OUT! Birth Story V

Some women give it a one, two, three... and out she comes! Other women, like me, have to do some "passive pushing" before actual pushing. So I spent an hour "bearing down" in various positions in an effort push the baby down before pushing her out.

I'm not the first woman to report that I like pushing. It sounds odd, because this is, of course, when some very sensitive spots have to spread wide enough to press a person through them. But with pushing comes relief.  Instead of trying to keep myself still, and to manage contractions, keeping each of them contained against the pressure, when pushing I was working with the pressure, rolling with it, directing it, moving it down down down and soon.. Out!

Joyce, the midwife kept encouraging me to change position. The bed had a "birthing bar" which arched over the middle of the mattress. One can grab on and squat while standing on the bed (which I did), but there were other ways to use it too. Joyce rigged up a sheet so that I could sit on the bed with one foot on Sheffield, one foot on my mom, and hold the ends of the sheet like horse reins. "The Cowgirl" was my favorite position. But I would tire, turn around and drape my arms over the raised head of the bed, or squat, or lie on my side.

(If you've been through it, or been told, you know that many a woman craps the bed at this stage. I felt that in order to get over the embarrassment of that possibility, I would just state the obvious: "Guys, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna shit on this bed." They cheered "do it!, go for it!" as if I had just said "Guys, I think I'm gonna run in this 80-yard touchdown." But I was empty, so no TD.)

Toward the end of this "passive pushing," I got on all fours. My mom and the midwife were happily chatting in the corner of the room, and Sheffield stood beside me, coaching. Despite my deep focus and efforts, I couldn't help but notice that beyond a drawn curtain, the door to my room opened.

I had a memory flash that Sheffield was instructed to ask any visitors who arrived during this stage to leave. To spare him the responsibility, and with full confidence that my request would be would be heeded, I open my mouth, mid-push, and emitted a deep, guttural voice I should reserve for Greek tragedies (Agave, Medea, that sort of thing...) and roared:

"GETOUT!"

From behind the curtain, a young (terrified) female nurses voice said, "OhmyGodI'msosorry, I didn't know she was pushing," and left.

My team applauded.
My mother said, "Ginna, was the "get out" to the nurse or to the baby?"
I was still pushing, so again in my Medea voice, I said:

"BOTH!"

Although I wasn't aware of the hours passing, time was wearing on my team. I looked over at my mother whose hands were folded under her chin and eyes were directed upward. The woman was clearly in prayer, and I thought to myself, "aw shit, I thought things were going pretty well..."  But I didn't feel I could spare the energy to worry about it, so I just kept at the work.

Have you ever tried trapeze?

(Nice segue, right?)

In flying trapeze class, which I've tried three or four times, one must stand with toes at the edge of a platform very high off the ground with only a net between flyer and a fall. One must hold her bar with one hand, press her hips way forward, and on cue, release her second hand from its stable grip, to grab the bar as well, and...

jump.

The prep is terrifying.
The flight is exhilarating.

This is a video of me in trapeze class a year ago.

In the Labor and Delivery room, I would eye the birthing bar arched over the bed much the same way I did the trapeze bar: I wanted my hands on that bar, but getting there seemed impossible. I could barely stand the pain just lying in bed, and in my mind, there was no longer any possibility of pain management.

The prep is terrifying.
The flight is exhilarating.

I am a beast. I am large and sweaty and heavy. My hair is matted. My clothes are... where are my clothes? Yet in all my awkward mammal-ness, in a brief hesitation between contractions, I flung myself at the bar, fearless, trusting.

Got there.
Great.
Pushed some more.
While in trapeze flight, one must also have the courage to then release the bar.
To fly, one must let go.

The prep is terrifying.
The flight is exhilarating.

Time to let go.  I was no longer pushing the baby down, but pushing with the intention to get her out. My team saw glimpses of the top of her head and cheered, guided, instructed: "Push! HOLD! Don't push! Pant!" I'm trying. I'm trying!  "Tighten and push with your stomach, but relax your legs"  This last cue I found almost impossible, even for all my yoga/fitness bravado.

