& Then There Was Bed Rest.

I debated making this post yesterday but, to be honest, I haven't been able to wrap my mind around the entire incident. My mind still isn't fully there and I feel sort of trapped in some kind of fog but here it goes: as of yesterday morning, I've been put on bed rest for the duration of my pregnancy. Positive-thinking friends and family members have pointed out that it's only 7 weeks (as of Thursday) and that I should enjoy this as my final time of rest and relaxation before it's gone forever. And, yes, I'm sure it's true there are worse things to do than lay in bed while being served snacks and drinks, watching Roseanne and a non-stop marathon of films on the Sundance channel. Still, though, my mind is consumed with worry. Please read "worry" as "terror" and it's a more accurate description of my current mental state.

The reason for the bed rest is because I started spilling protein in my urine. At first it was within the normal ranges -- but on the high end of normal -- and then it made it's way over to the high end in general. With words like "preeclampsia" dancing on the horizon, I'm trying my best just to stay calm. Calm and collected. Enjoying watching Detroit Rock City while eating my mom's freshly cooked pudding. However, all I can really think about are my now weekly doctor appointments, all of the monitoring in my future and the fact that all of that monitoring is to make sure there is nothing wrong with the little boy inside my belly who I have grown to love more than I could ever love anyone ever. The very notion that there is a problem, that my body is failing him, it's unsettling. Being told that this happens to many first time mothers without rhyme or reason, that there was nothing I could have done differently or nothing I can do to stop it makes me feel even more frustrated and helpless. There's nothing I can do from here. I can't just hold him and protect him and make the problems go away. I'm stuck laying in bed, trying to ignore the horror stories of others involving steroid shots and lung development and preeclampsia and uncontrollable bleeding during c-sections. I'm stuck in bed resisting the urge to Google (like I promised my wonderful doctor I would) and trying to find solace in Partridge Family reruns and carrot sticks served to me bedside by my doting mother.

I'm stuck laying in bed trying to relax but really just waiting to feel him kick or stretch or hiccup in there every single second so I can be assured that he's okay. Because, really, nothing else in the world matters at this point. Nothing at all.

While my husband works, I've "moved in" to my parents house during the daytime hours. I've planted myself in my parents bed (see photo at bottom right) while my wonderful mom runs all of my errands. She buys my cat litter, she buys our groceries, she makes impromptu stops at the maternity store to surprise me with comfortable loungewear and nursing clothing (what you see hanging in the photo at the bottom right). My mom runs around all day long between taking my sister to school, dance, tutoring and all of her other SuperMom duties and now she's added another one to the mix: taking care of me as I lay in her bed absolutely miserable.

I'm managing to write this entry now because my spirits have been lifted thanks to the love and support from my awesome friends and family. Today my good friend, Nea, stopped by to visit me. She brought me the beautiful flowers that you see in the other photos. We had lunch and she hung out in bed with me for a few hours. I was able to have a conversation and spend time with my super thoughtful friend and, really, by the time she left I felt like a whole new, happy person -- a total switch from yesterday (and this morning, even). Today my cousin, Mike, also stopped by to visit me on his way from his internship to his next job further down south. Laying in bed and this time being surrounded by visitors made all of the difference in the world.

Between friends and family, it's safe to say that I'm an extremely lucky person.

And so somehow, I suppose, I will get through this. I will dutifully remain in bed. I will dutifully attend my once-a-week doctor appointments for monitoring. And I will be brave for Ethan...because that's really all I can do at this point. Just force myself to be brave for Ethan.

31 Weeks (& One Day)

I actually just didn't get around to composing this entry yesterday but we can lie and blame the lateness of this entry on Blogger being down (which I just found out that it has been). What you see is what you get in today's belly photo...and that is that I am not getting out of my pajamas all day! No way, no how!

Yesterday was a mess involving enough grossness that even I, the "there is no such thing as TMI" extraordinaire, am too grossed out to reiterate again. It ended in an impromptu visit to my doctor's office where I was told I have pregnancy-induced lactose intolerance, as can sometimes happen at this point in pregnancy. I'm supposed to stay off dairy through Monday to see if my problem resolves itself...which I'm pretty confident it will, since it's just shy of 24 hours that I've been off dairy and already I'm feeling a thousand times better. I'm not taking this potential diagnosis very well considering I'm already allergic to soy/soymilk and my husband has Celiac disease (thus a gluten intolerance) so my House Of Food Allergies has just gotten that much more complicated. I'm also not sure how I'm supposed to live without dairy. It's kind of the biggest staple in my diet.

Life goes on, however. Eight weeks until my c-section! Ethan has started measuring big (we have an ultrasound on May 23rd to take some new measurements) but I'm hoping he holds out for those eight weeks. Ethan's bassinet was delivered yesterday and is now joining the ranks of big boxes cluttering up my living room because time is in such short supply and there is just so much that needs to be done and set up (eight measly weeks -- ack!).

