Week 39 tummy

What I realized this week was that I now throw the word "cervix" around like it's nothing.

"So my cervix. . ."

I mean, I'm not all, "So that cloud formation reminds me of my cervix."

But women at the office who have given birth started asking about the state of my cervix several weeks ago. The first time it happened, I kind of twitched. But you know how rapidly you get used to things?

So I'll pass them in the hall and they'll be all, "What did the OB say? Dilated yet?"

Yah. So my cervix? It has not budged.

The full moon? Did nothing.

I saw my friend Laura a few days ago and she said something like, "I'm really sorry to tell you this, but you just don't look haggard enough to be having your baby yet."

Today, though, don't you think I look haggard enough? I think so.

On Wednesday I had a good talk with my OB about the non-budginess of my cervix, the size of my belly, and an exit strategy for the kid.

Some of you are going to think I'm crazy, but here's what we came to: I've postponed the induction date a week.

Because, here's the thing. He said he'd do whatever I want past my due date. But the fact is that if your body isn't ready, well, it isn't ready for some reason.

We discussed the balance between rushing your body/the kid, and letting him get too big.

It turns out that even though I think my husband is a giant and my belly it is the size of Burkina Faso, in the scheme of baby-house sizes, is not actually shockingly huge.

(On an inappropriate and off-topic side bar, one has to assume that my inability to accurately judge size probably endeared me to more than a few men in my dating career.)

Anyway.

He doesn't think the kid is a Baby of Unusual Size.

And what it comes down to is this.

Much as I want to be un-preg, giving him more of a chance to arrive on his own makes me a lot more mentally and emotionally comfortable.

You don't know how you or your baby will react to induction. I've waited this many years to have a baby in the first place, and spent this many weeks trying to provide a healthy, safe environment for him along the way.

What's another potential week in the scheme?

Which is not to say that at some point next week I won't have thrown rationality entirely out the window and find myself sobbing on the floor and blaming Nick entirely for this.

But at the moment, haggard enough or no, this seems like the best way to go.

And anyway, who doesn't love a little caprice in a pregnant wife?

(Laughs like the madwoman in the attic.)

TMI Thursday: Piggy button edition.

For the who didn't want to see the belly non-button, you're warned.

This pink expanse that looks like a little pig nose is the area formerly known as my belly button.

I wasn't going to even take a picture, much less post. But LiLu suggested it for TIMT, and I thought, ah, what the hell. The unexamined life is not worth living, or some such thing. No?

I told you it was icky.And yes, I'm still here. I will tell you more about this tomorrow. When I'm sure I'll still be here.

At this point, I feel like I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life.

God willing, the belly button I used to love will go back to some semblance of normal. And maybe pregnancy amnesia will strike, as everyone says it does.

I keep thinking it just can't get any farther out, because how much more out is there for it to go? And then it does.

If I lived in Alaska, I'd be able to touch Russia with it from my front porch.

Except for the fact that it's both tender and attached to my body, I sort of don't even consider it mine anymore. It's more just like an interesting animal set aside for observation.

So I wonder if it will get to the point where the ridge and those two itty bitty little dimples disappear entirely?

Pregnancy weight

I still don't know how much weight I've gained.

I don't want to know. I just want a tally at the end.

The nurses at the OB's office don't even blink when I close my eyes and ask them not to say the number out loud. We will do this again this afternoon. They are fine with it.

I know myself. I knew from the beginning that I'd obsess about numbers along the way.

Which is unhealthy in normal life, and really not what I wanted in pregnancy. I just decided that as long as they told me it was fine every time, I'd go with that.

Nick, Betty and I all think it's probably about 30 lbs. The OB said to gain 25-35, and so this is right about there. I'm OK with that.

But I know I wouldn't have been, month by month and now week by week, if I'd known the number. I'd have stressed about the stupid number. I'd have translated that into thinking about how to keep it on the low end of the OK spectrum. Or maybe a little lower.

This is me. This is how I am. Old habits die hard.

But this, this has been pretty liberating.

I haven't embraced the erroneous "You're eating for two! Eat whatever you want!"

Because the fact is, to gain the way they want you to, you only get 300 extra calories a day. This is not actually a whole lot.

That said, I have been more liberal with my diet in the last nine months than since I was 15 and started obsessing.

I have treats, even though I know I can't balance them out with insane amounts of really hard exercise. I've had more milkshakes in pregnancy than I have since I was a child. I don't have them daily or even weekly. But I do.

And hamburgers! And cheeseburgers! And Reubens! Do you know how good Reuben sandwiches are? They might be my new crack.

