We're still here!

First, here's a countdown of the last five months in pictures. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!

Five Months

Four Months

Three Months

Two Months

One Month

I can't believe I have a five month old. I can't believe I haven't posted since July. So much was going on during the semester, I rarely had a moment to reflect. Mostly, I use every spare minute I have to clean and sleep. Even now, I'm wondering if writing this is such a great idea since it means losing twenty minutes of sleep. Also, I feel like I can never REALLY write what is going on or how I feel because I'm not sure that blogspot is super secure. I've thought about starting a private, password protected blog or something, but then I would feel like a jerk for thinking people wanted to know about my problems SO MUCH that they were willing to jump through hoops. Whatever. All is well, and all manner of things shall be well. That's Julian of Norwich speak for Hakuna Matata.

We survived the first semester of parenthood. Big D did well in school, but he had to take an incomplete in one class, so he's not quite done yet. But he DID get A's in the other classes. I still have my presh 4.0. Huzzah. Little D is the most adorable, wonderful, fantastic little terror ever. His new thing is...wait for it!...laughing! I'm willing to do the most absurd things to make him do it. The most recent is putting his fingers on my lips and blowing raspberries. He thinks it is hysterical. He's still nursing, but we have introduced some solid foods: rice cereal, sweet potatoes, avocados, and bananas. I know that everything says no food until 6 months, but the little guy was nursing CONSTANTLY and I just couldn't keep up. Nursing every two hours ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT is impossible. Period. I tried supplementing with formula, but the more I breastfed, the less interested he was in bottles. I chose to keep breastfeeding as often as possible. He's sitting up by himself (mostly), he can pick things up and put them in his mouth, and he uses a spoon like a professional. Yes, a professional spoon-user.

Tonight is the first night he's sleeping in his crib, and it's not going well so far. I think I laid him down at about 9:15, and I've already had to rock him back to sleep three times. I don't know if the mattress is just that much harder than his pack'n'play or if the change in lighting is bothering him or if he just has gas. It could even be that when he does stir a little, he sees a high contrast black and white floral pattern. (That, for the record, was a terrible idea.) I wish someone had told me how much of parenting is guesswork. He cries, and I have to run down a list of things that might be wrong. Thankfully, it is a pretty short list, and even if it's not really what he wants, latching him on usually works. But then I feel like a bad parent for teaching him how to stress eat.

Let the fact that I'm not proofreading being a monument to my exhaustion.

Oh, woe is milk.

Dresden has been a little sick for the last few days--refusing to eat, throwing up, and not having any bowel movements. The doctor thought he may have been reacting to something in my milk, so we tried some formula for a few feedings. The first two went okay, but then--puke. Dallas suggested that we only feed him fresh breast milk for a little while and keep a closer eye on what I'm eating, and that seems to be going well. No vomiting for the last six feedings. (Please don't jinx that.) The only problem? I had to dump all this out.

That's over 35 ounces of breast milk. I know I'll keep making it. I know it's important for me to keep track of what I eat so I know if something makes Dresden sick, and I know there's a big question mark over all of that milk. I know, I know, I know. But don't think for a second I didn't squall as I poured it down the drain.

Le sigh.

It's a good thing I am crazy about this little man. He's hard, exhausting work, but all he has to do is make that little smile and I forget that I've only gotten two hours of sleep. He doesn't even mean to smile. It doesn't matter.

Quick update.

My doctor came through in the end. Dallas and I couldn't be happier with how she handled everything. She was there, and she was wonderful.

I did not give birth naturally. Oh no sir, I did not. And the epidural was easy. It did make my blood pressure drop enough that I had to have extra monitoring, but it made my labor bearable. The nurses kept telling me I could push the button to up my dosage if I got too uncomfortable, and Dallas tried to convince me to push it when we got to the pushing stage because it was very nearly gone. I'm pretty sure I could feel everything. It certainly hurt enough to be everything. And I remember most of the process. I remember the first contraction spent pushing, and I remember looking at Dallas and saying, "I'm having a baby. Oh, god." or something very similar to that. Everyone laughed. I was not kidding.

The feeding situation is out of control. I had my heart set on breast feeding as soon as he was born, but that couldn't happen because he needed extra attention. I didn't want him having any artificial nipples, but that couldn't happen because he had low blood sugar. My mom was able to help him latch on to my breast, but everyone who helped me get started after my mom left had no success, so I spent the first day or so using a nipple shield--a little silicone cap that goes over your natural nipple. And then he was so jaundiced we couldn't rouse him, so we started discussing my colostrum supply and I began pumping every two hours to see if I was producing anything. I wasn't. We had to start supplementing with formula in order to get him to go to the bathroom and start clearing the bilirubin. I started bawling with every feeding because I felt like such a failure. These big stupid breasts were completely worthless, and I was pissed off at them. By the time they sent us home, they were unbelievably sore and I was unbelievably angry at them. So I brutalized them. One late night, unproductive pumping session, I gave myself an extra vigorous massage (they told me to at the hospital, but I took this one to a mean level) and voila! The next day, I started making milk. Now I'm producing between 4 and 5 ounces per pumping session. Dresden's jaundice has not gotten any better, so I still have to bottle feed him, and I do hate that. But at least he's getting breast milk, right? I don't even mind the extra 30 minutes pumping adds to our feeding routine. I know it's better for him. It's not ideal, but it's the best I could do. I'm still pretty sensitive about it, but I believe I've done everything I could. I'm thankful for whatever milk I get. Pumping dry breasts was emotionally and physically painful.

Dresden! The birth.

I promise to post this blog no matter where it ends. I think I have about half an hour before my little man wakes up, and there's so much to say.

First! I gave birth to Dresden Luther Merritt at 3:27pm on July 15, 2011. He weighed 7lbs 6oz and was 19.5in long. He's perfect. I keep looking at him and thinking to myself, "Who knew I could make something so GOOD?"

Here's how it started. I'd been feeling so ill for about a week and a half, and after four straight nights of sleeplessness and intense nausea, I fell apart and made Dallas come home from work to be with me--something I swore I would only do if my contractions were regular or if my water broke. He came home and we went to the hospital for the second time this week. We checked in at about 9am on Thursday, and spent the day being pumped full of fluids and...I can't remember what else they did. My doctor (I'll get to her!) had appointments all day and couldn't see us until that evening, around 7pm I guess. Anyhow, she said my blood work came back slightly off that morning and had continued to decline throughout the day. I'm not sure about the specifics, but I think my platelets were low and my liver functions were high. She said it looked to her like I was developing HELPP syndrome, which I will eventually have time to look into? Maybe? She said it was basically a variation of preeclampsia and that she strongly recommended inducing. Just last week, she had insisted that everything was going well and that she didn't see any reason to think I wouldn't carry to full term or beyond and that she wouldn't support an induction until I passed the 41st week. I knew how she felt about inductions and I trusted she wouldn't arbitrarily decide it was time for my baby to be born. So I was induced.

