smitten

Steve and I are completely and totally in love with our baby son. Besotted and delirious and exhausted. Let me introduce you: Daniel Joseph, previously known as the Lemmondrop, was born Friday, August 25, 2006, at 5:01 p.m. He weighed 8 pounds and nearly 10 ounces and was 21 inches long. It was a Cesarean birth that followed 26 hours of labor in the hospital and more labor at home beforehand (having found out when we checked in that I was already 6 centimeters dilated). Because it was a Cesarean, I was in the hospital for four days instead of two, which is why this blog has been silent. (Oh how I wish our hospital had Internet access!) I'll write more later about the experience we like to call "The Sampler Plate of Labor," but suffice to say that it was very positive, despite an outcome we had hoped to avoid. Even the surgery had an element of joy and emotional wonder to it. We felt very well-cared-for throughout the entire process. (And our doula was fantastic.)

We got home this afternoon, and as you can imagine, it's a new kind of hectic trying to get Daniel acclimated to his new home. It all feels very surreal. Like, it's the same house we left Thursday, but it's not. Everything is different.

P.S. You can see more pictures of Daniel here, on my friend Liz's blog. She and her husband Chris were among our visitors over the weekend.

mommy wants her body back

I'm still here. I had contractions like mad all night (well, every 10 minutes or so, but each one of them woke me up or kept me from getting back to sleep), and I've been having them off and on all day, but still, nothing to go to the hospital over. I am edgy and cranky and tired, and while Steve and I were getting dinner ready, I broke down sobbing when he mentioned he was going to go to the gym tonight (like he always does on Tuesday nights). Not that he's gone long — and he has his pager with him — or that I'm incapable of being without him for an hour. I am just so tired of feeling like my life is on hold. I'm tired of waiting, of aching whenever I sit down or stand up, of not being able to sleep, of not knowing if it's safe to drive while I'm having a contraction, of feeling so emotionally volatile, of not knowing what the next day will bring. I want to be done with this endless stretch of limbo. I want my body back. I want to meet this little boy who seems to love it so much inside my body.

Patience, patience, patience. Whether he comes on his own or we have to drag him out, he will be here soon. Oh, and Steve just got home and said, "Ready to watch a movie? Ready to get a foot massage?" Oh, yeah.

her claim to fame

These days, I've been reminiscing about high school history class, where my teacher told us about Frances Perkins. FDR appointed her as his secretary of labor in 1933 — making her the first woman in American history to hold a Cabinet post.

Apparently, she played a key role in writing New Deal legislation, including minimum-wage laws. But I never would have remembered this bit of U.S. trivia if not for something my teacher said about her: "They used to call her 'the woman in Labor.' "

To this day, I've always remembered her name and that line. It's funny how things like that stick in your head. :)

at least he's happy

A quick update:

More contractions last night, staying steady at 15 minutes apart from 1 a.m. to 4:30 a.m. After that, sporadic again. These contractions were in my belly, not my back, which is a good thing.

This morning, we went to the OB's for a non-stress test (a.k.a. NST) and a biophysical profile (a.k.a. BPP), which for the English-speaking world are two tests commonly done to make sure babies who are past their due dates are still doing OK in the womb. Haven't heard the BPP results yet (although the ultrasound technician did say he measures in at about 9 pounds, but probably weighs less than that because those estimates are famously inaccurate). (Tuesday update: He scored 8 out of 8! And he's on the high end of healthy weight.) But our boy passed the NST with flying colors! His heartrate did what it was supposed to do — went up when he moved, went down when he rested. He's a healthy little guy, and that thrills me. I practically promised him a car for his 16th birthday!

Our next round of NST and BPP is Thursday, followed by a meeting with the OB. If the Lemmondrop has not been born by then, that is. In which case, we are going to have to think very seriously about induction because I don't think the doctor is going to let us go past 42 weeks, and we'll be pretty close by then.

Today's mood: cranky and pissed off in the morning, more calm this afternoon. This patience thing can be pretty challenging. Plus, I almost blew a fuse when we checked in for our appointment at 10 a.m. and discovered they had us down for Tuesday, not Monday. Uh ... no. It was definitely Monday, and there was no way I was going to drive back home and wait another day for this. In the end, they were gracious and apologetic and managed to squeeze us in — and paid for our parking, too.

Tonight, if things don't get started in the labor department, we're going to attempt to hit the town and go see Low at Loring Park, part of the Walker's Summer Music and Movies series. It will be an adventure to see if I can handle an hour and a half of live music while sitting in a camp chair, but I'm game to try it.

