My Labor Story

Remember how impressed I was by my doctor's confidence in ascertaining the baby's position in utero, and declaring her to be head-down?  Well, it turns out I should have trusted the other doctor, the one who said "I can't be sure."  Ginny was breeched!  And we didn't find out until the last possible minute!  But before I get to that: here's my whole labor story.

Four weeks ago, Ginny decided it was time to make her entrance into the world.  Her 11/11/11 due date had come and gone.  I started my maternity leave from work the day before she was due, which meant I was finally able to leave that Baby Mode/Work Mode switch in my brain positioned at Baby Mode permanently, and that was blissful.  By that point Anders and I had acquired everything on our Baby Shopping List, and the nursery was done, so I spent my free time baking and making Christmas crafts ... and constantly hoping that a contraction would interrupt me.

On Tuesday I was four days overdue.  That night we decided to try spicy food as a labor-induction technique, so we went to dinner at HuHot Mongolian Grill, where I bravely ladled their spiciest sauce over my noodles and chicken.  The result was not exactly at a Man-vs.-Food level, but it was certainly spicier than what I normally eat.  No sooner had I cleaned my plate and leaned back in my chair than Jabberwocky (she was still Jabberwocky then) began to boogie.  I don't know whether her frenzy was caused by delight or disgust, but either way, Anders and I sat and watched the tumultuous movements of my tummy in bemusement for a good five or ten minutes.

On Wednesday - my fifth day overdue - we figured we'd give the spicy food thing another try.  Around 7 p.m. we were about to leave for an Indian restaurant when I felt it!  Finally!  It was a special kind of pain, dull and deep, lasting a few seconds.  I knew exactly what it was.  I informed Anders.  And then off we went to the Indian restaurant.

Ah, Jewel of India, how fondly I feel towards you now.  I had several more contractions at the restaurant.  I didn't need spicy food anymore but ordered it anyway, chicken curry with a side of garlic naan.  Our meal was quiet, quick, and happy.

Once we got home I lost the mucus plug.  See how flippantly I can talk about these things now?  Living through labor tends to strip one of one's delicacy, I think.  Anyway, contractions steadily became more painful and regular, so there was no doubt this was the real thing.  I took a shower and went to bed.  I slept better than Anders did that night.  I was able to drop off between contractions, but he doesn't go in and out of sleep as easily as I do!  He timed my contractions and kept telling me I was doing a good job, sweet man.  It feels good to hear those words when one is in labor.

We almost went to the hospital at 4:30 a.m.  Anders had the car running and everything.  Contractions had been around four minutes apart for a solid hour.  But once I got up and moved around, they slowed down, and we decided to wait.

Good thing we did.  By mid-morning on Thursday, we were hanging out in the sunroom, watching episodes of '30 Rock' on the computer.  My contractions were more severe but stubbornly irregular, sometimes three minutes apart, but more often nine or ten minutes apart.

We made the decision to go to the hospital around 1:30 in the afternoon, after 18-plus hours of labor.  Contractions were averaging something like seven minutes apart, and getting longer and pretty painful.

Now, up to this point, labor had honestly been rather fun.  We were, after all, relaxing together at home on a work day.  And there was the joyful anticipation of it all.  Once we got to the hospital, however, things took a turn.

At 2:00, we were in the delivery room.  At 5:00, we were back in the sunroom at home.  They'd discharged us from the hospital.  At 7:00, we were in the car, driving back to the hospital in a panic and praying we'd make it in time, as I'd reached the point where I was PUSHING with each contraction.

Those hours at home between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. were dark, wretched, horribly painful hours.  At the hospital they had told us that labor wasn't progressing, and even that it might be several days before the baby came.  "You'll know when it's time to come back," a nurse told us with a tender smile, "because the pain will get much worse."

I had planned to do labor with no meds. But when I heard that, two options presented themselves to me: 1.) I was going to get an epidural, or 2.) I was going to die.  Because the pain was already as much as I could bear.  I can't do this, I thought.  I can't endure these contractions for another - how many hours? Twenty-four? Thirty-six? Forty-eight?  The idea was devastating.

Now, the nurse had based her opinion on my cervix.  I don't know about you, but I've always thought cervical exams were a fairly straightforward business.  There aren't any loops or corkscrews in the diagrams I've seen of female anatomy.  It's a straight shot to the cervix.  You reach in, and there it is.

Well, my cervical exams on the afternoon of Thursday the 17th were not straightforward.  Three separate nurses told me they couldn't find my cervix, after spending much more time with their hands in my nether-region than was entirely comfortable.  Finally one of them believed she had struck upon it, and it was only open one centimeter.  Meaning I still had nine centimeters to go before I would be ready to deliver.

So either I dilated nine centimeters in two hours, or the nurse was wrong in her assessment.  Either way, I shouldn't have been sent home, shouldn't have had my pain made light of, and shouldn't have been made to feel like labor would be endless.  As it was, I was quite near the end and quite capable of doing it without medication, but I didn't know that.  One cannot blame the nurses, of course.  They didn't want me sitting in a hospital bed for two days while nothing was happening.  And for my part, never having given birth before, I couldn't tell them whether I was suffering enough to be there or not.  I had to take their word for it that I wasn't.

So after two hours of intense labor at home, Anders and I show up again at the hospital in a dither.  I'm trying to explain to the nurses that I can't stop pushing, and I'm not sure they believe me.  Contractions are coming super quick.  So they go in for another cervix check ... and that's when the nurse says, "Uh oh, I think I'm feeling a baby butt."

A hasty ultrasound confirmed this.  "The head is up here," the doctor-on-call said, pointing to the top of my belly.  "So she's breeched?" I asked, and he nodded.  "So that means a C-section?" I asked, and he nodded.  "Let's do it!" I cried.  I was desperate simply for it to happen quickly, because my body was aggressively trying to push that baby out, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

What came next is a blur, as I spent most of the time in eyes-closed agony.  I know there was a man next to the bed who was describing, with an infuriating lack of urgency, the risks involved with C-sections, but I have no idea what he looked like.  And I know there were nurses on one side of me who were trying to draw blood, and nurses on the other side who were trying to insert an IV, and it was tough going on both sides.  I had multiple punctures, bruises and blood streaks up and down both arms by the time they were done.  I remember Anders making phone calls, and asking him to call people to pray for us.  Then I was getting wheeled into the surgery room where they gave me the epidural.  And I remember the voice of the anesthesiologist in my ear, talking me through what was happening, and feeling comforted by him.

All of this was awful.  It was awful because I was worried it would be too late.  That I'd already pushed too much.  (I was dilated ten centimeters at this point, according to the doctor who performed the C-section ... not that I had any lingering doubts.)  It was a dreadful time leading up to the surgery.  In the midst of it, I was aware that the medical staff was moving swiftly and expertly, and for that I was immensely glad.

And then Anders was by my head, and it was done!  We heard our baby cry!  From that moment, everything was wonderful.

They took little Ginny to a table under a heat lamp and cleaned her up while I got stitched.  We looked at her, and saw all four limbs moving, and listened to her voice.  I was so happy.

All I felt, when I was back in the recovery room with Ginny on my chest, was perfect, unhindered joy.  I still get that feeling when I have Ginny on my chest.

Virginia Charlotte Helquist

Welcome, Ginny!

Virginia Charlotte Helquist

Born 11/17/11 @ 8:51 p.m.

7 lbs, 10 oz

20.5"

Three Days Overdue!

Yes, Jabberwocky is still in utero.  Today I tried reflexology on my feet, massaging the pressure points that the Internet told me are supposed to induce labor.  My eagerness is immense, but I am not forgetting to also be grateful for the peaceful time I've been having pre-baby. 

Several times every day I experience a distinct wave of emotion that lasts for a minute or two and then subsides.  I'll be sitting calmly, and suddenly it feels like someone has poured liquid on my head and it flows down my body and sinks in through my skin and gets absorbed and turns to nothing.  The emotion is a painfully sweet nostalgic feeling, like joy and sorrow at the same time.  This has only been going on for the past three days.  I'd think it's related to whatever hormonal changes I'm undergoing in preparation for labor.

