So, Shankapottamus (that is what Nicole and I have been calling the squatter. I guess I should explain that. We were at the doctor's one night and I called the baby "it" and I thought the doctor was going to take my head off. She insisted that we come up with a name to call the baby until we knew if it was a boy or girl. So, then we had to figure out what to call mini-me and we were watching t.v. when one of those E-trade commercials came on with the talking baby. I love those commercials! Anyway, it was the one where the baby is in a locker room with an older gentleman after a round of golf and the baby starts telling the guy about the rules of golf and that he should stop his complaining and then he calls him Shankapottamus. That's where the name came from and it stuck. Sorry, kid, but that's really the story. But I have already digressed...again, sorry). Where was I? Oh yes, So, Shankapottamus is in there, growing away and attempting to knock down more walls to make an even bigger space for him/herself. At this rate, the kid is going to have more square footage available in my uterus than we have in the house! Anyway, Shank has been kicking things up to the point where you can occasionally see my clothing move while I'm just sitting there hanging out and making the case for me to start thinking about soccer scholarships for colleges.
Well, earlier in the week, Shank wasn't moving as much as normal for a few days in a row and the doctors had told me to give them a call if something like that happens, so I did and I spoke with a receptionist who took down some information and put me on hold. After a few minutes, she came back, asked me a few more questions, and put me on hold again. Then she comes back on and says, "You need to go to Labor and Delivery right now." Now, seeing that I was at work, I said, "Wait, right now?" And her reply, with a tone of disbelief was, "Uh, yes. Right now". Ok, so normally, I try not to overreact, but the fact that I was being ordered to Labor and Delivery by a receptionist was a bit more than I was ready for at 10 am on a Monday morning. So, with rising panic in my voice, I call Nicole's classroom from my office and explain that the doctor wants us to go to the hospital ASAP. Within minutes, we were out the front door and being shuttled to our car in the employee lot by Nicole's supervisor as the two of them start discussing the best way to get to the hospital (my thought is let's go by car and drive as fast as we can). Anyway, long story short, we get to UConn, we immediately get taken in and hooked up to fetal monitors to hear the heartbeat (which was fine). After about 45 minutes of that, the doctors decide to do an ultrasound to check for movement and there, sucking a thumb, is Shank. We can see the heartbeat, watch the breathing, and we can now see that Shank is no longer in the breach position. While it was nice to see Shank, the doctor starts talking about how she is looking for certain markers and Shank has achieved a score of 6 out of 10, but she wants to go for the whole 10 which requires Shank to move a bit. So, reminiscent of an earlier ultrasound, the doctor starts punching and poking my belly to get Shank to move and...nothing. Still just sitting there sucking a thumb. A little more poking, some verbal encouragement from the doc and...still nothing. Being a persistent professional, the doc keeps working to help Shank get a perfect 10, so she keeps poking and we finally get to see some movement. Anyone want to venture a guess as to what that may have been. I'll give you a hint...it was very similar to the other ultrasound story I told....don't remember? Ok, Shank, while sitting there every so freaking cute, decides to give a slight ass wiggle to the doc and go back to just hanging out. "Well, that's enough for me!" the doc chuckles and tells me to go home and rest. No problem.
So, I go home, call out for the rest of the day, call out of my other job, and relax on the couch. Well, I guess Shank had just been spending a few days chilling out to save up energy because now, for the next several days in a row and usually mostly during the time when I would normally be sleeping, Shank is up practicing bicycle kicks and using the new Soloflex system that was delivered in the middle of the night. Now, seeing as Shank has moved into position quite nicely, he/she has more accessibility to the area immediately surrounding my bladder. What this translates into is that at certain times of the day, I am overcome with an urgent need to pee which lasts about 1 second before passing. Usually, I can handle this without a problem, but one morning, at work, Shank kicked the bejesus out of my bladder and I was ABSOLUTELY convinced that I was going to piss myself right there in the mail room in front of about 3 co-workers. "HOLY CRAP" I shouted as those around me looked at me with concern only to have me explain, "Sorry. Thought I was going to piss my pants". Thankfully, the women in the room could relate and didn't look at me as if I had been using some of the students' meds without permission. Then, later that night, Shank must have gotten mad at me for revoking his building permits and turned to face my backside. As I lay there trying to go to sleep and being super hypervigilant about trying to feel for movement, Shank literally starts KICKING ME IN THE ASS!!! Can you believe the punk?!?!? I swear. You all mark my words, once this kid is born and the doctor turns to me and says, "It's a ????? Do you want to hold your ?????" My response is going to be, "First, Shank has to do a 5 minute time out for kicking my ass!" And, I hope Shank enjoyed the opportunity to kick my butt, because that will be the LAST time it happens without me returning the favor. Do you hear me kid?!?!? I'm not kidding!!!
