Ambergontrail – Trying to get through life without dying of dysentery

When Dad and I were walking to the local Farmer’s Market, I received a phone call. The number was my OB’s office. My test results!! Although I had been nervous about getting the results back, after our first tri screenings came back with excellent odds, I wasn’t AS nervous for these ones. The voice that answered was my OB’s nurse Monica (who we love and want to take home with us forever and ever so we can watch Laker games and she can gently take my blood unlike that last lab tech- who I think must have gotten bone as well as blood), who said… “Congrats honey! Your test results came back perfect!!”

Now, I know that with a false positive of about 25%, my odds of having something come up iffy was not THAT low. Still, since we already did the first trimester screening, why not? Luckily my fears were laid to rest with a few small words from my favorite nurse.

Last night, as I was laying on my side trying to fall asleep, I felt something. Something like bubbles. Immediately I put my hand on my abdomen, thinking, THIS IS IT! I’m feeling movement! I KNEW our baby was advanced! A few more bubbles later and I realized: I can feel them from the outside. Even a baby with the superior intellect our baby has can’t make you feel it from the outside. Unfortunately…

the “movement” I was feeling was from our dinner of greasy Chinese food. Good thing I didn’t wake Paul up to hear my momentous news- I’m pretty sure he would never stop calling our baby the “Poot Baby”.

My OCD has come a long way since the early days of our courtship. Yes, the girl who used to poo only with the shower running (blame me for your drought, Southern California) so her boyfriend wouldn’t know about it has now relieved herself (ba dum pum!) of a censor button. Yes, readers, I now will pee with the door open, wear no pants around the house (not on the couch, that’s gross- we have a DOG), and complain about my constipation, heartburn and the stretchmarks on my stomach. When I complained about the recent crop of little hairs on my stomach (EW) he was like, “Gross, and if you get them on your boobs, DON’T TELL ME”.  What have I become?

It’s not even just me now, I watch him saunter into his bathroom to pee, and swing the door closed. The door won’t close all the way so I sneak (audibly) to the door and giggle through the crack, watching him (he knows I’m there). Now Woofie has been dragged into it, as I bring his shining brown eye to the crack in the door and gruffly whisper, “I SEE YOU, DADDY!”, to which Paul yells out, “GET THE DOG OUT OF HERE, that’s WEIRD!” Sometimes I like to mix it up and get super low to the ground and peer through the gap in the door so when he looks for me (poor guy isn’t even safe in his own bathroom) I whisper, “I can seeeee yoooooooou”.

When your husband is in the room while you get your internal done, you feel the need to kind of cover up what is happening. I know I did! I would say, “Soooo, how was work today? (PLEASE STOP LOOKING AT THE DOCTOR WAIST DEEP IN MY CERVIX)” After the internal we went to the ultrasound room, where I had a transvaginal ultrasound, with a doctor who looks like Jane Lynch (of 40 Year Old Virgin fame, “I will haunt your dreams…”). While she was asking us questions about our fetus (“is this your first?”), she was lubing up the gigantic sheathed beast known as DILDO CAM, ready to insert it in front of a scared looking husband.

I must mention grooming habits. With this new ball in my stomach, it’s kind of painful to bend over- like I swallowed a small hard softball. This means I am unable to tend to the topiary known as my crotch. I have razors and things like that, and try to trim as best I can, but well, it’s hard! The other night I was koalaing (a term Paul and I use to describe me climbing into his lap straddling his leg- I then curl up and rest on him). When I got up to get dressed for work (as we usually do this first thing in the morning when I’m bleary eyed and partially nude- sorry folks), he said, “You furred my leg there.” WHAT?? I spun around and said, “FURRED?” To which my DARLING husband replied, “I just think it’s funny, that’s all.” My crotch is NOT funny, it is a FUNCTIONAL EXIT for your GIGANTIC CHILDREN. He promised to help me for the next appointment, so I don’t feel like I’m going “retro”.

