Laugh at it. But it's true. Malls are huge. They're expansive. Driving from one side of the Macey's parking lot to the other side of the Penny's parking lot is quite the drive, and to walk that, inside, where it's warm. That's a good amount of walking.
Steven and I were getting our maternity pictures taken a smoggy Monday. I had gotten my hair trimmed up a few weeks before for the holidays and still had not learned how to master the art of blow drying it and gooping it to create the smooth effect that a person always comes out with after a good hair cut. That is why we were at the mall at 9:45 in the morning, before any of the stores were even open, for my 10:00 appointment. The parking lot was remarkably full for it being so early and as we entered the mall we found out why. There were at least a dozen walkers. Older couples. Mommies with sleeping babies in their strollers. A few weirdies. They were all walking the mall. Some were obviously more serious about it than others, complete with workout outfit and sweatbands, but it was incredible to see all of the bars down on so many of the stores but still see so many out and about, speeding through the mall in their Nikes without having to curve in and out of masses of teenagers.
I've never had good service with early morning appointments. It's like stylists run on their own time frame and don't realize that the only reason a person would be crazy enough to have their hair done at 10 in the morning would be because they've got a busy schedule ahead of them for the day. A tight schedule. Happened to me in Rexburg, as well. But I digress. At 10:30 I am finally sitting in the stylist chair with my hair dripping and the lady fussing with my locks, trying to get a feel for it, as she's not my usual hair dresser. To cut the process short and not mention the hard time she had with making it do what JoAnn does naturally, we talked brushes and blow drying and I can finally do my own hair with barable outcomes. I got the whole thing done for free, as she was so sorry for being late and not having thought to call. Thank goodness. Sometimes things just work out just right.
We walked out and were on our way in a hurry to Target to get some last minute accessories for the photo shoot, pausing just a minute to let a speed walker zip past us.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
No Room In the Belly
I have reached my optimum baby-building size. There is no more room in this belly of mine and it's not getting any bigger. If she wants to stretch a little she's just going to have to come out. Usually she's comfortable in her little C position, upside down and all and her little foot may flex once in awhile. And then there are the times when her whole little body just needs a little more room and she pushes up against me. There is no wiggle room in there and my belly takes on a mind of its own as it moves side to side. Her bum pushing one way and then her feet the other. She doesn't kick, just pushes. But there is really no room in there and when I put my hand over her I know there is only a thin layer of skin and a little muscle laying between her and me. Just a little. If only my body would decide it's time for her to move on out and start contracting life would be a lot simpler and my intestines wouldn't feel so bruised.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Been Thinking
Babies are always so small. That is not a lie. Their little tiny ears and hands and feet complete with fingers and toes. It always puts me in awe to touch their little faces and imagine them becoming any bigger. It just doesn't seem possible.
But I've been thinking. Does your own baby look huge? 'Cause really, you just pushed her out of a 10 cm hole and she's in your arms after being in your belly. Does all that smallness seem rather large to have been nestled up in there for so long?
I've had some time to just 'be with her' this week and it has been fabulous. There's nothing much like worrying about something you have created out of pure love with someone wonderful, not to sound mushy, of course. I've tried to stay as worry free as possible, knowing that people have been having babies forever and one more baby isn't going to defy all gravity and give way to something super weird. Plus, I mean, how unsafe can you be if you're wrapped up inside your mommy. Literally inside. Surrounded by water. It would be like living in a swimming pool. I know enough about swimming that if you can manage to breathe, you're a lot safer in water than anywhere else due to the weight ratio being thrown of and the fact that the liquid around you acts like a pretty good cushion 'cause you just move with it.
Well it happened. I woke up in a panic and attacked google for answers. She has dropped and she hadn't been moving as vigorously as usual. I guess this is usual, after much research. Seriously, if you can find two women's responses that match up, that becomes the 'norm' since there are so many variables it only takes two to create some peace in my mind. Believe me, that would not fly on a regular English research paper. Two sources that say the same thing? That's all you have to back up your theory on why Emily Dickinson never married even though she was obviously in love? You're paper would be returned to you. Magic number is 3. But not in baby research. Baby research it's two 'cause that's basically all you can find.
The doctor appointment transmitted some excitement when he told me to plan an appointment for next Wednesday but that he would probably see me in the delivery room before that. Say what? Two weeks early? Doctor, it's only the 4th. She's due the 18th. I'm not ready!