Nurse Juliet would see the tension my face (something I spent years trying to identify and eliminate in actor training) and say in her Jamaican accent: "Don't push with your face, push with your bottom."
"Bottom," I thought, was a great word choice.
I dropped my jaw.
I pushed with my bottom.

During that last bit of pushing, I remind myself over and over in silent mantra: I'm going to get huge. My baby knows what to do.  This, I thought, would be my secret weapon against tearing or stalling. If I identified a fear, I talked right to it.

See, I'd read that sometimes delivery can stall, even at this stage, if the mother is harboring fear. It could be fear of tearing, or something else physical. Or it could be something deeper, more psychological. I'd had so many fears to face, even before conceiving. Had I addressed them all? Or would some stubborn anxiety stick in the way, and require a vacuum or forceps delivery?

"Mom?"
"Yes?," she said, "I'm here."
"Do you think I'll be a good mother?"
She laughed.
So did Sheffield.
But I think she cried a little too when she answered, "Yes Ginna, I think you'll be great."
Sheffield chimed in along the same lines.
They must have thought I was joking, but between you and me, reader, I meant it as simply as it sounds.

That was my fear.
Could I be caring, patient, protective to this little person...?
Could I be enough?
I needed to believe it to get this baby out.

I opted to take their word.

And in those final moments, I squeezed my eyes together and called on my sisters. Kelly, in Prague, told me later that she'd lit a candle and kept a silent, mindful vigil for me and her soon-to-be fellow Scorpio niece. Katie, deceased now nearly 20 years, would have fought tears and squeezed my hand or thigh had she been in the room.

They weren't with me.
But they were with me.

"Come on little girl," I coaxed the baby,
"Come on little girl, we can do this," I encouraged us both.
We'd have to be a team...

There was crowning.
There was a mirror.
There were no drugs.
Push, retract,
Panting, ranting, roaring like an animal.

The smooth round head makes it's way out of me. "Oh," I think, "That's what giving birth feels like."
Ladies, it's exactly what you think it will feel like.
Guys, I don't know what to tell you.

After the smoothness of the head, something lumpier and bumpier comes out, a jumble of body and limbs. I was vaguely aware of a gush of fluids, but there was no time to think on it... Before I could emotionally prepare to meet this little Froo I'd been with for 40 weeks +2 days, there she was on my belly.

It was like seeing a little cub. Her face at that instant, is still clear in my memory.
She was pink and normal-looking, not at all gooey or blue like some of the stories I'd been told.
On my belly, she wailed.
I put my hands on her.
Sheffield did too.
Our girl.
Our family.

The baby nursed on me right away (I have a whole other blog entry on the wonder of newborns and breasts...)  When asked her name, we answered Katherine/Katie/Kate, then we quoted Shakespeare, unplanned, in unison. But we explained that she was named less for the famous Shrew, and more for the sweet aunt Katie she'd probably met in a dimension beyond this one. Out of three finalists, we selected a middle name: Lulu.

At some point, Joyce the midwife revealed that the baby was born with her hand on her face.
Oh...

I'd heard of this.

I'd heard it made for difficult delivery.I'd heard...
Ohhhh, yes....!
I'd heard it slows down labor and delivery.
I overhear Joyce tell my mom that had it not been for Katie Lu's expressive gesture, I have birthed her six hours earlier.  Hmm, I thought. I don't need to think too much on that...

The babe, when still my little Fetus Froo Froo, almost always appeared with a hand on her face during ultrasounds.

See that arm up and hand on her forehead?

And from then 'til now at six weeks...

I guess we should've known, but no matter...

Her arm position, however, was probably the cause of the excess bleeding that streamed from me, alarming Sheffield a little. (I was oblivious, my eyes on the prize.) Soon Joyce was stitching me up (2 stitches in my vagina; perineum was intact, yay!!!), and when I noticed the discomfort, I simply turned my attention back to my beautiful baby cub.  Boy that oxytocin is something...

