Post #29: It's Three o'clock Somewhere

36 weeks in, and it’s begun… I’ve entered the uncomfortable stage of pregnancy. It started slowly… a Charlie horse in the calf one night, then some trouble with my sciatica a week later. I graduated from wearing a belly band over my pre-pregnancy work pants to purchasing an actual pair of maternity khakis. My shirts gradually started fitting shorter so that a portion of my belly was exposed to the breeze. Pee breaks increased from 2 to 3 and now 4-6 times a night. Tying my shoes turned from a mild inconvenience to a near impossibility from a standing position. My daily walk turned into a waddle and the hills surrounding my house became more and more of a challenge. My three o’clock naps changed from luxury to necessity, especially on work days. I have a strained muscle in my rib cage that becomes sore from having to support the weight of my ever-growing and consistently-dropping baby belly. I even discovered a new part of my pregnancy body and named it my “underbelly”. It’s section of skin where my stomach overlaps with my waistline. And it just so happens that this underbelly becomes increasingly irritated throughout each day by the waistband of whatever pair of pants, shorts, or pajama bottoms I happen to be wearing.

While the discomforts described undoubtedly interfere with my daily living, I think that they serve an important purpose: they remind me just how close I am to actually having a baby. I have known for nine months about this inevitable conclusion to pregnancy, but it's finally starting to feel real. And these aches and pains are giving me the sense of urgency I needed to finish preparing for the little one’s arrival. So, this week, after a beautiful shower in Massachusetts, I got down to the business of nesting. I made the baby’s bed, organized a diaper bag, packed my hospital bag full of a newly purchased nursing cami with pajama pants and bath robe along with going home outfits for me and the baby. In fact, I packed two outfits for the baby… one newborn onesie should he be of normal-size and another larger onesie should he actually be ten pounds like they estimated he would be back in March. My “nesting” didn’t stop there… I cleaned my car, got a haircut, and had a mani/pedi with blue nail polish just for good measure. Kevin and I even went to a two-hour breastfeeding class since we missed registration for the traditional day-long birthing course and figured it would be the next best thing.

After all of my hard work, there is still more to be done. There are new baby clothes to be washed and still more shower gifts to be assembled. But with Kevin’s help, we can get it all done in just a few more days. After that, I wonder if we’ll be able to say we are officially ready. I mean how can you ever feel ready for something like this? We’re going to have a baby! And, if I forget that for even a second, all I have to do is try unsuccessfully to stand up from a seated position on the couch or try and walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded. Thank you, pregnancy discomforts, for keeping my focus where it belongs. We are in the final stretch, and I can’t lose sight of what awaits at the finish!

Post #28: What you may not expect when you're expecting...

A lot of what I knew about pregnancy prior to becoming pregnant came from television and cinematic portrayals of it. This means that I was embarrassingly naïve, and, in some cases, uninformed about what to expect. Fortunately, in the age of the internet, naivety is easily corrected and information readily available in just a few clicks. And a great, easily accessible birthing coach is Google. My search history is flooded with pregnancy-related questions. Most of these are of the form: “Is ______________ normal in pregnancy?” And most of what fills in the blanks to my web browsing is too embarrassing to disclose as it would demonstrate just how little I really knew. But in nearly all of these cases, no matter how strange the symptom, the answers available on medical websites and baby-mama forums were all “yes”. Normal? Really? I would think in a mixture of bewilderment and relief as I pondered the association between my latest concern and the ensuing reassurance provided.

But not all of what I’ve learned generated from concerns or worries. Much of my prenatal education has resulted from pure fascination and curiosity. Lessons compiled from seven months of observation.  It seems that, when it comes to being pregnant, the one word response to “What to expect when you’re expecting” is… anything. Since that doesn’t really narrow it down, I am going to use this post as an opportunity to disclose the top ten things I’ve learned from my experiences so far. Maybe this will save someone some unnecessary googling….