The plan was for to insert a cervix softener to prepare my body for birth and then begin Pitocin on Friday morning, hoping to give birth sometime in the wee hours of Saturday morning. But my body and the Cervidil had other plans. I could feel my contractions start to change VERY soon, and four hours after the decision to induce was made, my water broke and I was 3cm. By 8am on Friday morning, I was 8cm. BUT THEN! I stalled. I sat at 8cm for hours, coming very close to a c-section two or three times. Dresden's heart rate was showing signs of distress. Poor Dallas went to get a few things from the apartment and came back to my room to find me like this:

Glamorous, right? Don't I make a lovely laboring woman? He was overwhelmed at the idea of a c-section and having to choose between letting the nurses take away our baby or leaving my side on the operating table.

But Dresden consistently recovered well, and I was able to deliver vaginally. I was fully dilated by 1:00 and started pushing shortly after that.

There are so many specifics I want to eventually get to, but now is not the time. I mostly wanted to explain something that I've been needing to say ever since this moment. Giving birth is traumatic. Dresden recovered fairly quickly, and of the four babies born that day, he was the only one who didn't have to go to the NICU. But when he was born? My heart shattered, and I'm still working on reassembling it. He was blue and limp and silent and the cord was around his neck. My doctor took him out and put him on "the landing pad" on my chest. I know it was only for a second, but I think that second has been the worst moment of my whole life. It took SO LONG for them to get him pinked up and responsive. His one minute APGAR was a 3 (out of 10). By five minutes, it had gone up to a 9, so I know they fixed him up quickly, but those first seconds and the minutes that followed? I can't think about it without getting hysterical.

We are so, so lucky.

I'll post again eventually. So much to say. And no time for editing.

38 weeks

I've put off writing this blog since Monday because all it's going to be is complaints, and I'm tired of being that girl. I'm never going to be pregnant again, and I'm trying to savor these last days, but...I'm so miserable. So here it is. This week's list of woes.

My doctor's appointment was worthless. I expected her to check my progress, talk about what might have caused the pain that sent us to the hospital on Saturday, maybe, you know, tell us about the test results from last week. Nope. She listened to his heartbeat and peaced it out. Well, she did take the time to tell us that she probably wouldn't be at the delivery--not because she is going on vacation, but because she's just so busy...Awesome. I wish we would have gone with Dr. Avery. He's wonderful. If you ever need an OBGYN in Tuscaloosa, you won't find a more personable, comforting person in town. He's like...a Santa Jesus who delivers babies. We love him.

So, the hospital trip on Saturday. I woke up at 1:30. Dry heaving. I woke up dry heaving. It was awful. I had an intense, painful pressure in the bottom of my rib cage, as if my bones were cracking. I could barely breathe, and each contraction made it so much harder and more painful. We were told to go to the hospital we planned to deliver at just in case I was in labor, so that's what we did. By the time we got there, my contractions were 2-3 minutes apart. But then they stopped about an hour later. The pressure/pain in my chest hasn't gone away, but it does go through lulls, and that's pretty much when I try to sleep. The only things that really help are showers and back rubs. I guess it's just my giant baby squishing my insides, but it's intense.

On a positive note, my stretchmarks don't hurt any more. On a gross and weird note, they're scabbing over. Yep, that can happen.

37 weeks! Full term!

I'm having more and more symptoms of early labor. Want to know how awesome those are? I'll tell you.

Days of contractions, getting stronger and more regular.

Cramping.

Back pain.

Diarrhea.

Increased discharge.

Massive heartburn.

Frequent urination (even for being pregnant--we're talking 30+ times a day).

Intense restlessness and despair at having to spend another day being pregnant.

ALL COMPLETELY NORMAL. I can't even describe my favorite symptom. It's something I've felt periodically over the last couple of months, and I can't really find much on what causes it. I can feel a sharp pinching sensation around my cervix (I think). The best explanation I've found is that the baby's head is resting on the cervix and the pinching is caused by any movements he makes. Okay, fine. Whatever. It's only bad when I'm up and walking around because it makes me feel like the baby might fall out with every step. I know he won't, but it feels so weird!

I know we don't have the pack'n'play put together. I know there's a big wooden piece of furniture in the middle of our nursery, waiting for D to put together. I know I don't even have the hospital bag packed. I don't care. I'm ready. Let's do this.

Really, even with all of this stuff going on, I'm thankful. My sister's week has been an absolute hell compared to anything I've faced this pregnancy, even the terrifying ER visit of the first trimester. Her mother-in-law drowned a few days ago, and my sister had to be the one to tell her husband (who was halfway around the world on an oil rig). Everything about the situation was wrong and awful and heart-breaking, and my sister has been so strong. She's grieving, of course, but she's also held it together for her husband and the little girl she's building. AND to make this week even more awesome for them all, she was just diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The diagnosis itself isn't so bad, but they have to admit her to the hospital! I want to be there for her, and I just can't. I'm glad that she at least lives close enough to my parents that they can visit her. And, even though I HATE the reason for it, I am glad her husband is there with her, too.

36 weeks (part deux)

My ultrasound went well! I finally have a better picture of little d's profile and an estimate of his size. Let's do the cute one first:

Look at his little nose! So sweet! They were also able to determine that the umbilical cord is not around his neck. He kept trying to grab it and put it in his mouth. Gross, yes, but better than having it strangle him. I was surprised that he IS in position--head down, feet up. Feet way up, actually. He's kicking my ribs as I type this.

And then there's his size. Dresden is already bigger than any of my mom's babies and all of my nieces and nephews. Already. According to Thursday's estimate, he's 7lbs 4oz. That means he's on track to weigh more than 9 pounds by his due date. Thankfully, everything is measuring a bit ahead of that. I was technically 36 weeks and 2 days when the ultrasound was done, but he measured closer to 38 weeks. That doesn't mean he'll necessarily come two weeks early, but I'm extra hopeful now, especially since I'm starting to "make progress." (See previous blog.)

Dallas bets that Dresden will be born around July 12 and weigh 8 lbs 10oz. I'm still thinking he'll be born closer to the 17th, and I have no idea how much he'll weigh. I just pray it's less than 10lbs.

36 weeks

I have been pregnant for 252 days. Dresden was the size of a small blueberry when we found out about him and now he weighs about 6 pounds and measures about 18 inches long. He'll technically be considered full term next week, but I don't think I'll go into labor that early. Don't get me wrong. It'd be nice. I'm so ready, and I would love the extra time with him before school starts. But I'm not expecting it. I'm not even convinced he's in position yet. I guess we'll find out soon! Our next appointment is on Thursday, and they're doing the last ultrasound. I think they also start checking "my progress"--which is what I'll call the state of my cervix to avoid actually talking about the state of my cervix. Of course, they can't really predict anything, even with all those tests. If I had to guess, I'd say I'll go into labor after July 12 (after 38 weeks). Myoriginaldue date was July 17, so...here's hoping?

Here are some pictures. The first one was taken last night, the second one was taken 23 weeks ago (just for some perspective and wistful thinking), and then the last one is photographic evidence of my stretch marks. You can skip that one if you'd like.

I think this is the picture I'll put in the baby book. I know it's in the kitchen and not in some beautiful, flower-filled field at sunset, but hey. It took me 12 pictures to get one this good. I'll take it. I do wish that my brother hadn't left his pan on the stove--or at least that I'd noticed it before taking the picture.

