From BabyCenter: This week, your baby measures about 16 inches long. He weighs a little over 3 pounds and is headed for a growth spurt. He can turn his head from side to side, and he's beginning to accumulate a layer of fat underneath his skin in preparation for life as a newborn. As a result, his arms, legs, and body are filling out.
2005.03.14. head. full. of. cobwebs. computer too.
Lots of delayed posts are going up tonight. I started them all late Saturday night, and then the crashes began. I lost a little bit of writing and a lot of time. And then...
It hit me, the exhaustion. Whoa. I couldn't get up until 10 a.m. today, and felt so guilty, I put the TV on for Everett and he kept coming in, bringing his trains to play with me, asking for bars and milk, and I kept rolling over and going back to sleep. He was so sweet. So accomodating. And he watched so much Teletubbies, and Thomas, and Blue's Clues. Wow I'm a terrible mom in the mornings in week 31.
My head didn't clear until evening, then the cobwebs hit again, in my head and in my poor computer. It gets hot and then...*pszhooo*. Silence. It's gone. The Dell guy said that I need to re-install Windows XP. Like I have time for that! I can't even wake up before the Today show is over.
2005.03.15. i don't like it and i cannot lie
I had some very impressive-sounding meetings today. I went downtown to the tallest building in 200 miles and met with an attorney to go over some contracts, a task for which I am vastly qualified. As I waddled up the stairs he said something very flattering about me (and, let me tell you, it had nothing to do with my appearance). I thanked him and felt ridiculous.
As I walked to the coffee shop to get some caffeine to kill my headache, I forgot all about my elevated career ego. I caught a couple of unfriendly glimpses of myself in the big plate-glass windows downtown. And boy do I have a big butt. and I cannot lie.
I haven't gained much weight in my face/arms/legs. I have no noticeable swelling in my extremities. For this I should be thankful. And I understand that I can't be just belly and nothing else. It's not in my blood.
But God has seen fit to give me a gigantic rear end to balance out my big belly. And, I'm sorry, I don't like it. It's terrifically unattractive. It looks ridiculous. I feel like a caricature. Ack!
It was my first track meet today, and I was acting like a non-pregnant coach, running from high jump to hurdles start (well, jogging), jumping and screaming for my girls in the 4x100, fixing the mats between athletes so there would be no distractions from the Perfect Jump.
And my athletes did amazingly well, I believed in them with all my might and they performed to their utmost potential. And after four hours on my feet, I was exhausted all over, starving and a little dehydrated.
Once home, a nice bath seemed in order. I got my new issue of Brain, Child (the one where - ahem - a "mamaku" of my own appears), my fresh clean clothes and my bath salts, and prepared to relax in comfort and... did I say quiet? Ummm, no.
My stoner neighbors took out their drums and their amplifiers and started practicing their best death metal songs. The bathroom is the room from which you can best hear said neighbors through my 1910 original windows. I cozied up in my warm warm water with my mama magazine and my aromatherapy and my death metal screaming, and didn't relax much. At least, I thought to myself, I can't understand the words. Silver linings, right?
2005.03.17.later. ohmigod OWWW
OK, it definitely did not hurt this much when Everett moved around. Truman has been going nonstop whenever I'm not walking around, from the time I woke up in the morning until now. It HURTS. He CANNOT SIT STILL. OWWWWWWW!!
How can I describe this pain. Hmm. It's like - if some little person were trying with all his might to bust out of your belly, through all available surfaces. Yeah, like that. OWWWWW.
On the bright side, I've already signed him up for wrestling, judo, kung-fu, tae-bo, and poekoelan. And pole vaulting. And boxing. And his coaches are sure he'll be competing in the 2020 Olympics. He's THAT good.
Seriously? I sometimes think I might start crying. It hurts that bad. And I'm tough, people!
2005.03.18. signs, and, boys
I felt vaguely off today, and by dinnertime I realized what it was: no hunger. Very very strange, especially after needing sustenance every two hours for the past...umm...four months. I hadn't had anything since lunch (a sublime side order of bacon-pea salad and half a cobbwich from Gretchen's Kitchen - couldn't even finish it!), and as Jonathan asked what I wanted for dinner, all I could think was: nothing, really. I was even a bit nauseous.
