Eight months

He is so little. Such a wee little man. Yet his presence is massive, larger than the Rockies, only to me. He eclipses the moon, has the power to erase the sunshine and replace it with hailstorms galore, and then again replace those storms with the most blissful post-rain scent of cherry blossoms and steamy sidewalks. He is a part of me. I love it. And at times I curse myself for not being able to pull away. I am addicted. Attached. In love. I am a mother.

Eight months today. Is it good? Is it bad? It is amazing. Cliché, I know. But the absolute truth is that I bitch and whine about “my life being ruined and not having any ‘me’ time” but when I am presented with opportunities to flee from my motherly role for a few hours, I relapse. I make excuses, I procrastinate until it is too late to go. And if I manage to leave him behind, I rush home as quickly as possible. I rush through my run, my bike or my trip to the store. I refuse to engage in conversations, my eyes stay focused on task and never meet with any other human beings in utter fear that they may engage me in conversation and keep me away for even longer than need be. And when I return, and am greeted with the smile that shudders from his lips through his arms and even whips his legs into motion, when he is finally returned to my arms and grips onto my skin with his nails and toes and legs and entirety, only at that moment does my heart cease to race. I feel at home.

“I love him but…” I understand this statement now. I used to think of these mothers as heinous, thoughtless beings. How could they make the honest choice to have a baby and then complain about what life they left behind? Because they had no idea. I had no idea. Right before he was born I was making plans for how to leave him with a friend after a few weeks so I could get out on my own for a bike trip through the mountains. And then he was born and I realized I would not be leaving him for a very long time. I was responsible. I became irreplaceable as soon as he took a breath. I am grateful for the importance he has endowed upon me. I have many moments that I curse my lack of freedom and spontaneity. I feel as if I am restricted by bedtimes, naptimes, mealtimes, schedules and routines that he enjoys but cause my mind to swirl into a tornado of boredom. I am barely capable of making decisions for myself, let alone for a helpless infant, dog and myself. I am confused at every hour of the day. And therefore I love him BUT I would have done a few things differently before his birth. Every parent has their own list of ‘would have, should have, could haves’ and I will store mine away for the next few utterly dependent years. I love him but… I had no comprehension of the immensity of and limitations that this love would place on my life.

And here I sit. In my dirty running clothes, ten hours post run… well run that turned into a walk because he was not cooperating with the stroller on this given day. Then the day got away from me with nursing, mealtime, changes, cleaning, and so forth… here I sit in sweaty spandex. I initially sat with full intention of complaining about the futile tasks of motherhood that I was not prepared for but cannot bring myself to. I am a sucker for the little man. He may have shattered my old life the moment he took a breath of worldly air but he also breathed a whole new life into my stale being.

Routine

My biggest fear when I got pregnant, was that my life was going to be horribly boring from then on. I dreaded the idea of stability and routine. Alas, five weeks and three days have passed since I gave birth to this precious little man, and life has been anything but still since then. Baby=boring life, is the biggest misconception that exists. Here I am, sitting in a nursery, I was under the impression that my child was fast asleep and I could resume blogging. Now he is starting to squirm, arising from the depths of his deep dream land. His little arms are flailing and his feet, wrapped within a sleep bag are piking straight into the air. And the cry is beginning, gotta go.

36 weeks....bed rest

I have finally reached the last month of pregnancy. I do not feel overly massive as I imagined I would, and my pelvic pain is a bit better since the babe's head has dropped this week. I felt the dropping in the midst of my sleep and between dreams. I could imagine him burrowing down into my pelvis and when I awoke the midwife confirmed that he had actually dropped. She also confirmed a few more things. The sensation of period cramps that were radiating towards my back were, in fact signs of early labour. She also listened to the fetal heart rate and upon auscultation told me that I was having a contraction. Painful: not in the slightest, in fact I had never even noticed them before she pointed them out. At first I could recognize the tightening of my entire belly by touching the belly, but I could not feel it inside. Now I am beginning to feel the tightenings without touching them from the outside. Perhaps, I am a bit unaware, but I expect that they will make themselves known when it really matters. To complete her check the midwife did a manual exam of my cervix and confirmed that I had slight dilation, softening and shortening and some bloody mucous. Her prescription: bed rest until 37 weeks. That was four days ago, and I am mighty bored of all this sitting.

You see there are certain things that they advise people to do when they are nearing their due date to naturally induce their pregnancy. Some of these are: sex, nipple stimulation, walking, other exercise, drinking red raspberry leaf tea, massage and accupressure. So now I am at home, I have canceled my massages, put my runners away and am sitting like a good girl. I must admit, my bed rest is probably more active than most, but frankly my back kills when I sit for too long and my mind goes crazy when I don't leave the house every few hours. So I do interrupt my bed rest regularly for quick trips outdoors. If anyone has any entertainment suggestions I would love to hear them. I've finished a couple books and have become quickly addicted to "Friday Night Lights", but not much more has caught my attention.

