Here's To Silly!

My last visit to the doctor was quite empowering.  I said "no" to something routine.  And I'm fine.  So is Bean. 

So, I read a lot of what I call (especially in conversations with Wonderman) my "crazy hippie blogs."  Lately most of these have to do with childbirth or child-rearing.  There is a lot of talk about empowering women to take back the choices regarding their pregnancies and births.  Discussions range from the mild to the extreme - from how to have a conscientious hospital birth to the at-home, unassisted birth.  The common thread seems to be essentially like proselyting  to let women know that they are in charge of what happens to them and they can choose what care to seek or accept.  So much of my experience has been hypothetical, as the doctor I've been seeing for seven months is not the doctor that will be around when Bean is born.  I have all kinds of things to ask my US doc and all kinds of ideas about how my natural hospital birth will be, but none of it seemed particularly relevant just yet.  I just go in monthly, pee in a cup, stand on a scale, and tell the doc I feel fine.

However, about three weeks ago was the time I was supposed to have the glucose tolerance test done.  I didn't want it done here, mostly because I have had BAD experiences with the nurses here drawing my blood.  I really didn't think about it past that.  I was planning on going back to Utah, so I told Dr. Dominica that I would do it there.  Then I stayed.  It didn't come up in conversation for a while and I "forgot" about it.  Then this week, Dr. Dominica got a worried look and said "You were supposed to do that at 28 weeks.  I'm going to call and see if you can still do it."  I inwardly rolled my eyes.  I knew it was on the list of "optional" tests (at least according to the crazy hippies).  I didn't have any concerns or reasons to be concerned.  I didn't want to do it.  Dr. D. came back with a relieved look.  "You can still do it."  Like a three-year-old I said, "But why?"  She tried to explain that it would determine if I had gestational diabetes (duh) and that it was just part of the prenatal testing that was done.  "But what would happen if we found out I had gestational diabetes?"  She explained that I would be put on insulin and marked as high-risk.  Since I'm fine and I feel fine and I definitely want to avoid any unnecessary risk labels, I said "I don't think I want to do it."  Dr. D. was great and didn't try to convince me of anything.  She just smiled and said it was my choice.  Then she told me that if I had done it, I would have had to take the one hour (each way) bus ride to Roseau and spend a couple hours at the lab, because it wasn't a test they could do here.  For that reason alone I was glad I said no. 

It was a small thing.  I really am glad to avoid the blood draws, the gross orange drink, and the travel time, but it wouldn't have been a big deal to do it.  I am confident it would've come back negative.  Still, I felt elated to recognize that I had been able to be in touch enough with my body, my baby, and my Heavenly Father to make a wise decision for us even if it didn't go along with the generally accepted norm.  I also think this was an important step in helping me realize the power I have to make decisions for what is best for me and for Bean.  As long as I can remain in tune, we're gonna be all right.  And I may be a crazy hippie yet.

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We are now entering the third trimester (you have to know, that as I typed that, I heard "Twilight Zone" in my head.  I know they're not really connected, but sometimes this whole thing seems so strange that it sort of fits.  But maybe just in my head).

The belly at 29+ weeks:


And me giving Bean a little hug:


And as much fun as I've had playing around with Picnik, I had to leave this one un-edited.  I can't explain the face.  Please don't ask.


Is it inappropriate to say that the three balls in that photo (two boobs and a belly) kind of look like a Simpsons character or something to me?  Or maybe a muppet.  Try it, it's not that hard to picture a silly face on there.  I probably need to design a t-shirt that does just that.  It would be awesome.

Added bonus photo, with a quiz question.  Can you guess which side of the bed is mine and which one is Wonderman's?


Conclusion:  Pregnancy is definitely changing things, but it is a delight despite the discomfort.  Still, I can't wait for two things (listed very much in order of importance): to meet Bean already and to sleep on my stomach again.

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I know, I know.  I should post photos of my belly.  Maybe even write some stuff.  And I probably will soon.  But until then, I just want to share my new favorite website with you.  Of all the things that I enjoy and that make me smile as I peruse my Google Reader every day, only one makes me literally Laugh Out Loud just about every time there's a new entry.  And these days my belly laughs are more impactful than ever, me having so much more belly and all.

http://criggo.com/

Go there.  Read it.  Laugh out loud.  And remember their motto:  "Newspapers are going away. That's too bad."

And I'll write more soon.  Promise.  Probably. Soon is relative.  The end.

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I hit a new milestone this morning.  I think I reached the "Diva" level of being a princess.  Now, don't get me wrong, I value being a princess and I know that all girls are princesses.  I know I deserve to be treated as such.  Bryan taught me well.  However, maybe there should be limits? 

Lemme 'splain.

