Hello little one! It has been three weeks since my last letter, and my how we’ve grown. You’re about twice the size you were at week 15, and I can tell. We went to the doctor this morning, and she seemed to think you’re doing very well, which is always good to hear. We got to listen to your heartbeat, and even though we have a device at home that lets us listen to you more often, it’s still amazing every time. You still sound like Pac-Man, but even louder than before.
All the websites I read say you are starting to hear things now. Last night, your Dad and I crawled up into the attic and dug through boxes to find all the children’s books I’d been storing away. We brought a few down, and last night I read, “I love you, blue kangaroo,” to you. It’s a sweet story that I bought for your dad when we were dating, but I wonder if you’ll like it when you’re older. It’s about a girl who has all these stuffed animals, and one starts to feel left out as she gets more and more new stuffed animals. In the end, she reassures the blue kangaroo that she loves him best, but it’s still sad to watch him looking so dejected. I used to be that girl, I swear. It might have tormented me to read this book at the time and think I was justified in worrying about their feelings. I know, I’m dramatic, but that’s just how it was. For now, I just hope you like the sound of our voices. We’ll worry about the stuffed animal guilt later.
I also talked to you in the car the other day. Other moms have told me they talked to their babies, so I gave it a try. I have to admit, it was a little strange at first. I was sure the people in the cars next to me thought I was crazy. But if you can really hear me, then I don’t care what they think. We’ll talk again soon.
In three weeks, we’ll find out if you’re a boy or a girl (as long as you don’t get shy and hide it from the sonographer), and I promise, we’ll be very happy either way. We’ve been thinking about names for you, and are trying to pick something that will be unique, but not weird. I promise not to call you what one lady at work calls you. When I see her, she’ll say, “How’s Bubba today?” Yes, you will be born in the south, but no, we will not call you Bubba.
It’s time for bed now, you need your sleep and so do I. I look forward to spending tomorrow with you again.
Lee and I took a business trip to Alabama last week/weekend, and although Mobile doesn’t top my list of vacation hotspots, we had fun anyway. On a side note – before we left, when people would ask us where we were going, I kept wanting to yell, “Ala-BAM-a!” like Forrest Gump. Sometimes, I did.
We had some free time Friday afternoon and evening, and decided take our rental down the highway to Gulf Shores. My family used to vacation along the Gulf (Destin or Mexico Beach) every summer, and Lee and I have made several trips to that coast, although it has been a long time since. I enjoy living near Tybee now, but the Atlantic just doesn’t compare to the gulf beaches. White sand as soft as chalk. Aqua waves so clear you can see all the way to the bottom even when you’re out just a little too deep. It was too tempting to be that close to the gulf and not see it.
It was as beautiful as I remembered, though not quite as hospitable in February. The wind was whipping and chilly, finding it’s way into my jacket and my bones. We both sported the windblown look.
Another thing that was different was the sight of heavy construction vehicles lumbering up and down the shore. I’m so used to associating Hurricane Katrina with Louisiana and Mississippi, that I hadn’t given much thought to the lingering impacts along Alabama’s coast.
The big, yellow trucks manuevered around piles of new sand that had been dumped on the windswept beach. We sat for a few moments on a pavilion at the edge of the shore, and I noticed that every piece of wood was brand new. In the distance, I saw a pier, or what remained of it. Big chunks were still missing, leaving the structure disconnected.
But the beach was still beautiful. I was glad that hadn’t changed. It was too cold to stay long, but I got enough of a taste to want to return to the Gulf in the warm summer months. And we stayed long enough for me to realize this was baby’s first trip to the beach, though still in utero.
We’ll be back.
Information can be good and bad. If you hear what you want, it’s good. If you don’t, well, it can be detrimental.
I think every new mom is anxious about the health of her baby, but I believe I harbor even stronger fears and anxieties than most. Daily I remind myslef that everything seems to be going really well. I feel great, the baby appears to be growing if my tummy is any indication. I still think I’m feeling him/her move sometimes (I may have even had two little kicks at dinner yesterday. He likes au gratin potatoes and I do too), but it’s so subtle it could easily be something else. I look forward to the day when the movements are regular and recognizable, because I think they’ll not only be a source of wonder, but a source of comfort. If baby is kicking, baby is still okay.
But last week I was offered another way to check on the little one. My place of employment has a really old fetal doppler, a device that can be used to detect fetal heartrates. For about 4 or 5 years now, since we stopped using it for official business, it has been passed from one pregnant employee to the next. The woman who last had it is due tomorrow, and she doesn’t need it anymore, so she passed the torch to me.
