Is that a twinge I feel?

(Hey you. If you're reading this post, take a look at the column to the left. I added a poll to see what folks are guessing the Bean will be! So vote already! You don't need a photo ID! ;-)

Yesterday was my weekly doctor's appointment during which I was examined to determine if "things were happening" yet. Well, they are. (Out of respect for all of you guys who really don't need the nitty gritty details, I'll spare you the prego lingo.) All yesterday, I felt, well, different. Lots more pressure like the Bean is about to fall out, and other twinges and such that can indicate impending labor. So, last night, suddenly I thought -- Crazy lady! Pack your bag! So, that's what you see in the picture here. E grabbed the camera and snapped a shot. I packed the Bean's clothes for the first time. Weird!

So, I have another appointment on Friday; Dr. Craig will do that oh-so-fun exam again and if I'm still progressing, then she actually plans to induce labor Saturday morning -- during what when I was a kiddle was prime cartoon time. Hoo-ah!

If on the other hand things haven't changed much, then it will be next week; but she doesn't plan to let me go longer than that.

I'll post Friday night to let everyone know what's happening. If it's a go -- check by Saturday or Sunday for photos and/or video!

I just ordered a new digital video camera that will be delivered Thursday. You know how we love our tech gadgetry. Oh! In case any of you are wondering, there will be no documentation of any muckety muck. There will however be plenty of photos of the Bean, who will by then given one of the following names:

Annelise
or
Even Michael

What will it be? We're about to find out...

Kettle Watching

Well, now, we really are entering the home-stretch. And I feel it. the enormous belly you see pictured here is beyond uncomfortable.

Tonight, I attended a breastfeeding course which was held at the same place as the birthing course E and I finished up a couple weeks ago.

I feel like my head is so full of directions on everything from how to clean the baby's umbilical stump (yikes!) to how to recognize that the baby is swallowing and not just sucking (another worry...) that I will never remember what I need to when I need to.

I know that some of you reading this have assured me of the contrary, but what does one really have to do but worry about such things in the final days before the little one appears and life changes in a way that we still can't quite grasp? (These concerns though are much more manageable than the ones related to, "will the baby be healthy and OK?")

As next weekend is our due date, and my parents arrive next Saturday, this weekend I kept thinking how this would be the last one that E and I spent together alone. Again, hard to grasp. No, impossible.

It's funny how such strong feelings of excitement, anticipation and fear can simultaneously grip you.

But on to lighter topics. To capture the relaxation that was happening here Saturday morning (if only briefly for E), I snapped a few pictures for the family photo album. The morning was really beautiful and we were both up before 7... notice the planters in the background, empty but screaming: flowers; bring'em! Soon after these were taken, E transformed the balcony (it's now been prettified with flowers), then moved onto cleaning inside, worked on his thesis and did a million other things while I slept and reclined on the sofa. The only piece missing from this scenario were the bon bons... but E did take me for ice cream later in the day. Love my guy.

Boy nation?

Well folks, in case you're wondering -- the Bean hasn't lost his/her gills yet! But several others baking beans in my circle of family and friends have. Yesterday, my cousin's wife gave birth -- the good old-fashioned route -- to a little boy who weighed in at 10 pounds and 8 ounces! The doctors had just taken an ultrasound and told her the baby looked to be around 8 or 9 pounds. Surprise!

But babies on that side of the family tend to be large. My mom has six brothers, all of which (excluding one) are very tall, brawny, thick wristed men. I don't know how my mother ended up with the figure she has. I suppose it's the Y chromosome shared by all those brothers that carries the serious heft. (Oh, side note: the new 10.5 pounder joins two brothers; notice a trend there?)

Moving on... two other friends also had their babies in the past couple weeks -- both boys. Which makes me even more suspicious about my instincts. What are the odds that the bean is a boy? And in all honestly, we need to throw a girl into this mix. What is this, China?

37 wks: One tent, no campfire

Ah. I've finally found the answer to my wardrobe dilemma. Exhibit a. The tent dress. If my belly weren't so enormous, it wouldn't look quite as much like a tent, I believe. However, with the 2 ton bean tucked away in there... Tent!

I've purchased two of these lovelies. Here's my plan. I'll use them as the two key pieces of my transition wardrobe. You know, as I transition from the 9month pregnant belly to the 6month pregnant belly to the marshmallow belly to ... the scary unknown.

Hottt!

Think I could wear these in labor? "Excuse me, Dr. Craig, can you put on your safety goggles so I don't put your eye out?"

I miss wearing shoes like this...

E the Doula/Jordmor

This past Saturday, E and I wrapped up our 12-hour childbirth and infant care class. Don't laugh. We are so glad we took the 12 hour version. I mean, we went into this ("this" being the Bean growing project) totally ignorant, so we found the class to very informational. It was particularly good for E because I think he really knows his role now for the big day. You know. Blaze of glory. Emergence of the Bean.

Much to my enjoyment, E is feeling quite proud of himself. And confident. He keeps talking about when we "start dancing," which is what our instructor Tibbie (yes, Tibbie; that's not a blog cover name. It's her real name.) called the movement where, while I'm in blinding pain, E and I sway together (to the smooth sounds of Lionel Richie?) to keep me from locking up the Bean's exit route tighter than a supermax federal penitentiary. Because evidently, the goal is to "get me out of the way" so that my body can "do what it knows to do." Big job.