Well.  I just made several trips to and from the basement to set up my station in front of the TV.  I have my plate of food, my mug of tea, my cup of water, and my computer.  Then I spent 10 minutes flipping through the channels trying to find green-and-gold uniforms.  Then my husband informed me that the game is on ESPN, which we don't get.  If I want to follow the Packers tonight, I have to turn on the radio.  Which is upstairs.

If my final trip back upstairs brings on contractions, I'll be much obliged to ESPN.

One Day Overdue

I woke up this morning and joined my husband in the sunroom.  He told me he had been thinking of plans for today, and he thought we should go to the new bookstore in town and also rent Captain America.  I love being married to him.

He also suggested that we play Carcassonne, which we did, and grill steaks for dinner.  The steak-grilling part is happening right now (quick Anders!  Before we lose the light!).  So it's been a fun day.

We played ping pong to try to induce labor.  I'm convinced ping pong is the perfect activity for this.  It is not strenuous, but it involves the perfect amount of lunging and stooping for balls to jiggle Jabberwocky down the cervix.  Ping pong daily from now until her birth!  Which I hope means we will not be playing ping pong very much!

She's still moving pretty frequently.  I keep thinking how she doesn't know that she will soon be making her exit from the womb.  I wonder if she's annoyed at how crowded she's getting.

Happy Veterans Day

No baby yet.  Unless she is born in the next 3 hours or so, it looks like she is going to miss her super cool 11-11-11 due date.  My two days of maternity leave so far have consisted of laundry, vacuuming, dusting, taking naps, taking walks, and making this:

Which was a really great way to keep myself totally absorbed and distracted.  So I guess tomorrow I'll have to bake something else.

Waiting for the Zap

I think it's good for me to go through this period of knowing that at any second, God is going to zap my life and change it forever.  Zap! I'll be in labor!  Zap! I'll have a daughter to take care of!  I can't control when it happens, certainly can't stop it from happening, and beyond a certain point I can't even really prepare for it.  Anders and I are trying to keep in a state of readiness, at least as far as cleaning the dishes after every use and keeping gas in the tank.  But priming emotionally or gaining the correct amount of knowledge beforehand is simply hopeless.  I can't wrap my mind around this.  I'm excited, and I'm glad Jabberwocky's coming whether I'm ready or not ... because how could I ever actually be ready?  Really ready?

It's a reminder that even apart from Jabberwocky, even after she's born, God can zap my life at any moment and change it forever.  You know?  I spend all my extra time these days wondering what else needs to be done before Jabberwocky comes.  What if my water broke at this moment - could I drop what I'm doing and turn to the all-important task of getting her into this world safely?  And while I'm thinking that, another thought keeps creeping up.  What if Jesus were to come back at this moment?  Or some other completely life-altering event were to take place?  I'm not in control.  God is.  Am I ready for whatever He's going to do?  Have I arranged my life to make room for Him to come in and shake things up if He wants?  Is my heart open to Him?  Do I trust Him completely?

Waiting for Jabberwocky to be born does teach me that life is in God's hands.  (Cuz if it were up to me ... I'd have her born by now.)

The Best Baking Day of the Year

We held Lebkuchen Day early this year.  Remember those German spice cookies I was talking about?  In my household growing up, my dad kind of made them a big deal.  There are people who get really psyched when their football team does well; and people who are Disneyland fanatics and go every year; and in this part of the country, there are lots of people who get all goosebumpy for hunting season (the deer opener is like a major holiday).  Well, my dad's annual mark-your-calendars, tell-your-friends, get-ready-to-parTAY event is Lebkuchen Day.  Like the football fans and the Disney geeks and the hunters, Dad has specific tools and paraphernalia for the occasion: a marble rolling pin, a butcher-block table for rolling and cutting, and "sanctified" cookie sheets, which are (seriously) only used once a year: for Lebkuchen.

Officially, Lebkuchen Day is the Saturday before Thanksgiving.  Since he and Mom crank out around 400 cookies, it's pretty much an all-day affair.  It has its own music to go along with it, too: "Mary's Boy Child" by Boney M is always the kick-off theme.

The week before Lebkuchen Day is Batterday Saturday, the day on which the dough is made.  Hours are spent cutting dates (a sticky business) and chopping walnuts.  One batch produces a bowling-ball-sized lump of dense, heavy, dark-colored dough, smelling of molasses and holiday spices.

To be honest, I barely even liked Lebkuchen when I was a kid.  There is a verse in the Bible that says "Train up a child in the way he should go, and even when he is old, he will not depart from it."  There should also be one that says "Raise a kid on Lebkuchen, and when he grows up he'll love them."  Because I love them now, so much that I can't imagine a holiday season without them.  They are the flavor of Christmas for me.

So, since Jabberwocky is due the day before Batterday Saturday, Anders and I did our Lebkuchen baking early.  His parents came down, and I put them to work for the final stage of the process: glazing.  I don't know how much fun they had, but let me tell you, they were both fantastic.  I got such a kick out of watching their concentration.

Here are pics.

My mother-in-law treating the Lebkuchen with the care and respect they deserve.

This is one batch, around 100 cookies.  We usually make two batches but cut down this year.  Dad makes four batches.

My parents will also do Lebkuchen early this year to accommodate their trip to Wisconsin to see Jabberwocky.  So it looks like my sister's household will be the only one to stick to the official baking schedule!

2:45 - 4:00 a.m.

At 2:45 a.m. I woke up to go to the bathroom and then didn't feel sleepy.  The doctor's office gave me a sheet called "baby's report card" and told me to monitor Jabberwocky's movements with it, by lying on my side and counting kicks.  They don't want her to move less than ten times in two hours.  So while awake in bed last night, I told Jabberwocky I needed her to move five times in the next hour.  She moved five times in seven minutes.  So then I stopped bothering to count, but still couldn't sleep, so I just lay my hand on my belly and enjoyed feeling her, my wonderful little Jabberwocky, doing whatever she's doing in there.  And I talked to God too.  It was a sweet time ...

An hour later I was tired of being awake.  And my hips were killing me.  And then she got the hiccups.  And then I had to go to the bathroom again ...

After that we went through a ten-minute period where she literally moved constantly.  When she finally paused, I said, "Okay, we'll count that as one ..."

Full-term!

As of two days ago, I'm considered full-term!  37 weeks!  Baby can come whenever she wants now!  I can cross off "pre-term labor" from the list of things to worry about!

It's time to admit that I'm tired of being pregnant.  1.) Tired of the difficulty of getting into the driver's seat of my Corolla.  I open the car door, take a breath, and then just sort of pitch myself sideways and downwards and hope I land safely.  2.) Tired of dropping my car keys all the time (clumsiness comes with pregnancy, but know what should come instead?  Exceptional dexterity and super fast reflexes.  That'd be way more helpful).  I drop my car keys maybe once in three times that I pull them from my purse.  When this happens I stand there for a few seconds and stare at them deflatedly before stooping to retrieve them.  3.) Tired of stooping in general.  When I get to work in the mornings the newspaper is sitting outside the front door.  I've started kicking it inside, then kicking it up the couple stairs in the entryway, then maneuvering it halfway up the counter with my foot until it's an easier reach.  4.) I grunt and groan like I'm already in labor - just to put on socks.  5.) Especially, emphatically tired of the time between going to bed and getting up - those hours which used to pass by all in one solid block of undisturbed unconsciousness, and which are now filled with so many aches and pains and trips to the bathroom and bouts of insomnia that I might as well trade them in for getting up to nurse a baby.

People have mentioned that the nine months of pregnancy go by fast for everyone else, and stretch on forever for the person who's pregnant.  Not true for me - pregnancy flew by!  I think this was mostly because I didn't believe I was pregnant until about five months in.  I knew I was, but it didn't feel real.  I thought the end of pregnancy might sneak up and catch me off guard.