I waited for it to be delivered to my inbox with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. What if I get to hear my baby’s heartbeat! What if I don’t? Do I really want to mess with this technology when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing? But I believed everything was fine, so why should I be nervous? Was I being pessimistic to worry? Am I a bad mother for not just trusting that all is well?
It arrived, but the one friend on my hall who knew how to use it was out for the day. There it sat, in it’s blue zippered pouch, taunting me. I couldn’t decide if I saw it as a tool or a weapon. I tried to ignore it and do my work, but I swear it was looking at me.
Finally, the next day she was at work and offered to give me lessons. I tried to act nonchalant, but I was so nervous.
She turned it on, and touched my belly with the device. I heard a loud heartbeat. “That’s it! That’s the baby!” she said. At first, I felt a surge of relief. But the device also calculates heart rate. The rate was about 110, and a slow panic started building. At my two previous appointments, the heart rate had been in the 160s. I voiced my concern, and she didn’t seem too worried, but tried again. This time the heart rate was about 120. “The battery may be low. That will affect the readout,” she tried to reassure me.
I acted like I was okay with the whole thing, but as soon as she left I started panicking. Why was it so much lower? Had something happened? I turned to my sometimes friend/sometimes foe the internet for answers. “The average fetal heartrate is between 140-160 beats per minute.” Stupid internet.
So I ran to the nearest store and bought new batteries. Back in the quiet of my office, alone, I tried it again. I had no trouble finding the heartbeat, but the rate still wavered between 108 and 125. Finally, I turned off the doppler and called my doctor’s office. I sheepishly explained my situation to the receptionist, embarrassed that I had been busted using equipment I was not trained to use. But if something was wrong, I needed them to know and to tell me what to do. I needed advice, and quickly. I called Lee, and when I tried to tell him what happened I couldn’t keep the tears from coming. I had only used the stupid device to get reassurance, and ended up terrified instead.
While I waited for them to call back, I considered throwing the doppler out the window. I had been doing pretty well managing my fears and anxieties, but I was a wreck thanks to that technology. I stared at my email and all the work I needed to do, but I couldn’t do any of it. All I could do was will the phone to ring.
Meanwhile, my friend came back in my office and I told her I had bought new batteries and it hadn’t made a difference. She said, “You look like you’re about to cry.”
“Too late,” I said.
She thought I was being overly concerned, but suggested we try the doppler again and count the beats this time instead of relying on the digital readout. It’s old, and could be faulty. I didn’t really want to because I was now ofically scared of the thing, but I also couldn’t come up with a reasonable argument at the time, so I agreed.
She put the doppler on my belly again, and I heard the heartbeat. She moved it around a little more, and then suddenly, I heard something else. It was a heartbeat, but it was softer and much faster. “That’s the baby! You can tell the difference” she said. “And its heartbeat is 159! Are you happy now?” She showed me the doppler, and sure enough, 159 was on the screen. Every other time we had been measuring my heartbeat, not the baby’s!
I was so relieved, and it was like a cloud of fear was lifted from my eyes and I got my first good look at the situation. There I was, lying on the floor of my office behind my desk. We had propped some stuff in front of the window beside my door to keep passersby from looking in. My shirt was pulled up and my co-worker had squirted lubricating jelly on my stomach, accidentally filling my belly button too. What would someone have thought if they opened the door just then? They’d see my feet sticking out from behind my desk, and my friend hovering over me with the doppler. I’d have some explaining to do.
As I looked up at the pressboard underside of my desk and at the ceiling tiles, I laughed and laughed. We both laughed until we were crying. I laughed because I knew how funny this looked, but mostly I laughed because I was so happy that the baby’s heartbeat was fine.
I called the doctor’s office again, and when I finally talked to a nurse I was very apologetic. I explained what happened, and expected a rebuke. But she was kind, and said everything was fine and to call anytime. I asked her if she was going to put a C on my chart for Crazy, but she said she’d seen much worse.
But there are still 23 weeks to go. Plenty of time for more meltdowns.
And just for the record, I’ve tried the doppler twice more on my own, and although it took me a minute, I was able to find the heartbeat. And it sounds wonderful.