We cuddled her for a long while before they took her to be weighed.  Nurse Juliet had ended her shift, (though she returned briefly to witness the birth) and Nurse Leanne was with me next. She brought me dinner while they cleaned up, weighed, and checked out sweet Katie Lu.

Someone poured the champagne we bought. I'd actually hesitated over whether to bring it or not. It'd been in the back of our fridge for months, an opening-night gift, and not even mine (but I think Sheffield had forgotten that it was even there.) As we packed up that morning to go to the hospital, my mom saw it on the "to bring" list:
"Do we really want to bring that champagne?"
I paused.  Would I jinx us by assuming celebration?
"Fuck it," I said to my own mother, "just bring it."
And she did.
And someone had even thought to chill it when I was pushing.

I demolished the hospital food: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and vegetables, washing it down with champagne. Later in our new baby/mama overnight room, I added to that, a meal retrieved by Sheffield. "What do you want?," he'd asked, and --like a marathon finisher, feeling entitled to just about any food the great city of New York had to offer-- I chose...

A burger, fries, and a Diet Coke.
Yep.
And I didn't put the baby down to eat it.
The moment was documented.

Sheffield fell asleep while I chatted with my friend and first visitor, Rob.  Bleary-eyed, Mom had gotten herself home via the subway. I was tired, yes, but I was so high.
I never really slept that night.
My new baby was in a transparent bassinet thing-y next to me at eye level.
I monitored her throughout the night.
I nursed.
I marveled.

The end...

Or you can check out some pictures here.

Active, Birth Story IV

From the Mayo Clinic  Active labor: During active labor, your cervix will dilate to 10 centimeters (cm). Your contractions will become stronger, longer, closer together and regular. Your legs might cramp, and you might feel nauseous. You might feel your water break — if it hasn't already. You might feel increasing pressure in your back as well. If you haven't headed to your labor and delivery facility yet, now's the time... Don't be surprised if your initial excitement wanes as your labor progresses and the pain intensifies. Don't feel that you're giving up if you ask for pain medication or anesthesia... Active labor often lasts up to eight hours. For some women, active labor lasts hours longer.

The Team was soon present: Sheffield, Mom, our new nurse Juliet, Joyce the midwife (think hippie fairy godmother from New Hampshire; she says "put your ahm up" instead of "put your arm up"), me, and of course, Little Fetus Froo Froo.

We are now, without doubt, in Active Labor, and at this point everything becomes a blur. I can report with certainty, however, that the contractions had gotten significantly stronger.  And despite my careful list of stuff to bring, we'd forgot my iPod, which meant no "baby playlist" in Labor and Delivery like I'd had to help me at home. I was still upright, shuffling around a very few square feet, leaning on things, conjuring up more relaxation methods I'd learned. I was back in my own clothes, a T-shirt I'd put on that morning out of ease rather than any sort of plan. The hardest part for me was allowing the muscles to relax below my belly button: the uterus, to be exact. I'm pretty good with muscle memory, identification, and isolation, (years of movement training to release tension, as a personal trainer teaching other people where and how to relax, and regular yoga practice) but Lord help me, was it a challenge to relax the lower half of my innards during active labor...

Mama Bear, Birth Story III

mount sinai beth israel hospital

new york, ny

This next phase is the worst chapter, and the only one that has the potential to rattle my resolve.

We'd been told to "preregister" at the hospital. And we been told that even if/when we did, upon our arrival, there'd still be confusion, and we'd been told to be prepared to answer all the pre-registration questions again.

So, more than a month prior, I mailed in my preregistration papers. Two weeks after that, (still more than a month before our due date) I called to confirm receipt of those documents. To my (sort of?) surprise, my documents were not on file, or at least, they couldn't be found. I am told that they'll look around and I'll receive a call back that day, a Friday. No one calls me back. On Monday I call again. Still no preregistration documents of mine on file.  ...But the woman on the phone said I could scan and email the preregistration forms. Which I did. And I asked for confirmation that day. I got an email response an hour later that my preregistration was received. Still, I kept hardcopies which we brought with us to the hospital on November 18. 