Well, time has slowed down.  My hospital bag is packed.  From here on it'll be less scrambling to get ready, and more just - waiting!

Dr. Weber knows his stuff!

Today I saw my doctor again for the first time in a while.  The last few appointments have been with substitute doctors or the maternity counselor.

I got up on the bench and lay down like usual.  He had his hands on my belly for about two seconds, and said "You just had a contraction!"

I said, "What! No I didn't."

"Yep, your uterus just tightened and then relaxed.  You didn't feel it?"

"No!"

"Like most women at this stage, you're probably having 2 or 3 contractions an hour."

I was flabbergasted by this.  I would like for contractions during labor to continue being this painless please!

He then gently felt around for about another second-and-a-half, and immediately pronounced: "Her head's here, back here, butt here, and feet here."

It was fantastic how effortless it was for him to tell what was going on in there.  I've been trying to get them to tell me this the past couple of appointments and they haven't been sure.  Dr. Weber knew the moment he felt Jabberwocky the exact way she's curled up; and happily, it's head-down.

Both the women from my office who beat me to the punch with having babies this fall brought them to the office today.  If I weren't about to have a baby, I'd sure be geared up to start trying now.  One of them had a bottle, and I'm still hearing her sweet little sucking noises in my head.  Oh I'm getting excited for mine to come.

I cause a slight disturbance and Anders is heroic

Yesterday morning, as my alarm was going off for the eighth time and I was starting to think about actually getting up, I lifted my arm and knocked over the large cup of water on my nightstand.  I keep a cup of water there every night, and it has often occurred to me that given the dark and its proximity to the alarm clock, a tip-over was bound to happen someday.  Up I hopped, turned on the light, and began throwing books on the bed and mopping up water.  As you might imagine, this commotion somewhat disturbed my sleeping husband.  He groggily asked if I needed help.  "No," I said.  Which was asinine.  I then tried to move the nightstand by tugging on it.

1.) You might remember that I'm 8 months pregnant.  2.) The nightstand is a solid piece of wood furniture with 2 drawers full of crap and a heavy lamp on top, all combining to make an object of considerable heaviness. 3.) We have hardwood floors, and there aren't any fuzzy felt things on the underside of the nightstand's feet to protect the floors or facilitate sliding.

The worst-case scenario would have been that my nightstand-moving efforts caused my membranes to rupture (I honestly am still not completely sure what that phrase means), sending me into pre-term labor, and gauged the wood floor at the same time.  That would have made for a better story, but thankfully didn't happen.  What happened was precisely nothing.  The nightstand sat there like a rock and I realized I was an idiot.

Anders realized this at the same time, and got up to take over.  I stood back and watched for a few seconds, then announced that I was going to take a shower, and left him to it.

All in all it must have been a pleasant morning for Anders.

Here's how he responded, after first moving the nightstand and mopping up the water: once I was dressed, he hugged me for a long time.  Later in the morning he sent me an encouraging email.  And when I came home he had cleaned, and he helped me bring in groceries even though the Brewers game was on the radio.

Yeah, I really like him.

This reminds me of the time that I accidentally poured our fish down the drain and Anders reached in and retrieved him by hand.  What do people do without husbands?

Week 36

Well folks, the significance of today is that it's the last Eleventh before Jabberwocky's due date.  Holy smokes!

Today I had my 36-week check-up at the doctor's.  They took my blood again.  Now, blood in general is something that I don't like to have much to do with.  Needles make me pale and shaky.  I dread the lab.  The first couple times I had my blood drawn, the lab girls chatted with me to distract me from what was happening, and that was nice.  Once Anders came along and I looked fixedly at him and talked all the way through it. 

People who are not squeamish don't get squeamishness.  They just don't understand that heart-racing weak-kneed feeling we squeamish people get from things like blood.  My lab girl today didn't chat with me.  I was on the point of starting up with "How 'bout them Brewers?" a couple times, but was too nervous.  And then, with the needle in my arm and blood seeping into the little glass vial, she said this: "ha, it's gurgling!"

I was NOT amused.  I kept my eyes averted and did not smile and tried to have happy thoughts.

Then after that I pre-registered for Labor Day, so they can bustle me right on up to the delivery room when I walk in the hospital door.  And now I'll be going to the doctor every week!  This is like, final countdown stage!

Gettin' a little weary

Yesterday I clipped my toenails.  Any chance I won't have to do that again until after Jabberwocky is born?

Okay, I am getting uncomfortable.  My belly keeps running into things.  Like, I keep closing the washing machine door on it and stuff like that.  Or scooting in too close to my desk.

My mother keeps cheerfully saying that God is good, because he makes us miserable during the last weeks of pregnancy.  Basically, He's bringing me to the "GET THIS KID OUTTA HERE!" stage.  Because otherwise we'd all be scared witless about labor, or something like that.

I am not quite there yet - but I could see myself getting there in the next month.  I feel a new kind of tired now, the kind I associate with spending all day in the kitchen prepping a big meal: a foot-aching, back-aching, full-body fatigue - except it's how I feel when I get up in the morning. 

Jabberwocky hates it when I slouch.  She pushes with great irritation on my ribs to make me sit up straighter.

Jabberwocky's nursery!

As mentioned, our nursery is blue.  We painted it over a year ago after moving in.  It was supposed to be a nice light neutral gray, and it didn't look blue until it was all over the walls.  Even now, looking at the color swatch I saved, I swear there is no way you would know it's blue and not gray.
In pondering how to prepare a blue room for a girl baby, I decided to paint an accent wall.  Dark blue.

Anders was confused about how making a blue room bluer would add the touch of femininity we were after.  I really didn't have an answer, other than that it would include a tree: 

which I frog-taped to the wall in lieu of a stencil.  And here's a better look at the crib:

I shopped in stores and spent hours online browsing for bedding.  One day I noticed that I had posted two different pictures of the SAME bedding set to Pinterest, separately and unknowingly, first from Target and then from Babies R Us.  So I figured my shopping was over and this was the set to get.  I adore it!

Here's the owl tree I made from felt, which was fun and ridiculously time-consuming.  The owls have velcro backs and can be rearranged:

 I'll have pleasant memories of sewing these little dudes, alternately listening to Brewers games on the radio and this wonderful version of "The Velveteen Rabbit" (three times total) which I grew up with, and downloaded specifically to be my owl-tree-making background entertainment.

Cute wittle baby clothes!

I'll have to get a better picture of these once they're up on the wall.  They're owl paintings I got from this etsy shop and they're fantastic.  They look so great in their colorful frames from Michaels.

The wall sure looks gray here, doesn't it?  But it's blue in person!  This classic, huggable teddy bear came from my sister, and the lamp was another one of the things I posted on Pinterest and then decided to buy.

This is a Noah's Ark music box that plays "Jesus Loves Me."  I got it at a consignment store for $8 and it's beautiful and flawless!  See how the ark is on top of a little globe?  And see the owls?

National League Division Series - Games 1 and 2 with Dad

Anders here. I took over this blog from Emily for an afternoon.

Baseball with my father is interwoven between my childhood, teenage years, college, and professional career. The memories that exist between the sport and time spent with him remain strong: Forcing me to keep my glove down when fielding ground balls. Telling me to give pitching a try. Playing catch. Taking me to regular season Brewers games.

Add another memory to that list: Celebrating the Brewers' first division title in my lifetime by spending last weekend in Milwaukee, watching the Crew's first two home playoff games with him. As you can see below, life was good.

Louie's wild rice brats sizzling on the grill.

The finished product from the grillmaster. Delicious.

The obstructed view seats I won in the Brewers lottery. Dad had the better seat to the right of this one. The view was far from perfect, but the time with my Dad was.

Soaking in the Brewers Game 1 NLDS victory and biding our time before leaving the stadium. We also safely reveled in the victory with other fans in the parking lot after the game, for about an hour.

Before Game 2 on Sunday, Dad starting to saute the mushrooms for this....

My tender New York Strip and Dad's butterflied fillet mignon. Tailgating in Milwaukee is great.