When I got in my car yesterday morning and saw my Valentine’s gift, I was reminded of one of the reasons I love Lee so much. After four years of marriage and almost 12 years as a couple, he still has an amazing way of making me feel special and making our relationship feel fresh and alive. We get the best of both worlds – enjoying the wonderful maturity of having so many years together, but still treasuring each other like a new gift. And not just on Valentine’s Day.
Lee and I saw “Good Night and Good Luck” in the theater tonight, and I enjoyed the movie on many different levels. As a former journalist, it was very entertaining to watch all the behind-the-scenes action, from the familiar equipment to the familiar arguments. I enjoyed learning more about that time in my nation’s history. But I also enjoyed hearing intelligent discourse on some of the same topics I struggle with today.
Ever since 9-11, I feel our country has been ruled by fear. If you want justifcation for something that might be a little dicey, just scare the crap out of people. When people are afraid, they’re more willing to make sacrifices to feel safer.
This whole government eaves-dropping thing has gotten me a bit riled. It’s not that I think eavesdropping on the conversations of terrorists is a bad idea. It’s that our president appears to have decided he didn’t need to work within the checks and balances our forefathers instituted. This eavesdropping may have stopped some horrific plot, and that’s truly fortunate. But I’ll bet our government could’ve listened to the same conversation and stopped the same plot by getting an emergency court order to do so – without circumventing the law. If the “War on Terror” can be used as justification for our president to have carte blanche authority to infringe on whatever civil liberties are in the way, then we’re in for a long, ugly downward spiral as a country.
And I can say whatever I want about it – because I’m an American. And not agreeing with the president doesn’t make me any less loyal.
I don’t have anything to hide. If the government tapped my phone, they’d be bored to tears hearing about my baby and my kitchen. But the point is – I don’t live in a country that allows my government to spy on me without proving to a court that there is a good reason. At least, I hoped that was the case. And Guantanamo Bay? Locking people away on mere suspicions and associations? Scary stuff.
A couple of quotes from the movie really struck me:
“We proclaim ourselves, indeed as we are the defenders of freedom wherever it continues to exist in the world. But we cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home.”
and
“He didn’t create this situation of fear, he merely exploited it, and rather successfully.”
and finally
“We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason if we dig deep in our history and doctrine and remember that we are not descended from fearful men, not from men who feared to write, to associate, to speak, and to defend the causes that were for the moment unpopular.”
But aside from my government’s actions, I’m also disheartened by my own inaction. I’m not happy with what is going on, but I’m also not doing anything about it expect whining on the internet. I vote. But these days, that doesn’t seem like enough. I applaud Murrow for his courage, but it also magnifies my own lack of ambition to seek real change.
Hello little one. I hope you’re comfy and warm tonight as you begin another week. It’ll probably be a big week for you, because all the websites tell me you’re likely to have a growth spurt. But sometimes I think these websites are crazy, because some of them also tell me I should start “thinking about maternity clothes” now because my regular clothes are “probably getting a little tight.” Don’t they know I’ve already packed away most of my regular clothes in a box and put them in the attic? But that’s okay – I’m ready to show you off, so you just keep on growing.
Your daddy and I were shopping tonight and lingered for a while in the nursery section of HomeGoods. We used to not let ourselves do that, but we head straight there now. We can’t wait to start decorating your room, but you still have a lot of growing to do before we start buying stuff. Your Nana and my dad (we still have to come up with a name for him, but we’re hoping you’ll help with that later on) sent you a book last week that we’re supposed to read to you in utero. We took turns reading the pages aloud, even though your little ears can’t hear us yet. Speaking of senses, I was telling your daddy about another thing I read today that said, even though your eyes are shut, you react to light and will move away if I shine a light at my belly. Instead of thinking that was cool – he thought it was kind of mean. “Of course it would move away! You’d be freaking it out with the bright light!” Don’t worry, I won’t put you in the spotlight yet. There will be time for bright lights later, like when we take 4 million pictures of you per day once you’re born. Poor Millie, we take so many pictures of her right now, but I have a feeling you’ll be even cuter.
I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been poking at you lately. Those same websites say I might start feeling you move next week. I’ve wondered a couple of times if I’ve felt you already. Whenever I think I might have, I’ll poke at you to see if you poke back. I’m looking forward to the day when you will, and the day when you kick hard enough your daddy can feel you too.
I still worry about you a lot, but I guess that’s part of being a mom. I just wish I had a little window into your world so I could watch you grow. We did get to hear your heart beating again last week. It beats so fast – about 160 beats per minute – and it’s such a wonderful sound. Lee said it sounded like Pac Man. You’re going to have so much fun with your daddy.
