Yesterday

Yesterday was July 7. My husband's birthday.

Also, yesterday marked 37 weeks of pregnancy.

For a good portion of my life, for over a decade, one of the goals I've had for every day has been, "Do not have a baby today."

For the first time, that changed yesterday. Yesterday was the go ahead date, the date where this whole game changed.

What's that feeling in my belly? On July 6, the answer was "hope it's just a practice contraction." Today? "Hey, maybe the baby's on the way!"

Last night I laid in bed trying to envision the birth, putting good images in my head.

Instead, I ended up thinking about how we need to clean the bedroom and move the storage chest thing out and the bed over so that the tub can go in, and when we move the bed over we need to also move over the wall hangings above the bed because I have this thing with symmetry and I would not be happy having to look at wall hangings that weren't hanging centered over the bed and we should also take this opportunity to dust the floor trim and actually vacuum all the way to the walls and where will the dog go during the birth and will our families just give us 72 hours to get used to each other and our new little family and for me to heal before they barge in and where am I supposed to get this food that we should stock up on and why is our freezer so small.

So maybe the visualizations aren't what I need to be doing right now.

Fences are Good Neighbors

It should be known that I love animals. I'm a softy for them and am constantly thinking of new ways to convince my husband that we can adopt just one more cat and/or dog. Usually, it's the cat and/or dog with heart trouble or three legs or is 90 percent blind ("but I can help them find what they need!").

So...

My neighbor is an ass. Quite honestly. Almost so much he is a donkey. Or a burro (although, truth be told, I kind of want a donkey-slash-burro and should maybe not say such mean things about those kind, gentle animals). But we did build an entire fence just to not have to be subjected to the audio and visual yickiness from next door.

He has roommates (which I thought didn't happen past the age of 30) and they throw loud parties and leave their empties on the back porch (again, not past 30?). One of the old roommates had a dog - a female German Shepherd - who was made to stay outside, like, all the time.

Eventually roommate #1 goes away. Much rejoicing that there is no longer a sad, lonely puppy crying next to my house.

But along comes new roommate. New roommate ALSO brings with him a dog, this time a long-haired little dachshund with the sweetest little yip; we'll call her Enid (although her real name is so much more cute). Enid is tied to a stake in the middle of the yard all day long. Sometimes he doesn't bring her in at night, so it turns into 24+ hours that dear, adorable little Enid is staked in the yard (if he doesn't want other dogs in the house, WHY KEEP GETTING DOG-OWNING ROOMMATES?).

Enid yips when people are outside at the house, either leaving in their car or driving into the driveway. They ignore her. Enid yips because she is freakin' bored and has no shelter and has empty food and water bowls. They ignore her.

Enid likes us. We'll go over when no one is there to give her a biscuit or two. We toss her toys back within reach of her tie-out. I cry when someone comes home and I see her get so excited and wag her short little tail so hard it looks like it will launch her into the air, but they only ignore her or she gets a pat and her bowl gets moved out of the hot sun. This literally just happened and is why I'm sitting here angrily banging on the keyboard, sniffling and wiping my eyes).

My dog gets a biscuit every time he actually eats all the food we put into his bowl (it doesn't happen all the time). He gets fresh, cold water every single day. He has a basket of toys on the ground that he knows he can go to at anytime if he wants something to chew on. He has a cat to chase around, He gets a walk almost every single day and gets to take trips to the dog park several times a month.

We should be thanked for being such good pet parents (both have been "socially customized," both have regular vet appointments and are licensed...) and the roommate should not get to have a dog. As it is, we both get to have dogs.

That doesn't seem fair to the dog.

Or to the neighbors, who think they should get to take the dog and let the dog come live with them because they would clearly be much better, loving pet parents.

Prequel

In two weeks, if I go into labor, my midwives will say, "okay, cool, so let's have a baby."

TWO WEEKS.

Two.

We'd better get some diapers.

The List Goes On

Bought a new laundry basket today and started gathering supplies in it for the home birth. I know it's a bit early, but I need something to fixate on.