My hair was looking awesome, right? I remember being sad about my "pooch" at this point, and I was SO small! I'll probably never be that small again! And my stomach will never, ever, ever look that good again. Mostly because it looks like this now:

It looks like I was clawed by a komodo dragon or something. Honestly, I'm not too bothered by their appearance. It's not like I ever spent time with my stomach showing before, so I can't imagine I'd suddenly have the urge now. Again, don't get me wrong. I'd rather not have them, but I think I did everything I could not to get them. My skin is just so thin and sensitive, no amount of lotion or moderated weight gain would prevent them. They still hurt like hell, but it's mostly the dark, wide one in the middle bottom of my stomach. It's so bad, it's actually swollen. The others feel like indentations, but this one is raised, kind of like a welt. It's a beast. I know some people are embarrassed by their stretch marks, and I know a few others who are really proud of them. I'm not either. It happens. I'll just be happy when they stop stinging.

Biscuit Recipe!

The biscuits I just made are so good, so I thought I'd post the recipe here, for myself and for you, if you're interested. It's mostly that Alton Brown recipe, but I made a few changes.

2 cups flour

4 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons shortening

1 cup buttermilk

The directions are basically the same, but I cooked them at 425 for 13 minutes instead of 15 at 450. I also just noticed that the recipe says to leave the dough an inch thick, which I have not been doing. These were a little over half an inch before I baked them.

Better biscuits, better evaluations. True facts.

My biscuits are getting better! I've been using a...dough blender thing (this) to blend the flour and butter, and I've been careful about not patting the dough too thin. They're still not as good as restaurant biscuits, but they were some of the best ones I've ever made. This is the recipe I used: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/southern-biscuits-recipe/index.html. I think I'll add a little more salt next time and leave the dough even thicker. I should probably get a real biscuit cutter at some point, too. I've been using the rim of a big cup, and I think it pinches the sides rather than cutting them. Maybe that's why they don't rise as much as I'd like? I'll keep working on them, but I'm happy to taste some improvement.

AND--I'm going to pretend these two things are related--my teaching evaluations from this semester are the best I've ever received. Only about 35% of my students took them, which isn't a solid percentage, but I just couldn't encourage them to complete the evaluations after the tornado. "Sorry you lost your belongings, friends, and peace of mind, but could you please...?" The funny thing is that I wasn't even nervous about looking at my evaluations this semester. I was more comfortable teachign than I'd been in the past, and I actually enjoyed it most of the time. I'll still change a few things in the future, but I am getting closer to where I want to be. Progress, progress, progress!

Here's my favorite written-in response: "She is very helpful and knows what she is talking about. You can tell that she loves what she does and she is always prepared for class. She is very personable and always there to help. If you have any questions she is very quick to respond to your email." Two other students said that they enjoyed my class so much that they're planning to take more literature in the future. All good things.

I'm most pleased with the responses about effective communication. I've always struggled with this. It feels like my students and I speak different languages sometimes, and I have a hard time explaining just about everything. But this semester! 90% strongly agreed that I was an effective communicator--up from 30% my first semester, 50% my second, and 60% my third. I'm learning!

(And yes, I have considered the possibility that all of these students were just really kind because I'm pregnant.)

Stretch Marks

Look. I imagine that first-time pregnant women tend to be the most needy, insecure, and anxious of all medical patients, and I know I am no different. I may even be more needy, insecure, and anxious than other pregnant women. But when my husband's first words to me in the morning are "Have you called the doctor yet?" it's hard for me to think that my concerns are completely invalid. I just want to talk to a doctor. I'd love to see a doctor, but since the first thing is apparently impossible, I'm guessing the second one is, too.

Everything is fine, and I'm sure my doctor would look at me as if I were stupid, but I don't care. I need to see someone about my stretch marks. They get worse--noticeably worse--every single day. Five or six days ago, I had one stretch mark from pre-pregnant weight issues and that was it. Now I have eight. Eight new ones. And four of them are much deeper and darker (purplish red) than the rest. And they hurt. I've tried googling painful stretch marks, and most of the things I read have plagiarized each other: "While not painful, the stretching of the skin may cause a tingling sensation." Tingling is not how I would describe this. I'm trying to remind myself to deal with all pain more patiently in preparation for labor, but this...this STINGS. I can deal with aching, bruising, pinching, even stabbing pains, but stinging? It's my least favorite kind of pain, and the fact that it gets worse every day and the terrifying fact that I have 7 more weeks of growing and stretching concerns me. Should it? Is this really normal? Is there anything I can do to help the stinging or slow down the stretching process? These are things I would love to ask my doctor. Unfortunately, no one can see me--or even talk to me--until Monday.

Dear belly,

Please don't burst open in the next few days.

Sincerely,

Uncomfortable Me

On the upside, at least my stomach doesn't look like this, which is supposedly an image of a first time belly at 33 weeks. Scary. Do not want.

33 weeks (and a report on birthing class)

The heat: Everyone told me that I'd be miserable this summer, and I mostly shrugged it off. I'm as accustomed to Alabama summers as one can get, and I assumed it would be the same as normal. "Hot, yes. Miserable? Eh. We'll see." Well, I SEE, thanks. It is truly hotter when you're pregnant. For real. I thought that maybe I would be the normal level of hot plus other kinds of uncomfortable and it would just seem worse, but I am now convinced that I am actually hotter than I usually am. (No jokes. You know what I mean.) I have completely given up on pants. Dresses and skirts ventilate better.

The panic: Dallas and I took a nap on one of his days off, and as soon as I woke up, I just knew something was wrong. I was completely and totally comfortable. My stomach didn't feel tight and my side didn't feel like it was full of extra elbows or kneecaps or skulls. It was TERRIFYING. Where was my baby? Why wasn't I pregnant anymore? Of course, as soon as I tried to sit up, I realized all was well. But how silly is that? I was comfortable, so I panicked. Awesome.

The belly: Oh, the belly. I suddenly have three new, deep stretch marks on my lower stomach, and they feel like streaks of bad sunburns--the tautness, the itchiness, the stinging. I didn't see that coming. Not the stretch marks, which I literally didn't see because I can't see the bottom of my stomach without doing some crazy contortions, and not the stinging. People leave that out. I swear they get worse every single day. I still put on the Palmer's lotion two or three times a day (as I have been doing the whole dang time, fat lot of good it's done) and they keep growing. My stomach is going to look AWFUL by the time this kid is ready to come out, but I'm trying not to think about it. Really, they're so wretchedly uncomfortable that I haven't much focused on the aesthetic problems they'll pose later. That'll come, I'm sure.

So...let me tell you about our experience at the birthing class. It was about breathing and relaxation for natural childbirth, so I thought it would be a good starting place. I also thought every first time mom went to these things, but apparently that is just not so, and I can see why. I left the class more confused, more concerned, and more anxious about the birth process and Dallas left being irritated that he'd wasted two hours. I'm pretty sure none of those were the intended "learning outcomes". Perhaps if we had not read anything about birth the class would have been more helpful, but we had. We'd read, we'd talked to each other, and we'd run a few things by my doctor. The instructor nurse was certainly nice enough, and I don't mean to make it sound otherwise. It's just...there was so much contradictory information. For example!