So I've been vacuuming and sweeping and mopping and dusting every baseboard, every piece of flooring twice, and even catching up some needed attention on the ceiling due to some spider webs. And I've been sitting still being with her. While she's quiet. I can feel her little body hunkering down for a delivery and I wonder about how she must be cramped in there. Her little rump is all up in my right and her feetsies are all up in my left, and that's about 13 inches right there. And then you still have to factor in that her knees are bent up to her chest and she's got a back pointed directly down and after you get done adding up all those inches, you've got one long baby. So I am kind of anxious that my theory of babies being so small has been rather misguided and I am going to birth out one tall little girl. She'll still have little ears and hands and feet, but I am betting her head is not going to look so small after I have known what it felt like to come out. I'm going to cherish all of it. Even when my mascarra runs and my head sweats. I'll remember these last days of her inside and be grateful that now I can look at her and trace her little face rather than just feeling her bum and her feet, trusting that the rest of her is fine in there.
But I've been thinking. Does your own baby look huge? 'Cause really, you just pushed her out of a 10 cm hole and she's in your arms after being in your belly. Does all that smallness seem rather large to have been nestled up in there for so long?
I've had some time to just 'be with her' this week and it has been fabulous. There's nothing much like worrying about something you have created out of pure love with someone wonderful, not to sound mushy, of course. I've tried to stay as worry free as possible, knowing that people have been having babies forever and one more baby isn't going to defy all gravity and give way to something super weird. Plus, I mean, how unsafe can you be if you're wrapped up inside your mommy. Literally inside. Surrounded by water. It would be like living in a swimming pool. I know enough about swimming that if you can manage to breathe, you're a lot safer in water than anywhere else due to the weight ratio being thrown of and the fact that the liquid around you acts like a pretty good cushion 'cause you just move with it.
Well it happened. I woke up in a panic and attacked google for answers. She has dropped and she hadn't been moving as vigorously as usual. I guess this is usual, after much research. Seriously, if you can find two women's responses that match up, that becomes the 'norm' since there are so many variables it only takes two to create some peace in my mind. Believe me, that would not fly on a regular English research paper. Two sources that say the same thing? That's all you have to back up your theory on why Emily Dickinson never married even though she was obviously in love? You're paper would be returned to you. Magic number is 3. But not in baby research. Baby research it's two 'cause that's basically all you can find.
The doctor appointment transmitted some excitement when he told me to plan an appointment for next Wednesday but that he would probably see me in the delivery room before that. Say what? Two weeks early? Doctor, it's only the 4th. She's due the 18th. I'm not ready!
So I've been vacuuming and sweeping and mopping and dusting every baseboard, every piece of flooring twice, and even catching up some needed attention on the ceiling due to some spider webs. And I've been sitting still being with her. While she's quiet. I can feel her little body hunkering down for a delivery and I wonder about how she must be cramped in there. Her little rump is all up in my right and her feetsies are all up in my left, and that's about 13 inches right there. And then you still have to factor in that her knees are bent up to her chest and she's got a back pointed directly down and after you get done adding up all those inches, you've got one long baby. So I am kind of anxious that my theory of babies being so small has been rather misguided and I am going to birth out one tall little girl. She'll still have little ears and hands and feet, but I am betting her head is not going to look so small after I have known what it felt like to come out. I'm going to cherish all of it. Even when my mascarra runs and my head sweats. I'll remember these last days of her inside and be grateful that now I can look at her and trace her little face rather than just feeling her bum and her feet, trusting that the rest of her is fine in there.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Fatty Baking Soda Biscuits
I've really enjoyed this journey of pregnancy. Despite the re-entering of puberty-like changes that have occured in my body for the past nine months, it's been kinda fun. Ok. The throwing up. Not fun. The constant nausea. Not fun. The uncertainty of when I need to go to the bathroom. Like really go. Not just drip. Not fun. But the belly changes. SO MUCH FUN! And the feeling of her little body right up next to mine, priceless. She wasn't much of a kicker, or a squirmer, or even a hic-coupher. She just moved when she needed to and would pound on the inside of my belly if something was squashing her. Something necessary like a seat belt or when I would lay against Steven on the couch. So pretty much, we've had an awesome relationship. Not gonna lie, I wasn't in love with her when she was a bacteria (those would be my brother's words) in my stomach making me sick. But ever since she's become a little lady we've gotten along fine, giving and taking as necessary in comfort. I hope we can keep it that way.