Waiting for the start of Game 2.

Our seats improved for Game 2, thanks to a connection Dad has with a season ticket holder. (Above, Jerry Hairston Jr. ripping a double to left to start the five-run rally for the Brewers. Another Brewers win.)

Women like to relive labor

It's very easy for labor stories to come up when women are around someone who's pregnant.  They start out by sweetly asking how things are going.  Then suddenly they're saying things like this:

"I was in labor on a Monday and I delivered on THURSDAY!"

"I pushed for 10 STRAIGHT HOURS!"

"For 20 hours my contractions were 2 MINUTES APART!"

Even my boss came up to me the other day and told me his sister just had her baby.  "Congratulations," I said.  "He was 9 lbs, 4 oz," he said.  "Ouch."

Actually I prefer to hear the horror stories; I want to be so prepped for the worst that when it comes down to it, I can say "that wasn't so bad" ...

Nope.  I can't imagine myself ever saying "that wasn't so bad" about labor.  I'm pretty sure God saw to that in Genesis 3 - "in pain you will bring forth children."

Week 34

Anders and his dad are on their way to Milwaukee for games 1 & 2 of the play-offs!  This is perhaps the pinnacle of excitement for my baseball-loving husband.  (It's up to Jabberwocky to top this.  I think she'll do it.)  They're prepped with brats and tailgating paraphernalia, and jackets, because it's going to be chilly!  The parking lot of Miller Park will be one gigantic, jovial party this weekend.

I'm going to spend the day washing baby clothes.

Wednesday night we had our tour of the birthing facility.  I was very eager for the tour, because it's reassuring to be able to picture the place in my mind as I anticipate Labor Day.  The birthing facility is lovely.  The rooms are spacious with wood and soothing colors and dimmable lights and hot tubs.  It was a bonus that during our walk-through, we didn't hear any shrieks from women giving birth or see doctors running through the halls.  (What do the tour guides do if something like that happens?)  It was very quiet, and all we saw were peaceful, smiling nurses.

Yesterday afternoon I had another one of my quickie doctor's appointments.  Jabberwocky's heart rate was 170, the highest it's been.  The nurse asked if she's been active, and i said yes, i think she's wearing a little sweatband and has a kickboxing video going on in there. 

Enjoying 3rd trimester

So far, 3rd trimester's my favorite.  Bonding with Jabberwocky is more fun these days.  Now, I picture her as an adorable tiny person.  Previously, she was a slimy alien blob that had weirdly been implanted in my midsection. 

I like it that she's always with me and reminding me of her presence.  While I'm typing at work, or talking to other people, or listening to a sermon, I'm feeling kick, kick, kick.  It's like a special secret.  I recently received a facebook message from a very sweet lady who said: "This really is such a unique time in life to be fully attuned to the life growing inside of you without another little person to take care of at the same time."  That sure is true.  Jabberwocky's my constant little companion, without the extra work.  No feeding, soothing, or wiping her bum yet.

The anticipation is more fun now too.  All our baby preparations feel more worthwhile because we're seriously on a time-table now.  It's just a matter of weeks before she's born!  That awareness adds significance to every purchase and pre-baby chore.  Plus, it's just getting really exciting to think of holding her and hearing her coos and playing with her feet and stuff like that.

And I'm kind of in love with the shape and size of my belly right now.  It's just cuter and bigger and rounder than it was before.  Although Anders told me Jabberwocky is now just over four pounds (he's the one who's keeping track), which gets me a little nervous at the thought that she still might double in size before I have to push her out.   At that point, I may start to rethink the 3rd-trimester's-my-favorite idea.

Crib: Check.

This child is SQUISHING MY LUNGS!  Why is she allowed to squish my bladder AND my lungs?  That can't be fair.  Just how tall is she anyway?

Well folks, we bought a crib.  It isn't white.  Didn't I say I wanted white or medium brown or dark brown?  Of course it's none of those.  I saw a picture of one in a light natural wood finish, and my heart said, that's Jabberwocky's.

Our method of crib shopping was this: Anders would walk up to one, grab hold of the side, and shake it really hard.  Anything that didn't wiggle much and didn't cost five hundred dollars made the list.  You'd be surprised how quickly this narrowed the field for us.  In fact, pretty much got us down to one crib in no time.

So once we made our selection, we found an associate at Babies R Us and said this one, but the natural finish.  And she said: oh, you mean the one right there that's $80 off?  How 'bout that!  A couple had bought it and then decided they didn't want it.  It was already assembled and everything ... all we had to do was completely take it apart again to fit it in the car.  (And by "we," I mean Anders and a guy at Babies R Us.  I watched, while they first unscrewed it, and then carried it piece-by-piece through the rain.)


By the way, I just shifted uncomfortably and Anders said this in the direction of my belly: "Poor little Jabberwocky is so crowded in there!  Your lungs are in her way!"

Wisserquist 2011

I spent this weekend with the best part of my college experience.  That is, with two of my favorite people in the world, Biene and Alisse, and their husbands, who are also really great, and my husband, who is also really great.  These people were part of all of my fondest memories from college.

I love the way it feels being around Biene and Alisse.  The six of us have had a reunion weekend the past three years and I hope to never miss one for the rest of my life.  The sound of their voices triggers a contentment mechanism in my brain ... ah, says my brain, you're with people who are safe, who will let you say anything, will laugh when you think you're being funny and listen when you feel like blabbing.  Why's it so easy to be misunderstood around other people?  I admit that in general life I'm often flummoxed by trying to find a connection with others or read what they're thinking.  Well not this weekend.  This weekend was a vacation into a land where relationships come naturally.  Oh how I enjoyed it.

A bright red sign on the door as we arrived said "Welcome to Wisserquist 2011."  Biene wisely decided it was time our annual weekend acquired a name.  So we dubbed it Wisserquist, which, as you might imagine, is a combination of our last names.

Much of our time centered around food (all the good vacations do, don't they?).  Spoils from the Madison downtown farmers market include: Honeycrisp apples, three of the most gigantic red bell peppers I've ever seen, and a bag of white cheddar popcorn, which is a snack that I particularly like.  Anders bought the popcorn without me knowing.  As we were strolling along he suddenly popped up at the rear of the group carrying it.  Smiley face.

Spoils from Brennan's Market include: peaches and plumcots and pears (ripe! juicy! mouth-watering!), pecan nutcakes made with wildflower honey (does that make anyone else think of hobbits dining with elves?), apple cider, and the dinner that Anders and I are sharing at this very moment: basil farmers cheese with sundried tomato crackers (oh my goodness).  Brennan's Market, by the way, is a Wisconsin grocery store with only five locations.  It's a good place to go if you particularly love fresh fruit, cheese, and beer.

Other food I feasted on: Alisse's homemade chocolate chip cookies, Alisse's homemade blondie peanut butter cup brownies, Alisse's homemade blueberry muffins, Biene's blueberry french toast casserole, and a spinach strawberry salad that I would really like to have in my diet no less than once a week.

Yesterday I made them try to help me pick out a name for Jabberwocky.  I don't know how long we spent on the Internet just reading names.  The winner was: Hibachi.  Hibachi Helquist!

Pharmacy

The substitute doctor I had today prodded my uterus to see if I was right that Jabberwocky's gone head-down.  She had wonderful soothing hands, and to be honest, this part felt quite incredibly good.  I had to refrain from making my blissful ooh-I'm-getting-a-massage sounds.  Her examination was inconclusive, but she said "I think you're right" twice.

After the appointment I stopped to get a refill of my prenatal vitamin.  The upside to my pharmacy is that it's very close to our house.  The downside is that it seems to be a breeding ground for slump-shouldered, bleary-eyed, disgruntled customers, and frazzled, weary employees.  I don't like going there.  It's always busy and one waits longer than one feels one ought to.  It reminds me of the concession stand at a movie theater, where you know that all you asked for was popcorn and a soda, but after a few minutes you begin to wonder if you threw in a couple weird requests that's got them stumped.  Like, maybe I said: popcorn, soda, and please also take half a box of Junior Mints and half a box of Milk Duds and combine them in an ice cream cone and then hide it for me under my seat.  Because that would explain what's taking so long. 