Meanwhile, thanks as always for your thoughts and prayers. They are much appreciated!

a day of rest

This morning was one of those perfect Sunday mornings you wait all summer for. The weather has finally cooled off a bit, so after church, Steve and I drove down to the St. Paul Farmer's Market and ambled around, buying fresh corn on the cob for lunch, red potatoes and leeks for soup, a bottle of locally made honey, some homebaked scones and croissants. When we were finished, we wandered across the street to the Black Dog Café and bought some drinks and sat outside reading The New York Times. Then we drove home and boiled some of the corn — so sweet and delicious — and then I took a little nap while Steve puttered around in the yard.

Huh? What?

What about all those contractions? What about finally being in labor at last? Isn't this the post where I'm supposed to tell you the baby was born last night? That we've finally met our new little boy? That we're giddy and exhausted?

That's what I would have thought too ... 24 hours ago.

But something strange has happened. This labor has stalled. Somewhere in the wee hours of early morning, after a mostly sleepless night of seven-minute-apart contractions — and after more than 24 hours of what they typically call "early labor" — complete with lots of lower back pain, I suddenly started getting some sleep. And the contractions just ... eased off. Sure, I still have them — one of them hit me toward the front of the Communion line this morning, causing me to grab the nearest pew momentarily, and the priest raised his eyebrows as he saw me approach, still pregnant. But they're random and weaker than they were yesterday, and for the most part, I don't feel like a woman in labor.

I was pretty anxious about this when I woke up at 9. Anxious and nervous and uncertain about what it all means and when things might pick up again. I was closer to tears than I have been throughout the whole last week, and it was all I could do to tell Steve I'd be OK if he went out for a morning run. I called our doula — we've been on the phone together a half dozen times in the past few days — and told her what was going on. Oh ... that's more common than you might think, she said. It's possible, especially given all the back pain I've had, that the baby isn't positioned very well yet — that he's turned around, or his head just hasn't found a good position against my pelvis. Positioning issues can lead to long early labors, and even stalled labors. She gave me some ideas for ways I might be able to encourage him to turn on his own, which I've been trying, and it's possible that some of them are working because my contractions today haven't been so painful on my back.

So I took a shower, washed my hair, shaved my legs (again thinking, this may be the last time I do this before I meet our son). The holding pattern continues. I have really loved being able to soak in an unexpected day of late-August weather ... but I really thought we'd be spending the day in the hospital, and I'd be so happy to be there tonight.

That is, as soon as we've had a chance to try this leek and potato soup!

'ok family, we go'

I think I can fairly say I am in labor now. (Eeee!!!) The contractions started getting closer together last night around midnight, and now they're anywhere from seven to 12 minutes apart, which is not close enough to go to the hospital but close enough to qualify as early labor, especially since they're kind of intense, especially in my back. Steve massages my lower back when they come, and it makes a huge difference. We didn't sleep much last night, and I've been napping a lot today, and it's all a bit surreal, the waiting and watching and feeling things change in my body. Of course, this could stall out and I'll still be here (ouch ... contraction here ... oooooooooooo) Monday, but I think the Lemmondrop is on the move.

We did go to the hospital this morning, though. Not because of the contractions but because I seemed to be bleeding a lot. Like, a lot more than the books say is normal for the bloody show. Fresh, red blood that fell in clots into the toilet, like I was having my period. I called the Birth Center and the nurse triage line at my OB's office, and they both sounded a little freaked out by it and said I should come in to get checked. So we did, and I lay there for 45 minutes strapped to a monitor, which revealed that I was indeed having contractions and that the baby's heart rate is just fine, and the nurse checked me out and said she thinks I might just be a heavy bleeder, but nothing to worry about. Our OB was in the hospital, so he stopped in to say hi, too. And then they sent us home.

For some reason last night, as I was lying awake between contractions thinking about all that was happening, something popped into my head that our Irish tour guide, Kate, used to say on our pilgrimage around Ireland last summer. Whenever it was time to get moving, she'd say, "OK, family, we go!" ... Not "Let's go," or "Time to go," or "Here we go." Just, "We go," in her charming, Irish lilt. And how could you not love that she called us "family" and not "folks" or "people" or "everyone"? For the 10 days we were on that trip, she made us feel like family. So now, Kate's voice is in my head — Kate, who a few days ago sent an e-mail letting us know that she has a candle lit for us on the other side of the world, waiting for word. It's her words I think about now. OK, family. We go.

still here, still waiting

It's a cool but humid Friday night, and we just got back from an invigorating walk on the Mississippi River Boulevard, where I made it from the parking lot to Randolph Avenue and back. I think that's two-thirds of a mile, if I remember the mile markers from when I used to go running on that stretch. I've been having contractions off and on all day, and I got a couple of them on the walk. They feel more intense than any of the "practice" (Braxton-Hicks) contractions I've felt up to now. They remind me of heavy menstrual cramps, how I feel on the worst day of my period, but they only last for 30 to 60 seconds, and they aren't at all regular. Just a couple per hour. Still, they get my attention and wake me up from naps, and I can't help wondering how it's going to feel when they're 10 times this intense! On the way back to the car, we passed a couple pushing a wee little baby in her stroller and imagined ourselves doing that very thing this fall when the colors are at their most vivid. "Trying to walk him out?" the mom asked me with a knowing smile as we peeked into their stroller. "Yup," I told her.

