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::: Check out : I'm telilng you, I could look at stuffonmycat all day. There should totally be a stuffonmybaby.com, not that I would endorse such a thing. Artifact:
I tried elevating my feet for many, many miles this weekend - did it help the ham ankles? No, it did not. | Tuesday, August 9, 2005 Apparently, JB was subjected to a surprise baby shower at his office today, which delights me to no end. Not because we are in need of more gifts - my god, there aren't enough thank you cards in the world to properly express our gratitude for what we've already received from family and friends and you wonderful people - but because I love the idea of JB surrounded by coworkers and struggling to find something macho to say about a periwinkle onesie. JB: "Hey, thank you!" While JB was busy with that, I spent my entire morning at the medical imaging center for a sixth and presumably final ultrasound. This was scheduled only because I tentatively asked at last week's prenatal appointment, "Hey, so whatever happened with that partial placenta previa thing?" And my doctor's office collectively went, "Duh? Placenta prev - oh, placenta previa, the thing where the placenta covers the cervix and you cannot have a vaginal birth! Which we diagnosed at your 20 week scan! Ahem! Oh yes! We should check on that before a baby attempts to make its way out of your uterus!" I guess it was a good thing *I* remembered. Anyway, after spending a good 20 minutes providing the medical center with my precious, precious insurance information (despite the fact that I've been to the damn building like four times now) they had me wait about an hour past my appointment time, which meant my bladder was threatening to trigger a tsunami warning by the time they finally brought me in. After the scan, during which Riley hiccuped nonstop and I had to painfully crane my neck to half-glimpse the images, I waited another 45 minutes before a radiologist whisked in, crushed every bone in my hand with his patented MD grip, and in a cadence on par with a cattle auctioneer told me that thebaby'sgrowthisnormalandtheplacentalooksfine, and zoom, he was out of there. I have no idea what the baby is measuring sizewise, I have no info about the stupid placenta except it seemed "fine", I was late for work, and the goddamn place didn't even validate my parking. I should have slowed him down and asked him all the questions I wanted, instead of just nodding my head like a dashboard doll, but still. Freaking doctors, man. I'm starting to see the allure in delivering at home on a pile of newspapers. Well....I mean, sort of. In many ways, we are ready for Riley's grand entrance. The drawers of his dresser/changing table are filled with tiny, adorable outfits, washed in baby detergent and carefully folded. The crib is outfitted with sheets and bereft of any soft item of any kind, in keeping with the latest available SIDS information ("Put your baby on large metal tray for sleeping. Do not allow your baby to become comfortable. If possible, poke baby with a sharp stick every five to six minutes during naptime."). A stroller lurks in the corner of the nursery, a car seat has been ordered, packages of diapers litter the floor next to the sealife themed lamp. And in many ways, I'm sure we're woefully unprepared. How do you steel yourself for the life changes a baby brings, exactly? I can read all the books in the world, but nothing can really tell me what labor will be like, what the first sleepless months will be like, how it will feel when the baby just won't stop crying and I've tried everything and I feel like the world's shittiest parent and by the way just how long has it BEEN since my last shower, anyway? It will be hard, I'm sure. But here is my appeal: let us be lucky enough to see how hard it is. Let Riley's birth be healthy, oh, please let him be okay. Bring on everything else, because my heart is ready. ::: Photos from the weekend:
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