This morning I had the pleasure of driving into work. We have a three hour intensive birthing class tonight so Kayla wouldn’t be able to have her normal walks, so I brought her to the office with me today.
I’ve heard that babies can hear their mother’s voice while they are in utero, and they can recognize that voice as well as words/phrases/songs that they have heard frequently while gestating.... Given that, I feel lucky that I don’t drive to work more often. Last night, I thought that it would be a good thing -- my music, a little car-dancing, a guaranteed seat, but this morning’s drive in quickly shattered my joy.
Between traffic on the BQE and the southern portion of the FDR, the designed-by-minions-of-evil Manhattan end of the Battery Tunnel, yellow cabs driving with wild abandon across multiple lanes of traffic, trucks driving as if the BQE were some sort of Mad-Max style arena, and other drivers using the right lane as a parking lane …I was white-knuckled with rage and frustration.
I tried to listen to some of my “happy music,” but it wasn’t enough. Even the beach-bum vibe of Jimmy Buffett wasn’t enough to cut through my rage. I tried to sing along with the songs but I kept having Turret’s-like outbursts, often mid-song. So, this is kind of what the Monkey heard:
I really do appreciate the fact you’re sitting here, Your voice sounds so wonderful, but your face don’t look to clear, So, barmaid, bring a pitcher, another round of brew. Honey, why don’t we get drunk …WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU [redacted expletive]! FOR GOD’S SAKE, LEARN TO USE YOUR [redacted] SIGNALS!
and
Cheeseburger in paradise! Heaven on earth with an onion slice! Not too particular, not too precise … SWEET MARY MOTHER O’GOD, WHAT THE [redacted]?! YOU, SIR, ARE A COMPLETE [redacted, sort of sounds like juice-bug]!
Once I escaped the bit of the FDR that was a parking-lot, I switched to some Billy Joel (or, as we refer to it: The Music of Joel) when I realized that some of my road-rage may be hormotional … as I started to get choked up listening to Piano Man. In my head, I just kept thinking that it was so terribly sad that all these people were so lonely and their dreams and hearts had been broken and wasn’t Billy Joel based in NYC/Long Island? Ohmygod, NYC has been crushing hearts and dreams for so many years! It’s like some sort of monster that feeds on misery! Noooo!
In fact, I probably would have started weeping except then some jerk in a taxi cut me off and I went back into rage-mode. (Sing me a song, you’re the WORST [redacted] DRIVER I’VE EVER SEEN! WHAT THE HELL KIND OF MANEUVER WAS THAT?)
Like I said, it's a good thing that I don’t drive in the city every day. I’d hate to think what the Monkey would hear...
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Random thoughts at ridiculous hours
Wow. Two months since I've posted. That damn near qualifies as negligent father-to-be. Several random seeds of a new entry had percolated in my oh-so-busy head in that time period, but none of them stuck around long enough for me to get them recorded. And of course, sitting here twiddling my thumbs on an overnight gig, none of them are readily bubbling to the surface, but really I have no excuse not to write, so bear with me as I ramble something out.
One thing that's occasionally echoed through my mind is the pedantically chiding voice representing my late teens, early 20s, quoting my strident declaration that, oh, I'd never have kids 'cause why would I want to bring them into this world? Well, let's face it: fifteen years later, I can't say this world has really gotten much better, and certainly the argument can be made that it's much worse in a lot of ways. But I guess deep down there really are still a lot of good people doing wonderful things, and though elements of our world may be irrevocably damaged and/or damned to utter condemnation, we can still carve out a happy, loving, [mostly] satisfying existence. Hence (partially) the plan for an eventual exodus to the Green Mountain State. Nothing personal, you good people we know and love in New York, but Ray LaMontagne and James Murphy, among others, have written lyrics attesting to the city's unsustainability in terms of mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being.
And of course, as cliché as it may sound, the desire to have children increases umpteen-fold when you meet the right person, and a child (or children) is the natural result of the love created by that union. Awwwwwwww.
