More tales from the city to pass the time

The highlight of the day was the gorgeous, enormous bouquet of tulips on our table. I love tulips. I could leave it there, and suggest by absence that my darling husband has realized quite how hard it's been for me to have him out till midnight every night and stressed about work and being entirely unsupportive ... but the truth is that they came from a charming, bumbling 60-year-old Swedish tourist. The fusspot and I just happened to find his iphone while out on a forced 3 mile walk (Item #4 on our natural induction list) and I was honestly exceedingly proud of figuring out how to use such a fancy phone in a foreign language. And more than delighted when he showed up at our apartment to reclaim his phone with flowers in hand.

And another good big city story, this time from our last trip to L and D. That is only relevant because it explains why JD, the fusspot and I were out and about in a neighborhood which is distinctly not the one we live in rather late at night. One thing that I learned very quickly living in NYC and traveling a lot is that if you look confident and are even moderately dressed the part, you can breeze through all sorts of security and into places you clearly don't belong. Which is all just to explain that when JD got some type of important work call on his phone, rather than waiting on the street, the 3 of us popped into a rather fancy building. JD was chattering away, while typing on his blackberry, and I was trying to distract the fusspot from joining in on the conversation with the usual repertoire of jumping games/walking backwards/skipping/etc. At some point a rather busy-looking business guy with an entourage came breezing through the lobby. The fusspot and I were busy practicing our backwards walking while also sticking out our tongues, and somehow she managed to walk right into the lead guy who tripped. JD gave me a funny smirk from the corner, but I really thought nothing of it. I know it's probably not the very best attitude, but I glowered at the guy for tripping over my toddler, and we went back to walking backwards while sticking out our tongues (after all, he's the adult in the collision). It wasn't until an hour or so later that JD remarked "Yeah, pretty hard not to crack up on that phone call when the fusspot tripped the chairman of Goldm.an S.achs and you proceeded to give him a dirty look." Just another evening in the big city waiting to go into labor.

I might just have made it in mommy-land

I have a date today. A (fast food) lunch and shopping date. With another local mom. Sans children. And not to boast or anything, but we're going fabric shopping in the fabric district.

I really hope that it lives up to my expectations since the rest of the day is filled with the usual NST and appointments cluttered around the fusspot's nap and than an evening home alone with toddler.

In other news, I am now last woman standing. My 2 friends/acquaintances who were due the week after me have both delivered already.

And for the cute fusspot story of the day, I was reading a rather leftish parenting book (Montessori/Waldorf blend) the other day which lauded the immense importance of "nature walks" and allowing children to explore the natural world freely, put their feet in the mud, the usual. I realized yesterday on the way home from daycare (3.5 blocks, folks. Only 3.5 blocks but it still occupies at least a good half hour or more when the fusspot walks) that the fusspot would truly excel at nature walks if we lived in the "countryside." On the way home she not only pointed out "cigarette" butts and "icky gum" multiple times, scrapped her coat along 4 different dirty building exteriors to feel the texture, stomped on every scrap of dirty slush she could find, stood under the open drainage pipe to feel the dirty run-off drip down her back, attempted to eat who knows what that was stuck on someone else's stair, twice sat down in the middle of the sidewalk to take a rest ... she's definitely got the right idea, just not quite the perfect setting.

Nada

Went to visit the midwives again this morning. Apparently I am not even dilated enough to make feasible stripping the membranes. They seem entirely unconcerned and assured me that I have up until and even a little past 42 weeks to go into labor.

Then I called the doula who also reassured me that babies come out on their own time.

Which is all just so different from last time, when my mis-diagnosis of gestational diabetes meant that I would most likely be induced on my due date or a day or two past at most. It is SO absurd that a difference of a couple points in a glucose test can change everything from "must get baby out immediately" to "no rush at all."

If it were up to me, I'd start all the natural induction stuff immediately. I'm tired, I'm uncomfortable, I feel like I'm just postponing the moment when I can start to get back into recovery mode, but then again I also want a fully baked baby.

And while I know that my overwhelming feeling ought to be excitement about this baby, I feel like one of those dyed-in-the-wool infertiles who looks at a bfp and thinks, this is just a lab result. I'll think about baby when I am holding baby. I know that I'll be excited when I have a baby, but at the moment everything seems like managing a pregnancy, not related to baby at all.