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Surprise!
Ok, so the weekend after Thanksgiving weekend, Nicole's family and my family got together and threw a baby shower for us. Now, some people have been speculating that I knew about the shower ahead of time, and to some extent, that is correct. I knew there was a shower coming, but I didn't know when or where it was going to be. Now, I was absolutely CONVINCED that I had figured out that the shower was going to be on a Sunday afternoon. "How?" you ask. Well, Nicole has never been that great at keeping secrets, or least keeping surprises. She's the kind of person who gets so excited over gifts she has bought people that she gets this ridiculous Cheshire Cat grin that begs the question, "What the hell is she hiding?" Anyway, that is the rationale behind why I did not let her seek the ultrasound to find out if it was a boy or a girl. There's NO WAY that secret would have been kept until d-day (aka delivery day).
Sorry, I strayed for a bit. Let me get back to the story. So, I started suspecting that the shower was going to be on Sunday early on the week before because of one question that Nicole asked me. Now, before I tell you what the question was, I will tell you that it was a harmless question in and of itself and may not have triggered a whole lot of red flags in another context, but, for me, it was as if all the red flags, bells, and whistles in the world all got set off at the same time. "What was the question?" you ask (and tough if you didn't ask, because I'm going to tell you what it was anyway). The question was, "Do you want to go to brunch on Sunday?" DING. (Bell one). First of all, she asked me this on a Tuesday. That is far too far in advance for us to be making plans to do anything unless it involves more than just me and her. "Brunch?" "Yeah, sure. Brunch will be fun!" DING (that's number two). Why would that be bell two? Well, a couple of reasons. One, we have never, in the whole time we have been together, ever gone to brunch with the exception of when her family took everyone out to celebrate her getting her masters degree. Two, brunches are often done in a buffet format and, as much as I enjoy a buffet (even more so now that I'm pregnant), Nicole absolutely hates buffets. And then there was the question of, "So, what are you going to where to Brunch on Sunday?" DING! DING! DING! This was a crazy amount of bells and whistles and flags happening in my head now which almost made it difficult for me to think. First of all, we had no idea where we going to go to brunch, so how in the hell am I going to know what I'm wearing. Secondly, brunch is still several days away. Now, while I love Nicole immensely, planning things in advance is typically not one of her strong suits. Finally, Nicole is fully aware, as I'm sure most of you are as well, that I have absolutely NO CLUE what I am going to wear from one day to the next (probably because I'm such a slave to fashion. HAH! That one even made me laugh!), never mind what I'm going to wear to "brunch" five days from now.
So, with the evidence mounting against Sunday, I started to get really cocky and started making smart ass comments to her about Sunday's "brunch". With each question, I would chuckle a little to myself and a little out loud and Nicole would make this pouty face as if to say, "Oh crap. Did I let that slip?" Now, the reality of the situation is that the shower was not on Sunday at all, but on Saturday. That day, I was expecting to go to a friend's baby shower as she is due 4 weeks after me and the invite said the shower was going to be at the same place where her bridal shower had been, so it made perfect sense in my head. So, when we got to the hall where CARA'S shower was supposed to be, we started walking down the hall and I spotted Nicole's best friend from college, Meredith, who was sitting next to her mother. At that, I turned to Nicole and said, "You son of a bitch" in the most loving way possible. As we turned the corner, I saw my mother standing there next to my sister-in-law and niece and again turned to Nicole and said, "You really are a son of a bitch" (again in the most loving way possible). The rest of that day is a bit of a blur, but I do know there was an open bar AND I WASN'T EVEN ABLE TO ENJOY IT!!!! OH THE HUMANITY OF IT ALL!!! Anyway, for those of you who might be interested, my brother compiled a video of that day and has posted it on you tube. Just search, "Jen's baby shower" and "chrisa65" and it should pull it up. Oh, and for an added bonus, you'll be able to see the exact reason why I am not able to put on my socks without assistance anymore.