Somewhere along the line, I got hairy, constipated, bloated, stretch-marked, and creepy. Poor Paul, as this is only the 17th week of pregnancy. Ah, the things to come, my dear husband.

You know how it’s said that every parent thinks their child is smarter and more advanced than their peers? Check out the “I Love Lucy” episode titled, “Baby Pictures” to see how hilarious this can get! Anyway, with this in mind, I thought that since my child to be is obviously going to take after his brilliant mother (ahem), I’d be feeling movement super early, since I heard on the grapevine of sham information that you can feel movement as early as 16 weeks. Of course, I ignored the bit that read, “First time mothers will most likely feel movement later”. Please, that’s for those NORMAL mothers out there, not genetically advanced ones like myself. Here it is, week 17, and nothing. Sigh. I just knew the baby was going to take after his father.

Honestly, at this point, I’d like constant acknowledgment that all is well below deck. Luckily we heard the heart beating last week, quite quickly at that. So I’m not as worried as I was a few weeks ago, but still. Everything okay in there, buddy?

The internet is a bastion of information, both good and bad. I have yet to hear back from my doctor about the 2nd tri screenings, so I keep myself occupied by checking out any and all posts with the words “Quad screening” in them at thebump.com, babycenter.com, and even the world’s worst site: babygaga.com. Of course, the posts vary from “I got these results, how bad is it?” to “I have 1 in 145 chance of a child with trisomy 18″. Honestly, it’s the old “Google my symptoms and imagine the worst” effect.

Why do I continually do this?

The 17 weeks along edition, folks (meaning the few weeks I’ve been in 2nd tri).

1.) you will feel your uterus. No, not just stretching and pulling, but feel it from the outside. It feels like a round ballish thing. At 17 weeks, I can feel it between my belly-button and my pubic area and realize it’s a THING.

2.) Aforementioned uterus will be easily noticed when climbing onto your strangely tall bed, or when you’re trying to bend over to get backrubs from your sleepy husband. I can also feel it when I try to relax stomach-first on my body pillow. It feels like there is something hard in my stomach and things no longer just compress.

3.) Preggo brain isn’t just an excuse to tell your husband why you “forgot” to do dinner/laundry/dishes/ put on pants. Recently I have been forgetful, but nothing is worse than forgetting the correct grammar, or phrase. The other day I was talking about how I had to eat my veggie tempura roll in one bite, and said, “Otherwise it fall aparts”. Then, Sunday I said something along the lines of, “Me, too, do thats,  right?” At this point, Paul just looks at me and says, “WOW, that’s a good one.” Shuts upper, buddy.

4.) Your ass will fall asleep from sleeping on your side constantly. Despite the warnings not to sleep on your back, your brain will give a big “Up yours” to the doctor and flip you onto your back. You will briefly wake up cursing yourself for not enjoying how great sleeping on your back USED to feel, pre-pregnancy, as well as a quick panic (“Oh my god, I’m cutting off the baby’s blood supply!). A body pillow, while an invention from the gods, does not stop your ass/thighs from falling asleep. It IS nice to sling your top leg over it, though, as well as using the pillow to bash your husband like Gladiators.

5.) Hair. It grows everywhere. Yes, you read, “Hair will grow at an accelerated rate” but does it say, “On your stomach”? How about gross ones on your knees? Your hair on your head is lovely- what’s this? Your armpit hair grew an inch a day, and your legs are covered with a lovely dog-like down? What is happening to me? I’m turning into a yeti. Beware, I’ll soon be seen traipsing through your neighborhood woods, lumbering along in the familiar lope of a woman with terrible sciatic pain. Which brings me to…

6.) SCIATICA! SCIATICA! (Attica?) Seriously, I have gained no weight (benefits of being a chubby gal?) thus far, but this sciatica is a BITCH. Why does it hurt so much? The baby is the size of a flippin’ onion (mmmm, blooming onion ), can it really be putting that much pressure on my sciatic nerve? Me thinks so, judging from the crippling pain I had all weekend.