I don't have anything to compare it to, but So's Your Mom makes a really yummy one.

And eating these things (almost) without feeling guilty? What a novelty! What a delight!

Last week, when I was at the cardiologist (confirmation: normal) I asked the Physician's Assistant, who weighed me, not to tell me.

She gave me a look and was all, "Well, that's one way to do it."

And I was all, "Yup!"

But really, I felt like saying, "Listen, judgeypants, you and your raised eyebrows should maybe just fuck off. And is that a sharp implement on the counter? Because clearly have no idea how stabby pregnant women of an as-yet-to-be-determined amount of weight can be."

Grr.

Gas emergency. Who knew we lived life on the edge?

It's not the kind I'm sure you're thinking, what with all the pregnancy details I've fed you.

We have a gas stove, and every once in a while since we moved in six weeks ago, I've been sure I smelled gas. But not every day. And Nick didn't smell it, so I thought I was being hyper-sensitive.

So finally Nick smelled it. And as we're having a plumber come out to deal with some of the other endless house stuff, he figured he'd ask him about the stove.

Which is when the plumber said to call Washington Gas. Call them now! And tell them about our possible gas leak!

So I did.

It turns out that when you report a gas smell, it is a Gas Emergency.

The woman asked me for details. Had I evacuated the area?

Evacuated?! Well, sort of. I said I was at work.

She said they'd have their gas emergency crew respond to this as soon as possible.

They don't mess around.

She asked "Can you be home?"

"You mean today?" I figured if we could schedule it for late in the day, I could just leave a bit early.

"As soon as possible. If they arrive and you aren't there, and they can't turn off your gas outside, they'll have to force entry."

"Force entry?"

They will break down your door to get in.

So I said I'd get home as soon as possible, but it could take me an hour. And if they got there and couldn't get in, could they just call me?

No. They cannot call you.

Why not? She did not know.

So I asked her please, please to tell them not to break down my door within the hour. That I'd get home as soon as I could.

"OK. Don't turn on any lights. Don't use your cell phone."

Anything, anything can ignite a spark. Which, if there's gas in the house, can cause an explosion.

!?!

So. The Gas Emergency Man pulled up in the Gas Emergency Van just after I got home.

He identified the source of the leak. He turned off the gas line into the stove. He hung a big WARNING! tag on the now non-functional stove.

I asked if he'd ever broken anyone's door down. He said, very seriously, that the Fire Department breaks the doors for them.

The whole six weeks we've lived there, we've been flicking lights on and off, using computers, chatting on the phone.

We had no idea we'd been skirting the danger line.

STILL here

This is what people keep saying to me at the office.

"You're STILL here?!"

I'm still here.

Betty and our dear family friend Pat were both sure August 2 would be the day. They both had this feeling.

So I woke up yesterday morning looking for signs. Nothin'. All day, hopeful. Nothin'.

I'm still here.

Several people have suggested it'll happen on the full moon, which is the 6th. Apparently a lot of women go into labor on the full moon.

On the downside, maternity wards are packed. The ER is full of crazies. And people come into the hospital with all kinds of bizarro stuff.

From what I hear.

On another downside, my friend Eileen - who I haven't seen in 18 years! - is coming on Friday for the weekend. She's lives in CA and will be out here for work.

Would be awesome if he arrived just a wee bit before, so she could meet him. Or right after. But obviously, so not under my control.

David thinks it'll happen at 4 pm on Friday.

A lot of my friends keep saying they're sure it'll happen soon. Some have specific days.

Others remind me of the fact that first babies tend to go to term, if not past it.

And yes, I have scheduled an induction for the Friday the 14. My OB is at the hospital on Fridays, and I felt like just past due date is fair.

I know there are good reasons to just wait. I know it ups your odds for a C-section.

There are people who think the induction is a Very. Bad. Idea.

(Also, I'm pretty bummed about the idea of spending the night of my 40th birthday in the hospital with Cervidil in my hoo-ha.)

I feel like if I get to next Wednesday and feel like I can keep waiting, I will cancel it. But otherwise, that's the plan.

Because I'm one of the few people who seems to be really concerned about the possible ginormity of my progeny. I suppose because it's all, um, closest to home for me.

Which is why I've posted this picture, taken on our honeymoon. As a reminder. Nick, AKA The Father is twice my size, if not bigger. Before I got pregnant, he was twice my weight, plus some.

His bones, they are enormous. All his people are giants.

This makes me so not inclined to be all, "Stay in there and fatten up as long as you like, my pretty!"