You do buy a home birth kit but there are things not in the kit that you need to have ready to go. Most of them I get - maxi pads, extra set of sheets (with a handy dandy diagram to show you how to make your bed for the big day), towels, washcloths, sitz bath, crock pot to keep washcloths warm, so on and so forth.

The one I don't get is a cookie sheet. If someone plans on making me cookies during this process then I am VERY happy. If not, what is it for?

My guess is an implement tray.

Although I'd prefer there be cookies on it.

Early Morning Companionship

Couldn't sleep worth a darn last night. Water was giving me heartburn and then, when I finally started sawing logs, my child-to-be decides if I'm not ready to give birth, the precious little one is finding it's own way out. Apparently that route was through my side.

After about 30 minutes of pushing little feet and/or hands back in, I threw in the towel and got up out of bed around 4:30 AM, hoping to let my hubster sleep longer.

Swaying, rocking, swinging my arms from side to side all seemed to work for a time and then the tunneling would begin again.

Too early to grab said sleepy husband out of bed to go with me on a walk with the dog, I zipped up my jacket, put on my watch (because then I can actually see myself getting more and more slow) and headed out the door.

Chinook and I made it halfway through the first lap when we were joined by Mr. Braxton and Mr. Hicks (kidding - thanks to Wikipedia I know it's just one guy).

After picking that weirdo up, we were, utterly inexplicably, joined by Sacha Baron Cohen singing the "I Like to Move It" song from Madagascar. But only four lines over and over again.

So off the merry band of us went, Chinook and I doing a brisk 20-minute mile, cheered on by Braxton-Hicks and the king of lemurs.

Jicama and other oddities

Currently, my baby is the size of a large jicama.

WTF?

Thanks, BabyCenter weekly emails, for forcing me to learn about fringe veggies.

Musings of a 32+ Weeks Pregnant Woman

This may just be the increase in hormones racing through my body and playing their little game of change and preparation on all the important innards and outtards of my body (read: brain, heart, lungs, uterus, skin, hair, nails and so on) but I feel ridiculously out of my normal alignment today.

Yesterday, I heard the fantastic, amazing news that a friend, someone whom I respect and has been an enormously supportive and wonderful person during my pregnancy, gave birth to her first child (http://glossolaliac.typepad.com/). Maybe the hormones can also be blamed for feeling so close to this person, or maybe I actually CAN be friends with girls (there's a thought), but I was so overwhelmed with the news and so damn happy for them that the only place my happiness could go was out my eyes.

How weird is it to cry for someone else's joy when yours is just around the corner?

Today I read her birth story, which set off a whole new wave of weepiness. My husband and I had been planning on birthing at a birth center, not at home, but over the last week we've discussed with each other and our midwives the idea that maybe we do want to have a home birth. After reading the aforementioned birth story, and reading the stories of others who have recently given birth, I'm having a very difficult time imagining this birth taking place anywhere BUT our house.

Yeah, so we do have a lot of work to do at the ol' homestead before it would be ready (mainly making the backyard look pretty so I don't see turned up soil while breathing through my eighth hour of labor), but a home birth is feeling more and more like the only way that this was ever going to happen anyway so why fight fate?

At the same time, I wonder, "can I actually do this?" Birthing at home seems so much more personal and...close than birthing anywhere else and I don't know if my shyness, my concern of making others feel uncomfortable to be around me, my worry about looking unprepared or like I didn't do the right thing, makes me a good candidate for home birth. I like my midwives a lot and I love their attitude toward birth, but they haven't seen me naked or sitting on the toilet.

And then there are the silly thoughts that my house won't be ready for people to be in it - there will be dog hair on the carpet and under the fridge, the cat box will smell, our fridge will need to be cleaned, our pictures are dusty, we haven't even been able to get the living room how we want it yet (decorating, furniture, etc.).

So that's where I am right now. I'm so freaking excited I can't stand it, but there are lot of other things that are pulling my focus between now and then. I wish I had all this time to focus on and prepare myself for the birth.