As for little (or not-so-little, as it turns out) Ethan, his lungs are developing like crazy this week! From now on, they'll be able to inflate properly. His ears are developed fully, inside and out. Ethan's skin should also be cute little baby pink now instead of red and he's busy producing all of that cute baby fat underneath his skin. Ethan should now be urinating about half a liter per day, as he's busily drinking the amniotic fluid. Now that spacing is becoming harder to come by, Ethan's arms and legs are pulled closer to his body. He's also developed all five senses now! He's so busy in there. He's also pretty awesome in general. :)

I'm Not 12.

There's this part in one of my favorite movies, Away We Go, where this woman walks up to Verona and says to her child, "this lady is about to have a baby. Any day now!" Verona responds with an, "or in three months."

I've gathered from even before I was pregnant that this is something people say to pregnant people a lot. I'm pretty sure I read accounts of this by offended moms-to-be everywhere more than twice a day on pregnancy forums that I follow and I myself have already gotten this quite a few times. I guess maybe I'm just weird (okay, we all know that I am), but it doesn't really bother me. The "are you sure there's just one in there?" or the "no way will you make it to July" or "are you due any day now?" comments really don't get to me.

What bothers me is the never-ending assumption that I'm some single 12 year old girl who has found herself pregnant and in dire need of advice and sympathy from strangers.

Because, let me tell you, that gets old. And it gets old fast!

My most recent case of this was while Mother's Day shopping at Yankee Candle. The older female cashier nodded her head to look at me and asked the ol' "oh, are you having a boy or a girl?" It seemed like an honest enough question. I went back to my browsing and told her it was a boy. "Your parents must be so excited." I looked up where I was greeted with this sympathetic little face, pouty lips and a tilted head. Oh, I realized, it's happening again. "So is my husband," I smiled and received the shocked look back I was waiting for. "Your husband? Oh, honey, you're so young!" At this point, she wasn't doing much to hide the fact she was -- for some reason -- absolutely heartbroken. "Not really...I'm 25." I say this and wait for the inevitable look of comfort to take over her expression. It does. She loosens up her posture and stares at me as if I just told her she won the lottery. "Oh, thank goodness. Oh my, thank goodness." She's clasping her hands and praising someone or something that I am, in fact, not 12. Because, apparently, it makes such a difference in her life.

This happens to me all of the time. In the grocery store, I'm told by a fellow shopper how lucky I am that my baby will arrive once school is out. I receive the stares, points and head-shakes from passerby at the mall, the grocery store or even public restrooms. I've gotten the sympathetic "oh, honey, don't you want to finish school first?" from some lady in the Target check-out line who feels she must spread her sympathy like wildfire.

And this, my friends, is my biggest pregnancy pet peeve. More than the leg cramps, the heartburn, the nausea, the inability to sleep, the "oh god, you're fat!" comment from strangers who think their due-date guessing is the greatest thing since self-serve frozen yogurt. I can recognize that tilted head, pouty lip, look of pity anywhere -- and I hate it.

30 Weeks

Today marks 30 weeks! I'm not sure why this feels like such an exciting milestone but it just does. It also marks exactly nine weeks until my c-section. Nine measly weeks until Ethan will be here! I feel like there's still so much left to do (probably because there is) around the house and in the nursery but I'm refusing to let myself panic about it. We'll see how well that goes.

I'm feeling gigantic and uncomfortable. Sleeping even remotely through the night is a long-ago memory. If I'm not getting up to pee a hundred times, I'm getting up in sheer discomfort. That third trimester exhaustion has definitely kicked in but I'm trying my best to still get in my daily swimming (which is sometimes rendering impossible thanks to those horrible Florida storms).

An exciting milestone was that we turned in our pre-registration forms at our hospital. Not only does Ethan have a "happy birthday appointment" on July 7th, but he has a file and a pediatrician and all of these other things that make it feel so incredibly real!

Ethan should be around 14-17 inches long and should weigh about 3 pounds. His lungs and digestive tract are fully developed and functional now! His eyes can open and close in there and he can differentiate between darkness and light. Vision is still developing and won't be too keen for quite some time after his birth. The bone-marrow is completely in charge of red blood cell production now. Ethan is losing his lanugo and is better able to regulate his body temperature.

I think he'll need a 2nd closet.

My husband and I spent the weekend working away on Ethan's nursery (and bathroom and playroom -- this feels like a never-ending process!).

Today I hung his clothes in his closet and was totally amazed (and amused) by how many clothes he already has.



What a loved little boy he already is (and, no, I haven't even had my baby shower yet!). I think he's definitely going to need a 2nd closet. Yikes!