistery. Am I milking this situation for sympathy? You bet.
I think a woman's mind sort of blurs out the details of exactly how rough labor and delivery are, so that she can blithely make the decision to do it again someday. I think that worked for me...the first five times. I guess that's four times, since no one knows quite what she's getting into the first time. Anyway, I remember vividly what it was like when Loch was born, and have had steadily increasing panic for the last eight-plus months.
Most illogical of all, I have this stupid sense of relief that I don't have to worry about it now that the due date is past. What, like I dodged that bullet? Um, the kid is still in there, growing bigger all the time, and I still have to get him or her out of there somehow. I'm in a constant haze of anticipation and dread each time I have a contraction. Is this it? I hope so/hope not!
Pretty much every night at about eight o'clock, I have a massive mood crash. Another day gone. I keep telling myself to be calm, that things will go more smoothly if I can relax, but I'm terrible at waiting for random things to happen. I hate uncertainty. I also hate feeling like a bomb that could go off at any time.
The blog ticker to the side is wrong, actually. I'm three days past my due date, not just two. THREE DAYS. That translates to an eternity, times three. I've been really close to my due date for each of the other kids, with the exception of Hollis (whose due date was sort of fuzzy.)
Here are some interesting things I've learned about the very end of pregnancy:
My mind will only acknowledge events that take place before the due date. There is no concept of time after, and any mention of an event that theoretically takes place after has absolutely no meaning in my personal frame of reference. What this means is that for three days I've been living in a weird limbo state, where I'm mildly shocked that life does go on as normal. How can this be?
Not only leg cramps, but thigh and bum and hip cramps are reality when I stand/walk for any length of time. Braxton-Hicks contractions (the practice ones that don't do much and aren't true labor) hurt more, too. I feel like my body is saying to me: "What the crap were you thinking, we just did this less than two years ago, and you're thirty-two now, and this makes six times in the last twelve years. ENOUGH, ALREADY!"
I could bounce a quarter off my belly, the skin is so tight. AND, Toby managed to give me poison ivy on the eastern hemisphere of it, and behind my left knee. Freaking massively itchy belly anyway, and now it's rashy and blistery. Am I milking this situation for sympathy? You bet.
I think a woman's mind sort of blurs out the details of exactly how rough labor and delivery are, so that she can blithely make the decision to do it again someday. I think that worked for me...the first five times. I guess that's four times, since no one knows quite what she's getting into the first time. Anyway, I remember vividly what it was like when Loch was born, and have had steadily increasing panic for the last eight-plus months.
Most illogical of all, I have this stupid sense of relief that I don't have to worry about it now that the due date is past. What, like I dodged that bullet? Um, the kid is still in there, growing bigger all the time, and I still have to get him or her out of there somehow. I'm in a constant haze of anticipation and dread each time I have a contraction. Is this it? I hope so/hope not!
Pretty much every night at about eight o'clock, I have a massive mood crash. Another day gone. I keep telling myself to be calm, that things will go more smoothly if I can relax, but I'm terrible at waiting for random things to happen. I hate uncertainty. I also hate feeling like a bomb that could go off at any time.
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