Everything she said about the bag of waters was wrong. It's NOT necessary to go to the hospital as soon as the water breaks, and it's NOT necessary to artificially rupture this membrane if you are checked into labor and delivery without your water breaking naturally. In fact, everything I've read suggests that staying at home for as long as possible after the water breaks reduces the risk of infection. Something about immunities to your own household germs. And the only reasons to rupture the membrane are to move labor along IF it stalls or to check the amniotic fluid for meconium IF the baby shows signs of distress. Again, Dallas and I have told my doctor that we will do whatever is medically necessary but would like to avoid every other procedure/medicine/whatever. (Get that pointy crocheting needle away from my baby's head!)

She also said that episiotomies were standard procedure. Again. They may be common, but they are not commonly NECESSARY. Everything I've read says that the *gulp* tearing that may occur naturally is often less severe and heals better than the incision. (Get those scissors away from my...!)

I can deal with the misinformation, but the breathing demonstrations were so disappointing. I can read about the theories behind breathing practices all day long, but I wanted someone to show me how it sounded and what it looked like so I understood what to do. She tried to show us, I guess, but it was all completely unclear. She demonstrated them, but I had no idea when she was exhaling and inhaling and she didn't walk around during practice time to observe us or give us pointers. And then there were these little charts that were supposed to show you how to breathe, too, but they mostly looked like the squiggles cartoon characters get over their heads when they're confused. Appropriate, but so not helpful.

31 weeks

Surprise! I'm super pregnant. At least three people this week have said, "Wow! You got big." I might be offended if it weren't so true. AND I read that little D is about to hit a growth spurt: half a pound every week until he's born. I'm trying to take my magically expanding belly as a sign that my baby is healthy, but I kind of hate how I look. AND my belly button is definitely popping out a little more every day. It's a crazy, upside down heart-shaped protuberance now. AND I got on the scale today for the first time in two or three weeks. I've gained about 24 pounds. Eep. The good news is that even if I gain a full pound every week for the next nine weeks, I'll still be below the 35 pound mark, which is considered healthy. I keep telling myself that I have lost 45 in less than seven months, so I can do it again. Right? Right.

My checkup was fine. I spoke to my doctor about a few of my laboring concerns, and she agreed not to induce, augment, slice, medicate, or mandate positions unless it was medically necessary. I couldn't ask for a better answer, especially after the intern doctor person brushed aside my question about the episiotomy with "She'll tell you before she does it." Gee, thanks. My doctor also said that not getting too set on a birth plan was a good idea since so much of labor and delivery is unpredictable and situational. I feel awfully under-prepared, but I have thought about these things and I do know my options. I guess that's enough.

I still don't know where I want to deliver. I thought that once I saw both of the hospitals that one would stand out, but they're both good. The only differences that I noticed were that the people at Tuscaloosa were slightly more personable than the people at Northport, and the rooms at N were larger than the rooms at T. I do like that you stay in the same room for the whole time at N and that there's a pull-out sofa bed for Dallas. I'll probably end up there, more because it's what everyone recommends than because it's truly a nicer place. But, really, there's nothing wrong with Tuscaloosa either. Dallas still prefers it.

Today is our fourth anniversary. We spent the entire day in hospitals before he had to go to work at 2, and he won't be home until around 11:30 tonight. It's hard to complain too much because my sister didn't get to see her husband AT ALL on their first anniversary, and I can't be upset that he's working after struggling to find a job for so long. I miss him and I wish I could be with him, but that's how I feel all the time. Really, an anniversary spent taking care of gestational business and paying the bills isn't so bad.

hospital touring and birth planning and pediatrician finding

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow at 9am so I figured I'd post my (bi)weekly update after that. In the meantime...

MAN! There's a lot of planning that goes into having a baby. I've been on autopilot as far as pregnancy goes for the last 5 months, taking care of myself as well as possible and trying to minimize my daily stress level, and so much stuff snuck up on me. ["Snuck" is apparently not a word.] Before this week, I hadn't toured the local labor and delivery wards, which I have to do so I can decide where I'm delivering and register for hospital specific birthing classes, which I also haven't done. I'm also working on my "birth plan," mostly by reading The Big Book of Birth. I also forgot that we needed a pediatrician until the nurse at Tuscaloosa DCH asked who we'd interviewed. Say what? I feel so far behind.

I haven't come up with much of a concrete birth plan; it's still basically "don't let either of us die." I have, however, made a few decisions. I'll spare you the gross ones.

1. No systemic narcotics. It can make the baby groggy, which makes it harder for him to take those first breaths on his own.

2. No rupturing of the bag of waters if not medically necessary. (Trust me. You might think that's a gross one, but it's nothing compared to some of the other things.) It increases risk of infection, and they have to stick something sharp and pointy right up next to my baby's head. The only benefit (as far as I know) is that it can help a slow labor progress.

3. No episiotomy unless medically necessary. I don't feel like I need to explain that one. Just no.

4. We're going to try to manage early labor at the apartment, since everything I've read says that this is better than going to the hospital too soon. We're undecided on when early labor shifts into active labor. The book we're reading says that we should go to the hospital when my contractions are three minutes apart, and that's Dallas's plan, but I feel like three minutes apart will be cutting it pretty close. I say five. We'll probably split the difference.

5. I'm terrified (TERRIFIED!) of the epidural, and reading more about it hasn't helped like everyone said it would. You may not believe me, but I'm not worried about the pain. I'm worried about them putting a big needle into my spine and leaving (LEAVING!) a catheter in there. I'm worried that I'll have permanent back pain after. I'm worried that I'll be paralyzed. These are both pretty rare, but they do happen. Also, and this isn't usually considered a risk, but epidurals regularly cause drops in blood pressure, and mine is already really, really low with a tendency to crash. Also? Epidurals can cause anaphylactic shock.

6. I want the freedom to try different birthing positions, and, apparently, if you have an epidural, you're limited to laying on your back while you push. I can't lie on my back for more than 15 minutes without getting feeling really sick. I can't imagine doing it for an hour and a half. ALSO! Did you know that most first-timers push for an hour and a half? What the hell is that? I always thought it was 20 minutes, max.

7. The last two points lead to this: I'm going to attempt a natural childbirth, but I don't want anyone to get all judge-y if I decide I can't do it. I'm not crusading, and I don't want a nurse, doula, midwife, doctor, anyone who is. Honestly, I will start axe-murdering people if they tell me what I do and don't want while laboring. If I say I want an epidural, I want one. I also don't want people thinking "You're planning a natural birth? Oh, you're a brave woman." This is 100% motivated by fear--fear that the medicine will hurt the baby, fear that I'll have a rubbery tube in my spine, fear that my blood pressure will crash, fear that I'll end up paralyzed, fear that I'll have to push in a position that makes me ill, fear that the episiotomy rate for the epidural position is higher. It's not brave, I promise you. I'm just petrified of all the other options. Laboring naturally will of course be more painful, but it seems a lot safer to me. (And my mom had three completely natural VBACs in the 80s. Maybe there's a super-birther gene. Here's hoping.)