We had our weekly OB appointment this morning. The nurses and receptionists all know me now. "We were really hoping we wouldn't see you this week," said the nurse who took us back to our room. And when she left, she said cheerily, "We'll see you at your first postpartum!" Maybe, maybe not. We have more appointments set up next week for tests in case he goes past 41 weeks. The tests are to make sure he's still safe and sound in there and that my placenta is doing its job. Placentas have a life span, too, and after a couple of weeks, it could get too old and depleted to take care of the baby safely.

I'm dilated about a centimeter, and the baby's head has dropped some. It's now what they call "engaged" at 0 centimeters, which means his head has reached the pelvic cavity and begun to settle into it, whereas last week he was hovering a good 2 centimeters above it. That progress — plus losing the mucus plug and the ongoing bloody show this week — has been so encouraging! Yet today has been hard. I'm so eager for things to get moving that it's hard to stay patient. I've been itching more again, especially on my belly. And I'm tired because it's harder and harder to sleep at night, so I find myself taking lots of naps. So it was a groggy, itchy, impatient day. I think what I need right now is a plan to make sure I occupy my time and get enough rest. It felt good to get a walk in.

The OB receptionist told us this might be our lucky weekend because the weather is changing and a front is coming through. Changes in atmospheric pressure tends to send women into labor, she said. I hope so! And so we have a handful of movies and the rest of the night — and indeed all weekend — to just wait it out.

and a bloody good show it was!

Fair warning: This isn't very graphic, but don't read it if you'd rather avoid hearing about bodily functions. :)

I lost the mucus plug last night ... hooray! (And it could not have been more obvious.) This means things are happening down there at last! My cervix is letting go and making way for baby. It might not happen today. It might not happen tomorrow. But I have a good feeling that we are going to meet this little boy soon. Come on, Lemmondrop!

(Addendum: Ugh. I just read this online: "Losing the mucus plug is a sign that labor may begin soon, but it's not a guarantee. Labor may still be a week or more away." Ugh. I pray he comes sooner than later!)

8:30 p.m. update (because I don't want to start a new post): I thought the "bloody show" was the same thing as losing the mucus plug, but I could be wrong. It seems the bloody show follows the actual losing of the plug, or it's the bleeding that occurs when the mucus comes out slowly and not all at once. At any rate, in addition to the streaky blood in last night's big deposit, I also have been bleeding spottily all day, which I presume is normal, and which I presume is the "bloody show." What a great term that is! I think it's my favorite pregnancy term. Let's get the bloody show on the road, shall we?! Quite.

do not fear the seven-headed dragon, my son

Not that I read too much into things, but last night's first reading for the Feast of the Assumption, from Revelation, included this part:

A great sign appeared in the sky, a woman clothed with the sun,
with the moon under her feet,
and on her head a crown of twelve stars.
She was with child and wailed aloud in pain as she labored to give birth.
Then another sign appeared in the sky;
it was a huge red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns,
and on its heads were seven diadems.
Its tail swept away a third of the stars in the sky
and hurled them down to the earth.
Then the dragon stood before the woman about to give birth,
to devour her child when she gave birth.

Afterward, I giggled and whispered to Stephen, "Maybe that's why he's taking his time. He's afraid of the big red dragon!"

stephen colbert does liturgical dance

Check this out ... I haven't laughed this hard since ... well, since Saturday night, when we watched the 2004 election special DVD of The Daily Show. It's the one and only reason I wish we had cable.

This video has been around for a few months, but I just found it via Catholic Anarchy, which had a link to this blog. Enjoy!

(Amended to add that this is a lot funnier if you are familiar with the song he is singing, which is a "classic" in the canon of post-Vatican II liturgical music. I doubt there is any Catholic out there who doesn't recognize it instantly, but I'm not sure if non-Catholics sing it.)

nesting

In the past couple of days, I've been preoccupied by kitchen stuff. I pore over cookbooks obsessively, and I've spent several hours online trying to decide whether to upgrade my cake pans. Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon baking a chocolate torte with buttercream frosting (which originally was just supposed to be the filling, but I had enough to frost the entire torte, so I skipped the glaze and used the frosting). It's sinfully delicious and probably not good for me, but that's what I've been in the mood for, so I'm unapologetic. I keep telling the Lemmondrop, "This could be your birthday cake, if you come today! There's still plenty left!" Of course, he's getting his share of it anyway. He gets a bit kicky when I eat a lot of sweets. I can tell that he's going to take after his dad — a total sweet tooth.