Pregnancy is not really nine months. I know this is a mind-blowing revelation, but it’s actually longer. Let’s do the math, each month averages 4 1/3 weeks and the normal gestational period is 40 weeks.  40 divided by 4 1/3 leaves us with approximately 9.23. While a quarter of a month doesn’t seem like much, I am sure that when I am nine months along, it will feel like an eternity. Even as it is now, I feel like I have been pregnant forever. Not that I am feeling awful, but I’m definitely anxious.  Knowing that in just a couple months I will be a mother is an all-consuming reality that can make the days feel longer than usual. But who knows, maybe at nine months I will be grateful for the extra week of preparation. I’ll get back to you on that.

Morning sickness is a misnomer for the nausea that characteristically accompanies the first trimester (and beyond for an unlucky few) of pregnancy. A more fitting title would be “all day sickness”, or “all day malaise” should you opt for a more phonetically pleasing title.  I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I wish I had been forewarned of this inaccuracy in nomenclature and so I feel inclined to give the heads up.  Nausea is, in my opinion, one of the worst feelings possibly experienced. And, having it linger for days on end is torture. Fortunately for me, the feeling only lasted for about 8 weeks. And every day during that stretch, I reminded myself that it would be worth it. Because I knew it would and hold to that belief now.

Cats have whiskers for a reason. Beyond their sensory capacities, whiskers enable cats to tell whether or not they can fit in an opening.  If the long hair-like structures do not touch either side, the cat knows he can pass through. This, I’ve learned, is a useful functionality. Though I don’t think pregnant bellies should grow equipped with whiskers, I do think that an innate sense of my expanded size would be useful. It happens far too often that I try making my way through a half opened door or walking down the rows of student desks only to find that I’m not going to make it. Rather than turn into a doorstop or bump seated students with my bump, I have to retreat and find an alternative route. So pregnant ladies, be prepared to modify your bodily navigation. Maneuver yourselves with the same caution as a former Smart Car driver would her new SUV.

Our inner ear can’t always compensate for pregnancy. As such, balance can be tough to come by. When I was in Rome, whether on a bus or on the subway, I noticed that standing while in motion was nearly impossible. There I was, wobbling, back-stepping, and clenching onto the ceiling rails with every bump and turn. And there was my seventy-five year old grandma next to me, standing firmer than the marble Roman statues we were passing by. I didn’t ever consider that a changed weight distribution would interfere so extremely with my center of gravity. But it does! Standing on one leg to tie a shoe or practice tree pose is a challenge. And, while walking, I’ve logged one embarrassing trip and countless close calls into my record books. So, along with “stay hydrated” and “avoid alcohol”, add “walk cautiously” to your pregnancy to-do list.

You don’t have to be a cage fighter to get kicked in the ribs and karate chopped in the kidneys. Turns out, you just have to be pregnant! I’m sure that battling in an Ultimate Fighting competition is far more painful, but I’m often surprised at how such a little baby can deliver such a powerful blow. I am always amused by these ninja-like movements, especially now that they have become stronger and more regulated. Never would a punch to the stomach seem like such an endearing gesture, but it somehow does when it comes from the little ball of love growing inside. Which reminds me, just in case your little one should decide to jab you in the bladder, it’s best to use the bathroom as proactively as possible. Not that I’ve learned this from experience or anything…

Pregnancy is no place for modesty, especially if your pre-natal exams take place in Italy. The world of obstetrics, like gynecology, is not a particularly pleasant one.  I have yet to meet a woman who truly enjoys going to her annual exam or a man who doesn’t squirm when she talks about it. I anticipate that giving birth will be the most vulnerable and exposing experiences of my life, but I didn’t realize that my pre-natal visits overseas would do such a good job of preparing me for it.  I’m not going to go into much detail here, but if you feel compelled to skip right to the next one, I will not be offended. Okay, so from my appointments back home, I’ve grown accustomed to being provided with a little cloth robe that ties in the front and a sheet that sits on my lap. It’s not much but it does manage to award us ladies with a little bit of decency. Now, take these away and add a translator to the side of the exam table (bless her soul for surviving three pregnancies on the team this year). And forget about being escorted to a room where you change and wait for the doctor. Just enter the doctor’s office while he’s looking over your charts and strip down behind a small two-paneled, see-through room separator. That was my typical appointment in Italy. Kevin’s perception of what goes on at the usual female check-ups is definitely distorted. Poor guy was thrown into the fire.