Naturally, they had no preregistration documents of mine on file when we arrived. 

Sheffield was asked to give THE EXACT SAME info again, despite the completed hardcopies we'd brought with us. I was vaguely aware of the clown show to which he had inadvertently bought a ticket, as I stood, bent over a chair, bracing myself against its wooden arms. 

And then the nastiest of clowns appeared...

PeaceCalm: Birth Story II

EARY LABOR DESCRIPTION  http://www.babycenter.com/stages-of-labor:  "If you're in early labor, your contractions will gradually become longer, stronger, and closer together. Eventually they'll be coming every five minutes and lasting 40 to 60 seconds each as you reach the end of early labor. Some women have much more frequent contractions during this phase, but the contractions will still tend to be relatively mild and last no more than a minute.
Sometimes early labor contractions are quite painful, even though they may be dilating your cervix much more slowly than you'd like. If your labor is typical, however, your early contractions won't require the same attention that later ones will.

You'll probably be able to talk through them and putter around the house. You may even feel like taking a short walk. If you feel like relaxing instead, take a warm bath, watch a video, or doze off between contractions if you can....  Early labor ends when your cervix is about 4 centimeters dilated and your progress starts to accelerate." 

astoria, early labor

waiting

The first three contractions were like long, slow, warm menstrual cramps. After the third one, I felt like I had enough of a "pattern," to justify alerting Sheffield who was washing dishes.  (I didn't want to call out his name and risk waking mom, who was asleep in our guest room.)  Sheffield sat with me on our bed and monitored these "cramps."  Eventually, out came the iPhone and ap that times contractions. I would tell him "NOW," and he would start timing, and then I would say "OKAY" or "OVER", and he would stop the timer.  I pulled up my baby-labor playlist and swayed, rocked, bounced, and breathed to the music I'd chosen to get over each "wave" as I called it...

Puzzled: Birth Story I

*A Note: It will become clear that my preference (for me) was a natural childbirth. I realize this is not everyone's cup of tea. But it is the cup of tea for me. This does not mean that I think it is right for everyone. You may have made other choices. Great! I love the birth you had and I love the child it produced or will produce. Let's agree that we both made our choices for very good reasons. Some of my reasons are based on research and some are based on my own personal quirks (neuroses?), and, above all, I fully believe that being "open" to any outcome in the delivery room is the best approach for expectant parents. This is our birth story.

40 weeks.  Our due date, November 16, passed with little fanfare.

  

My mother had been in town for a week, waiting, waiting, and on Sunday the 16th, she and I – in all my 40 weeks of round glory– took an 11 AM yoga class.

From Froo to Lu

Nov. 18:  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a...  BABY.  At 7:18 PM, she turns from Little Fetus Froo Froo into Baby Katherine Lulu.

I wanted so badly to post for you, but I have not the words!!!  Or, perhaps, it's more accurate to say that the entrance of this new soul in a 6 lb. 11 oz body seems too great an event to be contained by the magnificent words of the English language I love so well.

I have not the words!!!  But would you accept, instead... a picture?

Katherine Lulu Chastain

(I thought you might.)

I have not the words!!!

I have been stunned into silence.

But fear not, faithful b & the b readers.

I have a birth story to tell.  Stay tuned...

??? Did She Have The Baby ???

Would Ginna really post her baby announcement in her blog???
This entry goes all the way to 40 weeks, Nov. 16, the baby's due date...
But yet, she is posting today, on the due date, so... she couldn't have had the baby, right?
She's not posting from the hospital is she?
... Or is she?

Well, you have to read on to find out.

weeks 38 & 39; astoria, ny

Nov. 1:  Bump shots up to 38 weeks.  For the full gallery of weeks 15 - 38, scroll down to bottom.