When I'm not thinking about food or bakeware, I am reading. Sometimes it's baby books, but I've laid off those this week, perhaps to sooth my impatience. This morning, I finished the latest novel on my nightstand, which has prompted me to revisit Jane Austen, if I can decide which book. Emma, maybe. Or Mansfield Park. It's shorter. Meanwhile, I've redone the sidebar of this blog. Instead of listing all my favorite books (which feels so long and cumbersome and incomplete anyway), I'm listing all the books I've read this year. Books I don't finish, or use as reference, don't make the list. I feel like I've forgotten some from the beginning of the year, but it's a pretty good record of 2006 so far.

The thing is, I'm going to have little time to cook, bake or read Jane Austen once the Lemmondrop is born. I know that. I feel as if this week is my last chance to do these things for a long time, so I'm soaking it up. I feel like I'm in some strange limbo-land, on this giant, new threshhold of life — not going to work, yet not really on maternity leave. I don't know what to do with myself with all this time of waiting. It's hard to go for walks, and I have run out of errands. So there's cooking and reading, things I can do without leaving the house or even taking a shower. (Today is the Feast of the Assumption, and Steve and I will probably go to church tonight. Hooray — an outing!) The empty Pack & Play sits next to our bed, and it's hard for me to fathom that in a matter of days, I will be lying in the dark, listening to the breathing of another person, my world wrapped up in a whole new skill set of breastfeeding and diaper-changing and giving baths.

Last night, the Lemmondrop was unusually quiet, and I had a little emotional breakdown over it. Even a big glass of water, followed by cold milk, didn't rouse him like it usually does, and I lay on my side for what seemed like eternity waiting for him to wake up, like he always does. I poked him in the places where I think his knees or feet or butt are, which usually makes him squirm, but there was nothing. Finally, he seemed to stretch a little, and I was able to relax. (And, therefore, so was Steve, whose attempts to comfort me were mostly unsuccessful until then.) By the time I was falling asleep, he was moving around like crazy. I know this is not going to let up anytime soon. I am going to worry about this little boy all his life. I just hope I don't smother him!

The itching seems to have let up a little. I don't have the big white welts anymore. I have some lingering tiny red scabs, but even those are fading. I still scratch myself a lot, especially at night, when I notice it the most. Keeping busy helps. But maybe the worst of it is over.

'get up and eat'

At Mass yesterday, the first reading was 1 Kings 19:4-8:

Elijah went a day's journey into the desert, until he came to a broom tree and sat beneath it. He prayed for death: "This is enough, O Lord! Take my life, for I am no better than my fathers." He lay down and fell asleep under the broom tree, but then an angel touched him and ordered him to get up and eat. He looked and there at his head was a hearth cake and a jug of water. After he ate and drank, he lay down again, but the angel of the Lord came back a second time, touched him, and ordered, "Get up and eat, else the journey will be too long for you!" He got up, ate and drank; then strengthened by that food, he walked forty days and forty nights to the mountain of God, Horeb.

While I was listening (and reading along), all I could think about was being in labor. How it's important to stay nourished and keep one's body (and spirit) fueled for the hard work of it. How God provides strength at times when it gets so bad we want to give up. How maybe it's a good idea to eat more than ice chips during labor. Hearth cake and water. Carbs and hydration. I wonder if labor will feel like walking forty days and forty nights.

song for the boy on his due date

Seven o'clock on a Sunday morning, and breakfast — Irish soda bread from The Frugal Gourmet on Our Immigrant Ancestors — is in the oven. So simple — no eggs or butter. Just flour, baking soda, baking powder, brown sugar and buttermilk. I couldn't get enough of this stuff when we were in Ireland, so I'm excited to slather it with butter and eat it with a cup of coffee, or maybe Earl Grey. The house smells delicious right now.

It's hard to believe the baby's due date has arrived! Well, the doctor's version of the due date, anyway. It really isn't that exact; an Internet chart we looked at set it at Aug. 15, and since we had two intrauterine inseminations on two separate days last November, there's probably a several-day window on when conception really happened.

After talking with Mom and our doula yesterday, I've decided to wait and let nature take its course this week before trying any artificial prostaglandin. On average, first-time mothers deliver five days past their official due date, according to the doula, so I don't see any reason to push things at this point. Impatience, maybe, but the baby is healthy, so I'd rather just let him decide when to come. We can revisit things in a week if need be.