The difference in today's pharmacy trip was that the manager was there.  Beams of light seemed to emanate from him in that dark place.  He was performing a sort of juggling act.  He greeted one customer, rang up another, filled a prescription here and answered a question there.  Kindness and knowledge flowed from him.  As long as he was present, the balls stayed in the air.  He moved people through the line and sent his employees this way and that to pick up the slack.  The moment he disappeared from view, it was like everybody's shoulders slumped again and the whole place sank back into inefficiency.  What a tough job.

Milwaukee & Baby Movement Recap

We just got back from Milwaukee!  Jabberwocky's 10th live Brewers game, if you count the four spring training games in Arizona in March, when she was the size of a coffee bean!  (That's 10 Brewers games for mama without beer.  I'm not a big drinker or anything, but still, from the Wisconsinite perspective, that's worth a whistle.)  It was nice as always to hang out with Anders' parents and Anika and Jon for a weekend that included a trip to Babies R Us, three visits to Kopps Custard (their Butter Pecan is roll-your-eyes-back delicious), and a laugh-filled dinner at a Family Restaurant we checked out.  My meal was especially good.  I ordered what Jabberwocky told me she wanted: two brats, two eggs, hash browns, and grilled toast.  And I gobbled it up.  Mmm.

In other news, I've been giddy to feel kicks at the top of my belly, which only started happening recently, because it makes me wonder if she has turned upside down!  Whenever I feel kicks up there I get all excited and pat her proudly and tell her she's a good girl.  But I still feel movement at the lower part of my belly too!  The doctor will have to poke her for me on Thursday to give me an answer.  I enjoy poking her myself, but unfortunately can't tell much from it, though I try.  Did I get your little head, Jabberwocky?  I love your little unseen head!  Or your cute baby butt?  I love picturing that baby butt!

I guess NBC heard we were expecting, so they created a show to entertain us called 'Up All Night,' about brand-new parents, which premiers Wednesday and looks like it could be hilarious.  Speaking of laughing on the subject of new parents, we watched this old Bill Cosby video last week at the Birthing Class that is pretty enjoyable.

First Birthing Class

So!  Last night was our first BIRTHING CLASS!

A girl at work yesterday asked if I was excited.  I told her, no!  I'm not ready to learn this stuff!  They will show us videos of babies emerging from vaginas!  I will go home scarred!

They did, in fact, show us a video that included a baby emerging from a vagina.  Also a doctor presenting a fresh placenta to the new mother.  The purpose of this, said the video, was to show her it had all come out intact.  The doctor sort of stroked it, right in front of the woman's face.  All there, nice and whole.  Just the word 'placenta' has always made me feel a bit faint.  The sight of one, red and moist and presumably still warm, made my head spin ever so slightly.  

The video followed three or four women through the stages of labor.  Which meant three or four variations of grimacing, groaning, panting and writhing.  "Here's the redhead again ... oh look, she seems to be in as much pain as the Chinese girl.  Now back to blondie ... yep, lots of suffering going on there too."  Thanks, video.

It would probably be accurate to describe the state of my mind as petrified.  Excited, yes.  Able to ponder the impending childbirth scene with anything like equanimity ... no.  I was in a fairly sour mood as we drove to class.  This was because my fight-or-flight mechanism had picked 'flight,' so I felt like a kid being dragged to the dentist.  However, here's what I have going for me: first, a husband, who's the type of guy to keep a soothing hand on my shoulders throughout almost the whole two-and-a-half hours of class, in complete understanding of all my inward quaking.  Second, the fact that the reward's gonna be a little baby.  I know, I get all cootchie-coo at those words too.  Then third: the medical care's been really good so far.  Including last night's class, which did more to assuage my fears than to provoke them.  I went home feeling better than I did beforehand.

Something I've somehow never considered before: birth from the baby's perspective.  It's gotta be awful.  Last night, through illustrations and live props, we were able to see what it's like when the poor kid's head is stuck right in the middle of its mama's pelvis.  And just think how long that position must be endured.  Good thing you'll get over it quickly, Jabberwocky.

Duluth

We went to Duluth for Labor Day weekend, and my heart is too heavy with longing to be back there again to write about it quite as cheerfully as I'd planned to.  We left Saturday morning.  (Friday night I cried as I went to bed because we weren't there yet.)  We stayed in Canal Park, a strip of shops, restaurants and hotels on Lake Superior.  One of my favorite places on earth.  Our hotel was lovely.  Our room overlooked the water.  I miss the nice-smelling down pillows.

We ate, and walked and shopped, and shopped and walked and ate.  There is a new thin-crust pizza place there, which took over the spot where there used to be a quaint bookstore.  I know it's sad and everything to see a bookstore close (especially a quaint one on Lake Superior next to a Caribou Coffee), but this was a good exchange.  I'm in love with Vitta Pizza.  After one slice I was already looking forward to going back.  They make their own crust and it's wood-fired.  For all my visits to the old bookstore, I never spent a dime there, whereas we ate at Vitta Pizza twice in two days (the cashier said "Weren't you in here yesterday?" when we showed up Sunday).

There's a toy store that was selling a beautiful play-kitchenette that I wanted to buy for Jabberwocky so bad it hurt.  It was white and pale blue (hey! like the nursery!) with wood paneling and little shelves and four little burners on the stovetop and dials that really turned.

Ice cream after dinner (new Cold Stone favorite: "Coffee Lovers Only"), then back to the hotel where we played Carcassone and then fell fast asleep on the nice-smelling pillows with negative ions drifting through the open windows.

Sunday was one of those rare days that actually felt like it had the proper number of hours in it, instead of being three or four short like most days.  Here's what we had time for:

1. A big, hearty, complimentary breakfast in the hotel's lovely dining area
2. Walk to the pier
3. Long, scenic drive up the North Shore
4. Play time on the beach
5. Lunch at a lakeside cafe
6. A pleasant, meandering hike
7. Browsing cute shops
8. Scenic drive back down the shore (I should include "nap time for Emily" here)
9. Vitta Pizza for the second time
10. Caribou coffee
11. Sitting on the hotel porch with our coffee listening to live music from across the street
12. Visit to Anders' aunt & uncle & cousin for homemade dessert and fun conversation
13. HGTV at the hotel

We listened to Mumford & Sons as we drove up the North Shore.  Perfect.  The sky was blue and everywhere interesting.  Big woolly layers of clouds were all lit differently by the sun.

Eighty miles from Duluth one finds a deep, narrow crack in the cliff, with water running through it, and this is called the Temperance River Gorge.  We went first to the little beach where the river meets the lake.  On a previous trip to Temperance, we were able to follow the beach beyond a protrusion of cliff to find another little beach on the other side.  This time, the way was blocked by water.  So Anders took off his shoes and socks, and waded round the cliff.  I waited until I saw three rocks plunk one by one into the lake from the direction of the hidden beach.  This was my cue from Anders that the beach was accessible, so I should join him.  I therefore bent down for the difficult and grunt-filled task of removing my own shoes and socks.  Oh, Jabberwocky.

Anyway, I succeeded, only to find that rocky beaches are not especially friendly to bare feet.  Nevertheless, round the cliff I went, with jeans rolled up and shoes in hand.  Oh, how I wish we'd packed a picnic to enjoy on that little tiny rocky beach on that beautiful Sunday afternoon.

Anders patiently demonstrated, for perhaps the twentieth time, the mechanics of skipping rocks to me.  I believe the motion comes naturally to boys, but I have to re-learn it each time.  There is certainly no better place to do this than on a beach made almost entirely of smooth, flat stones.

Then there was yesterday.  More walking, shopping, and negative ions, and also a chocolate-almond-caramel-apple from the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.   Another wonderful day, if only it hadn't included checking out of the hotel and driving away!