7.) Upon hearing that the baby can “hear” you, your husband will take to speaking into your bellybutton. For some reason, he thinks this gets to the baby faster, I dunno. It’s cute until he pulls this one while you are trying to nap: (picture him speaking into the loudspeaker/bellybutton) “Baby… baby, it’s your daddy. You’ll like me better than mommy, she’s mean sometimes. She’s cute and all, but she makes fun of me. Like me better, okay? CAN YOU HEAR ME?” At this point I say, “Stop yelling into my belly button!! Quit poisoning our child against me you wiener!” To which he replies sotto vocce in the baby’s general area, “See, I told you she was mean.”

8.) Belly buttons. Already weird, you look at them a different way while pregnant. As a kid I used to think that when pregnant,  my belly button would connect to the baby’s like a life-line. Like, as soon as the placenta formed the umbilical cord would connect right there. Now, my belly button is starting to shallow a bit, and the former piercing holes are looking stretched a bit. An odd finding, the skin that’s starting to flatten is super soft now. I’m disgusting because I like to kind of pet it because it’s so soft! Paul enjoys sticking his finger in there to measure how much is left, but it feels really gross to have a finger IN my bellybutton so I tell him to knock it off.

9.)  You will be obsessed with those “what size is your baby now?” sites. When it says it’s the size of an avocado, you start to seek out avocados to hold them in your hands. THIS is inside me, you think. Then you buy it, make guacamole and it really IS inside you.

10.) Your semi-pooch will start to make itself known. Mine is now keeping me from reaching up to get something out of the cupboard, as well as pushing my boss’s in-box tray off her desk. This is merely a smidgen of a bump, too, and it’s already wreaking havoc.

11.) You will love this baby/fetus/little guy so much more than you ever thought possible. You will stay up nights worrying about it before it’s even here!

Again, this is all I have, at only 17 weeks along. I wouldn’t give up ANYTHING for this chance.

about your dog adrift on a piece of wood torn from a shipwreck, outfitted in full “Gorton’s Fisherman” gear (yes, complete with hat and four legged coat) floating on a flooded street, while you watch, terrified from the curb. Yes, apparently I’m dreaming about my dog going off to sea in a great flood (one that doesn’t reach the sidewalks, just the street), clad in full fisherman regalia.

Now, these dreams are fun, and quite entertaining when I wake up, but I want a baby dream! A few people I spoke to had dreams where their baby featured prominently in them, a lot of the time it was the correct sex, as well. In my dreams I’m not even pregnant!

A study was found (I am too lazy to look up the details) that said women guessed the sex of their baby correctly in 71% of cases (when asked what the sex would be). If that’s true, I’m having a boy. I’m going to love my boy to bits, but honestly, I was kind of excited about possibly having a girl. There are other things that lead me to think it’s a boy, which I won’t go into here (not that I’ve ever been shy with details)- let’s just say the timing of things say “boy”.

Honestly, I’d like a little dream about the baby- not the dog themed ones I’ve been having!

Do you think you can predict the sex of your baby?

A day has passed since our 16 week appointment. This time only two vials of blood was taken (I found out they took a whopping 9 vials at my first appointment), my weight was taken (although I gained three pounds at last appointment, I lost it all in my morning sickness phase a few weeks ago, it seems), and we heard the heartbeat on the doppler.

My practice sends all 20 weekers to a perinatologist for the 20 week anatomy scan so we were given a referral to a “good one” according to my doc and we have to make the appointment for four weeks from now.

When the doctor was getting ready to use the doppler to hear the heartbeat, she gave us a warning, “Now, be patient with me, this could take a while”. As soon as she placed that wand over my lower belly, we heard the familiar (and comforting) woosh woosh woosh that is Fetal Frank’s heartbeat. Seriously, it was right there, beating in the 150s. Even the doctor seemed surprised, as she said, “Wow, that was the easiest thing I did all day”.