If I may be slightly immodest for a moment, I also feel somewhat like Amanda and I--as fairly/comparatively intelligent, moral, funny, loving, cultured, talented, hard-working representatives of humankind (she's got me beat by a long shot on pretty much all those counts)--owe it to the country/planet/humanity to contribute what I can only hope and assume (at this point) will be similarly faceted progeny. I mean, certainly at the very least we'd raise kids who would offer their seat on a subway to an obviously pregnant woman (oooooooh, don't get me started).
A closing thought--because I could probably ramble for a lot longer and shouldn't--it's comforting, even if only in a relatively small way: as my supervisor finally succumbs to utter sleep exhaustion on the couch behind me, I cover her with my coat when she says she's cold. And seeing that even in her fetal position it would not be enough to cover her exposed ankle, I grab my scarf to fill that role. She says, "You're gonna be a good dad." I say small comfort because, oh, if it were only that easy. I guess it's not a bad sign, though.
One thing that's occasionally echoed through my mind is the pedantically chiding voice representing my late teens, early 20s, quoting my strident declaration that, oh, I'd never have kids 'cause why would I want to bring them into this world? Well, let's face it: fifteen years later, I can't say this world has really gotten much better, and certainly the argument can be made that it's much worse in a lot of ways. But I guess deep down there really are still a lot of good people doing wonderful things, and though elements of our world may be irrevocably damaged and/or damned to utter condemnation, we can still carve out a happy, loving, [mostly] satisfying existence. Hence (partially) the plan for an eventual exodus to the Green Mountain State. Nothing personal, you good people we know and love in New York, but Ray LaMontagne and James Murphy, among others, have written lyrics attesting to the city's unsustainability in terms of mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being.
And of course, as cliché as it may sound, the desire to have children increases umpteen-fold when you meet the right person, and a child (or children) is the natural result of the love created by that union. Awwwwwwww.
If I may be slightly immodest for a moment, I also feel somewhat like Amanda and I--as fairly/comparatively intelligent, moral, funny, loving, cultured, talented, hard-working representatives of humankind (she's got me beat by a long shot on pretty much all those counts)--owe it to the country/planet/humanity to contribute what I can only hope and assume (at this point) will be similarly faceted progeny. I mean, certainly at the very least we'd raise kids who would offer their seat on a subway to an obviously pregnant woman (oooooooh, don't get me started).
A closing thought--because I could probably ramble for a lot longer and shouldn't--it's comforting, even if only in a relatively small way: as my supervisor finally succumbs to utter sleep exhaustion on the couch behind me, I cover her with my coat when she says she's cold. And seeing that even in her fetal position it would not be enough to cover her exposed ankle, I grab my scarf to fill that role. She says, "You're gonna be a good dad." I say small comfort because, oh, if it were only that easy. I guess it's not a bad sign, though.
Monday, December 5, 2011
30 weeks, mostly photos
This past weekend, Z & I went to revisit the Silver Maple Inn (where we got engaged) to have a nice relaxing weekend away. We figure that with the holidays and the Monkey Bean on the way, it may be the last relaxing weekend we have for a long while....
I was able to set up some photos in front of the picturesque barn door at the inn. Please forgive any odd hand positions I may have in the ones of us together as I was using the camera remote. In a quick photography-related note, I'm happy with the general lack of belly-shadow-flash-artifact ... so weather-depending, we may try to do more of these outdoors in the daylight. This may lead to really odd looks from the neighbors, I suppose. *sigh*
I'm sure we'll both have more to say as the time passes. In the meanwhile, love to all of you from all of us!