I will write about birth planning and home births, if we make it to the 37th week.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The absolute worst outfit that can be worn when pregnant has been discovered by yours truly. The wetsuit.
I took sailing lessons at MAC sailing at Jericho Sailing Centre for a week at 31 weeks gestation and since the water was still freezing, I donned a shabby rental wetsuit.
All of us newby students looked ridiculous, and one male mentioned how he felt like a teenage mutant ninja turtle, all he needed was a shell. This caused several glances my way until I looked down and realized, I had the shell! Holy hell, I am a teenage mutant ninja turtle. I will post a fab pic of my shell later this week.

32 weeks and 2 days

Its time to start counting the other way now. Basically I have, give or take, eight weeks to go. Where have the last six gone, or rather where have I gone for the last six? Toronto for two, the island for a couple weekends and I have no idea where the rest of the time has gone. I can assure you that I have not been spending my days researching products or scanning the aisles at Babies R Us, there has been little of that done. I have occasionally been known to pick up a book, we don't have cable so my life has not been absorbed by typical media outlets, instead I have been admiring the beautiful city that we are so lucky to live in. Cheese, I know. But seriously, for those of you who have not had the chance, please check out Vancouver in the Spring or Summer. Its worth the extra hike in plane fare, this time of year is the reason we all live here.

My pelvis has been hurting. It feels like it is broken. I may have mentioned this earlier, because this started around the fifth or sixth month. At first it was a mild aching after runs, then suddenly I felt like I had actually fractured the exact centre of my pubic bone and that I would never walk again. I want to put my hands on my privates and hold them together when I am walking, because they feel like they are going to yank apart at any moment. Apparently, this syndrome is called Pubic Symphisis Diastisis, an unusually wide gap between the two pubic bones. Feel free to read more here. So despite the fact that I can no longer run, walk the dog, or exercise in most manners, I still have been very very busy with this issue. I have been to physios, massage therapists, doctors, midwives and even to the dreaded chiropractors. Its not that I have any disrespect for chiros, because until recently I had never been. However, I do disagree with those who have to go to a chiro a few times a week for the rest of their life. I do not desire or respect this dependance. And after three very short and very expensive trips to a prenatal chiro in Vancouver, and three appointments being scheduled without my consent, I called it quits. Her manipulations were helpful for the rest of that day, but she told me nothing about helping myself or preventing the misalignment from returning. She was the saviour and she refused to empower me, the only way I would be saved would be if I returned to her for another session. I don't want a quick fix, but I do want to feel that the $60 I am handing over is worth it. And after a five minute session, I felt like I had just had my purse snatched.

Did I mention that I have a belly now? Its massive and I don't want it to get any bigger. Well I do, but I don't. You see, I am in some ways, a typical female. I want to remain svelte and fit, and not get big and lumpy. Thats normal right? But somehow, for ten months of my life I am supposed to be able to easily switch into the mindset that bigger is better. Not a bigger ass, not bigger arms or cankles or anything, but bigger belly. I am supposed to feel good when people say "look how big your belly is!", because a big baby (within reason), is a healthy baby. But its still hard to wrap my mind around, and my immediate reaction. I am trying to adjust my facial reactions from a squinched up disgusting face to one of pride and pleasure when the words: big or massive are dropped in my direction. The same goes for when I am told "You've grown so much!" I am 26 years old, I don't want to grow. I haven't grown since I was fourteen and I hated when people noticed then. Can't we all just pretend this isn't happening. My beautiful babe will be in arm in less than two months (I hope), so until then can I just cruise through without the show and tell of my bigger parts?

26 weeks

Nearly 26 weeks that is....

I am still alive, its just that my nails have been growing so fast that it makes it too difficult to type. And I can't find the damn nail clippers.

Sweet Dreams continued

My purchase recommendation for the day is a humidifier. I have been so dry since becoming pregnant. Perhaps its because I pee every twenty minutes and try not to drink in the late hours, or perhaps its because Vancouver is a bit rain deprived, or perhaps its this nasty dry cough that is going around, or perhaps this is a normal pregnancy related ailment. Regardless, I have finally found a solution:the most amazing humidifier I have ever seen. This puppy is truly silent, and that puff of steam you see in the ad is real, it instantly produces relaxing and moisturizing mist at whatever level you desire and warm or cold. Perfection. Sweet dreams.