No longer a fetus

Cleitus arrived on May 15 at 5:20 pm weighing 6 pounds even. After two days of labor, three days in the NICU, and a sleepless week at home, the only coherent thought I have is LOVE. He's perfect. Stories and pictures will be forthcoming.

Still pregnant

Thank goodness. Cleitus and his cord are looking the same. My fluid is a little high, because I really did need one more thing to worry me. Evidently if my belly dramatically increases in size overnight, it is BAD and I should call the doctor. Because I do not trust my perception, I have taken to measuring my belly every morning. Which is really fantastic for my self-esteem.

I'm heading home tomorrow for my baby shower. I'm looking forward to some Carolina sun and seeing people I like a lot.

I only write when I have something exciting to report

I suck at blogging y’all. It’s been over a month and when most of the bloggers in my Reader go over a month without blogging I usually say, “BU-BYE!” with the click of a mouse because I’m impatient that way. But if you’re still around, here’s the news.

-I had mastitis. Yes, that’s the boob infection that breastfeeding mamas get. (Um, and it SUCKS). Apparently my lefty was SO ANXIOUS to be part of the milkin’ mamas club that she up and contracted their illness. It’s like joining a cult, except instead of drinking Kool-Aid you turn red and hot and hurt like Hades. And I was all, “Lefty, why couldn’t you just squirt milk out down my shirt like the other boobs that want to join the milkin’ mama club?” So she has started doing that too. Righty is chilling for now, trying not to get too anxious or act like a poser. She knows her time will come and doesn’t need to be jumping the gun. I’m sure the peer pressure will get to her eventually.

-I’ve given up swearing for Lent. And hopefully for good. Which is totally why I said SUCK and HADES in the prior paragraph instead of…other things. I have been putting $1 in a jar for every time I slip, and so far I owe God $19…sounds like a lot, but considering I would often swear 19 times in one day, I think I’m doing pretty well. I had originally said I wanted to stop swearing before I turn 30 (in August) but with little Cleitus coming I decided to push up my deadline by a few months. I’m not Catholic, but I figured they’re pretty good at the guilt thing so Lent would be a convenient time to enact the change.

-Cleitus is getting big! And active! And uncooperative!

Last week I went to the perinatologist for a growth scan. We had hoped it would be our last foray into high-risk land, but alas, it was not to be. As far as growth he’s right on track but the doctor noticed something called an umbilical varix, which is sort of like a varicose vein in his cord. It makes the blood flow turbulent and can lead to a blood clot in the cord which is bad for obvious reasons or hydrops: a condition where fluid accumulates in his organs (also very very bad). Evidently, none of these things happen very fast, so I am being monitored every Wednesday to see if something bad is developing. If so, they’re going to deliver. Like, right then. As in, ON ANY GIVEN WEDNESDAY I COULD BE RUSHED INTO AN EMERGENCY C-SECTION.

Holy shit, y’all.

(That’s $20, and oh so worth it).

I’m 29.5 weeks right now, so if Cleitus does need to meet the outside world he should be ‘okay’. But me? I am definitely not okay. For one, I definitely don’t want my sweet little boy to have to spend the first weeks of his life in an isolette at the hospital. Also? OMGIAMSONOTREADYTOHAVEANOUTSIDEBABY!!! I’m supposed to have another ten weeks, at least. I need to nest, to get uncomfortable and start doing crazy things like eating spicy foods, scrubbing baseboards, and having sex with my husband (because that? Is crazy) to jump start labor.

And now it seems like none of those things will happen because even if I don’t get whisked away for an emergency c-section, the chances are good that they are going to want the baby out by 36 or 37 weeks.

I don’t care what your math teachers told you, six and seven are WAY less than ten.

Eeek!

25 Week Letter

Dear Cleitus,

Today you are one week past "viability day" which means that if you decided to make your world debut you'd have a 50% chance of surviving. As much of a relief as that day was to me, I do not want you to even think about leaving your current home for another 12+ weeks. You've got lots of growing to do and you'll be much more comfortable where you are.

Cleitus, you become more real to me every day as I can now feel you kicking and flipping. You seem to have some favorite things that really get you going: namely, orange juice and Kylie Minogue music. I hope your penchant for Australian blonds is short-lived because your mama is intent on you finding a good Southern girl to marry when that time comes. While your kicks have gotten stronger and are sometimes uncomfortable, I secretly love them because they remind me that you're a real baby. MY baby! I can put my hands on my belly and feel you and think about how wonderful it will be to really touch and kiss you.

Even though I can feel you quite often, I still get very scared for your safety, especially on days when you're not as active as usual. I can't imagine how much scarier it will be once you're out in the world and not right with me all of the time! I'm sure that in several years I will drive you crazy with my worrying. But just know that it's all because, even now when I haven't even seen your face, I can't imagine my life without you.

Love,
Mama

Obeying the law

I'm having one of those days weeks fortnights where I wish I had not created the first commandment of Loretta's Vendetta: Thou shalt not blog about work. Because y'all, I could make you laugh, cry, and shriek with horror all in one post.

I feel like my life outside of work has been temporarily (I hope) sucked dry, leaving me with nothing even remotely interesting, humorous, or inspirational to say. I am tired, irritable, and my back hurts.

Please send cheeseburgers and earplugs.

I Think That's What They Mean by "Pregnancy Brain"

Hairstylist: So have you had a shower yet?

Me: :wondering why hairstylist is inquiring after bathing habits:
Um, I took one this morning...

long, awkward pause

Me: Oh, a BABY shower!

Considering how the prior fifteen minutes had been spent discussing pregnancy, this sort of shower makes much more sense.

Happy Half-Baked Day, Cleitus!

I haz a belly! And it's almost as big as my butt!

And now I would like to discuss pregnancy shirts. Not maternity shirts, but pregnancy shirts which in some (generally inane, overly cutesy) way allude to the mama-to-be's condition. While I certainly don't think pregnant women need to walk around in mu mus or billowing empire-waist shirts to disguise their ever-expanding mid-section, the modest part of me doesn't really find it NECESSARY to broadcast the growth with actual words. In fact, I might go as far as calling it tacky. So there.

All this brings me to my promise of a picture of the MOST AWESOME CHRISTMAS GIFT EVAH. And by awesome, I mean that I was filled with awe. But not the good kind. More like the kind that I deemed necessary to conceal in order to be a gracious recipient.

Sadly, the ubiquitous glitter occludes the writing under the "BABIES RULE" slogan, but imagine lots of descriptive words about babies that are also written in silver glitter. When I went to the store to return this shirt the clerk was having difficulty because apparently the exact same shirt had been returned at least once in the past. Fancy that! I do hope that by sending it back this shirt will one day find it's true owner who is most likely 15 and four months pregnant without even realizing it.