Pregnancy: Week 30

My doctor seems bored with my pregnancy, which is exactly how I'd like it.  He pokes and measures and looks at the computer screen and says "normal, normal, normal - any questions?" to which I shrug happily.  A bored doctor means a healthy baby, we hope!

At my last appointment, they took blood, and a pretty little bruise developed in the crook of my elbow.  It's pretty enough that nearly everybody has commented on it.  Nine days later it's still purple, and was noticed by the nurse today, then by my doctor.  I told them each in turn, "yep, you guys did that to me!"  Which made them both feel bad.

The result of the blood-draw was that I do not have gestational diabetes.  Which is good, cuz I really didn't want to.

Dr. Weber informed me that since I'm at Week 30, I'll probably start to have more trouble sleeping.  Also that Jabberwocky may flip to her head-first position this month, which apparently will cause me discomfort.  I feel almost all of Jabberwocky's kicks exclusively on the left side of my belly.  It strikes me as incredibly cute that she's already a creature of habit.

Marriage Advice for Girls

And ... here's my marriage advice to girls!  Why not, after yesterday's post?  Girls, these are the two best tips I have right now on living with a husband.

1. Never stop laughing at his jokes.  Men love to make chicks laugh, have you noticed?  For a very long time, I thought guys grossly overrated the importance of humor in relationships.  Well, it's finally dawning on me how much I cherish it too!  Laughing with Anders might just be my very favorite thing to do. 

2. Know in advance that you're going to forgive him for everything.  This is why I like marriage better than dating (not that I recommend bypassing the one to get to the other).  Pressure's off!  The dating situation is saturated with responsibility.  You have to analyze his every flaw and quirk to see whether it's merely a fleeting annoyance, or something much more ominous.  A glimpse into a darker side of his personality?  Evidence of a pathway he's treading that's headed nowhere good?  Such heavy, worrisome questions every time he does something unpleasant.  It isn't about forgiving him at this point, it's about your solemn duty to use as much wisdom as possible when two people's hearts are at stake.  But now, thank goodness, the decision's been made!  He's your husband!  Whatever dark sides or troubled pathways are revealed now have no bearing whatever on whether you should stick around: you should.  Which means instead of analyzing his flaws, you can jump straight to forgiveness.

What a Guy

Anders is a really, really good husband.  Ever seen the show 'Minute to Win It'?  I watched half an episode once.  The tasks are simple, like bouncing ping pong balls into glasses.  They're pointless, repetitive, crude, and silly.  The website uses descriptions like this: "Balance six dice on a popsicle stick held in your mouth"; "Transport all the gumballs from one soda bottle to another"; "Use 1 hand to run a piece of thread through the eye of 10 needles."  Just boring, altogether stupid stuff.  But to win it, you have to treat each task like it's of monumental importance.  If you've seen the show, you know how the contestants apply their concentration to every assignment.  Somehow they have to keep from getting flustered, even after a couple of errors.  They use delicacy and finesse.

Well, that's kinda how I'd say Anders approaches life with me.  Plenty of stuff in marriage is repetitive and crude, right?  And sometimes even feels more or less pointless.  But Anders pays attention to my moods and whims, and like the guy bouncing one ping pong ball after another into a row of glasses, he perseveres 'til he gets really good at opening me up.  He treats the job of making me smile like it's tremendously important.  He's so careful with me.  Man oh man, what a guy.

I've known ever since we were married that he's a great husband.  But now that he's gonna be a daddy, he fills me so full of affection I could just burst.  The tenderness with which he just helps me off the couch!  But he also dotes on Jabberwocky, and she hasn't even been born yet.  The thought of him holding her melts me.

So I guess that's my marriage advice to guys: treat your wife's happiness with all the seriousness you'd use if the fortune from 'Minute to Win It' were hanging in the balance.

Baby Names

On the subject of names for Jabberwocky, we have, not so much a list, as a nebula.  A cloud of names that hovers above the sleeping newborn baby we're picturing in our minds.  Names float in and out, and every once in a while one gains weight and drops closer to the baby, bouncing there expectantly to see if it's a match.  Then it will sore back up again into the cloud and another name will take its place, each in turn hoping for our nod of approval to make the final descent and land right on top of the baby's head.  We don't have any winners yet, but a couple contenders are beginning to make this journey up and down through the Name Nebula more often than the others.

I really enjoy talking about names.  I love it when expectant parents are willing to share the chosen name in advance.  Turns out, however, that I don't really feel like publicly disclosing what's currently drifting through our nebula.  I want to protect our name-options from inadvertent eyebrow wrinkles and lip curls, even if these reactions are brief and innocuous.  I can't help it.  Even blank looks of puzzlement make me defensive.  I demand nothing short of a warm and accepting smile for every name I pronounce!

Anders and I pick up the name question at regular intervals, about once a week or so.  Sometimes these conversations are productive.  Very frequently they sort of spin out of control until we are both just blurting out the most ridiculous things we can think of.  My favorite of these so far is "Mrs. Butterworth Helquist."  This was from Anders, in response to my suggestion of Jemima (which of course made him think of Aunt Jemima).

I'd like to have between two and four names to take with us to the hospital when it's time for the baby, and to defer the final verdict until we meet and hold her. 

Crib Shopping

When you're looking for a stroller, you can come up with criteria.  Like: I want it to fold up instead of down; I want easy maneuverability; I want readily-accessible underneath storage.  Maybe I want a cup holder.  Maybe I want a jogging stroller for all the times I will take Jabberwocky out jogging (okay, that is not going to happen).

But how on earth do you narrow down CRIBS?  There are a couple things: the crib should be sturdy, and the baby shouldn't be able to get her head stuck between the rails.  But seriously, don't those things go without saying?  And haven't all the recalls pretty much taken care of safety issues?  Most of the cribs we've looked at are these convertible/3-in-1 things, where you turn it into a toddler bed and then eventually use it as the headboard for a full-size bed.  I kinda doubt we'll take advantage of that option, but it seems hard to avoid when shopping.  So basically I feel like it comes down to price, and whether you like curves or straight edges.  I've decided this: white.  Maybe.  Possibly medium brown or espresso, but definitely not black.  Or a funky color.  And also: I don't want one that looks like a piano with railings.  So many cribs look like transfigured pianos.

Pregnancy: Week 29

I have dreams of unpreparedness almost every night.  Things like: I'm up in the morning and look at the clock, and I'm ten minutes late for work and haven't started getting ready.  Or: house-guests are on the doorstep, and I forgot to clean the house.  I wonder if these dreams will subside once we get our nursery in order?  I suspect this feeling of not being ready goes a little deeper in my subconscious than that!  Nevertheless, there's no denying it will help to actually have a place to put a sleeping baby.  If Jabberwocky came home today, we'd have to lay her in a laundry basket lined with blankets.  I suppose worse things have happened.

In my waking hours, I'm still confident that we have time for all the essential arrangements.  Certain things do keep catching me off guard, though.  For instance, I'm now at the point of having a doctor's appointment every two weeks.  So I'll now be seeing my doctor more often than I see most of my friends.  More often than I go out for coffee.  More often than I shop for clothes.  I mean, we're talking a really regular kind of activity here.

My last appointment was a few days ago.  The doctor measured my belly, poking around to find the top of my uterus.  Amazing what a trained physician can interpret with her fingertips.  Like a chef jabbing a piece of meat to tell the difference between rare and medium-rare.  When I poke the top of my belly, it all just seems squishy.  Anyway, she told me I'm right on track, saying "you just look small because you're so long."  People have commented that my baby bulge isn't very big, and I figured it's because my five-feet-nine-inches give Jabberwocky a little extra room.  "You just tell them you're at 26 inches!" said the doctor firmly.  Right, that'll teach 'em.  Since even to a pregnant person, hearing a measurement like 26 inches pretty much means nothing.  Just as long as doc says things are good!

Jabberwocky kicks like the dickens sometimes for an hour straight, then sometimes I don't notice her for most of the day.

Today marks Week 29!