Here's a little song that popped into my head last night. It's sung to the tune of Santa Baby, and Steve soon joined me in making up verses, which I can't remember for the life of me, but it goes something like this. (The blank line is where his name goes, obviously.) I didn't sleep very well last night, so the tune has been in my head all these restless hours.

Buh-bum buh-bum...
____________ baby,
We cannot wait to meet you — won't you come
Real soon
We'll have a lot of fun with you, ____________ baby,
So hurry down and join us tonight

_____________ baby,
Can't wait to see your little face and
Tiny hands
We love you, wanna kiss you all over, ____________ baby,
So hurry out and join us tonight

I know it's nice and warm up there
But we've got all sorts of clothes for you to wear
And diapers to keep you nice and clean and dry
And baby shampoo for your silky hair

Buh-bum buh-bum...
____________ baby,
We love you so — we'll hug you all day
And night
And cuddle you and play with you, ____________ baby,
So come on out and join us tonight ...

no closer

No progress. That was the prognosis from today's weekly OB appointment. This boy seems happily ensconced in my uterus, and my body shows no signs of getting closer to labor. Nothing has changed in the past three visits. Meanwhile, my due date is Sunday, so unless things start to happen very quickly, he's probably going to go past it.

We're talking about me going in a few times next week to have a prostaglandin gel inserted into me that (hopefully) would help ripen my cervix and beckon labor to come closer. The doctor tells us that prostaglandin is also found in semen, so maybe we will put the itching and general discomfort aside and see if we can't speed things along this weekend. ;-) I am crossing my fingers that prostaglandin is all I'll need to get labor started naturally. I'd still prefer that over being induced with pitocin. But that may be out of my control.

We'll see what happens. I'm not really upset about this. More just curious as heck about how it's all going to unfold! We're not really in control, are we? Suddenly it puts that song in my head: Que sera sera ... whatever will be will be ... the future's not ours to see ... que sera sera.

is there such a thing as a 'just abortion'?

Because my line of work puts me into contact with a variety of points of view on abortion, I've been thinking about — and grappling with — the issue a lot in the past few years. For me, the interesting parts of this thought process have been not so much from the legal perspective but the moral one.

I get very frustrated by the rhetoric on both sides of this debate, and I find myself wishing — aching, in fact — for some intelligent discussion that does not continually revert in a kneejerk fashion to one political position or the other. So I was inspired when I saw this conversation on the Feminary blog. Basically, the Feminarian poses the question of whether, just as there are moral arguments supporting a "just war," there are also moral arguments supporting "just abortion."

It's rare that I hear such intelligent, nuanced considerations of this question from a moral standpoint. Here's what I mostly experience, at least in soundbytes, and it seems to revolve more around the legal question, which seems too black-and-white for such a complex and personal issue:

"Pro-choicers," in their zeal to keep abortion legal and easily available to all sectors of the population (via public funding, for example), refuse to sway from the point of view that it's completely a women's issue, all about the mother and her "reproductive rights," with almost no acknowledgment of another life to be considered. The mother's body is paramount, even if there happens to be another tiny body involved. It bothers me that the question of whether an unborn fetus/baby has rights (not to mention whether a woman, once pregnant, has an obligation to take responsibility for that newly created life) is automatically not up for discussion, and those who raise the questions are derided as "not on our side," as if the "humanity" of an unborn creature is already decided to be less-than, when perhaps there is a legitimate reason to consider that all human beings ought to be considered in the equation.

"Pro-lifers," in their zeal to criminalize abortion, refuse to address the fact that abortion has always existed and always will, whether legal or illegal, and making it go away goes beyond the question of law: It's going to take a commitment on the part of the whole society to better support pregnant women — and born children and mothers and families — even if this commitment requires them to consider more progressive social policies that go against their political grain. Once a baby is born, it seems, they lose interest in protecting it. ("They already have people to protect them!" one woman I talked to kept insisting by way of excusing her single-track focus on abortion.) Some, though not all, seem to lack a full sense of understanding and empathy for the incredibly complicated and personal reasons women have for choosing to terminate a pregnancy.

And on both sides, there are unresolved moral questions about when life actually does begin, when a life becomes viably human enough to have equal rights, whether it is sometimes acceptable to terminate a life. I don't take lightly the Catholic Church's position that all life is sacred, and that, biologically, life begins at conception. Yet I know the church also has rationale for just war, which also takes innocent lives. The church also makes allowances for allowing a sick person to die if the burdens of caring for that person outweigh the benefits. (This is a thorny issue, though, made clear by the Terri Schiavo case last year. Is a strictly biological definition of life worth defending, or does a life cease to become meaningful when it has no consciousness?) And let's not even get started on the division between people who will fight tooth and nail to protect the lives of unborn children yet refuse to support policies against the death penalty or innocent casualties of war. Is only "innocent" life sacred, not all life? So, even within my religious tradition, I struggle.