You may only be four inches long, but we love you so much already.
When the sonographer touched my belly, I held my breath.
“Okay, let’s see,” she said. “Wow, your bladder is really full.”
“I know.” Of course I knew that! This was not what we needed to find out! Thankfully, she shifted the transducer a bit to my left, and the baby came into full view.
I breathed again. That’s what we needed to see. And what a beautiful image. Only three inches long, he/she already looks like a baby. Like the cutest baby ever.
For the next 20 minutes, the sonographer moved the ultrasound equipment all over my belly, getting views from the side and from above and taking measurements. She apologized several times that it was taking so long because the baby was quite active, but I told her to take all day.
Lee was with me, and we were mesmerized watching the baby move. Sometimes it would lie still for a second, then it would jump straight up and swim around before settling back down again, almost as if it’s whole body had a hiccup. Sometimes a leg would flail and a foot would come straight at the screen. Sometimes an arm would wave around, and one time I swear it tried to suck its thumb.
We heard the reassuring gallop of his/her heartbeat. At one point, we were looking at the baby from the back and I asked, “Is that the spine?”
“Yes,” she said.
“How cute!” I squealed. Then I thought, “the sonographer must think I’m crazy to call a spine cute.” Spines are many things, but probably aren’t often called cute. But this one was very cute. She was just going to have to forgive me.
It’s hard to describe how Lee and I have been feeling over the past 13 weeks. We are so excited and elated. But we’re also scared and apprehensive. I’m sure every new parent-to-be feels that way, but we’ve just had a long and difficult road to get here. I’m still scared, but each day that passes gives me new hope.
I have been keeping my secret from most of my co-workers, and dressing for work lately has been a challenge. Nothing really fits, and I’ve been wearing sweaters and jackets and slouching a lot to hide my changing profile. Not that I was embarrassed, I just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.
But after Friday’s ultrasound, I began spreading the news. Tomorrow at work, I won’t be hiding under my jacket. I’m not going to wear midriff-showing shirts or anything, but I’ll let the world see that my belly is expanding. A little.
And to think, when we first saw baby 8 weeks ago, this is how little he/she was!
It’s still a little hard to talk openly about it, because I know you’re never out of the woods until it’s born, and then you have a whole new set of worries. But I think it’s time to celebrate our pregnancy out loud.
It’s common to refer to pregnancy as “expecting.” But I liked what Lee’s Grandmother said. “You’re hoping.” I can’t go around expecting everything to be just fine. No one can. Everyone has worries. Creating life is such a complex process, and to just expect that it will work out perfectly every time is assuming a lot. But I can hope. And I have a lot of that right now.
Lee and I recently indulged in one of our favorite sports past-times – watching UGA crush Florida in a hockey match in Savannah. Those are great phrases. “UGA crush Florida.” “Hockey match in Savannah.”
This year was no different, with lots of cheering, winning, and slamming people against the wall. The fights were a bit tame for my liking, but when you’re beating Florida 14-1 (I’m not making that up) it’s hard to take a swing at their faces too.
A few other things were unchanged as well, although they’re unfortunate occurrences. I realized during the game that I have 3 major sports venue pet peeves. I’ve had them for a while, but never thought long enough about them to realize I seethe over them at nearly every sporting event at which they occur.
The first issue is finding my seat – and finding it already occupied. I really don’t like causing scenes, and normally am happy to walk away from a confrontation if it’s nothing serious. But if I walk away from this fight, then I’m going to have to sit in someone else’s seat and wait for a confrontation with them. It’s really just delaying the inevitable. And I’d rather fight when I know I’m right, so I usually fight for my legitimate seat.
I really didn’t think it would be a problem this time, because though we bought advance tickets, they were on the VERY BACK ROW. But of course, when we found our seats, they were occupied. Since they were the best seats we could get, and we were a bit early for the big game, I had a feeling all those empty seats around us wouldn’t stay empty long. So we took a deep breath, and politely approached the people in our seats and said something like, “I think we have these seats.” We held out our tickets as proof, and as a peace offering.
Not only did they disagree with us, they wanted to get pouty about it until we pointed out that the usher had told us specifically that this was our row. They finally got up in a huff and said, “You can have them. They’re terrible seats anyway.” Then why did they fight so hard?