According to Doc, I’m doing “fantastically” and she couldn’t be happier with my pregnancy. “Keep doing what you’re doing” she said. All in all, a quick, but pleasant (minus the needles) appointment.

Now, to schedule our 20 week ultrasound- FOUR WEEKS and we’ll know what the baby is!!

Today we have our 16 week appointment where I’ll be drained of blood yet again, this time for the quad screen blood test- results of which I’ll hear about in a long, long week from now, I believe. Please keep Fetal Frank and I in your thoughts! Yes, that’s his (It’s) new name as of this week, this little guy gave me heartburn from a flippin’ saltine. I figured “Frank” is a good name for a little trickster like him.

Hopefully today won’t be only blood tests- I think we’re going to schedule our big ultrasound that checks for the sex and to make sure the baby is growing properly. HOW EXCITING IS THAT?

Other than the “How are you feeling?” questions I’ve received nonstop, the next most asked question is directed at both Paul and I, “Are you going to find out the sex?” When we answer with a definite YES, we get one of two reactions, “Are you excited??!!” and “But you’ll never have a surprise like this again! Why not wait?” One person, a former high school classmate I ran into at Petco of all places (God only knows how SHE found out about Fetal Frank) told me, “You HAVE to wait, when will you ever be able to be purely surprised like that?”

Honestly, I can understand their viewpoints, surprises are good! Still, I want to know. Tell me the truth, what is the difference between finding out at 20 weeks and finding out at 40 weeks?

Pros Of Finding Out Now:

- We can get the room ready.

- We can get used to the idea of whichever sex it is

- We can tell our families ourselves, in person, rather than have them hear from a nurse or doctor- or Paul running out into the waiting room screaming, “It’s A …….!”, especially if I’m in recovery or something.

- We avoid receiving green and yellow everything, and can get dibs on my sister in law’s daughter’s clothes she’s kept for the lone girl in Paul’s family.

- We can finally get settled on a name for the baby

- We can get to know the little person I’m incubating, calling them by name.

There are more, but I’m tired.

Cons:

- It’s a surprise I’ll never again get to have, finding out the sex upon birth

- We’ll still get inundated with names people think would be nice

- We will need to come up with two names

- I’ll have to WAIT to find out something- waiting 20 weeks is hard enough!!

Well, I have no other cons, but the Pros obviously outweigh them for us. See, I’m the type who HAS to go searching for presents around Christmas, and NEEDS to know secrets. Luckily, I’m very good at keeping secrets and acting surprised!

I think finding out the sex early or at birth is such a personal thing, it really does come down to what we want. Luckily for the readers, I’ll totally be telling once I hear the news. I can’t wait!

Since we have yet to find out the sex of our baby, we still are playing the “How about….?” game. Now, we’re set for girl names, we have the girl names coming out of our ears (and no worries loved ones, we’re keeping your choices out of the running!), so that’s not an issue. No, the issue is boy names.

There are so many great names that are taken, or wanting to be taken, or just sound bad with our last name. Armed with the Baby Wizard book, as well as the internet, we’ve come up with a few names, one of which we were kind of settled on, until Paul’s nightmare happened: it’s now more popular for a girl!

Yes, the name we love was something like 110 in popularity for a boy, but 34th or something for a girl.  It’s odd because I do love little girls with masculine names (Parker, Elliott, Marley, Jordan, Reese), but at the same time I want to be selfish and not have my boy in a class with three girls who have his name!

What’s truly hard is knowing this ONE thing you choose is likely the hugest thing in your child’s life, as I believe a name shapes a person. I can’t imagine being anything other than an Amber, and can’t imagine Paul being Michael, like he was going to be. It’s a huge pressure to choose a name for someone who can’t automatically veto it.