As far as the hospitals go, I'm still undecided. I've toured DCH Tuscaloosa, and I have an appointment to tour the Northport facility tomorrow. Everyone--yes, everyone!--recommends the Northport location, but I'm hesitant. We've had three really good experiences at DCH, and I know that they encourage rooming in with the baby, and they have central monitoring with the option for telemetry--which means I could be up and walking around more without being unhooked from machines. Northport doesn't have central monitoring, which means the nurse stays in the room with you the whole time, checking contractions, heartrate, blood pressure, etc. A lot of women have said they appreciated this, but I think I would hate it. Without seeing the hospital, the only thing I think Northport has on Tuscaloosa is that I would be in one room for labor, delivery, recovery, and postpartum in Northport. And the postpartum rooms in Tuscaloosa are kind of...disappointing.

29 weeks

It's hard to believe I only have 11 weeks until the due date. That seems like such a very long time. I keep thinking, "That's the WHOLE summer" and "That's almost like a semester" or "If it were 11 weeks until Christmas, I wouldn't even think about it." But this is so different than all that. It's not just 11 weeks until the summer ends, or 11 weeks until the semester ends, or 11 weeks until Christmas. This is 11 weeks until my life will never be the same. It seems like not enough time.

Everything is still going smoothly, I think. I had a doctor's appointment on Friday, and my blood sugar was normal, I'm not anemic, and Dresden is still growing at the proper rate. I've gained about 20 to 22 pounds, depending on the day. I've decided to stop weighing myself compulsively--really really this time. I was not eating properly or healthily and old body image issues started creeping up again. It's a cruel fact that eating disorders typically intensify during childbearing years and peak during pregnancy. And it's something they should tell you so you're not caught completely unaware. I want Dresden to be strong and healthy, and the logical part of my brain would rather overfeed him than underfeed him, but it's a constant struggle. I've started keeping track of what and when I eat to make sure I snack every few hours. I can't eat a real meal because I feel so very uncomfortably full after, and I swear Dresden can kick my stomach (the organ itself, not just the generalized belly area). So...a bagel here, an apple an hour or so later. All I wanted yesterday was a Panera cinnamon crunch bagel with hazelnut cream cheese. I think I need some more protein.

Dresden is extra active these days, and I love trying to figure out what he's doing. I'm sometimes surprised by how quickly he can move, mostly because I imagine him swimming around as if my uterus were a pool and I know you can't move like that underwater, but then I remember that he's now about 15 inches long and weighs over two and a half pounds. He might have had a whole lot of room a few months ago, but I think it's starting to get more like a small tub and less like a swimming pool in there. The kicks, rolls, punches, headbutts, and stretches all make more sense if I remember that he's not the size of an apple anymore. See?

He can and does move much more quickly and with much more force than I anticipated. Sometimes I think something is wrong, but if I visualize my insides like the above picture, it's less troublesome. It's all pretty amazing, actually. When he's really awake, I can feel him everywhere--close to my side, at the very top of my belly, all the way to the bottom. I think he'll be able to give my ribs a solid thwacking in a week or two. Exciting times.

OKAY! Here's my picture for today. This is why Dallas calls me Hair Monster when we get up.

Tornado

I wish there was more I could do to help everyone who has been affected by the tornado. My friends are all doing an amazing job of volunteering around town and cleaning up the wreckage, but I want to be with them, helping alongside them. I've heard so many stories about families who've lost everything, about parents who walk around with their babies wrapped in towels because they have no diapers or clothing. I understand that it's just not practical for a pregnant woman to be out there all day, and I know why Dallas wants me to be at home, but it hurts my heart to feel this helpless. He drove me down McFarland today, and I just started weeping. I kept waiting to donate money, thinking I'll go buy supplies tomorrow! or I'll go sign up at the church! but it never happened, mostly because Dallas needs the car for work, and by the time he gets home, he's physically and emotionally exhausted. He works at the Home Depot, not too far from where the tornado ripped through town, and it's apparently been turned into command central for many relief efforts. Anyhow. I realized today that while I can't do everything I want, I could donate money and that that would be better than just biding my time. So I did. (givetuscaloosa.com). We don't have much money, and I feel like an able-bodied person would be more helpful than what we can give, but apparently being pregnant means I'm no longer able-bodied.

I thought that I missed the caffeine, or the cigarettes, or the social life that went along with drinking, or chili dogs, or cheese dip, but nothing I've given up has compared to sitting on the sidelines for the last few days. Don't get me wrong. I know how lucky I am. I thank God every night that my baby is still healthy and that he still has a father, that I still have a husband. I thank God that all of my friends here in Tuscaloosa are safe. I just feel so...worthless.

27 weeks

I'm officially in the third trimester. I have no stretch marks and my belly button is still definitely an innie. I don't think it will ever pop out, which is fine by me. I'm posting pictures of my bare belly. Don't look if you don't want to.

Really.

You don't have to.

But I have to fill up space so you're not forced to see it just by opening the page.

So...

First, the view from the front.

And then one from the side.

I'll post a real update about how I'm feeling and all that jazz if I can finish grading this stack of papers by tonight. In the mean time, check out this weirdness. You can totally see my stomach move around with the baby.

teaching politics

I have to respond to a student email, but I'm too frustrated to deal with it appropriately right now, so I thought I'd get a little of my annoyance out here.

I spent my first year teaching trying to be someone else, and I discovered that it just doesn't work. It might for some, but--honestly--it made me feel physically sick. And it wasn't just emotionally and psychologically draining. It was ineffective. I was not as good of an educator as I am now. I still have a long way to go, but I am making progress. And, most importantly, the pre-teaching nausea has mostly stopped and I'm starting to enjoy my job. One of my weaknesses, however, is discipline. I know this. I'm working on it.

So I have this student. He comes to most of the classes, but he's very behind on his daily work and the blog assignment. He's done 8 out of 20 questions and 1 out of 20 blogs. Together, this counts for 40% of his final grade. (He has the chance to bring the daily grade up to 10/20 and his blog up to 3/20, but still. Not good averages.) He sent me an email a few days ago asking if he could write a second paper instead of finishing his blog assignment, and I told him that he's had the blog assignment all semester, and that I couldn't allow him to write a paper when the syllabus is clear and all of his classmates (or most of them) have followed the assignment's requirements. He sent ANOTHER email telling me that it would be "kind" to make an exception. Here's what I want to say.

Student,
My job as your teacher is not to be kind, and it is certainly not to make exceptions for students who fail to do their work for the vast majority of the semester. I cannot be "kind" to you at the expense of fairness and sound ethics. You have had the entire semester to write 12 blog entries, and you've written one. I told you at midterm that you would have to write two entries every week in order to catch up, and you've written one. I told you on Thursday that I would allow you to write four blog entries over the weekend since I was unclear about what to do during conference week, and you've still only written one. I cannot, will not, make an exception for you.

Best,

Me

P.S. When I was your age, I was married, I had finished my B.A. and was starting my M.A., and I was feeding myself and my husband and paying our bills. Grow up. The world does not have an obligation to take care of you.

But that would be bad, right?

Sigh.