Nov. 2:  38 weeks.  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a pumpkin, they say.  Sheffield and I attend a co-ed shower at our friends' Jenny and Eric's.  There are gifts, lots of food, many children, and everyone talks to me about my baby and my birth plan: tremendous!  We are there for eight hours.  I hope Jenny and Eric still like us.

LOVE goes to the Curb

36 & 37 weeks; astoria, ny

Oct 19:  36 weeks.  Little Fetus Froo Froo, I am told, is the size of a Honeydew Melon.

Oct. 20:

There
Was a chair
Called LOVE.
LOVE broke.
Where oh where
Goes a broken chair
called LOVE?

Before this sounds like a sad story, let me point out that we live in a small two-bedroom apartment in Astoria.  Which is in Queens.  Which is in NYC's five boroughs.  NYC is arguably one of the greatest cities in the world.  We have a constant flow of tourists.  We have inhabitants of many cultures.  We have great museums.  We have Broadway.
What we don't have is space.

the fetus ate my homework

34 & 35 weeks; astoria, NY

Oct. 5:  34 weeks. Little fetus Froo Froo is the size of a butternut squash.  Finally!  Not that I needed her to be the size of said vegetable, but it is the cutest-sounding vegetable to which she has now been compared.  Also, we receive another bag of clothes from another generous family.  My kid has a more extensive wardrobe than I do.  (Well, let's be honest, I rotate three pairs of stretch pants and four tops these days, so I'm hardly competition.)

 Plus, these goodies arrive from soon-to-be Aunt Kelly in Prague.  (Isn't our baby so European?)

Aaaaand we're gonna breeze through some of this pregnancy blog because -may I be frank?  I just don't have it in me.  What I do have in me is a person.  A person who rolls.  A person who rolls and stretches in my very confined midsection.  I know it's sorta a "dog-ate-my-homework" kind of excuse, but really, people, a rolling stretching person inside you makes it hard to focus, so these entries are brief:

Oct 6:  I got this day in one word-  insomnia.

Oct 7:  The only way to sleep on my side now is by using my hand as a kickstand.  Can you even picture what I'm talking about?  Imagine that I am an inflated beach ball on a mattress.  See how a kickstand could help?  No?  Okay.  Don't bother.

Butt Spot for Baby

32 weeks.  astoria, ny

Sept. 21:  32 Weeks.  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a large jicama.

Sept 22:  Someone offeres me her seat on the subway!!!  I am seven months pregnant and I think this is the first.  She doesn't ask if I am pregnant, or make a big deal out of it, she just turns over her precious butt-spot for my butt.  (*Note:  the two dudes on either side of her do not budge.  Good job guys.  Just, be aware, you white guys are scoring very low in this small social experiment.)

Sept 23:   I have a few irrational fears.  First and foremost, terrorists.  I am regularly spooked that one of these guys is going to hijack the subway system and kill me and my baby in a horrible and humiliating way.  Sheffield agrees that this is irrational, and demands that I stop watching the news.  I obey.

Secondly, and perhaps less irrational, I am increasingly fearful of subway steps.  Namely, of falling down them.  Sheffield says this is not irrational, because people do fall down subway steps sometimes, and that I should be careful.  I obey.  I am decidedly slow going down the subway stairs.  I am a New Yorker's Nightmare.  New Yorkers want to plough through me, walk over my head, or kill me in a horrible and humiliating way.  Because I understand their frustration, and can relate, I often step aside and let the rush pass so I don't feel the crowd and the hatred bearing down on me.

However, unlike Terrorists, 

I think most New Yorkers are just full of a lotta hot air, 

so, sometimes, I continue at my own pace and those bitches can wait.

/frē/ - /ˈhandiNG/

week 31.  astoria, ny

Sept 14: 31 weeks. Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a pineapple. Sheffield and I riff for a long long time about how dismal it would be to deliver a pineapple.

WELL-MEANING FRIENDS: So, do you know if it's a boy or a girl?

GINNA AND SHEFFIELD: We don't care. (Big sigh.)  As long as it's not a pineapple...

This riff goes on for a long time.