I find I've been thinking about this on an even more personal level as I carry our baby through this pregnancy. It has been impossible for me not to think of our baby boy as a separate little person whom I must protect as fully and responsibly as if he were living outside my womb. When friends have lost babies to miscarriages, I am excruciatingly aware of the separate life that has been extinguished. That is probably where my moral sense of an unborn child's humanity leans, but I know there are other women whose pregnancies have convinced them even more strongly that a woman should not be forced to go through such an experience unless she fully chooses. And I have to ask myself the tough question: What if we'd found out that our baby was going to have severe disabilities or birth defects that would make his life incredibly difficult for himself and everyone in it? Would I feel the same way? I think all children are precious, and I can't imagine ever terminating a pregnancy, but I've never been in the shoes of someone who has made that tough decision.

I don't have answers. Wrestling with the questions, and listening as much as I can, are the best I can do. And I appreciate the Feminarian's post for helping me think about it in new ways.

something(s) new

Is it really Thursday already? It seems as if this week has gone by in a long, slow blur of reading, sleeping, watching movies (thanks to our new subscription to Netflix!) and seeing friends for lunch — all the while punctuated by constant skin scratching. Tuesday night, I took an extra-strength antihistamine prescribed by the doctor, which not only made me sleep relatively soundly through the night but also made me groggy throughout the day yesterday. Powerful stuff, and it felt good to sleep, although I didn't take another one last night. I managed to sleep OK last night on Benadryl. Maybe I'm getting used to the itching. Or maybe I'm slowly drifting into insanity ...

Tuesday we got our new refrigerator delivered; I must say, between this and the new dishwasher we bought last month, it feels good to have 21st-century appliances. By no means is the new one anything fancy or top-of-the-line: It doesn't have an icemaker or a water dispenser, for instance. (Our plumbing isn't set up for that.) But it is about six cubic feet larger than our last fridge — and very energy-efficient, enough to have earned itself an Energy Star rating (which I guess means it exceeds Canada's efficiency standards). Apparently, refrigerators are one of the biggest energy users in a home, so we are hoping to see a big difference on our gas and electric bill in the coming months. The old fridge used to rumble and growl so loudly we could hear it from the bedroom. And lately, it had taken to making a rather alarming dripping sound, which we were told was Freon running amok in its tubes. It's probably a good thing we put it out to pasture.

Here's the old one ...


And the new one ...


What else is new? Oh — the new dress I bought last week at Target. Brown and stretchy, it is so much more comfortable on my itchy legs than pants and so much looser on my "waist" than shorts that I have been wearing it every day since last Saturday and may wear it to the hospital, no joke. I can dress it up; I can dress it down. Here I am wearing it to a wedding we attended on Saturday.


And what a completely joyful wedding it was! I met the bride (a former coworker) eight years ago, shortly after her 35-year marriage fell apart due to her cheating husband (who later obtained an annulment — how does that happen?). She went through some very dark years — and grew so much, fully coming into her own, it seemed — before she met the dear, wonderful man who is now her husband. They were introduced by a pair of 80-something nuns who are known for their matchmaking abilities — and who stood as witnesses at the wedding. I was moved to tears as I listened to the couple take their vows in the presence of their nine collective children, extended families, and many friends. (The church was packed.) I know that the bride probably never imagined that she'd ever stand before the altar again in her lifetime reciting those holy words, yet there she stood, glowing like a girl and speaking those vows with the conviction of a woman who knows she has made a good choice. I was, and am, so very happy for her, and for her lucky groom.

Here's one more new thing I ordered online this week: The Kecci Shanghai II Mommybag (in blackberry), a diaper bag that fills the gap between my small, sporty day-tripper from Lands' End and the larger, all-day backpack that's manly enough for Steve to use. It's bigger; it converts from a shoulder-strap-style to backpack ... and it's pretty! I can't wait for it to arrive!

But what I really, really can't wait for is to meet the Lemmondrop at last! I am so unbelievably excited to meet this new baby! It is so hard to believe that it could be within the week! Yippee!!!

scratching that itch

(Edited to add a somewhat gross picture of my leg ...)

Yesterday morning, I was up at 6:30 a.m. making blueberry scones. I was making a racket all over the kitchen, but Steve was sleeping so soundly that he didn't hear a thing. He loves scones — they bring back memories of relaxing afternoon teatimes in Ireland, like that late afternoon when we checked into our B&B in Cork, and the first thing the owner did was shuttled us into the parlor and put a tray of tea, coffee, scones and pastries down in front of us. We'd been driving all day to get to Cork from just outside Dublin, and this felt like heaven. Bliss. Ever since then, scones have held a special place in Steve's heart.