Eye Delivery

Anders and I were snuggling on the couch Monday night watching TV, when his cell phone rang.  He answered, and had a pleasant, polite, brief conversation, mostly saying "okay" and "thank you."  I didn't even move from my spot with my head on his shoulder.  When he hung up, he told me that the call was to let him know some eyes needed to be picked up and transported to Tomah, a town about an hour and a half from where we live.

Anyone else ever get calls like that?  "Hey, come pick up the eyes"?

Let me clear up a couple things: 1.) by eyes, I mean human eyeballs; and 2.) no, Anders doesn't do anything related to the medical industry.

What Anders does do is serve on the board of the Lions Club.  Apparently, the Lions Club has something called an Eye Bank (shudder).  The Eau Claire members each sign up for a week of being on-call, in case any eyeballs get harvested and need immediate transport.  Anders says the other Lions treat this charge rather reverently.  In fact, one of the elderly board members offered to let him ride along on a trip once, thinking this would be some kind of treat.  Anyway, when the sign-up sheet came into Anders' hands, he dutifully put his name down.  And August 22 began his Eye Bank week.  Thus, one of the stranger phone calls ever to reach our household.

The thing was, this was at 7:35 at night, and those eyes had to get to Tomah stat.  It took me many minutes to be convinced the whole thing was really happening.  I kept saying things like, "but you aren't driving to Tomah tonight, are you?" and, "but the eyes don't have to get there tonight, do they?" and, "but who's going to take them to Tomah tonight?"  Finally, after speechlessly watching him call the lady back to tell her he'd make the Tomah drop-off around 9:15, and listening to his repeated assurances to me that he'd be home by 11, it sank in.

So, I tagged along.  It seemed as good a way as any to get some quality time with my husband, and being an expert car-sleeper I knew I wouldn't even miss my bedtime. 

The first thing to do was pick up the eyes in Eau Claire.  At the hospital, Anders left me in the car while he went inside to get them.  He came out holding a cardboard box at arm's length, which he deposited in the trunk (the back seat would have been too close for comfort).

He told me the nurse had seemed alarmed when he walked in and urgently asked if he needed help.  "I must have looked like I was in some kind of trauma," he said.  "I was just trying to figure out how to ask for the eyes!"  Yeah, not your every-day request.

It wasn't until we were on the way to Tomah that he dropped this bombshell: the drop-off location was a gas station.  Not a hospital, or a clinic, or the medical-research facility of a university.  I would even have preferred to leave the box on some doctor's front porch.  "I know," Anders said in response to my incredulity.  "Then the guys who come pick them up are named Tony and Guido."  (That part was not true.)  Naturally, I began to imagine a black-market eyeball trade for people trying to avoid the government's retina-scanning tracking system like in Minority Report.

In Tomah, we pulled in to Kwik Trip, still not quite at ease with the situation, and went up to the girl at the counter.  Anders couldn't resist prefacing his question by saying "this is a really odd question" (could you?), then asked if this was where one delivered "the tissue" for the Lions Club.

"You mean the eyes?" the girl asked flatly.  So that answered that.

We have now made it over halfway through Anders' seven days of Eye Bank duty without another call (knock on wood! knock on wood!).  Here's to hoping our fellow northwestern Wisconsinites make it through Sunday night with their eyeballs intact.  I'm all for restoring the gift of sight to those in need through cornea transplants and everything ... I'm just hoping it happens some other week.

Food

I have days where I eat so healthy I should win a prize from a woman's health magazine or something.  I mean, I'm talking every deep-colored antioxidant-rich fruit and vegetable sold in grocery stores in a single day, along with salmon and bulgur and nonfat yogurt and sprouted-grain bread, and to top it all off these are also the days that I take walks and drink a ton of water.  Really exemplary days.

Then I also have days where I eat nothing but Frosted Flakes and ice cream.

That's what I meant when I was talking about how nice 'What to Expect' is to read.  'What to Expect' forgives me for my bad diet days, and helps me aspire to have more good days than bad days.  Or to have more good than bad in a single day.  Or just, you know ... to try.

I love reading articles that sing food's praises.  The ones that give you an A+ for eating avocados and potatoes and a round of applause for switching from regular pasta to whole-wheat, instead of being full of warnings about fat content and reminders that processed whole wheat is still processed.  The latter versions are all written by mean-spirited nutritionists who also advise you to flee cheese at all costs, look down their noses at juice, treat eggs with distrust and hummus with positive disdain, and only mention dried fruit in order to tell you not to overdo it.  Those things are so disheartening.

So, I'm not going to try to please those guys with my pregnancy eating habits.  But there are a couple things I've picked up recently, which I like to imagine if I wrote down and presented to Heidi Murkoff, she'd proudly pin up on the refrigerator and pat me on the head for.

Now, when I see people blog or post facebook statuses documenting their oh-so-healthy homecooked meals, it usually just makes me want to kick them.  So I'm not going to tell you about any homecooked meals.  In fact, the first thing I'm going to tell you about is chocolate granola bars.  See?  Yum.

1.) I always love Nature Valley granola bars when I'm on my healthy kicks (then of course when the pendulum swings the other way I opt for pop tarts and gross stuff like that).  They now have an oats 'n dark chocolate granola bar which is everything I've ever wanted in a granola bar.  Not sugary.  Delicious.  Satisfying.  With a list of ingredients you can be proud of.  Go buy them.

2.) I have decided that Jabberwocky has a favorite snack right now, and it's a handful of raw walnuts combined with a handful of Ghirardelli bittersweet chocolate chips.  That's it.  Super easy, super great, super filling, and super good for you, right?

3.) Something I can't stop being enthusiastic about is this food-scoring system our grocery store has implemented called NuVal.  Every item has a rating based on its nutritional value.  I'm sure many people would find this a restricting and irritating way to shop, but for me, it just gets me excited for the products that score well.  Yaaay sweet potatoes!  Yay milk!  Apples, you guys are totally superstars!  etc.  One of the areas in which NuVal has guided me is cereal.  According to NuVal, the bags of Arrowhead Mills various puffed-whatevers (rice, millet, kamut) are waaaay healthier (and cheaper) than even the healthy-sounding boxed cereals like Raisin Bran.  Admittedly, they are also practically tasteless.  But I'm somebody who finds a bowl of cereal simply comforting, no matter what it is.  Plus, you can add flavor with my Dietary Enhancement #4, below.

4.) I bought almond milk for the first time today (which my husband, who's a bit hippie-phobic, will probably be chagrined to discover).  This is something else I've decided Jabberwocky has been telling me she wants.  I guess that would fall under the category of a pregnancy craving, but it hasn't been the urgent "Mom!  Baby needs almond milk!  Now!" so much as it's been a mild "That sounds pretty good, don't you think, Mom?  Maybe we should get some.  Don't you think?"  Apparently they don't sell it in entry-level sizes, so I had to get a whole half-gallon.  Good thing I liked it quite as much as I expected to.  And it combines great with the various puffed-stuff from #3 above.  (Also the expiration date is two months out?  Awesome?)

5.) I've already mentioned hard-boiled eggs, but it's worth repeating because it makes the difference between Tired Afternoon-Emily and Zombie Afternoon-Emily.  That is, if I get protein in the morning, I still have pregnancy sleepiness after lunch and look forward to my post-work nap.  But no protein means I become a shell of a person dragging myself to the finish-line in a trance-like state.  So now I boil a few at once and keep 'em in the fridge.

My first look ahead ... to the labor part

'What to Expect When You're Expecting' is one of the most encouraging, nurturing, motivating books ever written.  Author Heidi Murkoff reminds me of my friend Biene.  Biene was the person we'd go to in college, tearful and anxiety-ridden, knowing that our stress would soon be caressed away by her compassionate understanding, wise advice, and unfailing ability to help people just put one foot in front of the other.  This book is just like that.  There are all of these gentle asides, parenthetical comments that feel like a reassuring hand squeeze, a nudge, a little pat on the shoulder.  It's fantastic.