I ate my pasta with tomato-olive-mushroom-pepperoni sauce with relish, it was really quite delicious, but still felt not right. Come midnight snack time? I wasn't hungry, again. My slightly drunk husband decided that I was skinny enough to have sugar sprinkled on my peanut butter toast (well, it wasn't sprinkled so much as spooned). I tried to shake it off and picked at it. I just wasn't starving.
Of course, these labor signs are due to start over the next four weeks, if I'm on par with my pregnancy with Everett. I couldn't eat much but coffee ice cream between June 15 and his birthday, July 16 (black tiger milkshakes from Coffee People were my constant companian).
If it's started already, though, I feel especially cheated that I've given up sugar. I flirted with the thought of giving in and backsliding into pastries and ice cream - the only thing I could think of that sounded good to eat this afternoon. But I didn't just give sugar up for the pregnancy - I also gave it up for Lent. Maybe I can backslide after Easter. Hmm...
In the meantime, I'm going to search for a friend with an ice cream maker I can borrow. I've mentally developed a recipe for full-fat ice cream made with coffee, bananas and a tiny portion of maple syrup. And another one with maple and walnuts. And another with raspberries and blueberries. Yummmm.
So, about the boys. Yeah, I've got them. So, tonight in the bath (much more relaxing than the last one, thanks) I was reading my aforementioned Brain, Child magazine and read two pieces in a row about moms with boys. The first was a fictionalized account of a carpool trip; the mom who was the center of the story had a nine-year-old, and at one point she recalls how her son's hands had been like velvet when he was young; "he used to put his small warm hands up her cardigan sleeves when he was wheedling for something." And I thought of Everett, how he tucks his arm in mine while he's sitting next to me in my chair, how he pushes his little feet between my curled-up legs to keep warm, and how entirely sweet little boys are when they do things like this. The second was about a mom with a highly-functioning autistic boy, with whom she still has a "hyperkinetic attachment." And I saw these two mother-son relationships, and in the context of my grandma's life with her four warm and devoted sons, I was suddenly filled with the supreme satisfaction of my good fortune at having boys. Boys...they're so perfectly life-affirming. They're the ideal counter-balance to my personality, and I could easily imagine having three or four of the little bundles of testosterone-fueled joy.
And after all, what would I do with a girl? I'm not a mom of girls, not a mom who has the patience to fix hair in pony tails and barrettes or navigate prissiness. I almost decided that I didn't want a girl, after all. But then I had a sudden revelation: the wedding! I want nothing more in life (ok, that's a ridiculous exaggeration, but whatever) than to throw a fantastic, lavish, creative and colorful wedding for some daughter of mine. Boy, that's going to be fun. I guess I need at least one girl.
2005.03.19. two things
First, I went to yoga again this morning, and it was nice. Truman went bonkers, but it was not a painful bonkers, and my horse felt good, and my squats were especially strong. And afterward, the instructor looked at me and laughed. "Your baby is really moving around!" she said. "I could see him going the whole time!"
Note that this is a class of a dozen very big bellies, all in supposed "rest" mode during shavasana. All whose babies are, theoretically, moving just as much as mine. This: evidence that Truman is CRAZY. It's not all in my head! (I mean, belly. hee hee.)
Second, the nausea is worse. I haven't had an appetite all day. I eat, but nothing appeals to me, and after I eat I have a vague desire to throw up. Like now. Everett and I had a fantabulous time after dropping daddy off at a catering job, hitting Mabel's for cafe au lait (me) and brownie (him) and, shhh, some lovely Lorna's Laces worsted weight (ummm....Truman, ok?); then stopping by Burgerville for some hangubers. I ate my double beef cheeseburger, no ketchup, and a few fries and some halibut fish sticks. Nothing I don't eat regularly, and feel great about. My stomach feels about the same way it does after I eat Popeye's Chicken. Which is to say, terrrribbble.
So far today, I've eaten: 1/2 slice of low-carb peanut butter toast; one bowl of organic oatmeal with raspberries and half-and-half; one very small salad with mushrooms, tomatoes and feta cheese; and the aforementioned Burgerville. I've only felt actually hungry once (prior to yummy oatmeal). I won't be doing bedtime snack tonight. Something is most definitely wrong.