When you are expecting, you are subjected to a wide range of reactions from people you encounter. Most people see pregnant and they smile. Some offer to help carry my groceries, or halt traffic when they see me from their cars trying to cross the street on my daily walk/waddle. Others are more vocal about it and will compliment my basketball belly or inquire about my due date, the sex of the baby, and potential names. Students are especially candid in their perspectives on pregnancy. “We have to be nice to you so you don’t get all angry like pregnant women can get”, or “Wow, Miss! You keep getting bigger!” or “I heard that when your water breaks, your contractions intensify!” And, my favorite, “your belly scares me because all I think about when I see it is how the baby is going to get out and I know that’s going to hurt… a lot”. Yeah, it scares you and me both, kid.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, there are some people who are much quieter about my being pregnant. Men, for example, often exert the same energies towards not looking at my enlarged midsection as they would towards not looking at a chesty woman’s over-exposed cleavage. This involves the practiced skill of holding eye contact during conversation. I imagine them thinking, whatever you do, don’t look down. Maybe this is an evolutionary response to those horror stories they hear about some unfortunate man who mistakenly inquired about a non-pregnant woman’s pregnancy. Rather than make the same egregious error themselves, they ignore the possibility altogether. Or maybe pregnancy and the mystery that surrounds it because they are males just make them uncomfortable. I can relate to this discomfort because, prior to becoming pregnant, I was very curious/fascinated/frightened by it all. When I would talk with pregnant woman, I could feel myself on the brink of asking a million questions about it that some would find inappropriate coming from a stranger.

It’s weird having your tummy touched. Go ahead. Touch your stomach. When was the last time you did that? The average person touches their face over 4,000 times a day. But, unless you are doing that bodily kinesthetic trick of rubbing your belly with one hand while patting yourself on the head with the other, it’s unlikely that you are making hand to belly contact very frequently. It’s an equally strange sensation to have someone else touching your stomach. We hug, shake hands, and offer congratulatory pats on the back. But unless you are Buddha, the Pillsbury Dough Boy, or maybe “The Situation”, you probably don’t get your tummy touched by other people very often. I don’t mind at all when others try and feel my baby move and I certainly enjoy tracing his motions with my own hand, but it is funny to think about how something that would be so strange if I weren’t pregnant is so normal now.

The only regular thing about pregnancy is irregularity. This applies to everything from my energy levels to my emotions, the baby’s position in my belly, and everything in between. Just when I think I am getting used to how my body is responding to being pregnant, something changes. But I guess that is something I can count on every morning… that the new day is unlikely to be the same as the last.

So, until that little guy (or big guy should he continue on his current path of 98th percentile development) arrives, I will continue marveling at the crazy new symptoms I experience and observations I make. Because, the truth is...

As scary and worrisome as it can be, and as unattractive as some of the less glorified side effects of pregnancy may make you feel, nothing can take away from how beautiful it really is. The fact that we will soon have a baby boy is even more indescribable than I ever would have imagined. The closer the due date gets, the more surreal it all seems. I can hardly believe we are so lucky. 

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Post #27: Full House

It seems that, as we get older, our decisions become more difficult and their outcomes evolve into increasingly more-complicated webs of if-then conditional statements. The association between age and the complexity of decisions is even more apparent when a new addition to the family is factored into the equation. A baby inevitably adds a new dimension to the decision-making process in that priorities must be rearranged and the magnitude of concern over making the right choice increases substantially. I was enlightened to this reality in January before I left Italy when Kevin and I were planning our next step.

First there was the fact that neither of us will be technically employed when the baby joins our family. But this is typically the case for every hockey family until potential contract options for the upcoming season arrive in early summer. So, with this tiny little insignificant detail being temporarily outside of our control, our most pressing quandary was where we were going to live.