I was able to set up some photos in front of the picturesque barn door at the inn. Please forgive any odd hand positions I may have in the ones of us together as I was using the camera remote. In a quick photography-related note, I'm happy with the general lack of belly-shadow-flash-artifact ... so weather-depending, we may try to do more of these outdoors in the daylight. This may lead to really odd looks from the neighbors, I suppose. *sigh*
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| Stripey front view (Why are so many maternity clothes covered in horizontal stripes?) |
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| 30 week side-bump |
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| A wins the belly contest! |
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| Cute family shot including the Shaggamuffin, Kayla-mae. |
Monday, November 21, 2011
Week 28: Inappropriate Usage of the Word "Ginormous"
So here we are in the third trimester, the home stretch, the Time of Waddling and Fatty Grunts. As I look back on the second trimester, it becomes clear why it is sometimes referred to as the "Good Trimester": I started to look a little pregnant (as opposed to a bloated lady who just let herself go), I wasn't plagued by the constant feeling of "if I don't eat something right now, I will hurl," I felt more sure of the general "stickiness" of the pregnancy (so there was more joy and less worry), I had more energy at the end of the day, and I had relatively few pregnancy-related aches.
A week or so ago, Z made the unfortunate mistake of trying to lovingly refer to my belly as "ginormous." To his credit, this event occurred in our home, with only the two of us and the pets around. I'm not sure if it's made better or worse by the sentence that it was contained in: "At first, I thought that your boobs weren't as big, but now I realize that it's just that your belly is ginormous." As I sputtered, he rapidly tried to assert that (1) he was allowed to use the word "ginormous" and (2) it was meant in a loving way, like, "I love your ginormous pregnant body." I'm going to call shennanigans on that. Perhaps there are some sort of pregnancy-related pheromones that affect people in the vicinity of the pregnant lady. These pheromones could be responsible for many of the ridiculous things that people say as well as the bizarre increase in touching/rubbing by strangers. I think that the NIH should do some studies ....
Anyhow, here are the pictures. Feel free to judge for yourself the degree of my ginormosity, but I'd advise keeping your comments to that effect to yourself.
A week or so ago, Z made the unfortunate mistake of trying to lovingly refer to my belly as "ginormous." To his credit, this event occurred in our home, with only the two of us and the pets around. I'm not sure if it's made better or worse by the sentence that it was contained in: "At first, I thought that your boobs weren't as big, but now I realize that it's just that your belly is ginormous." As I sputtered, he rapidly tried to assert that (1) he was allowed to use the word "ginormous" and (2) it was meant in a loving way, like, "I love your ginormous pregnant body." I'm going to call shennanigans on that. Perhaps there are some sort of pregnancy-related pheromones that affect people in the vicinity of the pregnant lady. These pheromones could be responsible for many of the ridiculous things that people say as well as the bizarre increase in touching/rubbing by strangers. I think that the NIH should do some studies ....
Anyhow, here are the pictures. Feel free to judge for yourself the degree of my ginormosity, but I'd advise keeping your comments to that effect to yourself.
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| Front view: not terribly ginormous |
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| Side view: maybe he has a point.... |
Sunday, October 30, 2011
24 Weeks: The Bump Has Declared Itself
We took some belly pics this weekend on our way to the Broadway show Memphis with Whit & Harriett, which is why I'm a little more dressed than usual. Memphis was an excellent show; however, I got a little "hormotional" during a scene that portrayed racially motivated violence. My brain was screaming, "What kind of world are we bringing a child into? This show is based only 60 years ago, but hatred is everywhere. How will we raise our kiddo to be kind and compassionate to all in this world?" ... and then I got a bit weepy. Good thing it was dark in the theater. Turns out Zac also squirt some during that scene, so maybe I wasn't so hormotional after all.
You will notice the lack of fruit in these pictures -- there are two reasons for that: (1) I could only find papaya in the fancy-schmancy grocery store on the Upper East Side, and I am way too cheap to purchase fruit there, and (2) have you seen the size of some papayas? They kind of freaked me out.
Speaking of being freaked out, it doesn't take much these days. I walked into a smaller Babies-R-Us this week and almost needed a paper bag to breathe into -- it's so much stuff! It's all so overwhelming! I try to repeat the mantra "Babies just need food, love, diapers and a place to sleep," but to walk into a place that was wall-to-wall-to-ceiling of kid-related accoutrements .... I got overwhelmed.