As I put on my dress this morning, getting ready for church, Wonderman was still reclining half-asleep in bed (he doesn't require nearly as much time to get pretty as I do.  Must be something about being a princess).  Anyways, I pulled my dress down over my head and felt something tickle my leg.  At first I assumed it was simply the tie that hangs down, but it continued too far down my leg to be that.  Then I saw the roach that had apparently been spending quality time IN my dress skuttle down my ankle and across the floor.  Of course I yelped.  And then stood there, expectantly.  I told Wonderman what happened and then pointed, waiting for him to get up and kill the damn bug.  He performed expertly, jumping out of bed, grabbing one of my shoes, and killing the damn bug.  It wasn't until later that I realized how selfish that was.  I am most capable of killing damn bugs.  I've done it my whole life.  I'm not usually super squeamish in relation to crawling things.  However, the roaches really get to me.  And it was IN my dress.  And I'm pregnant (I"m not sure how that relates, but it seems like it works as a good excuse to get what I want in MANY situations.  Don't judge me for taking advantage of that).  Still, I think today the standing and pointing put me on either toddler or diva level.  I prefer diva.

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I haven't been very good at taking (ok, having Wonderman take) pictures of my expanding abdomen.  I just have two:

This is me at two months, before I was showing anything at all.  It shows my pearl, that lovely little rounded spot that makes me a woman, but no baby.  When the picture was taken, I found it a little depressing.  Seeing where I am now, I think I looked quite slender:

This is five months.  I'm actually starting to look like a cute pregnant lady.  Cool. 

From the front, I just look wide, but happy:

Bean spends plenty of time kicking around and making life exciting.  I can't wait to meet her.  I know, I know, she'll come when she's ready.  I'm not ready yet, either.  I do worry a little about how big I'm going to get.  This is already awkward sometimes, and it's just a little belly.  We'll see how it goes.

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This past Sunday, I had one of those Primary moments that you never forget and just hold in your heart, cherishing it forever. 

One of our Sunbeams (an adorable three and a half year old) is always anxious to participate in our group discussions and activities.  She is lucky enough to have her mom as Primary music leader.  She is not blessed with natural reverence.  Her mom was asking for volunteers, emphasizing all along that she was only calling on people who were quiet.  So she promptly starting calling out, with her hand duly raised, "Mom!  I'm being quiet!  I'm being quiet!" 

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I came to the conclusion this evening that if there are too many things going on to describe humorously in one Facebook status, it must be time for a blog post.  Ah, how social technology changes things.

First - it came to my attention today that all the time I spend watching my belly, waiting to see if it will bounce again with Bean's antics, is an entirely new kind of navel-gazing.  I quite like it.  It is definitely difficult to combine with reading, however.  Alas, navel-gazing has always been a consuming endeavor, right?

Second - I most certainly felt like a damsel in distress this evening.  Not long after Wonderman left to attend to his evening studies, I looked across the room to see a dark shadow moving across my cupboard door.  It was not a small shadow, mind you.  I considered that it could be a lizard, which generally doesn't bother me, but those are usually essentially small if they're crawling around walls and cupboards.  Then I, illogically of course, since they can't scurry across doors, thought that perhaps it could be a mouse (we have had rodent issues in the past).  Goodness, for all I knew, the size and speed could very have indicated it was Spiderman himself scurrying across the cupboard door with such speed (I keep wanting to say alacrity, but Dictionary.com says it's something done cheerfully, which I don't want to imagine this shadow doing.  Still, know that speed was absolutely not my first choice with regards to wording).  As I got up and walked a little closer, I could easily see that I wished it was Spiderman.  Instead, it was the largest roach I have ever seen.  I dashed back to the other side of the room (as much as I can dash these days) to grab a shoe which is, as everyone knows, the best weapon against roaches of all kinds.  Upon my quick return, I saw the giant roach somehow get around the edge of the closed door and go into my cupboard (shudder).  This is where the girlish shrieking began.  I gingerly tried to move the pasta packages to see where he was, but my tip-toes were not quite enough to put him in my line of vision.  Then he magically appeared on the wall above the cupboard.  With another shriek (Ok, let's be honest, it wasn't just one more.  They were more or less continuous.), I launched my turquoise plastic flip-flop at the wall, missing him entirely, but landing my shoe on the top of the cupboard.  At this point I had to climb up on the counter to retrieve my shoe, which is no longer as easy as it sounds (it was one of the first times I have felt really pregnant).  Then I just watched him bustle up the wall and onto the ceiling, traversing first one beam and then another.  When I felt he was in a viable position, I lobbed my shoe at him once more.  That time I hit him squarely (yesssss!) and my shoe fell nicely to the floor, but the roach DISAPPEARED.  Now I feel even more creeped out than before.  I don't know where the giant roach is, but he can't be far.  He should be dead.  I really wish that Wonderman were here to take care of these all important issues.  Isn't that in the husband contract somewher?  Disgusting.  Shiver.  (I promise, this could have been a Facebook status, it would simply have been uber-truncated and not nearly as descriptive and fun).

Third - After watching the season finale of Glee, I have decided that Queen should be my soundtrack for labor.  Especially if it can make it all go that fast.  I'm in.  And shouldn't all life decisions be based on Glee, anyway?

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