The trick to making scones, I have learned through trial and error, is to not overwork the butter in the dough. It should go in cold and pebbly and have the appearance of peas. I think I nailed it yesterday because these scones were just the way I like them: crispy on the outside, flaky on the inside. By the time Steve got up at 8:30, there were two dozen hot scones cooling off on various racks and plates around the kitchen and coffee in the pot. It was the kind of Saturday morning I'd love to have every weekend — although without the lower backache that comes from working in the kitchen while nearly 39 weeks pregnant. And without the itchies.

The reason I was up at 6:30 a.m. in the first place — I, who usually can sleep until 9 or 10 — is that over the past three or four days, I have developed PUPPP. (Or so the OB diagnosed it, and the stuff I've found on the Internet seems to confirm it.) Short for pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy (which I prefer to translate into English as "incredibly, nightmarishly itchy, rashy skin in pregnant women"), it's a condition that occasionally pops up in the third trimester. I tell you, this itching is keeping me awake at night more than my big belly and the multiple trips to the bathroom ever did. It just won't go away, and it pops up in new places every day, and at this point, I don't know how I'm going to make it through the next week (and possibly more, if I go over my due date). I would welcome the pains of labor over this. (Famous last words?)

It started four or five days ago on my belly, in the creases of my stretch marks. I thought it was just my skin reacting to even more stretching, so I put a lot of lotion on it and tried (not very successfully) not to scratch it. Then I started to notice a rash on my arms and thighs that was also very itchy. It starts off looking like bug bites and then turns red bumps, probably because I scratch it. When I double-checked my belly, I realized it had the rash, too, and this was where it was itching. Now it's under my breasts, too, and creeping up the backs of my hands to my fingers and down my thighs to my calves. When is it going to stop?

After I give birth, that's when it will stop. There is no known cure except just having the baby. And this Lemmondrop has not dropped, is not engaged, and my cervix is dilated not one whit, though it has softened about 50 percent (at least that's something), so who knows when he might come? Hopefully on time, but I can't count on it!

A couple of months ago, I had what (in retrospect) was a mild precursor to this. The doctor drew some blood to check my liver functions and was able to rule out a rare, more serious liver condition that would have been bad. The itching itself went away with a few days of Benadryl and calamine lotion. These days, those things only give some temporary relief, sometimes.

I've learned some interesting stuff online:

• PUPPP normally occurs in first pregnancies during the third trimester with an average onset of 35 weeks. Thankfully, PUPPP does not usually affect subsequent pregnancies.

• The cause of PUPPP is unknown. It is not associated with preeclampsia, autoimmune disorders, hormonal abnormalities, or fetal abnormalities. And it's not harmful to the baby. It just itches like the devil.

• One study has shown that male fetal DNA can be found in skin biopsies of the rash. Since 70% of women with PUPPP give birth to boys, a new hypothesis is that male fetal DNA acts as a skin irritant. (Makes sense — I am having a boy.)

I also found this Web site by a writer who had PUPPP and has collected as many relief remedies as she can for other PUPPP sufferers. (Can we call ourselves PUPPPies?) :) At any rate, I've tried a few of them, including an Aveeno oatmeal bath this morning, which brought some mild relief that has since gone away. As I type this, I feel like bug bites are erupting all over me, and I stop every minute or so to scratch something. I know I shouldn't scratch, but I can't help it. I also don't like to complain too much — I am so fortunate and grateful for this pregnancy and this baby whom we will be meeting soon. But this just sucks.

For breakfast this morning, I ate about six scones. Even a day old, they were so satisfying. I hear it's a good idea to load up on carbs when you know you have a baby coming. It's the same philosophy marathon runners have, which is why they eat spaghetti the night before a marathon. So I'm not going to worry about the scones. I want all the energy I can build up for the Lemmondrop's birthday!

In the meantime, please send encouragement and anti-itch vibes. I could really use them right now. :)

she kissed him until timbuktu

We are finally replacing the ancient, rusted-out refrigerator that has probably been in this house since the 1970s, or at least the 80s, and is probably responsible for a large bulk of our energy bill each month. The new Kenmore model (Energy Star rating! Number two on Consumer Reports!) will arrive Tuesday, which gives us the weekend to clean out our old one, inside and out.

And that means dismantling the magnetic refrigerator poetry that has accumulated there over the past four years. It's the one task that makes me feel kind of sad and nostalgic. Steve and I composed most of the verses, but other friends have contributed lines here and there, too. The surface of our refrigerator has become a messy mish-mash of romance and goofiness in words and pictures. Our life.