I thought I was doing awesome. That the hard parts were over and that all I needed to worry about now was what in the world it felt like to need to go to the hospital. Until my feet started swelling. I don't know if it is the feeling of stepping on them or the pure grossness of looking at fat piggy toes that is worse. Either way, there was a very uncomfortable week where my feet would swell for no reason and my back would ache like crazy.
Poor Steven would rub and knead everything that hurt right before I went to bed so that I could get to sleep and he would have to start all over again in the morning so that I could get up in the morning and get myself into the shower where the heat would loosen everything up and I could get on my way without making his hands fall off with muscular dystrophy. Painful for both of us.
For Christmas I was loaded up with massage everything. A lower vertebrae massager, a foot bath and a handheld massager that would reach my back or my feet or whatever needed to be given a good go-over. Including my brothers' heads at some points while they were staying with us. You know. For kicks and giggles. We even may have tested it out on my belly. Shhhh. Steven was giving his last shot to my comfort at this point.
Well. The lower vertebrae massager was a miss, as was the foot bath that did nothing but get my feet wet. The handheld massager was a winner because he could use it on my and push as hard as I needed him to without losing circulation in his hands or having the muscles in them cramp up. It was glorious.
One of the girls was watching me painfully waddle around at work and suggested using either epsom salt or baking soda in the water of a foot bath to help with the swelling. I was so excited that I had a special dish to dip my dainty feet in so that I could try this! Oh, and it even blows bubbles. Exciting, right? I got home that night and Steven filled the bath up with some warm water and I loaded it up with baking soda. Whether baking soda truly expires or not, I don't know, but I do know that it did nothing for my swelling. Instead, when I lifted them up out of the water to check on their condition I had fatty baking soda biscuits for feet. My feet were no longer feet. They were swollen to round balls and covered in baking soda dusty grime. Sitting still was just too much for them to handle, I guess. It was all I could do not to stare at them as I rinsed them in the tub and got into bed. I couldn't believe that those appendages belonged to me! I've got long toes to begin with, and seeing them red and puffed up like little smokies was almost too much for me to handle. Even if I wasn't sick, I didn't feel so hot because of those ugly little things protruding out of what used to be a gloriously thin ankle attached to a well defined calf. Not going to lie, as enjoyable as this whole pregnancy thing has been, I am ready to be thin.
I thought I was doing awesome. That the hard parts were over and that all I needed to worry about now was what in the world it felt like to need to go to the hospital. Until my feet started swelling. I don't know if it is the feeling of stepping on them or the pure grossness of looking at fat piggy toes that is worse. Either way, there was a very uncomfortable week where my feet would swell for no reason and my back would ache like crazy.
Poor Steven would rub and knead everything that hurt right before I went to bed so that I could get to sleep and he would have to start all over again in the morning so that I could get up in the morning and get myself into the shower where the heat would loosen everything up and I could get on my way without making his hands fall off with muscular dystrophy. Painful for both of us.
For Christmas I was loaded up with massage everything. A lower vertebrae massager, a foot bath and a handheld massager that would reach my back or my feet or whatever needed to be given a good go-over. Including my brothers' heads at some points while they were staying with us. You know. For kicks and giggles. We even may have tested it out on my belly. Shhhh. Steven was giving his last shot to my comfort at this point.
Well. The lower vertebrae massager was a miss, as was the foot bath that did nothing but get my feet wet. The handheld massager was a winner because he could use it on my and push as hard as I needed him to without losing circulation in his hands or having the muscles in them cramp up. It was glorious.
One of the girls was watching me painfully waddle around at work and suggested using either epsom salt or baking soda in the water of a foot bath to help with the swelling. I was so excited that I had a special dish to dip my dainty feet in so that I could try this! Oh, and it even blows bubbles. Exciting, right? I got home that night and Steven filled the bath up with some warm water and I loaded it up with baking soda. Whether baking soda truly expires or not, I don't know, but I do know that it did nothing for my swelling. Instead, when I lifted them up out of the water to check on their condition I had fatty baking soda biscuits for feet. My feet were no longer feet. They were swollen to round balls and covered in baking soda dusty grime. Sitting still was just too much for them to handle, I guess. It was all I could do not to stare at them as I rinsed them in the tub and got into bed. I couldn't believe that those appendages belonged to me! I've got long toes to begin with, and seeing them red and puffed up like little smokies was almost too much for me to handle. Even if I wasn't sick, I didn't feel so hot because of those ugly little things protruding out of what used to be a gloriously thin ankle attached to a well defined calf. Not going to lie, as enjoyable as this whole pregnancy thing has been, I am ready to be thin.
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