There is also the small problem of being married to a teacher, one who deals with K-8 every single day. He remembers kids who are good, kids who are bad, and the kids who had sad stories (we both remember those). He remembers siblings to these kids, and pets, as well as former and current teachers he’s taught with or was taught by. If you think that he’s been teaching for 8/9/10 years, with a fresh new class of 30 popping in every year (as well as kids leaving and new ones coming in) for Kindergarten,  that’s quite a bit of names! Of course, whenever I try to suggest a name, he remembers little “Devin” who bit him on the knee and gave him the finger (ahhh, youth). Unfortunately, there are a LOT of names that are being discarded from bad memories alone, not to mention the tons of cousins we have who are too close in relation to choose one of their names, which takes a huge cut out of the running.

Since I’m SO sure our little Dragon Baby is going to be a boy, we are literally going page by page of our baby books, trying to find the one that calls out to us- oh, and isn’t a girl’s name, doesn’t have negative connotations, won’t give him a nickname like “Wiener” or “Turd” or “Fart”, and hopefully isn’t the third most popular name in the book- oh, and preferably is capable to have a nickname attached (not like the ones above, but like Mike or Pete).

Ahhhh, babies. Everything is so hard, starting from the first, “I think I’d like to have a baby, please”.

I’m pretty sure there are few (if any) experiences or decisions as permanent as having a child. Not counting the trying to conceive, or the pregnancy itself, how often do we make a decision and have to life with it INDEFINITELY? Tattoo? Get it removed (although costly and painful, it’s still an option)! Moving, changing jobs, piercing your belly button? Still things that can be concealed or changed. Haircut? It’ll grow back. Get a dog? Well, in that case, I suppose you COULD take it back, but who does that?

No, as far as I can think (keep in mind my thinking isn’t too coherent these days), having a baby is more permanent than anything in the world (even the marriage you conceived that baby in!), barring utter horrors I daren’t imagine at the moment. Perhaps this is why I’ve been lying awake at night (before the pregnancy sleep fog pulls me in) thinking, “I’m scared”.

It’s not that I’m scared of a newborn. In fact I have a ton of experience with newborns, I even nannied for a preemie when I was younger. No, I’m not afraid of that as much. I’m scared of potty training, of being the one to have to receive the baby from a baby-sitter- not BE the baby-sitter. I’m worried we’ll have a bad child, or an overly good one that kids pick on. I’m worried I will somehow screw up my child in ways that will only be found upon inspection from a therapist. I’m worried about bullies and having an nonathletic child, with a Coach for a Daddy (not that it’ll be Paul picking on him, people just automatically assume our kids will be sporty). I’m scared thinking of our baby possibly be large, and the teasing he’ll get from family.  Okay, and I’m scared of trimming Its nails.

Along with the fear is the idea that I’ll be someone’s parent. I’ll make decisions, and things will happen based on these decisions. The other night I was in the midst of settling into sleep when all of a sudden I thought, “wow, I am someone’s wife, and about to be someone’s mother.” In the 2.5 years we have been married, I never really thought about it- I’m a wife. I’m married to Paul. It’s strange to say I was oddly puzzled by that discovery.

If you had asked me twenty years ago where I’d be when I was 30, I would have said, “Married with two kids”. Little did tiny filthy Amber know that she’d be close- married, with one kid weeks away. At 10, 30 seemed so far away- the things I’d do, the people I’d meet! Joey McIntyre would be the best husband ever!!!!!! (New Kids on the Block). Debbie Gibson would totally want to be my friend, because she’d hear about how cool I was.  My little daughter Whitney (wha???) would be a delight, and my little boy Hunter would be an adorable cutie pie of toddlerness.

Now, I find myself at nearly 30, with a guest bedroom still filled with boxes from our move, and a 15 week old baby just flopping around in my uterus, panicked about my ability to be a mother. I still eat candy for snacks sometimes (although lately the granny smith apples are winning out), and like to lay around with Paul playing video games. I guess I have to accept that in 25 weeks- I’ll have to grow up, since someone else will be depending on me. And that someone will call me “Mommy”.