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!

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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.

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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.