So, the running list of things that are more upsetting to me now compared to a mere six months ago: large stores filled with baby things, fictional depictions of violence and hatred ...and fruit. I'm sure this is normal, right?
Actually, I think that a few moments of panic are probably pretty normal. No matter how many books I read (I have one, and I've ordered two more...) I know that nothing will prepare me for bringing home our child. I've never read or heard the sentence, 'Joe and Mary knew exactly what they were in for with their new baby, and they were completely prepared! Everything went perfectly smoothly.' (I just realized that my Catholic upbringing is showing through a bit with my name choices. Weird. I'd say that most certainly the Mary and Joseph that I'm thinking of were NOT prepared! And they had angels talking to them and a direct line to The Big Dude In The Sky. What chance do I have?? But, I digress...) ANYWAY. I know that there will be chaos. I think that I've heard family life described as the "whole catastrophe," and I look forward to having my own glorious catastrophe. But I'm also going to forgive myself my moments of panic; after all, I am part StressMonkey, and it's better to be an occasional StressMonkey now than to have a meltdown when a wee little Monkey is depending on me, right?
Speaking of the Monkey, s/he has been more active lately - lots of wiggles and squirms! It's oddly fantastic.
Enough yapping, here are the belly pictures! Please forgive my silly faces!
So that's the 24 week/6month update. Much love to all!
You will notice the lack of fruit in these pictures -- there are two reasons for that: (1) I could only find papaya in the fancy-schmancy grocery store on the Upper East Side, and I am way too cheap to purchase fruit there, and (2) have you seen the size of some papayas? They kind of freaked me out.
Speaking of being freaked out, it doesn't take much these days. I walked into a smaller Babies-R-Us this week and almost needed a paper bag to breathe into -- it's so much stuff! It's all so overwhelming! I try to repeat the mantra "Babies just need food, love, diapers and a place to sleep," but to walk into a place that was wall-to-wall-to-ceiling of kid-related accoutrements .... I got overwhelmed.
So, the running list of things that are more upsetting to me now compared to a mere six months ago: large stores filled with baby things, fictional depictions of violence and hatred ...and fruit. I'm sure this is normal, right?
Actually, I think that a few moments of panic are probably pretty normal. No matter how many books I read (I have one, and I've ordered two more...) I know that nothing will prepare me for bringing home our child. I've never read or heard the sentence, 'Joe and Mary knew exactly what they were in for with their new baby, and they were completely prepared! Everything went perfectly smoothly.' (I just realized that my Catholic upbringing is showing through a bit with my name choices. Weird. I'd say that most certainly the Mary and Joseph that I'm thinking of were NOT prepared! And they had angels talking to them and a direct line to The Big Dude In The Sky. What chance do I have?? But, I digress...) ANYWAY. I know that there will be chaos. I think that I've heard family life described as the "whole catastrophe," and I look forward to having my own glorious catastrophe. But I'm also going to forgive myself my moments of panic; after all, I am part StressMonkey, and it's better to be an occasional StressMonkey now than to have a meltdown when a wee little Monkey is depending on me, right?
Speaking of the Monkey, s/he has been more active lately - lots of wiggles and squirms! It's oddly fantastic.
Enough yapping, here are the belly pictures! Please forgive my silly faces!
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| Check out the bump, y'all! |
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| Side bump: it's almost the size of my booty. Nice. |
Friday, October 14, 2011
Indoctrination Can Be Fun, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Red Sox
So this entry is definitely a bit overdue, as the... unpleasantness... happened a few weeks ago, but it still applies to the large future, and well, hell, it does still sting a little bit.
During this MLB preseason, every sports pundit with a voice gave my beloved Red Sox the nod as the AL team to advance to the October (November?) Classic. I had almost every reason to agree. But in the back of my mind, I knew one shouldn't be so blindly optimistic.