26 weeks

I had a check-up this morning, and they tested me for gestational diabetes. I was told at my last appointment that I'd need to come to this one fasting, so I hadn't eaten since 9pm last night and my appointment was scheduled for 10:30am today. They called me back into a room at 11 and explained that I'd have to drink this sugary concoction before they could do the test, and I had to wait exactly an hour between drinking the orange mess and being tested. No problem. I'm starving, but okay. I drank the drink and waited for my doctor. I told her I felt pretty good, much better than last Monday when I was having sharp pain and Braxton-Hicks contractions, but that I was really hungry. And then she asked if I had eaten breakfast. I reminded her about the fasting test, and she informed me that I only had to fast between drinking the juice and having my blood drawn. What? She wasn't happy that I had been misinformed, and I almost started crying--which, really, was pretty much my whole morning. Taylor Swift's "Love Story" made me weepy. Yay, hormones! Anyway. I started feeling awful by about 11:50 and nearly freaked out. I thought I was going to have another panic attack. I think I was just hormonal, hungry, and frustrated, but I am a little concerned that my blood sugar WAS off and that contributed to the whole mess.

I discovered that I'm allergic to brethine (terbutaline), the medicine most commonly used to stop preterm contractions. The nurse at the Labor and Delivery clinic we went to last Monday told me that I have to tell everyone about my one medicine allergy, which I thought was strange since it was for asthma. Turns out, it's the same medicine! Last time I had it, they had to call a crash cart. I almost died. Which, technically, would stop the contractions, too.

I feel like none of my friends will ever, ever want to get pregnant after reading my blog. I promise that it's not all scary and strange. I love that we're having a baby. I love feeling him move. I love that Dallas reads nursery rhymes and The Chronicles of Narnia to my belly button and "dances" with our son. There are many wonderful things about this experience, but I honestly feel like I was unprepared for a lot of the symptoms I've mentioned on my blog, and I want people to know! For example, my abdomen muscles are starting to be forced apart by my growing uterus, and now when I use those muscles to sit up, I have this insane bulge that looks like a fist trying to force its way out of my insides. It's disconcerting, but normal. The nearly constant sharp pains at the bottom of my stomach? Ligaments breaking apart. Uncomfortable. Completely normal. One of my friends is a doula/midwife who knows far, far more about all of this than I do, and she said that Jenny McCarthy's book (Belly Laughs?) talks a lot about the un-discussed side effects of growing a human. There's a lot our culture doesn't talk about.

So here I am. Twenty-two days until I am officially done with the semester. Fourteen weeks until the due date. I've gained about 17 pounds, and I generally feel pretty good. I'm sleeping well, too, which is nice!

26 weeks

Nursery!

24 weeks

My parents, sister, little brother, and I all went to Buy Buy Baby in Birmingham yesterday to pick out nursery stuff. (I think the chain is owned by Bed, Bath, and Beyond, in which case they need to lay off of the B-alliteration.) My sister and I found cribs, dressers, gliders, car seats, and strollers! Whew. It was a lot. My parents are amazing.

I'm currently irritated about non-baby-related things, so I'll just content myself with posting a picture of the outfit Aunt D bought for Baby D and the belly picture of my sister and me (and the cousins) and say no more.

Babies is pimps, too.

17 weeks and 24 weeks

23 weeks

We had an appointment today to measure Dresden's skull and brain development, and everything looks perfectly normal. I have to schedule another appointment in three weeks for them to check my glucose level to make sure I don't have gestational diabetes. Since regular old diabetes runs in both sides of my family for two generations, I've always been concerned, but I feel fine most of the time. Not so much right this second, but I'm going to bed. Right now.

22.5 weeks

Two thoughts:

I look pregnant! A stranger asked me if I'm having a boy or a girl, so it's officially official.

Two songs are guaranteed to get Dresden moving: "Just" by Radiohead and "Low" by FloRida. This kid is my favorite.

And an update:

I'll be 23 weeks on Tuesday, and I have another appointment on Wednesday. I've gained just under 15 pounds. I keep thinking I'll take a picture of myself the next time I'm properly made-up, but it never happens.

And a question:

What do you think about maternity photo shoots? Dallas is very much against the bare upper body shots, and though I have seen a few that are extremely well done, I don't think I would be comfortable with that level of exposure. In fact, I don't think I'd be comfortable in front of the camera, period. Not that I ever really am, but you know what I mean. I can't imagine shelling out hundreds of dollars for pictures of myself looking awkward and uncomfortable when I can achieve the same thing at the house. Whachuthink?

Half past pregnant. (20 weeks)

I'm getting ready to give my midterm, but I wanted to take a moment to commemorate this halfway point. Twenty more weeks! I'm having a baby! Crazy!

Dresden is supposed to be the size of a cantaloupe, but my belly isn't exactly "melon-sized" like What to Expect says it should be. I know he's the right size--if anything, a bit big!--but I hate the whole "your belly should be this big by now" approach because it makes everyone feel bad, either for being too big or too small. Dallas thinks I'm too small and that I don't eat enough, but I promise I do. I've gained 13 lbs, which I personally feel is reasonable.

Okay, so this is technically from 21 weeks, mid-cruise. As you can see, Dresden enjoyed the 24-hour availability of food and grew a whole bunch. I may have that melon-sized bump now!

Beware: Ultrasound pictures inside.

I told you! If you don't like ultrasound pictures, don't look. I don't post them on Facebook for a reason. They're a little bit creepy, and I don't like the idea of everyone seeing the inside of my uterus instead of my face as a profile picture. It's not a room with a view. I'm sure if I had one of the fancy 3d or 4d things, I would change my tune. Unfortunately, I only have the old-fashioned ultrasounds, and they make my babe look like a mini-Skeletor. But I have had far more ultrasounds than the average pregnant woman, and I think watching the progression from a lima bean sized blob to a recognizable human is fascinating. So here he is!

---

This is embryonic Dresden at about 7 weeks. He is the bottom mass, about the size of a blueberry. The top one is what became the placenta, but at this point it was called something gross like a yolk sack.

This is about 6 weeks later, so 13 weeks gestation. Dresden was about the size of a shrimp. You can see his eye sockets. Weird. This ultrasound was done after the ER trip to check on my cervix and placenta.

The top picture is his head and spine, the middle is his "credentials" (as Dallas called them), and the bottom right is his legs and feet. This ultrasound was done at 17 weeks to measure everything since my uterus was "too big" for my original due date. Turns out that I'm just small, which makes my inside girl parts (and inside boy, I guess) seem bigger by comparison. Dresden was about the size of my palm from his head to his rump. He weighed 7 ounces.

And here are the pictures from today's ultrasound at 19 weeks. The first one on the left freaked me out because it looks like his head was sliced in two, but apparently he was just hiding beneath my belly button, which caused interference. I was assured that his head is in one piece. His profile is on the right, but it's hard to explain without being about to point at things. You can see his eye socket, his nose, and his open mouth. He was in the process of putting his hand in his mouth. It was cute. He's the length of a large mango and weighs 11 ounces.

---

SO! I've actually had five ultrasounds, since they did one at the ER, too. And Dresden wasn't very cooperative today, so my doctor wants us to have another just before our next check-up on March 30. That will be the sixth ultrasound, and I'm pretty sure most women only have three? I'm worried about it, of course, but my doctor didn't seem concerned that they couldn't get a measurement of his head or brain, and she's clearly not in a rush to double check. As the technician said, they've seen my baby so often that they could probably estimate measurements by looking at the last few ultrasounds. I guess I'm just going to stay anxious and stressed until the kid is born.