Will we put the magnets back up and let them fall into new, random verses? Or will they end up in a Zip-loc bag, thrown in a drawer somewhere? I suspect the latter, at least at first. I don't have the heart to start over right now, just like I wouldn't have the heart to get a new cat if Ingrid died. For now, in honor of memory and posterity, I hereby present our poetic endeavors in no particular order, but mostly from top to bottom as I jotted them down:

Who Is Your God?
Children See Love
More Delicate Than Light
Death Alone Won't Guarantee Roses
New Poetry Not Good Break
She Kissed Him Until Timbuktu
Love Bring Soul Beauty
Summer Afternoon Rain So Sublime
Pray Thee Heaven
Smile , Whisper
White Sugar Girl
Hurricane Moon Sing Black
Body Climb Unite Forever
You Have My Heart Always
Oh Dance Together In The Winter Twilight
Sun Sea Spirit Fire Appetite
Dream Now
Sex : Ooh Wee !
Crave Chocolate Everything
Our Romance Dearest
None Compare To Mother And Father ; Need Psychiatrist
Go Get Water At The Spring
Beautiful Night Then Quiet Grace
Ding-a-ling Bourgeoisie
Never Let Truth Leave
Uptight Knight Don't Fall
Anatomy Of A Marriage
Voodoo Athiest By Day
Reason Make Thought
Do Desire Laughter Virtue Art Birth
Was Some Risqué Kalamazoo Fling
We Like To Try Bad Pentameter Rhyme
Adieu

tagged, passing it on ...

I just noticed I was tagged by the Town Crier over at Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters. Now ... I'm tagging four of YOU whom I know have blogs. :)

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Ticket and concession salesperson at a movie theater.
2. Library krep at the college reserve desk.
3. High school English teacher
4. Journalist

Four movies I watch over and over:
1. Hannah and Her Sisters
2. Love Actually
3. Amelie
4. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (because Steve always puts it on, and Johnny Depp is funny)

Four places I have lived:
1. Portland, Ore.
2. New York, N.Y.
3. Greenville, Miss.
4. St. Paul, Minn.

Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. The Office
2. The Sopranos
3. The Apprentice
4. Sex & the City reruns

Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Scotland
2. Ireland
3. Paris
4. Panama

Four websites I visit daily:
1. Hotmail
2. My MSN chat boards
3. Netflix (as of Monday, when we signed up!)
4. Google

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Chocolate
2. Butternut squash ravioli
3. Mozzarella cheese
4. Pad Thai

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Portland
2. The downtown library's reading room
3. Ireland
4. In the hospital, meeting my baby!

Four favorite bands/singers:
1. Elvis Costello
2. The Grateful Dead
3. The Beatles
4. U2

Four folks I'm tagging, just because...
1. Liz P.
2. Liz H.
3. Barbara
4. Cynthia

my last day

It was my last day at work today for six months (plus the remainder of my vacation and sick leave, so ... seven months), and it was both exciting and sad. Exciting to record my out-of-office voicemail message after thinking about it for so long. Sad at the end of the day when all my coworkers hugged me and said goodbye. Exciting (and freeing) to throw out so many unneeded notepads and files of just-in-case paperwork and realize they are not my problem for the time being. Sad at around noon when my boss called me into his office and asked me to "Please come back" when my leave was over because it's going to be so tough to have me gone. Even if I'm not sure yet what my future holds (back to work? freelance? something entirely new? full-time mom?), it is good to feel so wanted.

I packed up a small box of things I wanted to bring home — things I haven't already brought home in the past few weeks: A pile of books I've reviewed or wanted to read (The Wisdom of the Celtic Saints, the new, illustrated, hardback edition of The Elements of Style, Strategies for Stay-at-Home Parents). My Ireland wall calendar, at which I have loved looking every day and for which I now hope find a spot to hang at home. (Yikes ... trying to use prepositions correctly in that sentence makes it awfully awkward!) All my benefits information. Boxes of teabags and crackers I've had lying around. A gift certificate for Caribou Coffee I got for my birthday but forgot I had.

I added up all my available time off this morning, and it looks like I can take my leave through the first week of March. It seems like such a long time from now, but I suspect the time will fly by. I'm glad I'll have a full winter to hibernate at home with our baby. Winters at work are hectic. With Christmas editions and a magazine-style special section in December and a crazed number of major supplements in January and February, we are always pulling our hair out by March. Who knows? By then I might be pulling my hair out with cabin fever. But something tells me I am going to be happy to be at home with the Lemmondrop, the two of us staying as snug as bugs in the cold, snowy weather. And if I do get stir-crazy, I can always dip my feet in and offer my freelance help. I'm pretty sure they won't say no to that!