Certainly, the Sox threw us some emotional curveballs as they inauspiciously opened the season 2-10, losing their first six tilts out the gate. They then became the team all the pundits said they would be: easily the best team in all of baseball for about three-plus months. But that dubious beginning still lingered in my memory, and wow, did they ever bring it back full-circle. Most people reading this probably know, but my boys set a new precedent in the realm of ignominious squander, going 6-20 in September and blowing a nine-game lead in the Wild Card race. Worst sports meltdown ever, statistically (though I still like to think that the '07 Mets were also pretty damn bad, as they blew something like a six-game lead with only two weeks to play).
The last night of the 2011 regular season will probably go down as one of the greatest single nights in sports spectacle history, but it definitely stung that my team ended up at the bottom of the pile after the dust settled. The next morning, I was in an understandably foul mood, and for the most part, my Yankee-loving coworkers were sympathetic, or at the very least, reserved in their Schadenfreude. The first consolation of that day was that my workload was so onerous that I scarcely had a free second to reflect on my hurt and disappointment at what transpired (it would set the tone for the next several weeks, hence only getting to this entry now).
At about 3:00 that day, I got a package delivered to my desk. I instantly processed that it was personal and not something I needed to deal with immediately, so it didn't get another thought for five hours. As I was finally getting to wrap up my day and take what seemed like my first deep breath of the day, I looked at this small box and realized what it must be. It was a three-pack of Red Sox-flavored onesies I'd scooped up on sale.
The first thing that hit me was a really nice warm fuzzy that could be summed up as "my sports heart was just broken, I just got steamrolled by a ridiculous day of work, but what's really important is that my first child will be coming along in just a few months." And of course it made me smile, and it gave me a sense of what's really important in life.
But then I thought more... what am I getting my child into? My mother learned the consoling platitude of the Sox fan sympathizer early (having of course married a New England native), and repeated it to me often growing up in the frustrating '80s and '90s of Sox history: "Be careful, they'll break your heart." I had Amanda watch "Fever Pitch" early in our relationship so she'd get a better understanding of the connection a Sox fan has with his team and how it relates to his (or her) life. And she too retained the single-most important line from that movie, delivered by the main character's uncle as he introduced him to that world: "They'll break ya haht, kid."
Granted, being a Sox fan is not the same tragic torture it used to be before 2004's triumphant curse-break and 2007's near-picture-perfect season of dominance, but it still has its tumultuous ups and downs, as evidenced by this crazy, topsy-turvy, ultimately-utterly-disappointing-failure 2011 season. I guess the important thing is that we, my child(ren) and I, can travel that road together in a celebration of shared experience. I know I'll never forget the joy of getting to watch games 6 & 7 of the 2004 ALCS in the company of my father.
I only hope that if I instill this love of a sports franchise in my children's hearts that they too can learn to cull a larger perspective from what it means to be a Sox fan, especially the darker times (or they can do like Homer: "Just squeeze your rage into a bitter little ball and release it at an appropriate time. Like that day I hit the referee with a whiskey bottle. Remember that, when daddy hit the referee?").
Well, ok, I also hope that they don't do that rebel-against-your-parents thing and become Yankee fans. Oh, the horror.
During this MLB preseason, every sports pundit with a voice gave my beloved Red Sox the nod as the AL team to advance to the October (November?) Classic. I had almost every reason to agree. But in the back of my mind, I knew one shouldn't be so blindly optimistic.
Certainly, the Sox threw us some emotional curveballs as they inauspiciously opened the season 2-10, losing their first six tilts out the gate. They then became the team all the pundits said they would be: easily the best team in all of baseball for about three-plus months. But that dubious beginning still lingered in my memory, and wow, did they ever bring it back full-circle. Most people reading this probably know, but my boys set a new precedent in the realm of ignominious squander, going 6-20 in September and blowing a nine-game lead in the Wild Card race. Worst sports meltdown ever, statistically (though I still like to think that the '07 Mets were also pretty damn bad, as they blew something like a six-game lead with only two weeks to play).
