I don’t have time for a real post-y post, because it is my bedtime, and everyone keeps yelling at me to LIE DOWN. By yelling, I mean gently reminding, with love. I’m just THAT MUCH of a dork to translate that to “picking on me” in my head. Last night I was helping out with a varsity game (where I had the incredibly strenuous task of sitting next to the door and making people give me cash. Even you. Yes, you, full price, I don’t care if you glare at me and make snotty comments. I am amazed at the amount of visiting fans who try their hardest to not pay four dollars. I know I’m sitting there fanning myself with the cash, but that is a joke, people. A JOKE. I’m not really taking this money for myself. We use it for crazy things such as renting the gym or buying basketballs. End incredibly long, ranty parentheses.) and I had a lot of back pain, some cramping, and a teeeeny tiny little bit of spotting. Ugh.
But I was good, and told Joey and Kanga, who made me sit down, and then take a nap on Kanga’s couch instead of going out to eat with the team. And today I sat around all day, teaching seated (which is harder than you would think) and even TOOK A LUNCH BREAK. And laid flat on a couch for the whole hour. I also took a very long nap after work, during which time I am sure the neglected McLovin left puddles in various corners of the house, but when I woke up she was cuddled up next to me, so I don’t really care. And tonight! I asked Joey to do the dishes for me so I could take a shower! He is always more than willing to help, but I HATE asking for help. I really do. But I did.
I say all this defensively, because I am being a bad pregnant woman and not calling my midwife to report a trio of symptoms that you are supposed to report. Because I know she will tell me to come in, and then she might tell me to stop working, and really, the semester is practically over. I will take it incredibly easy, and everything will be FINE, OKAY? The baby is still kicking and squirming like a crazy squirel, and I haven’t had any more spotting.
And… I’m so excited about her! I registered Joey and I for our 8 weeks of Bradley Method birthing classes yesterday. Of course, I did this at the LAST possible minute, and actually the last class is scheduled for a few days after my due date, but the nice lady said we could just attend the last class of a different group, out of order. And talking to her (she really was a nice lady) and reading the pamphlet and the email she sent, and seeing the picture of the incredibly delicious baby girl on the cover of the pamphlet… I guess it all just sunk in a little bit deeper. I get one of those baby things. Soon! Also, I’m excited about going to the classes with Joey, because it will be a fun thing for the two of us to do together. Like we aren’t ALWAYS together, I know, but I always have fun with him in situations like that. Except maybe the parts involving birth videos, because I’m pretty sure I’d rather not know exactly what that looks/ sounds like.
Spotting sounds scary. Take it easy.
On a happier topic, the Bradley method ROCKS!! Scott and I went to a regular generic birthing course through our hospital but we read the Bradley book and had two fabulous (though hospital-bound) natural births. Scott took notes from the book on a little tiny piece of paper that he kept in his wallet until our youngest daughter was about two and a half. At that point I convinced him to give up his notes so that I could pin the piece of paper into our daughter’s shadow box with her first hat, first shoes, all that stuff. His notes said things like “the appearance of sleep” and “silence” and “dim lights or darkness” and it all worked for us. The Bradley book has weird photos of 1970’s-ish pregnant women with serious tan lines and no clothes but the info is awesome. I’m looking forward to hearing about the class!
enjoy that sweet little baby NOW while it’s still inside. By the time they are nine (yes they do grow up) they are just not the same. You’re not just having a baby–you’re having a potential nine-year old. Not to depress you.
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