We knew we had to remain in Connecticut until the baby arrives since that is where I am currently insured. But we do not own a house, and renting is too complicated for a mobile couple. We do not have a definitive 6-month plan, and, therefore, cannot commit to renting in one place over another should an internship or job opportunity come up elsewhere. Not to mention the fact that we would be in the market for a furnished apartment, a commodity that is tough to come by when a big dog and little baby are part of the family.

So, yes, on paper our current circumstances probably read as less than ideal for Baby R’s arrival. And, sometimes, thanks mostly to sporadic surges of pregnancy hormones, I was vulnerable to this perspective myself. A large amount of unknowns in anyone’s life is bound to be somewhat overwhelming, right? Thankfully, we have an amazing circle of support. And we are fortunate that a room became available at one of my all-time favorite places…

It is one place that will always feel like home, no matter how much time passes between visits. To top it off, the rent is free, home-cooked meals are prepared on site, the landlords are lovely, and the girl occupying the room next door isn’t bad either. There is plenty of parking, though assigned spots are subject to change on a nightly basis. The only expectations, as declared by our “neighbor” are that the shower curtain be closed after showers are taken and the bathroom counter be clear of clutter at all times. Mrs. Landlord only asks not to run the water while doing dishes, and to always store food products beyond the reach of the elderly Labrador Retriever that guards the property and demands to be pet by anyone occupying her couch, or any other piece of furniture in the house. Mr. Landlord asks that all garbage cans be lined with a plastic bag and silverware be loaded categorically into the dishwasher (after being thoroughly rinsed of course). Small requests for room and board in a home so full of love and memories…

I thought that moving back in with my parents at 26 and pregnant would make for some twilight-zone worthy adjustments. After all, I hadn’t lived in my hometown since the summer after my freshman year at UNH, nearly eight years before. And here I was going home with a husband, a dog, and a baby on the way. But as it turns out, it’s not so hard coming home. The transition has gone rather smoothly for me. I mean, beyond shutting the refrigerator door between visits and turning down the heat during the day, there’s not much I have to do to avoid eviction.

But just because the adjustment has gone so smoothly on my end doesn’t mean the same is true for all members of the household. There have been a couple “instances” that illuminate how the dynamics of a household change upon the introduction of a new roommate.

First, there was a medicinal mishap. When I was packing for my return to the States, I downsized my Calcium supplements from their BJ’s-sized bottle to a smaller, empty bottle of Ibuprofen. While unpacking, I placed them alongside my bottle of pre-natals in the vitamin cabinet in the kitchen. Nearly a month later, my dad learned why the “Ibuprofen” he’s been taken hasn’t been helping his headaches. He spotted me taking what would have been the largest dosage of Ibuprofen ever produced if it weren’t a calcium supplement, and he asked worriedly if painkillers were safe during pregnancy.

Then, there was a little mix-up in the bathroom closet. Storage space is tough to come by in any house. Somehow, my mother magically opened up an entire shelf in the bathroom for our use. I carefully arranged my products in bins, leaving space for the dog’s supplies as well as the husband’s. One evening, I noticed the dog brush on the bathroom counter when it is usually on the shelf in the bin with the frontline medications and heartworm pills. Strange, I thought, as I reached to put it back in it’s place. That’s when I noticed my youngest sister’s hair tangled in the bristles! As if the idea of my sister brushing her hair with a dog brush wasn’t funny enough, I told my dad the story and he admitted to using the brush too. What’s better is he seemed disappointed that the brush was for canines. “It’s got a great ergonomically-designed handle,” he said with a laugh.

I am sure that, when Kevin arrives, there will be a short period of adjustment while we rearrange to have another adult in the house. The residents will get used to odor of his hockey equipment in the garage and he will (eventually) adapt to the bathroom etiquette established by my sister. And then, the baby will come, and we will need to make even bigger changes. My live-in sister drew parallels between our impending housing situation and that of the family portrayed on Full House. She stopped with a laugh at her own parallels with “Uncle Joey”.  Clearly entertained by the idea of our lives as a TV show, she later suggested that our youngest sister move back home so that we could turn this all into a reality TV opportunity.