So yeah, the news is no news. Although one friend who was due 2 days after me had her baby yesterday evening. In the car, enroute to the hospital. And from her description all was well.

And if you read this far (hi Jenn!), a cute fusspot story. I have been rather self-indulgent recently, and both the fusspot and I received boxes in the mail today. Hers, a delightful $5 used pair of pink velcro shoes for the summer off e-bay, me a slightly sexier ankle-high blue leather boot which was on sale on amazon last week. Needless to say, while we both tried on our new shoes at the same time, the fusspot decided that mine were more fun and spent a good half-hour tonight stomping around the apartment in my boots while pushing her stroller and carrying a hot pink purse. The boots are of course one more delightfully materialistic object to add to the "not going to be pregnant forever" pile in my closet, but it's good to know that someone in the apartment can get a little use out of them this week.

All I can say

is that I really hope that my immense grumpiness is hormonal and that it goes away soon. I am truly barely fit for appearing in public.

Astoundingly, the only person who has yet to get on my bad side is the fusspot, who has been behaving exceedingly, exceedingly well. Let's hope that doesn't change next week. Yesterday afternoon we snuggled in my bed and after I'd read the same book to her twice in a row she actually read it back to me. Correct plot and all. Don't worry, I'm not exactly delusional (and long-time readers may recall that she still has a noteable speech delay). The book was "No" by Claudia Rueda and the plot is sweet but not excessively complicated: a little bear doesn't want to come in from playing in the snow. His mother warns him of the impending storm, and he eventually relents. The fusspot got the big picture: baby cold. Snow. Baby sad. Mama and baby happy (when they are reunited).

People who are not on my good side at the moment: my colleagues, my husband, the camera repair store, the sewing machine repair store (and for that matter the sewing machine itself), USPS ...

Hoping for some news of progress in the morning from the midwives, or at least the go-ahead to go wild with the "natural induction" techniques. No, I don't seriously think that they work but I do firmly believe in the scientific validity of the placebo effect.

A quick question

Since we're still stuck on names and all and you, my dear readers, were so very helpful last time I publicly pondered these questions ... tell me true what are your associations with the following (granted, exceedingly unusual) names:

Ad.lai
A.mos
E.mil
Av.ner
Mi.lo

We're wondering if one of these has particular racial connotations, or if that reference is now too old to be that important, and if another is so exceedingly waspish as to be unpleasant. Not that I knew either reference until my father mentioned them, but apparently my cultural knowledge is a bit limited.

I really appreciate all of the earlier suggestions and found it quite funny that several people including Angela (do you have a blog?) included our chosen middle name. The middle name has been fixed for some time and would have been the first name had it not jumped in popularity in the past 2 years thanks to some rather unfortunate celebrities including a Brazilian supermodel/football player couple and John Travolta's "miraculously-conceived-naturally-thanks-to-the-power-of-wanting-it-really-badly-and-relaxing" baby.

We also realized last night that one big problem is that JD's last name is so short that a lot of the easy Hebrew names like Lev, Dov and Eli really don't work with it. I don't want to give my kid a burden for filling out forms, but it seems like his full name should be slightly over 2 syllables/6 letters. Of course, that does raise the question of using my last name for the bargain baby, something we debated for a long time with the fusspot. JD is totally open to it, but now that one child has his last name I'd kind of like to continue to use it for the rest to minimize confusion. However, my name is one of those totally classic Jewish last names (like Cohen or Goldstein) which would eliminate the need for a Hebrew first name. Argh! Back to work.

Yet again she fails to learn her lesson

A certain family member e-mailed earlier this week to ask if she could come visit. Long-time readers certainly know who I am talking about (new readers might not realize that a significant portion of our tension is IF related so a lot has been written on it in the past) ... and despite being rather pregnant, tired, and looking forward to a relaxing final weekend as a family of 3 I dutifully said yes ...