Sept 15: I start a four-week job. At night, while rehashing the pineapple joke and other fart jokes, Sheffield makes me laugh so hard I pee. This is the second time this has happened this trimester. Don't get cocky, I tell him, it's not that big an accomplishment to make a pregnant lady pee.

Crazy-Make-a-Baby

33 weeks.  astoria,  ny

Sept. 28:  33 weeks.  Size of a durian.  Don't know what that is?  Neither did I.  Here's a pic: Durian.  And steps for eating one:  http://www.wikihow.com/Eat-Durian

Someone offers me a seat on the subway.  This time, it's a man.  Guys, you gained a point.  The man that offered me his seat did not speak English as a first language.  White American Men, you are still in ranking lowest in this social observation.

Sept. 29:  For the fainting, I was encouraged to take an iron supplement.  The pill form can make one constipated and I am unwilling to go there.  (Or not go there, as is more appropriate.)  So, I bought the liquid kind, of which I am to take a mere 10 ml.

People.

It's gross.

Sheffield catches a whiff and, while repulsed, cannot refrain from giving it a try.  "It's not worth it," I plead with him, even though I know he won't listen.
And that curiosity killed the cat,
And that Sheffield is a cat on his 1,000,099th life.

So he tastes the liquid iron supplement, and I admit I am slightly comforted that he gags and compares it to "16 year-old rancid prune juice."

Misery loves Curiosity.

tidal waves

weeks 29 & 30
Columbus, OH, Louisville, KY, and Destin, FL

Aug 31: 29 weeks. Size of a butternut Squash. And I get an Ohio chapter Baby Shower. I kind of failed Baby Registry Class because I was thinking like a New Yorker and assumed everyone would prefer to shop online. I registered for a cloth diaper service (gift certificates one click away!), at Target, and at Babies R Us (the website of which frustrated me to the point that there were only two items on that registry). So, when my guests actually drove to Babies R Us they were more than a little confused. Somehow, though, these friends and family transcended my poor registry skills, and I ended up with some powerfully cute stuff. People will really rally for New Life. It's kinda beautiful.

Sept 1: Some pictures from my shower yesterday. These are Grandma's gifts. There was a lot there, and she claims to have used restraint. She's very enthusiastic about her first grandbaby.   She started shopping the day I started menstruating.

ˈpreg-lə-jənt

Week 28, Astoria, NY and Reynoldsburg, OH

Aug 24:  28 weeks.  Fetus Froo Froo is the size of an eggplant.

Aug 25:  I arrive in my hometown, Columbus, Ohio.



Aug 26:  Pregligent  adjective  (ˈpreg-lə-jənt) A pregnant woman's failure to do the things that society and the internet tell her to do. (Eg.  1. Follow a registry check list.  2.  Use a pencil to check that shit off.  3.  Kegels.  Kegels in the car, kegels in bed, kegels in line at the grocery, Kegels! Kegles! Kegels! )   2. Doing the things the same forces tell her not to do.  (Eg.  1.  The consumption of "don't eats" such as hot dogs, goat cheese, brie, Subway club, spicy tuna rolls, fried eggs.  2.  The leaving in of one's naval ring, and failure to apply proper sunscreen of surrounding skin.  3. Contact sports.  4.  Clubbing.)  Middle English, from Anglo-French & Latin pregnant, preggo, pregay; Anglo-French, from Latin neglegent-, neglegens, present participle of neglegere.  First Known Use: Today.  preg-ne-gent-ly adverb.

I feel that something's come between us...

HEY YOU!!! Are you becoming a b & the b regular? Would you consider following us via the buttons in the middle of the left column? You can follow by email or by Google +. Or just share with a friend?  (Aw, c'mon; it's for the baby....)  Thanks! -Bean and Bam.

week 27 astoria, ny

Aug 17:  Week 27.  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a head of cauliflower.  Have you been int he produce section lately?  Check it out.  

As a normally cold-hands/cold-feet person, it is just plain strange that I throw off all the covers and turn the AC on.