Props to Tibbie though. We couldn't have had a better instructor. God love her, she got into some serious character while illustrating various relaxations techniques, etc. (Truly, Tibbie needs an agent.) And she certainly captured E's attention. So much so that tonight he announced that he has yet another career path to consider. We were howling with laughter. He says he's prepared to take on the full-time role of doula (på norsk, jordmor) -- so long as he doesn't have to actually see anything "bloody down there." Interesting concept. Anyone need a squeamish doula for labor disco, breathing exercises and coaching (no funny stuff below the waist...)? Sorry, he's taken!

But our edumication stretches far beyond the actual birth experience. E and I learned, among many things, how to swaddle and diaper a baby. OK. So, not a baby. But we've got the very lifelike dolls down COLD. We can't wait to show the Bean how lucky he/she is.

Now, back to waiting...

36 Weeks People!

Oh so close. Only one birthing class to go (I haven't mentioned those yet, have I?), one booby feeding class and a few (OK, maybe not so few) things left to buy. This weekend, some good friends gave me a baby shower. So generous! And it was such fun.

The food was prepared by the husband of the friend who was playing host (they are actually opening a restaurant in Baltimore this summer). De-lish. Lime marinated and skewered broiled shrimp, curried chicken salad, orzo salad with roasted veggies. And all the girlfriends brought lots of other yummy dishes -- zucchini bread, a salad with homemade orange vinaigrette, cheesecake, chocolate pie and more, more, more! (OK. So maybe reading about Sunday's menu isn't so exciting. I'm just reliving it.)

And the gifts! I have very generous friends.

BEAN'S ALMOST HERE! Spontaneous outburst!

Head-first Dumpster Dive

I was so excited to have found what I thought could be a promising consignment shop right here in Germantown. I actually found out about the establishment -- Emma's Closet -- in an article in Washington Parent. Immediately, I thought -- hidden gem?

One of the very last things I've yet to buy is a baby bag. I've been picky. I wanted something stylish that doesn't look like a baby bag. Encouraged by the Washington Parent article, I made plans to zip over there today and be wowed. After all, I have been in some really great consignment stores. Some carry very upscale pieces and resemble high-end boutiques while others look like third-day garage sales. Unfortunately, Emma's was more of the third day garage sale variety. I was so disappointed.

However, I have bookmarked this listing I found online of some other consignment stores, a few of which I hope to check out. If any of you guys who live in Maryland happen to be reading this post, can you take a look at the list and let me know if you you've heard anything about any of them?

I'm hopeful that I'll be able to find a nice one to check out.

Overheard in Panera

This should actually be a category of posts on its own, as I'm at Panera a couple times a week and am often treated to the conversations of true wackadoos.

This morning, a man sits with his teenage son at a table very close to mine. Said man has done his level best to terrorize the son during the past 45 minutes. Evidently, father thinks son is not working hard enough to secure an internship with a major investment firm for next year (son's first year in college).

Father: "Do you want to be a floor sweeper? That's what your option will be if you don't GET this internship."
(A's thoughts: Is the line between Wall Street investment banker and broom pusher really so thin? Holy crap! What does this mean for me? One stumble and I'll be working as a low-dollar hooker on the south side of... I don't know, south side of somewhere... I'm really listening now. This man could be saving his son's life AND mine.)

Father: "Give me an example -- one example -- of your advanced critical thinking skills."
(A's thoughts: This kid's frontal lobe isn't fully developed, Father. It's true.)

Son: "Um, I called the lifeguard when I saw someone in trouble in the pool."
(A's thought: Poor kid, he's really nervous now. Totally white bread, upper middle class. Father is now painting a picture of ghetto life, something he's read about in the Washington Post. Sweat. Sweat. Thus came Son's lifeguard scenario.)

Father: "That is most certainly not an example of critical thinking skills. Is that the best you can do? What are you learning in your advanced business courses? I could have answered such a question when I was your age. You are behind."

And so it continued. Really, it became quite intense. Is this what leads to those seemingly inexplicable stories of suburban tragedy where the teenage son who "had it all" turns on his parents?

I get so annoyed. While the scene started out humorous, by the end of their conversation, I felt like gouging my fork in the dad's eye.

Gotta get back to work. I'm evidently one slip-up away from panhandling and pimpville.

Absurdities

Today, after a meeting with a client, I decided to go by Panera to eat and work instead of going directly home. Reason being, I've been really tired. And I have work to finish today. It's less likely that I'll simply drop off into a deep sleep if I'm in the middle of Panera and not at home. (Believe me, I don't need to be reclined at home to fall asleep. I can lean my head back and be out in a matter of seconds.)

So, I was on the phone with my mom when I was preparing to parallel park. I asked her to wait a moment as I placed the phone in my lap. When I was done parking, I picked up the phone from my lap, dropped it in my backpack, and collected my things to go inside. After perusing the menu and ordering, I heard my phone ringing. I looked at my phone. It was my mom. OK. Here's where it gets worse, I'm wondering, hm... why is she calling? We just spoke. It's not until we're on the phone -- AND SHE REMINDS ME that we had been talking -- that I realize what had happened. This is beyond absent-minded. It deserves another word. And I don't want to even entertain "mommy-brain." (That particular concept seems so patronizing. Maybe it's the phrase I find irritating. Suffice it to say, I don't like it.)

Regardless of what you want to call it, I am rattled -- yet again -- by a behavior that is so completely out of character for me. It will get better soon, right?