Sorry, I strayed for a bit. Let me get back to the story. So, I started suspecting that the shower was going to be on Sunday early on the week before because of one question that Nicole asked me. Now, before I tell you what the question was, I will tell you that it was a harmless question in and of itself and may not have triggered a whole lot of red flags in another context, but, for me, it was as if all the red flags, bells, and whistles in the world all got set off at the same time. "What was the question?" you ask (and tough if you didn't ask, because I'm going to tell you what it was anyway). The question was, "Do you want to go to brunch on Sunday?" DING. (Bell one). First of all, she asked me this on a Tuesday. That is far too far in advance for us to be making plans to do anything unless it involves more than just me and her. "Brunch?" "Yeah, sure. Brunch will be fun!" DING (that's number two). Why would that be bell two? Well, a couple of reasons. One, we have never, in the whole time we have been together, ever gone to brunch with the exception of when her family took everyone out to celebrate her getting her masters degree. Two, brunches are often done in a buffet format and, as much as I enjoy a buffet (even more so now that I'm pregnant), Nicole absolutely hates buffets. And then there was the question of, "So, what are you going to where to Brunch on Sunday?" DING! DING! DING! This was a crazy amount of bells and whistles and flags happening in my head now which almost made it difficult for me to think. First of all, we had no idea where we going to go to brunch, so how in the hell am I going to know what I'm wearing. Secondly, brunch is still several days away. Now, while I love Nicole immensely, planning things in advance is typically not one of her strong suits. Finally, Nicole is fully aware, as I'm sure most of you are as well, that I have absolutely NO CLUE what I am going to wear from one day to the next (probably because I'm such a slave to fashion. HAH! That one even made me laugh!), never mind what I'm going to wear to "brunch" five days from now.
So, with the evidence mounting against Sunday, I started to get really cocky and started making smart ass comments to her about Sunday's "brunch". With each question, I would chuckle a little to myself and a little out loud and Nicole would make this pouty face as if to say, "Oh crap. Did I let that slip?" Now, the reality of the situation is that the shower was not on Sunday at all, but on Saturday. That day, I was expecting to go to a friend's baby shower as she is due 4 weeks after me and the invite said the shower was going to be at the same place where her bridal shower had been, so it made perfect sense in my head. So, when we got to the hall where CARA'S shower was supposed to be, we started walking down the hall and I spotted Nicole's best friend from college, Meredith, who was sitting next to her mother. At that, I turned to Nicole and said, "You son of a bitch" in the most loving way possible. As we turned the corner, I saw my mother standing there next to my sister-in-law and niece and again turned to Nicole and said, "You really are a son of a bitch" (again in the most loving way possible). The rest of that day is a bit of a blur, but I do know there was an open bar AND I WASN'T EVEN ABLE TO ENJOY IT!!!! OH THE HUMANITY OF IT ALL!!! Anyway, for those of you who might be interested, my brother compiled a video of that day and has posted it on you tube. Just search, "Jen's baby shower" and "chrisa65" and it should pull it up. Oh, and for an added bonus, you'll be able to see the exact reason why I am not able to put on my socks without assistance anymore.
Pop! Part two
So, I haven't written for a while and I do apologize for that, but now I have quite a few things that I need to write about, so there will probably be a few posts coming up in relatively quick succession.
Ok, so let me start with the first thing that has been on my mind. First of all, I know I have written before about people guessing if I am going to be having a boy or a girl. I still say that it's a boy, but whatever. Anyway, there are all kinds of old wives tales out there that are supposed to help you predict what you're having. There's my favorite - the one about stealing the mother's beauty, which I've already addressed as some people have already commented to me about that...bastards. Then, there's the other one about spread. I know I have already written about spread in an earlier post, but apparently, I am continuing to spread quite readily because more and more people at work have been coming up to me either telling me that they are CONVINCED I'm having a girl (hmmmppphhh) or that they think I am going to deliver early. Now, I don't know how you guys interpret that latter comment about delivering early, but I tend to interpret it as, "My, your ass is getting bigger by the day!" Along with that have been more comments such as, "Wow! You're even bigger this week" and the all time favorite of "I think you've dropped" which translates into "Holy crap. How much bigger can you really get before that kid pops out?!?!"