I was reading it in the car on our way to Chicago this weekend. After getting the most I could out of the seventh-month chapter (and finding it cheering and informative), I decided to skip ahead to "Labor and Delivery."  I guess my purpose in this was to see if I could make myself pass out.  I am squeamish.  And all I know about child-birthing I learned from sitcoms.

Well, that section is written in the same gentle tone, but that doesn't change the fact that the physical processes being described border on horrifying.  I read along through Early Labor, Active Labor, and Transitional Labor, increasingly feeling faint as the author pleasantly chatted about things like "blood-tinged mucus," intensely painful contractions, cervixes effacing and membranes rupturing.  Then I got to Pushing and Delivery.  I was especially struck by this line: "Don't become frustrated if you see the baby's head crown and then disappear again."  I know babies are born every day.  I know it's happened billions of times since the earth was created.  But I still can't help but feel that we have entered the realm of the bizarre here.  She might as well have said, "Don't be nervous if you notice your right arm suddenly fall off and reattach itself at the elbow."  Or, "Don't be alarmed if your feet sprout a few extra toes at this stage of labor."  I mean, what's a human head doing down there?  Doesn't this sound crazy to anyone else?

But that's how I've felt all pregnancy long.  People calmly ask if the baby is kicking or whether she's had hiccups, when I feel like they should stare at me in shock and exclaim, "Wait a second, there's a little person in there?  How on earth does that happen?"  It's actually kind of funny, isn't it, how lightly we take this miracle?

Bobbleheads

I don't know whether it's possible to have such a thing as a legitimately impressive bobblehead collection, but I think ours is hilarious.  Here it is:

1. The Brewers' general manager.  This is exactly like taking your child to Disneyland, and buying her a figurine of Walt Disney instead of Winnie the Pooh or Cinderella or whoever.  It doesn't do any good to tell her that without Walt Disney, there would be no Cinderella.  I know that Doug Melvin is awfully important.  Does that mean I want his mustachioed face nodding at me from the shelf?  Not really!  I want the guys who actually play baseball!  Doug Melvin's bobblehead is even on his cell phone, as if he's too busy deciding who to cut and who to trade for to give me the time of day.

2. Worst idea for a bobblehead ever?  A nice, fat hot dog, flesh-colored, that stands about yea high, and bobs up and down, up and down ... WHAT WERE THEY THINKING??  Okay, to be fair, it makes a little more sense when you realize this guy is one of the famous Miller Park Racing Sausages, whose companions are the Brat, the Polish Sausage, the Italian Sausage, and the Chorizo.  It's an actual character with an actual tradition, not just ... a fat flesh-colored bobbling hot dog.  Still, one wonders if there was a missing step somewhere between the idea of the hot-dog-bobblehead, and actually placing an order to China for fifty thousand of them (to be handed out at Miller Park on free bobblehead day), that would have made someone scream No! This is a bad idea!!

3. Not pictured: Craig Counsell in a Diamondbacks uniform.  I think I may have left this one in Arizona when I moved.  Hopefully it is safe at my parents' house and I can retrieve it. 

4.  Craig Counsell in a Bierbrauer uniform.  That's right: Craig Counsell accounts for half of our bobblehead collection.  What makes this funny is that it's Craig Counsell.  He's days away from turning 41, with a batting average around .151, whose recent 0-for-45 streak at the plate was poetically described in the newspaper as "a gut-wrenching run of futility."  Not exactly the Brewers' star player.  On the other hand, this bobblehead was also the main reason we made the trip to Milwaukee this weekend.  Craig Counsell happens to be my favorite baseball player of all time.  Yes he is.  I loved him when he played on the D-backs World-Series-winning team, so much so that when my then-boyfriend Anders heard he was being traded, he hastened to secure me Bobblehead #3 (see above).  It turned out, of course, that he was traded to Wisconsin.  So, I came here too.

Okay, it wasn't just for Craig that I moved to Wisconsin.  Definitely a bonus though.  So when we heard that Craig Counsell Bobblehead Day landed on our anniversary weekend, and that the forecast showed the most perfect weather conditions ever to grace the planet, we went for it.  Craig Counsell Bobblehead Day also landed on German Heritage day - thus "Bierbrauer" instead of "Brewers" on the jersey.

And my goodness, was it a lovely weekend.  We spent Saturday night with Anders' sister Anika and her husband Jon, in the Chicago suburb where they live.  There was just enough time that night to go out for ice cream and then engage in a hotly-contested game of Settlers that made Anders vow never to play the game again (sober).  Yesterday all four of us went straight to Milwaukee and tailgated.  The temperature at game time was 73.  The sun was continually in and out of great big white clouds, and the breeze was gentle, cool, and nearly continuous.


Plus, the Brewers won.  So our newest bobblehead was well worth the trip.

Diapers

Today we are three months away from Jabberwocky's due date.

Wait a second, WHAT!?

[Recalculating, staring at calendar, counting on fingers, thinking nervously about the state of the nursery, breaking into a sweat, adding 'Attend birthing classes,' 'Find a daycare,' 'Read parenting books,' 'For goodness sake buy a crib' to the to-do-list]

That's right: 8-11-11 + 3 = 11-11-11

Yesterday I went to Target.  I got all kinds of cheap notebooks at the back-to-school sale and tried to think of an excuse for buying a backpack.  I sure do love new backpacks.  I also spent some time in the maternity-clothes section, wandered dreamily through the baby-girl clothes, looked with happy anticipation at My Little Ponies, and made my usual rounds through the dishes, Brewers and Packers apparel, and storage/shelving solutions (anyone else think purchasing storage shelves is a special treat?).  And all of this browsing was just to give myself time to ask myself, where at Target would one find diapers?

Diapers were my sole reason for going there.  Target's running a deal right now that you can buy two packs of Pampers and get a $20 gift card.  So I showed up and went straight to the baby section.  Once there I realized I'd gone wrong.  I did a visual sweep of the store, pondering.

During my subsequent wanderings I passed about a dozen red-shirt-clad Target employees, whom I stubbornly refused to hail for help.  As an expectant mother and a very frequent Target shopper, it seemed impossible that 'diapers' registered nothing in my brain.  I pictured the employees glancing down at my six-month-big belly, and raising an eyebrow in silent judgment at my diaper-aisle ignorance.  Shouldn't I somehow have found this out earlier?  Does 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' have store diagrams with the diaper aisles marked with a red X?

Anyway, I finally found them by groceries, and thus began the even more humiliating task of deciding which ones to buy.  Not seeing an advertisement anywhere, I called Anders to have him look up the details for me.  Our conversation went something like this:

Me: "So do I get 'swaddlers' or 'cruisers'?"
Him: "What's the difference?"
Me: "I don't know.  They have numbers on them but I don't know what they mean.  This one says '3' and this one says '4.'  Oh here we go: this is for babies 22-27 pounds."
Him: "How long does it take for a baby to get to 22 pounds?"
Me: "I have no idea."

Whereupon he told me to use my discretion, apparently imagining my maternal instinct would be of some assistance (what! it takes me an hour to find diapers!), whereupon I told him I'd just grab the two gigantic packages of 'swaddlers.'  When he expressed hesitation over such a large amount of diapers of one size, I began to feel tired, hungry, and inadequate, and asked if I should just forget it.  He again left the matter to my discretion, whereupon a $20 Target gift card began to have less appeal than just getting the heck out of the store.

Nevertheless, I DID leave Target with exactly two hundred and twenty-four Pampers, a $20 gift card, and a receipt for just under $100, once you add the diapers with the back-to-school supplies.  What moved me to action was simply the sight of another mom-to-be rounding the corner with a shopping cart.  There were only three diaper boxes left of the kind I was sure qualified for the $20 gift card.  We couldn't both take advantage of the sale.  Hardly had she waddled into sight before I snatched two boxes at once and loaded them up in the blink of an eye.  Selfish, selfish me.

We played a baby trivia game at my shower a couple weekends ago.  One question asked how many diapers a typical baby goes through in one year.  The answer was a devastating 3,650.  Ten a day.  So I realize 224 wasn't much to sweat over.