I love that I always use passive voice when talking about The Birth. Like it just happens, without me having to do anything at all. "And lo! He is born."

Medicaid Blues

I don't think of myself as a control freak, but the whole Medicaid application process is pushing all of the right buttons and making me crazy. The insurance I have covers 70 or 80% of pregnancy expenses (according to who you ask), but I KNOW I qualify for Medicaid. They should pick up whatever my primary insurance won't, right? And then they should cover Dresden for a little while? Whatever. The system--the whole medical system, actually--is broken.

Check this out:

Dec. 21--Submitted my application and was told to wait 45 days before inquiring.

Feb. 10--Hadn't heard anything, so I call the number I was given. That woman is out of town, so I call the number left on her machine. That woman can't help me, so she sends me to an Alabama Health Network representative, and so on, for five different phone calls. Finally, I find out that my file is pending in Montgomery. So I call that number. Apparently, she'd had my application for three weeks but couldn't process it because the proof of pregnancy I'd submitted wasn't what they needed. You'd think she would have called or sent a letter or something, right? What the hell.

Feb 14--Asked my doctor to fax an approved proof of pregnancy to the number the Montgomery rep gave me. She said a nurse would take care of it and handed the number to one of the ladies who sits at the nurses' station.

Feb. 28--And I still haven't heard anything. The Montgomery rep. told me I need to get this paper to her by March 2. I called her this morning, and she says she hasn't received anything. I called my doctor's office, and after being transferred four times, I left a message for a nurse.

I feel helpless. I hate feeling helpless. I simply can't write a proof of pregnancy myself. I NEED them to do this for me, and I need them to do it today. I need the Montgomery rep to communicate with me when she doesn't have what she needs. I have no car, so I can't just drive around harassing people until they do what they say they'll do.

18 weeks and some change

I thought I should at least post a picture, even if I have no time to write an actual entry. Trust that all is well and all manner of things shall be well. Here I am.

The future Mrs. Robbins/Dr. Whyte told me I looked sad in all my previous pictures, so I made a different face. This is more of a I just woke up what is my hair doing omg face than a dismayed face, but I do understand the confusion.

Oh. And I've gained about 12 lbs.

Parenting, Part 1: Discipline

Let me give you a piece of context for this post. I was doing some schoolwork outside of Starbucks this afternoon, and these children--oh my Lord, these children!--started yelling "War Eagle!" at every single passer-by. I ignored them as much as possible, but after an hour of this, I just had to look at the group. There were eight 10-13 year olds with five parents. PARENTS! Letting their children yell at strangers! It's unacceptable regardless of word choice, but the Auburnness of their chosen mantra only made it worse. It's just bad decision-making. I promise you that if those children were adults (as the parents with them were!) they would have been confronted by one of the many accosted Tuscaloosans. And it goes both ways. Let me go to Auburn's busiest mall on a Sunday afternoon and yell "Roll Tide." I'd deserve whatever beating I got.

So there I was, contemplating the difference between acceptable adult behavior and what we allow our children to do. I looked down at my stomach and used my xray vision to communicate to Dresden (oh! it's a boy if you missed it!) just how reprehensible I found this behavior, lest he think that my silence on the subject meant I condoned any of this. I didn't get so much as an understanding little squiggle of acknowledgment, but I know he'll get the memo before too long. I wondered, too, about how these parents are teaching their children about social behavior, respect, and decorum. Maybe it's the dilettante anthropologist in me, but I am very much of the mind that we educate and discipline our children as a means of enculturation. If I raise this child and he is incapable of participating in human society, I have failed. Or, in evolutionary terms, if I raise this child and he doesn't learn how to sense and evade any unnecessary danger, I have failed. I'm all for teaching my child that bucking the system, fighting "The Man," and taking a stand are all noble and historically necessary decisions (aren't I going to be a great mom? ha.), but I'd also like to teach him how to choose his battles. If my babe is going down in a blaze of civil disobedience, I hope it's not about something as trivial as football. Being an activist is one thing; being an ass is another.

Here's my point. Dallas and I will be spankers. That's right. I know it's unpopular these days, and I do understand the objections against physical disciplinary actions, but we both believe that this method will be more effective for us than "gentle discipline." Using logical consequences of bad behavior is smart and naturally preferable, but sometimes...the logical consequence in real world terms is getting your butt whipped. Take hate speech for example. (I'm not suggesting that there's a connection between War Eagle-ing strangers and hate speech. That's just absurd.) I don't think a child can understand why hate speech is wrong. Hell, recent events suggest that my students don't even understand why hate speech is wrong. How am I to illustrate how painful language can be? Would I ask Dresden, "How would you feel if I said you were stupid and ugly?" No. Absolutely not. If he is anything like me, he would internalize that and think I was actually calling him those things. He'd hate himself for years, resent me, and eventually tell his therapist about how his mother never thought he was good enough. I hope I'll never have to deal with this particular issue, but I promise if I ever hear Dresden use such language, I'll attempt to explain why the behavior is wrong and give him one warning. If he does it again, I will spank him. And if he does it again, I'll have Dallas spank him. It's as simple as that.

Let me make one thing clear. I have nothing against parents who choose not to use these measures and I do believe gentle discipline can be effective. There are few parenting choices that I believe are really and truly wrong. This is not one of them. Parenting, like so many other things, is personal, and I do not presume to question other people's methods.

Unless their children are screaming "War Eagle" in the middle of Tuscaloosa. Then I think they're sanctioning their children's irresponsible, obnoxious, and socially deviant behavior, which is anthropologically inadvisable.

Edited because my husband says I have to add his two cents on these posts: "Parents who don't beat their children are pussies." There.

My womanly worth defined through baked goods.

Last night's biscuits were bland. (No, that is not a metaphor for sex.) My peanut butter cookies--the ones I meant to take to the EGO bake sale this morning--so sorry about that---were quite delicious. I can make zucchini bread and cookies and shortbread and cheesecake. I can make homemade sausage and lentil soup and enchiladas and lasagna and pastitsio. I stopped smoking and drinking. I cut back on the swearing. I'm growing a baby. And still the magic of biscuits is just too much for my culinary prowess and personal rectitude! And yes. I seriously do consider this a moral failure.

My appointment is in 2.5 hours!

some unspecified number of weeks

I had a doctor's appointment today. Everything is going well, I've had zero spotting and no significant cramping, and the baby's heartbeat is still perfect. The doctor said even my belly button weirdness is normal! Whew. My uterus has hardened enough now that you (that's a theoretical "you," by the way, not an invitation to my reader) can feel it from the outside, so my doctor measured me. I don't know the specifics, but I am apparently measuring bigger than my 16 weeks would suggest, and that combined with the fact that the fetus measured large three weeks ago led my doctor to schedule an ultrasound on Monday to "reassess" my due date. I am anywhere from 16 weeks to 17 and a half, I would think. Although we weren't planning on finding out the sex until the big 3d ultrasound in March, this means we'll probably get to see in just five days!

Also, I had the last round of genetic screening done today--at least I think it's the last round. They only call if something is wrong, so hopefully the next 24 hours will pass without any news.