And for the 4th time this year she canceled. This despite the fact that she lives a couples of hours drive away, and has thus far seen her one and only niece a grand total of 3 times in her life. Oh, and constantly espouses to the family that she really "cherishes" her relationship with her niece, not to mention gives lengthy lectures about the status of the bargain baby's boy parts. Her original excuse was a minor illness which I assured her we didn't mind being exposed to (I know, I know ... don't get sick when 38 weeks pregnant, but the fusspot is also in daycare and I ride the subway almost every day now ... if it's going around we're going to be exposed). The follow-up e-mail indicated she probably has too much work to come. And I just want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her: Seriously, SHE has too much work?????? I have a 2 year old, a husband who hasn't been home before 1 am in about 2 weeks (weekends included), oodles and oodles of work to finish pre-baby, and oh, should try to stay well-rested in case I go into labor at any moment ....

Yeah. Needless to say I simply failed to respond to her e-mail because that's just about as polite as I can muster tonight. I was going to post nice and happy things, but hopefully that'll happen tomorrow. JD and I are going to try and go out to brunch on Sunday, and a friend may come visit tomorrow night ... so that should be lovely. I also treated myself to yet another anticipating-post-partum-pudge but not whale-sized-bump shopping spree in the XL clearance section of Uniqlo this week which was super-cheap and super-fun. So hopefully more cheerful thoughts later, but I needed to vent someplace.

And for the record, I really did think that L and D would prioritize the bargain baby's health over the distraction of a toddler. Not only did I bring her stroller so she would be strapped in during my exam, but I was plenty well-stocked with a bag of cookies, crayons and playdoh to keep her quiet for at least 20 minutes. I figured worst case scenario, the fusspot would fuss, but it's a L and D floor, surely they're used to a bit of noise every now and then? And folks, when you walk into L and D and announce "38 weeks and no fetal movement for 48 hours" let me assure you that you bypass the line of women who are actually in labor, and most everybody else. And usually the nurses give such a deep sigh of relief when they pick up the heartbeat that makes it clear that we all know that terrible things happen and NFM is not the ideal label on a triage chart. But apparently, yes, in NYC the no-under-12s-on-the-floor rules trump even those concerns.

Trip to L and D #2

went surprisingly well. Although I do wish that the midwife who suggested I head in had been a bit more forthright about their policy about unattended toddlers. I.e. it's not exactly that "they weren't happy" so much as "no children under age 12 means that you and your toddler will sit in the waiting room until you've run through your full list of contacts and we really don't care that you'd like to know if the baby in your tummy is dead or alive until you find someone to ditch the toddler with." So yeah. Lesson learned. Next time, don't even bother to head in until I find someone to watch the fusspot.

I was of course a bit more on edge by the time I was admitted than when I arrived an hour previously, which lead to an almost knock-down-drag-out fight with the head nurse in L and D who suggested that I remove both bra and undies prior to starting an NST. I had some choice words for her about not really feeling the need to freeze my more tender body parts during a 45 minute NST and also fully intending to refuse an internal exam (baring some disastrous NST result) and thus being quite content to keep my undies on. She actually called in the doctor, who fully endorsed my choice to remain slightly covered (but still shivering) through my NST. Of course, I was most sympathetic to the woman with pre-e next curtain over to me who was told "not to cry" about being induced immediately. Seriously, no idea what happened at L and D today, but nobody had an ounce of sympathy left.

Needless to say, the bargain baby, who had utterly refused to budge for over 24 hours despite the practically lethal combo of 2 glasses of OJ and a bag of dried pineapple, was perfectly fine. I rather enjoyed the extended u/s done for the benefit of the rather attractive and utterly clueless med student, and in the end JD left work early to come watch the fusspot in the lobby of the hospital. Which also meant that we had our first family dinner together in about 2 weeks (my husband has not been home before 1 am since last Friday ... and he's been heading out before the fusspot and I are up in the mornings. In retrospect, do I feel bad about moving to Lalaland alone last year? Nope). He is of course back at work, but that's ok.

Speaking of med students, one of my dear friends just finished his ob/gyn residency. I mention this because he had 2 days off after the rotation, and came to hang out with us. At some point he asked if I was nervous about anything this time, and the issue of the fusspot unweaning came up. He was utterly baffled and mumbled something about she probably wouldn't remember how to latch on, it having been 9 months and all ... yeah, Mr.-Doctor-in-2-months was taught in med school that breastmilk dries up as soon as you get pregnant. Cracks me up.

And yet again, thank you for all of the name suggestions. No resolution yet, but we at least have a longer list of possibilities.