Now, I had been thinking that I was doing pretty well. My maternity pants have continued to fit (after that debacle of the shrinking pair that didn't fit my butt after a week), my weight is relatively stable with only the weight gain the baby should have, and I am still able to wear some of my shirts that I have had all along (granted, they are not able to cover the gut as well as they used to, but THEY FIT, DAMN IT!) I think I finally had to come to the realization that I was, in fact, growing into only a house, not a whole housing complex, when I got up one morning and went to take the dogs out and dropped one of the leashes. This, in and of itself, was harmless, but I knew there was a problem when I couldn't reach all they way to the ground to pick it up without bending at the knees. "Oh My God! I think I just became an 80 year old man!" To make matters worse, later in that SAME week, I wanted to put my socks on and couldn't do it without grunting, rolling backwards onto the bed, and shamefully whining for Nicole to come and help me get them on. Then, to make matters even worse yet (yes, they get even worse yet) I had my first experience of having difficulty getting off the couch without grabbing on to things or having someone help me up. This is becoming a bit ridiculous. I think it all became readily apparent to me how bad things were when, earlier this week, I was sitting on the floor talking to one of my students who was having a particularly bad day, when it was time for both of us to get up and leave the area we were talking in. Only problem? Yeah, you guessed it, couldn't get up from the floor. I pathetically looked at the kid and said, "Ok, now that you're feeling better, I need you to do me a favor". With that, the kid, who's about 9, quickly stood up and said, "I'm on it!" and reached out his hands to help me get up from the floor. Pathetic. Oh, and I need to make a correction from an earlier statement. Apparently, I am NOT an 80 year old man, but rather an 80 year old with a fake hip and two artificial knees. And the scary thing is that I still have quite a few weeks to go. Oh boy...or girl.
Ok, so let me start with the first thing that has been on my mind. First of all, I know I have written before about people guessing if I am going to be having a boy or a girl. I still say that it's a boy, but whatever. Anyway, there are all kinds of old wives tales out there that are supposed to help you predict what you're having. There's my favorite - the one about stealing the mother's beauty, which I've already addressed as some people have already commented to me about that...bastards. Then, there's the other one about spread. I know I have already written about spread in an earlier post, but apparently, I am continuing to spread quite readily because more and more people at work have been coming up to me either telling me that they are CONVINCED I'm having a girl (hmmmppphhh) or that they think I am going to deliver early. Now, I don't know how you guys interpret that latter comment about delivering early, but I tend to interpret it as, "My, your ass is getting bigger by the day!" Along with that have been more comments such as, "Wow! You're even bigger this week" and the all time favorite of "I think you've dropped" which translates into "Holy crap. How much bigger can you really get before that kid pops out?!?!"
Now, I had been thinking that I was doing pretty well. My maternity pants have continued to fit (after that debacle of the shrinking pair that didn't fit my butt after a week), my weight is relatively stable with only the weight gain the baby should have, and I am still able to wear some of my shirts that I have had all along (granted, they are not able to cover the gut as well as they used to, but THEY FIT, DAMN IT!) I think I finally had to come to the realization that I was, in fact, growing into only a house, not a whole housing complex, when I got up one morning and went to take the dogs out and dropped one of the leashes. This, in and of itself, was harmless, but I knew there was a problem when I couldn't reach all they way to the ground to pick it up without bending at the knees. "Oh My God! I think I just became an 80 year old man!" To make matters worse, later in that SAME week, I wanted to put my socks on and couldn't do it without grunting, rolling backwards onto the bed, and shamefully whining for Nicole to come and help me get them on. Then, to make matters even worse yet (yes, they get even worse yet) I had my first experience of having difficulty getting off the couch without grabbing on to things or having someone help me up. This is becoming a bit ridiculous. I think it all became readily apparent to me how bad things were when, earlier this week, I was sitting on the floor talking to one of my students who was having a particularly bad day, when it was time for both of us to get up and leave the area we were talking in. Only problem? Yeah, you guessed it, couldn't get up from the floor. I pathetically looked at the kid and said, "Ok, now that you're feeling better, I need you to do me a favor". With that, the kid, who's about 9, quickly stood up and said, "I'm on it!" and reached out his hands to help me get up from the floor. Pathetic. Oh, and I need to make a correction from an earlier statement. Apparently, I am NOT an 80 year old man, but rather an 80 year old with a fake hip and two artificial knees. And the scary thing is that I still have quite a few weeks to go. Oh boy...or girl.
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