He’s here!

This post is a little belated; as I’m sure anybody with a newborn can understand, adjusting to sleep and feeding schedules (as well as having this beautiful new person to love!) complicates the search for blogging time.

At any rate, Arthur has arrived! I’m working on his birth story and will hopefully have it finished before he wakes up from his nap (famous last words), but for right now I can tell you I am just in awe. This baby boy who nested in my belly for the last nine months is finally here.

The new parents are learning – nighttime sleeping is still an adventure, and there are times it seems like all he wants to do is lay at the tap and eat until there’s nothing left (a good thing, in all), but we are also learning how amazing an addition to our family little Arthur is, and how quickly it’s possible to fall in deep and everlasting love with someone you’ve only just met.

Enough cliches for the moment; keep an eye out for the birth story!


Due Week, and Father’s Day

Due dates are such tricky things. My OB gave us an original due date of the 19th – three days from now – which she is still maintaining as Arthur’s “official” due date. However, our 19-week ultrasound (not to mention the two subsequent, in which he’s been measuring ahead of dates) established that today was the more accurate due date.

But what is an accurate due date anyway? Babies, much like wizards, are neither early nor late but arrive precisely when they intend to. That’s what I’ve been telling myself, anyway, to try and overcome what has been the most difficult week of the pregnancy so far.

Since last Friday I’ve had four prenatal appointments (with another scheduled for tomorrow), as well as a false alarm visit to the hospital. All that’s changed in any of those appointments is that this week I picked up some water weight thanks to the change in the weather. In the meantime, I’ve been contracting the entire time – sometimes more frequently and lately more intensely, but not enough to actually make any further progress. It’s frustrating, uncomfortable, and heartbreaking.

Because…it’s Father’s Day. And despite this pregnancy teaching me throughout that I really can’t always get what I want, my fondest wish was that Brian could celebrate today with his son in his arms.

Well, instead we’ll celebrate this as almost-Father’s Day. And we’ll see just how far into this week our little prince intends to go.


(Almost) 39 weeks: Are we there yet…?

On Sunday, I hit the wall.

Yep, that wall.

Our bags are packed, the car seat is (properly) installed, the nursery and all other “baby stations” around the house look great. The only problem is, Kid A doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to join us.

I’m glad that he’s taken the time he has to grow and develop, and is now a robust 8.25-ish pounds with all systems functioning as they should. We’ve even been given a 3D shot of his adorable face (complete with Daddy’s nose, if I’m not mistaken), and every exam so far has been “perfect”. Now, though, I would just love to see those fingers and toes and that face and his (apparently large) head and tummy in the light of the real world.

It’s not that this isn’t possibly the most thrilling experience of my life. I’m growing a person in here, and I’m far from being the first or the last woman on earth to do it but it’s incredibly empowering nonetheless. I’m so excited for this little boy to come in and change our lives completely that I would probably burst if emotions took physical form. I guarantee that his arrival is more important to me than to absolutely anybody else on this whole damn planet, except for maybe Brian (and I still think I have a slight edge there).

I just don’t want to be the poster child for glowing pregnancy. And I’m tired of feeling like I’m on display for the world’s commentary.

Here’s something to consider, especially if you’re unfamiliar with or far enough removed from the physical process of pregnancy to look back on it through the haze of nostalgia (and to be more than a little confused about how “things are done today”): not every waking second of this journey is fun or pleasant or happy, and I won’t pretend that it is. I won’t act like I want to continue this way indefinitely – his due date is in 8 days and I certainly won’t argue if he comes early. (Today’s a good day, sweetheart…) It doesn’t make me less excited or less of a mother-to-be, and it is not a cry for pity or concern. It’s normal.

Also, if you are some random person on the street (or a tenant in my office building who I hide out in restroom stalls to avoid*) then my pregnancy is NOT your business and it is NOT my responsibility to entertain your curiosity. I’m not a sideshow, and as well-meaning as strangers may be it seems that pregnancy brain affects them through proximity as well and renders them incapable of making any but the most offensive or prying of comments.

Oh, you’re getting so big! Really? I thought my husband replaced all of our mirrors with fun-house mirrors for a laugh. (And I’ve gained 17 pounds total. Shut up.)

That baby’s coming any time now… Thank you, Captain Obvious. The twice-weekly doctor visits, uterine cramps and constant bathroom visits throughout the day/night weren’t enough of a clue for me.

Are you sure it’s just one? Yep, there were two but then Gigantor the Destroyer** in there ate the twin.

Am I touchier than normal? You bet.

Is it a function of hormones? In part.

Am I still a human being worthy of basic dignity and respect and PRIVACY? Hell yes.

Most of all, I’m just ready to be done with this step. Are we there yet? 

*True story. I ducked into the first restroom stall, and I’ll be damned if even that didn’t stop her from making comment #2 above. Yesterday, I skipped the restroom entirely when I saw her walk in there first.

**My sister-in-law christened Kid A with this sobriquet when I sent her his 3D picture. I think I like it. And no, he was never a twin.