Aug 18:  So grateful for every day in which I escape nausea.  When I was very sick during the first trimester, and staying at my parents' house, my mom was constantly monitoring my wellness.  Often I would simply report the last time I puked.  If I was dressed and on two feet, she was confident that I was okay and didn't have to ask.  Occasionally, I would be somewhere in between, without the words to describe how I felt.  --I hate to be without the right words.--  I felt too shaky to get out of bed (most days), and just on the verge of vomiting.  It feels like a small cloud of "queasy" stuck right in your craw... those are almost the right words, but not quite.  Eventually, I found the words for what that feels like, and I offer the phrase to you here, in hopes that you never have to use it.  The next time you might barf, but it's at least five minutes from happening, you can alert you loved ones by stating: "my gag is up."

Aug 19:  Midwife appointment #4.  That Glucose test can go to hell...

intimate*tryptophan*fistula

weeks 25 & 26 astoria, ny (home!)

Aug 3:  25 weeks.  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of an Acorn Squash.  And I am finally home.  I will miss performing --it could be a while before I'm on stage again-- but it will be nice not to have to fight the waistline of my Act One costume anymore.  Belly be free!

Aug 4:  Trying to register for baby things is such a racket.  There's just so much!  Seventeen webpages of swaddle blankets?  It makes me want to throw up.  

Or maybe it's just that I'm only taking half a Zophran pill now...

Aug 5:  It is unusual for me to sleep this much.  I sleep like a boss.  I can sleep anywhere, anytime.  Everyday, after a full night of sleep, I still sleep for one-two hours everyday.  (I know, live it up, right?)

Aug 6:  Nauseous again.  Now that my performing is over, I am prepared to be sick as I further wean off my anti-nausea pills (midwives' advice).  I listen to an BBC recording that states, among other theories, that studies show that babies whose mothers experienced significant morning sickness do better on intelligence tests.  

Ah, yes, I've suspected this all along, but now I am certain:  I'm going to birth a genius.

Aug 7:  Still trying to "complete" registry.  Seriously, Babies R Us?  That's a lot of fucking pink.  

cute in yer ute

HEY YOU!!! Are you becoming a b & the b regular? Would you consider following us via the buttons in the middle of the left column? You can follow by email or by Google +. Or just share with a friend?  (Aw, c'mon; it's for the baby....)  Thanks! -Bean and Bam.

weeks 21 & 22 cape may, nj

July 6:  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a pomegranate.  We've reached 21 weeks.

July 7:  My belly is growing daily now.  My fingernails are growing at a remarkable rate. And, of course, my boobs continue to test the laws of bodily proportions.  Thus, my spacial awareness has been compromised.  Today, removing my shirt, I stabbed myself in the nipple with my own thumb nail.  Thank god for you, blog.  To whom else could I confide such private matters?

July 8:  Friends ask me if I feel extra "hormonal", like, am I freaking out?  I say no, but then on reflection, I realize that I totally am, but hardly anyone sees it.  Because of my schedule,  I'm basically on my own until 7 PM at night, at which point it is my job to pretend to be another person.  Who is not pregnant.  Essentially, I am a new shade of crazy that I have never been before, but no one is around to witness it.  The exception, of course, is my husband...

f-bomb baby blog bump pics

weeks 19 & 20 cape may, nj

June 22:  Nineteen weeks.  Baby is the size of a mango.

June 23:  

 

June 24:  For the record, readers, I have heard your requests for bump pics.  But I have mixed feelings about posting these profile belly shots.  I am taking them, yes, from a very clumsy selfie angle, and I share them with Sheffield since he is the father and he is not here to see the week-by-week changes, but I'm just not sure I want to share them with my online community.
You will think I am vain (I am) and self conscious (I'm not), but there's more to it that that.  When I was not pregnant, these shots of other bellies made me feel jealous and judgy.  Now, reader, you have to admit, parent or not, that you too are likely to judge the size of a pregnant belly.  And one never knows how to respond to "you're tiny!"  (Is that okay?  Is something wrong with my baby?)  or "you're huge!"  (Is that okay? Is something wrong with my baby?... Wait, are you calling me fat? ... FuckOffIKnow!)  
Now, if I am not actually in front of you modeling my roundness, if you are gazing upon the bulge via the internet, you are even more free to express your opinions about how big or small I and the bump appear.  The thought of which does not make me entirely enthusiastic...