All jokes aside, I am sure that we will think fondly of the time we shared with my family when we figure out our plans for the summer and make arrangements for living elsewhere. I am just hoping that they will view the craziness of our full house in the same light. 

Post #26: Baby Update

Good news today at the ultrasound! Baby looks healthy, though he is quite big for his age. Either his due date was miscalculated or we are en route to having a giant baby boy. We are very relieved by the report that he’s doing well in there. And we are perfectly happy that our only legitimate concern now is how he’s going to get out!

30 weeks!

Post #25: Real-Life Rollercoaster

Millenium Force, Mind Eraser, Shiekra, The Voyage, Thunderhead, Tremors, Ultrasound. All but one of these is not a rollercoaster. And, yet, that one feels more like a rollercoaster than any other thrill ride I have yet to experience... and it’s a terrifying ride.

When I envisioned my ultrasound visits, I pictured limitless smiles and maybe some tears of joy as Kev and I watched our baby move about in my belly. I imagined counting ten little fingers and ten tiny toes and marveling at the flickering heart on the black and white screen. But ultrasounds have turned into one of the least exciting parts to my pregnancy.

It started back at my 20 week appointment in Italy. The exhilaration from learning that we were having a boy was cut short by the sonographer’s mention of “cisti” and “testa” in the same sentence only moments later. Medical lingo is normally beyond my Italian translation, but “cysts” and “head” were not. And in any language, those two words together in reference to your baby are terrifying. It didn’t help when the sonographer shied away from giving me any additional information. I left the appointment with a follow-up ultrasound scheduled in Torino for Friday. Three days seemed like an eternity. Kevin and I braced ourselves for news that we knew we couldn’t even anticipate receiving.

Fortunately, the doctor in Torino had only reassuring news in store. Choroid Plexus Cysts, as they are called, are fluid filled sacs in the head that can be a completely normal part of fetal development. Given the increase of technology available, they are becoming a more common finding, but are really only a concern when found in combination with other anomalies, or “markers”. He said that the isolated cases shouldn’t even be reported to the parents-to-be as they only produce unnecessary stress. And, from the looks of everything else, our baby was looking perfectly healthy. The cysts, he assured, should disappear early in the third trimester.

At my first appointment home from Italy, I was anxious to see if the cysts had in fact been reabsorbed. The good news was that they had. The bad news was that a new one had emerged, this one larger than the last. To get a better analysis of it and so my new doctor could confirm my Italian doctor’s prognosis, I was scheduled for yet another Level 2 ultrasound. We were less than happy about going through the whole thing all over again.   

And so we waited. Finally, the date rolled around for our fourth ultrasound in just over a month. This time, cysts were not a problem. We thought that this was the information we were looking for to find relief. Finally, we could stop worrying. Or so we thought… until a follow-up phone call informed us that I was scheduled for yet another exam, this time at Hartford Hospital. The cysts were no longer the focus of the scan, but the baby’s size was. And so were his heart and kidneys all of which were described as “slightly enlarged”.  Probably nothing, and don’t worry we were told. If only worry was something I could control. Clearly, there is no such thing as passing a test or ultrasound in this pregnancy with flying colors.

And that’s where we are now. 4,000 miles apart and following as best as we can my doctor’s orders of “don’t worry”. Honestly, at this point, I don’t think I have much worry left in my system. It’s been up and down and up and down, and I am ready to get off of the ride. The fact is, we will love this baby no matter what the ultrasounds imply. What do these endless tests accomplish beyond interrupting the normal excitement and anticipation we should be experiencing at this stage of pregnancy?

I haven’t written in a long time. I think a part of me wanted to wait until we knew for sure that everything was fine, or at least until we had a definitive answer about what was going on. But I can’t fast forward my life to the part where we hold our baby boy and learn that, no matter what, we are nothing less than the luckiest people in the world. So I can’t do that in this blog either. I can write, and I can continue dreaming about the wonderful little blessing that waits on the other side of all this worry.  