The last night of the 2011 regular season will probably go down as one of the greatest single nights in sports spectacle history, but it definitely stung that my team ended up at the bottom of the pile after the dust settled. The next morning, I was in an understandably foul mood, and for the most part, my Yankee-loving coworkers were sympathetic, or at the very least, reserved in their Schadenfreude. The first consolation of that day was that my workload was so onerous that I scarcely had a free second to reflect on my hurt and disappointment at what transpired (it would set the tone for the next several weeks, hence only getting to this entry now).
At about 3:00 that day, I got a package delivered to my desk. I instantly processed that it was personal and not something I needed to deal with immediately, so it didn't get another thought for five hours. As I was finally getting to wrap up my day and take what seemed like my first deep breath of the day, I looked at this small box and realized what it must be. It was a three-pack of Red Sox-flavored onesies I'd scooped up on sale.
The first thing that hit me was a really nice warm fuzzy that could be summed up as "my sports heart was just broken, I just got steamrolled by a ridiculous day of work, but what's really important is that my first child will be coming along in just a few months." And of course it made me smile, and it gave me a sense of what's really important in life.
But then I thought more... what am I getting my child into? My mother learned the consoling platitude of the Sox fan sympathizer early (having of course married a New England native), and repeated it to me often growing up in the frustrating '80s and '90s of Sox history: "Be careful, they'll break your heart." I had Amanda watch "Fever Pitch" early in our relationship so she'd get a better understanding of the connection a Sox fan has with his team and how it relates to his (or her) life. And she too retained the single-most important line from that movie, delivered by the main character's uncle as he introduced him to that world: "They'll break ya haht, kid."
Granted, being a Sox fan is not the same tragic torture it used to be before 2004's triumphant curse-break and 2007's near-picture-perfect season of dominance, but it still has its tumultuous ups and downs, as evidenced by this crazy, topsy-turvy, ultimately-utterly-disappointing-failure 2011 season. I guess the important thing is that we, my child(ren) and I, can travel that road together in a celebration of shared experience. I know I'll never forget the joy of getting to watch games 6 & 7 of the 2004 ALCS in the company of my father.
I only hope that if I instill this love of a sports franchise in my children's hearts that they too can learn to cull a larger perspective from what it means to be a Sox fan, especially the darker times (or they can do like Homer: "Just squeeze your rage into a bitter little ball and release it at an appropriate time. Like that day I hit the referee with a whiskey bottle. Remember that, when daddy hit the referee?").
Well, ok, I also hope that they don't do that rebel-against-your-parents thing and become Yankee fans. Oh, the horror.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Week 20: A nifty ultrasound and a distinct lack of fruit
So here we are in week 20, the halfway point, the bit where I should be posing with some pretty hefty fruit -- this week was to have been cantaloupe. There were a few factors that got in the way of our semi-weekly fruit-and-bump photo shoot: (1) a distinct lack of ripe melons in the market, (2) a packed schedule with my mom visiting and a few important family activities planned, and (3) as it turns out, melon can kill you. What?! Yeah - how 'bout that craziness? We'll be back with pictures in a few weeks. I think that papaya is coming up -- although a nurse told me that I should avoid papaya unless I know that it is 100% ripened, as there is some research to show that unripe papaya can lead to premature labor. So, maybe I'll pose with a papaya and let Z eat it, because I am a papaya-plebe and would have no idea if the fruit I was eating was ripe or not. I hang my head in shame.
***
I am apparently looking more and more pregnant, and more of my clients at work have felt the need to address my newly protruding belly. Mostly people come right out and ask if I'm pregnant or expecting, although I've had a few doozies, most notably:
*(from a co-worker) Now that you're (points at belly area) not sexy anymore, you shouldn't walk through that room.
*What's going on .... (stares at my belly) there?
*Wow. You're getting bigger. (In her defense, this client knew that I was pregnant already. But, really, when is it ok to tell a woman that she's getting bigger?)
*Are you ... (stares at my belly) fuller figured?
While I'm happy that these people are taking a positive interest in me, it reminds me of a bit of wisdom that I picked up back when I was knee high to a grasshopper: Never ask a woman if she is pregnant/when she is due unless the baby is crowning.