92 Yahoos

weeks 17 & 18    cape may, nj

June 8: Seventeen weeks. They say she's the size of a pear.

June 9: I wean down from three anti-nausea pills to two. And I feel great!

June 10: ...Then I throw up.
(This is becoming a common refrain.)

pregnant chicks have all the fun

weeks 15 & 16
astoria, ny

May 27:  Photos of my Memorial Day cravings.  Pregnant and  patriotic:




May 28:  A lot of foods are still revolting to me.  The one thing I can always eat is an avocado sushi roll with extra ginger.  I have one every day for about three weeks and sometimes twice.

May 29:  Eating like a pro athlete.  Or feeding one...
(At 5:00 AM)  "Wake up, I need three to five hundred calories!" she says.
(At 8:00 AM)  "It's time for second breakfast!," the apple- sized linebacker says.
Seriously fetus?  I don't care if you decide to be a linebacker, but I would prefer not to be the size one one when this is all over...
Yes, we can have nachos for dinner.  Again.

drinking for two

weeks 13 & 14

astoria, queens, ny

May 11:  Little Fetus Froo Froo is 13 weeks and the size of a peach.  Also, it's Mother's Day.  I insisted that Sheffield bring me flowers.  He did, even though he says it's not really my first Mother's Day.  I know, I know...  but even if I'm not really a mother, I am really about to barf, so flowers are still appropriate.

May 12:  Every morning is like a hangover without the consolation that at least I looked hot and had a fun time last night.  Because last night, I looked dumpy, and I had a headache and nausea then too.

Seahorse Hoben-Chastain

weeks 11 & 12

April 27:  Eleven weeks pregnant.  I don't move all day due to nausea and headaches.  Little fetus-froo-froo is either the size of a fig or a lime.  I'm guessing a key lime.

April 28:  I convince my 65 year old mother to drive me to DQ for a oreo/reeses cup blizzard.  She says she feels like she's dealing with a six-year-old.  I know.  I can't wait for my palate to expand, either.

April 29:  Yeah, I was a little worried about the expense of having a baby, but the amount I'm saving on wine over 9 months should cover the first four years...

weeks 8, 9, & 10

columbus, oh

April 13:  I convince my 65 year old mother who is in her pajamas, reading, to ride with me to Taco Bell at half-past midnight.  At first we are self conscious that she is in pjs and clogs, and I am ill and without a bra, but then we put it in perspective and conclude that we cannot be the worst that has crawled through the Taco Bell drive-through after midnight on a Sunday... Just the soberest.

weeks 6 & 7

asheville, nc

March 28:  Sheffield asks, do I think it's a boy or a girl.  I say I have no instinct on the matter, but based on how I feel, whoever's down there is banging on a set of drums, tap-dancing, has ordered pizza with extra pepperoni, is playing video games with the TV on and the radio --both turned-up--, is practicing on the trampoline, trying out a soliloquy, sanding the walls, dancing on the ceiling, and just generally making itself clear:  "I am running this show, mama!"  Sheffield says, with a small sigh, "It is my baby."

weeks 3, 4, & 5

at hermitage artist retreat in florida

March 10:  My boobs hurt, which I'm sure is a sign that I will start my period.  But I don't.

March 11:  My boobs hurt, which I'm sure is a sign that I will start my period.  But I don't.

March 12:  My boobs hurt, which I'm sure is a sign that I will start my period.  But I don't.

weeks 0, 1, & 2

queens, ny

Feb 13:  I start a five-day cycle of Clomid which increases my chances of getting pregnant via IUI.  We'd heard there were side-effects, and Sheffield and I were equally concerned that I would get really moody.  That's not true.  He was way more worried.