Post #24: A Week Ago Today

One week ago today, I woke up at 2am to a crying dog at the foot of my bed. I opened my eyes and Dylan’s tail started to wag as if he were pleasantly surprised that I was awake. As if his whining were in no way intended to stir me from sleep. In Italy it was 8am and an hour past his breakfast. He was clearly confused by our transition back to Eastern Standard Time. Afterall we had only just returned the day before…

In my final week in Italy, we were fortunate to share the company of my sister, T. It had been suggested that I might need some help bringing home over 200 pounds of luggage, eighty pounds of dog, and almost six months worth of baby. And she had graciously volunteered for job… a vacation in Italy that would wrap up with escorting Dylan, Baby R, and I back to the US. Her only condition was that she be provided unlimited opportunities to drink wine and eat pizza while there. Not a lot to ask considering I was living the land of wine and pizza.

We started her brief visit with an overnight trip East of the Milan airport. We first stopped in Sirmione, the southernmost town on Lake Garda that is over an hour away by car from the spot on the lake where I’d been in November. It was a foggy day, and because we were so far out of tourist season, the place was nearly deserted. This combination made for an eerily picturesque backdrop to our afternoon of walking along the lake, exploring the castle, and ‘getting lost’ in the town. We found a hot spring along the shore, and had lunch in a bustling little restaurant in a piazza overlooking the castle.

From the lakeside resort, we headed to Verona. Despite having been there before, the sights were just as lovely the second time around. I love ancient Roman ampitheater, the well-preserved collosseum, and the cobblestone walking streets leading through Piazza del Erbe and past some of the best shopping I’ve seen in Italian cities. Though we didn’t  feast on pizza for our first meal, we did share a meal of delicious homemade pasta at an adorable family restaurant near our hotel.

For the remainder of T’s vacation and my own season abroad, we spent time enjoying the simple pleasures of the little Valpe region with the rest of my little family. Apperitivi, pizza, farewell meals with my friends from the last two seasons, and a hike in Angrogna that Kevin and I had found previously and loved for it’s panoramic views of the region’s mountains. And then, just as quickly as T had come, and what felt like days after I’d arrived five months before, it was time to go...

Even a week removed from the chaos of international flight, it’s still difficult to grasp how a nine hour plane ride can bring you, not only back in time, but also into what feels like a world away from where you’ve been. There I was, a wide-eyed American in a small Italian village with a small group of new friends and my own little family of husband and dog. And now, here I am, in my childhood home surrounded by friends and family with Kevin a Skype-date away.  Just like that.

Post #23: A Chamonix Babymoon

Although all of the drama of this past season was consuming, we didn’t forget to appreciate the fact that we were in Europe. In a season we’d made it to Barcelona, Asti, and more. And, when a break in the schedule came up in mid-January, we jumped at the chance to have a new traveling experience. It would be our last together before my departure, and possibly the last before the arrival of Baby R. This time, we ventured over the border via the Monte Bianco tunnel and into the French ski town of Chamonix. And this time, Dylan came with us.

We stayed in a beautiful hotel in Les Houches, just 10 minutes from the main Chamonix resort and tucked into the mountains overlooking Mount Blanc. Being midseason for Kev and midpregnancy for me, skiing was not an option. But that wasn’t going to keep us from playing in the snow that we have been deprived of all winter. Our weekend agenda revolved around walking along cross country ski trails and sipping hot wine/hot chocolate by the fireplace in the cozy hotel lounge. We also enjoyed apperitivi amongst tourists closing out their day on the slopes and dined on traditional meals from the region in adorable alpine restaurants. It was the ultimate destination for two days of relaxation. And though we enjoyed sharing one evening with some of our friends from the team, the trip primarily consisted of just the two (well technically three plus dog) of us. And it was the perfect capstone to my Italy adventures. In less than a week, my sister would arrive, and, five days after that, she would escort me home. 

View from the hotel

A bridge in Chamonix

This is Happiness...

Winter Wonderland

An upstairs lounge

View from the upstairs lounge

Warming up by the fire in the hotel lobby/bar

My massive and delicious gourmet hot chocolate

Dylan wasn't about to let us hold hands unless he could share the love.