Then followed pet peeve number two – when the singer tries to make the National Anthem their very own. I really like it when a talented singer will sing the anthem as written. But too often I find that both talented and not-so-talented singers try to add their personal touch, which is usually a combination of key changes and sliding notes all over the place. On this particular night, I could barely recognize the anthem. If it’s your own song, go nuts. But this is our nation’s song, and I prefer it like it is.
And finally, I don’t like bad sportsmanship from fellow spectators. I think cheering for your team is not only appropriate, it’s mandatory. Yelling at the blind referee is fine. If someone on the other team personally fouls your player, cry out about the injustice. But don’t boo the opposing team when they enter the arena. Especially in this case, it was painfully obvious the Georgia fans greatly outnumbered the Florida fans, so why was it necessary to make the arena vibrate with boos? Instead of seeing who can boo louder – cheer louder. Instead of trying to demoralize the opponent, focus your efforts on energizing your team.
The situation was made even worse by some flag-waving lunatics in the crowd. Everytime Georgia scored (which was about every 5 seconds), a kid with a big Georgia flag would run a lap around the arena.
A Florida fan (also a young kid) was waiting for his turn, but when his team failed to score, he finally decided a jog around the arena was necessary anyway. But instead of being greeted with cheers, mobs of kids who were Georgia fans started chasing him. Other kids on nearby rows grabbed at his flag and tried to rip it from him. He was pulled up into the stands at one point, and the police had to intervene. C’mon! He was probably 8 years old! His team was losing! If he wants to wave his little flag, let him. After all, we were doing the same thing (except we actually had something to celebrate). Instead of being great Georgia fans, they looked like great Georgia bullies.
There are plenty of things to like about the game. I love any chance to cheer for my dawgs. I love the excitement of a close game (even though this one was a serious spanking for Florida – but that’s nice too). I love the atmosphere, the food, the chance to scream without being locked away in the asylum. Despite those three pet peeves, it’s still well worth the price of admission.
It kind of feels like moving weekend again. Boxes everywhere, our floor strewn with crumpled up newspapers that had been cradling our breakables. We’re tired, but I’m feeling more settled than I have in a while.
We began upacking all the kitchen boxes that have been stacked eye-high in our dining room for five months. Our kitchen still isn’t finished, but it’s close, and we’re finally cooking. Our working stove ROCKS, and it’s wonderful to enjoy the smell of simmering food in our house – something I’ve missed since we moved.
But of course, a stove doesn’t cook all by itself. The first night the stove was working, Lee and I came up with a tasty menu for our first meal in the new kitchen. He requested crab bisque with toast, and a mocha chocolate chip cheesecake. Sounds easy – but where is my spring form pan? Where is my spatula? A can opener? I looked at all the boxes in the kitchen and my spirits dropped.
But Lee helped me dig through them, and luckily we found the necessary tools fairly quickly. This weekend, our unpacking continued and we probably got through two-thirds of the 4 million boxes in our dining room. The down side is that our dishwasher is not yet working, so all of our dishes have to be washed by hand. My hands are quite clean now, but rather wrinkly.
Our washer and dryer were also installed Friday, so we spent all weekend washing clothes. I’m happy to say that right now, the only dirty clothes in this house are the ones we’re wearing. It has been a long time since I’ve seen the bottom of my hamper. And how great is it that my washer and dryer work without first requiring a deposit of quarters?
We still have a lot of work to do, but it’s starting to feel a little more like home. I like seeing my dishes in the cabinets and my cookware on the stove. And grilled chicken, fresh green beans and sweet potato casserole were a nice change from the burger and fries.
Tile backsplash either tomorrow or Tuesday. Bring it on!
I was just about to start writing about the excruciating wait for the arrival of our countertops when I heard the long-awaited rumble of a diesel engine. From the upstairs office window, I saw two trucks pull up. In the beds rested beautiful black stone countertops. Oh what a glorious sight.
It feels like Christmas did when I was a kid. You’ve waited for what feels like forever, and finally you’re walking down the stairs to see what’s under the tree. I even had to work from home today because I couldn’t stand not being here for the countertop delivery.
I think they’re unloading our stone sink from the truck now. Awesome.
Today is a great day. Not only do we finally get our countertops, but tonight we’re going to UGA’s annual hockey game in Savannah.
On top of all that, it’s Friday the 13th. That’s always been lucky for Lee and me, because our first date was on a Friday the 13th. It’s our happy 11 year, 8 month dating anniversary, and we have a lot to celebrate.
