Saturday, March 25, 2006

I'm a terrible mother...

I have no idea where baby's butt is as opposed to his head. So many women can point to a specific location on their stomach and say, "See here? That's his head." or "Feel that; it's a leg."

All I can do is point to my belly and declare, "There's a baby in there." I'm a failure.

I plan on spending all day tomorrow poking and pressing until I have created a definitive assessment of baby body parts and their spatial relationship to my belly.

The doctor announced this week that he (the baby, not the doctor) is lying sideways in there, which I pretty much knew. He (the doctor) seemed surprised by this, as he said that most first babies are either happy in breech or birthing positions; they tend not to be interested in being transverse. Already, he is unique and standing out from the crowd. Fast forward fifteen years....he will have a green mohawk and play bass in a speed metal band in our garage. The neighbors will hate us.

Anyway, I think the little transverse turkey has started his flipping, but I cant' be sure (see above). There has been a lot of frantic movement in there (which included kicking husband in the ear when he bent to try to hear the heartbeat). I have been feeling fingers (or toes) in places where I haven't before, and one minute the left side of my belly is hard; the next it is the right side. Possibly he is lost...

It was an eventful week, what with husband going away on business and both my mother and father coming to babysit me in husband's absence. My father won't touch my belly because it is wierd to him, but both he and my mother revel in completely grossing me out by discussing the miracle of my conception.

Apparently, I was "supposed" to be a boy, according to their timing and...god, help me...positioning. Mind you, they give no specifics (they know I don't have any time in my life for more therapy, thankfully), but they seem to take some joy in freaking me out with the knowledge that they "did it" at least once. I prefer the story of the stork, at least in terms of my own arrival, even though I have a very healthy attitude about sex. I know it's not icky; wasn't raised to be ashamed of it. Yet somehow, it would be comforting to know I was dropped down a chimney nine months after my mom thought to herself as she drank her morning coffee, "gee, I'd like a baby".

No such luck.

The other 'highlight' of the week, which ranks right up there with being subjected to stories of my parents' sex life, was the glucose tolerance test I had to take on Thursday. This consists of drinking a syrupy orange beverage an hour before they draw blood. It diagnoses gestational diabetes, just one more potential joy of pregnancy. I cannot begin to describe the metaphorical banging my head into a wall I will do if I fail this test and add one more complication to this pregnancy.

I woke up bright and early, very excited to be leaving the house (fresh air, etc.). I drank the goo from 8:15-8:20 and was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't as bad as I've heard. It tasted a bit like flat generic orange soda that has been mixed with a bit too much syrup. I wouldn't order it on purpose at a restaurant, but it didn't taste as vile as most cough medicines I've had.

I figured I was in the clear. What harm could a little bit of dextrose do?

OH MY GOD. The nausea. The heartburn. It was like an army of ants eating away at my insides. From sugar??? My best food friend??? The sense of betrayal was overwhelming. It's still painful to talk about.

Tomorrow, husband's cousin JP is coming over with his camera to take some maternity pictures of me so we can "capture the magic". I will be 29 weeks pregnant tomorrow and who knows how much longer it will last or how much bigger this belly can get. I'd rather have the pictures done now and have to say in years to come, "Well, I did gain 12 more pounds of belly after that", then wait longer and miss the opportunity to have the pictures at all, if this little man decides to make his appearance early.

Of course, the true success of the pictures will be measured by JP's ability to camouflage the frightening image that is my double chin. If he can do that, while at the same time capturing the gloriousness of the gigantic belly, he will truly be a master at the art of photography. We shall see. I'm most excited about standing up for a few minutes to pose for the pictures...

As a final note for the day, thanks to husband and his tech-savvy ways for helping me create some links, change the background and add a is everything I can do to post these ramblings correctly, nevermind add "flair". thanks, honey.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hey Sarah, would it make you feel better to know that grammy and grampy told me I was "supposed" to be a girl? Life does play tricks, eh? Hope you are feeling better now that I have made my confession.