15 (and a half) weeks

(I'm going to stick with my original due date calendar, but I may be a week ahead of that. The baby is measuring big--which MUST mean that I'm further along than they thought since I simply refuse to have a big baby.)

Not much has changed in the last week. Except for, you know, THIS.

WHAT!? I knew I'd grow a lot in the next few weeks/months, but I didn't realize the baby would absorb my butt. It's gone! I was about 134lbs before, and now I weigh about 141. I feel like that's a reasonable amount for a woman to gain over four months of pregnancy, but the online chart I was following says it's at the high end. So I stopped following it. Bastards.

Also, my belly button is being bizarre. I know that it will (eventually) pop out (which is gross), but it's just kind of hardening around the upper edge right now, and there's a thumbprint-sized dimple right above it. I haven't read anything online about this, so I am a little concerned. The good news is that we might be able to feel the baby move. I think I've felt it, and Dallas is positive he has. He said he felt something--like a knee?--move across my stomach. I'm still unsure. I'm waiting for a sensation that couldn't possibly be anything else. This next appointment (February 9) cannot get here quickly enough. I know it hasn't been THAT long since the last appointment, but I need to hear the heartbeat or see the baby squirming around or something. I get a little more anxious and panicked every day. I need to know it's okay.

Check out this bedding. We're not buying anything right now, obviously, but I've been looking around with some help from Dallas's sister. She found this on Etsy, and I love it. I would do some combination of F,G,H, and K for a boy. I've had this set for a girl picked out for over a month, and it's a helluva lot cheaper. We'll find out what we're having in about 4 weeks.

And lastly--here's the latest weird dream. I was on a quest for something, and I had to win a karaoke contest to get the last clue. Everyone was encouraging me to sing "Midnight Train to Georgia," but, unfortunately, I decided to sing...a Snickers bar? Yes. I got on stage and attempted to SING A CANDY BAR. My subconscious is a freak.

Brit Lit I, take two.

Just so you know, this is not about pregnancy stuff. I'll write an update at some point, but I'm still in teacher mode right now. If you're not interested in my thoughts on teaching literature, you can stop reading. I won't know.

That said, how much better is teaching this semester!?! For the first time since I started teaching, I don't hate myself for choosing this profession. I'm actually enjoying it. I still have some anxiety issues before every class, which is inconvenient for Tuesday and Thursday mornings since it actually affects my sleep the night before, but...all in all? SO MUCH BETTER. I feel more comfortable in front of the class, I don't wonder what to do with my hands or feel awkward about sitting on the table, and I stumble over my words much less frequently. Overall, I'm more organized and coherent and far less spastic/neurotic. All good things.

But I think this semester's success (so far!) is due to more than just my changing attitude. I think my current style of teaching, my reading selections, and my assignments encourage the kind of class I want to teach whereas last semester was based on other people's experiences and expectations. Again, I'm not complaining. Having a model syllabus was invaluable, and I would always urge new teachers to build on an existing schedule. You have to start somewhere, and following in others' footsteps is always a valid choice. However! I found that using powerpoints, doing daily quizzes, and lecturing just did not work for me. I was trying to teach like someone else. Although I can't claim that my teaching persona is fully formed or that my classes are completely hiccough free, I can say that it's all getting better. And thank God for that.

This may not be particularly helpful or even remotely interesting, but I thought I'd jot down some of the successful changes I've made this semester. I'd like to think that reflecting on my development as a teacher will someday be useful. Maybe. Hopefully.

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Reading Assignments: Cut way, way back. I tried to cover the introduction to the Renaissance, the development of the sonnet, and selections from Wyatt, Surrey, Spenser, Sidney, and Wroth all in one day last semester. We covered one poem, and I had to restructure my entire syllabus mid-semester. Lesson learned. Happier students, happier teacher.

Daily Work: As amusing as the daily quizzes could be (Martin Luther freed the slaves? Really?), I never felt like they accurately tested what they were ostensibly supposed to. People who did the reading could still fail. And they often did. By mid-semester last year, my students' average for daily work was 48. Halfway through the semester, we switched to daily reading questions which they submitted at the beginning of class. This was easier for my students but dreadful for me. It made our discussions haphazard and manic. I'm still doing daily reading questions now, but they email me the night before class so I have a chance to weed through and organize everything. THEN! And I'm not sure how this will work in practice, but THEN! I make handouts out of the top 10 or so questions and use that to structure our class discussions--WHICH TOTALLY EXIST!!! I told my students that they have to come to class ready to discuss their question in order to get credit, and it's been so lovely because they do. Finally, I am basing my midterm off of the questions my students generate, so they can use these handouts as blueprints for their note-taking and study guides for their tests. We'll see how it goes, but I'm really happy with this structure so far.

Class time: I've stripped Power Points down to a few important images or maps. There's rarely anything beyond source information written on each slide, so my students actually listen to what I'm saying (in theory) and look at what I'm writing on the board. With the PPs, they thought they could just get down each slide and tune out everything else. It also shut down any conversation because they were too busy copying notes to think about the questions I was asking. In retrospect, this is understandable, but it was absolutely maddening at the time. I do not have a great speaking voice, so lecturing for an hour and fifteen minutes was miserable and made me extremely self-conscious. I've switched to making lesson notes for myself and beginning each class with a short introduction to the time period or literary genre, writing key dates and terms on the board as I go. After that, we do plot summaries (briefly) and then jump right into their questions. I'm usually able to highlight the important passages in response to their questions, so I still get to teach everything I normally would.

Note: Unfortunately, the greater emphasis on conversation and discussion also creates more opportunities for digression. We somehow went from talking about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight to medieval definitions of sodomy and the turkey thermometer explanation of biological differences tonight. It helps them understand the contemporary mindset, but it's not EXACTLY what I had in mind for tonight's class. And then there's the whole broken projector thing and explaining "quaint" without the help of the OED. Ah, well. C'est la vie.

Finally, and this may be the biggest, best improvement I made since it was the first...

Introduction Day: Instead of following my old formula for the first day, I decided to skip the ice-breaker portion and make them pick apart an image instead. I wanted to show them how to focus on descriptions (visual or literary) and think critically about how and why symbols or metaphors work. I thought about this the night before my first class, right as I was falling asleep, so I will admit that it was a gamble of sorts. But it worked really well! This is the image I used:

It's a small portion of Boticelli's Primavera. I knew the image of Cupid would be familiar enough not to completely alienate my students but still symbolically rich enough to engage and encourage critical thought. First, I had them describe the image to me and wrote key characteristics on the board. Once we had a solid description, we went through and talked about what all of the characteristics meant. Cupid is blindfolded = love is blind. Cupid has wings = love knows no bounds. Cupid is chubby = love is indulgent, gluttonous. You get the idea. I think this exercise helped introduce them to the kind of reading and thinking I expected, and it has led to better questions than I received last semester, which in turn has made our discussions far more rewarding.

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I'd like to think these improvements have helped the students, too, and I really think they have. The complimentary emails usually don't start to creep up until the end of the semester, when every student fears for his or her life/grade, but I've already received two about how much they're enjoying the class. Of course, it has occurred to me that they are just being nice because they think pregnant women are instable and impossible to please, but I'll take it nonetheless.