***
We had our ultrasound/anatomy scan on Tuesday and everything was perfect. This was the first time that Z had a chance to see that our little Blobby had gone beyond Bean stage and had achieved Monkey-Bean stage. Seriously, it looks like a little monkey-creature dancing around in there. Z and my mom were also able to hear the heartbeat/doppler woosh-woosh. Man, technology is pretty fantastic.
Here are a few of the photos from our scan. I have to say that I used to believe that the 3D renderings were creepy (and as a side-note, the hospital where we had our scan calls them 4D images. What does that even mean??) until I saw my own little Monkey-Bean render. Man, it's just about the cutest most fantastic thing I've ever seen. That's my Monkey-Bean!
Here is the traditional ultrasound, with Monkey-Bean waving a hand around:
And here is a tiny Monkey-foot:
Here is the first 3D. Be prepared to marvel at the cuteness.
And finally, proof that this is my child, Monkey-Bean has grown tired of being photographed and is trying to hide from the ultrasound:
***
I am apparently looking more and more pregnant, and more of my clients at work have felt the need to address my newly protruding belly. Mostly people come right out and ask if I'm pregnant or expecting, although I've had a few doozies, most notably:
*(from a co-worker) Now that you're (points at belly area) not sexy anymore, you shouldn't walk through that room.
*What's going on .... (stares at my belly) there?
*Wow. You're getting bigger. (In her defense, this client knew that I was pregnant already. But, really, when is it ok to tell a woman that she's getting bigger?)
*Are you ... (stares at my belly) fuller figured?
While I'm happy that these people are taking a positive interest in me, it reminds me of a bit of wisdom that I picked up back when I was knee high to a grasshopper: Never ask a woman if she is pregnant/when she is due unless the baby is crowning.
***
We had our ultrasound/anatomy scan on Tuesday and everything was perfect. This was the first time that Z had a chance to see that our little Blobby had gone beyond Bean stage and had achieved Monkey-Bean stage. Seriously, it looks like a little monkey-creature dancing around in there. Z and my mom were also able to hear the heartbeat/doppler woosh-woosh. Man, technology is pretty fantastic.
Here are a few of the photos from our scan. I have to say that I used to believe that the 3D renderings were creepy (and as a side-note, the hospital where we had our scan calls them 4D images. What does that even mean??) until I saw my own little Monkey-Bean render. Man, it's just about the cutest most fantastic thing I've ever seen. That's my Monkey-Bean!
Here is the traditional ultrasound, with Monkey-Bean waving a hand around:
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| Is s/he taking after me and shaking a fist in the air? |
And here is a tiny Monkey-foot:
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| Toesies! |
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| My heart is melting... |
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| Go 'way! |
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Week 18: The Quickening
At the time of writing, I am actually 19 weeks along, but we DID take the obligatory vegetable and belly shots last week, so I'm going to go ahead and title this one "Week 18."
So, I suppose I am at the stage where I look more pregnant than fat, although some days, I feel more fat than pregnant. Z assures me that I look pregnant, but I think he's required to do that because of the Marital Law of Harmonious Cohabitation. (When he eats a meal that I prepared that is clearly sub-par without a complaint, that's also because of the MLHC.)
I've felt some movements - little readjustments or flutters - mostly at night. It's pretty cool - I know that s/he is squirming about in there, as I've seen it on the ultrasounds, but to actually feel it is a whole new level of awesomeness. I've read that the movements get more pronounced (violent?) as things progress, so I'm looking at the flutters as a gentle introduction. It is a little odd that I mostly feel them at night, but I read that my movements during the day are relaxing to the Bean and lull him/her to sleep, then once I'm quiet and still, s/he becomes more alert and wiggly. There have been a few nights where I ask the Bean which position s/he would prefer so there can be less wiggling and more Amanda-sleep.... As I told my mother the other day, I'm sure this is the first of many times I will say, "What do you want? I need to go to sleep." :)
I do find it interesting that the first time a woman feels movement is referred to as the Quickening. It certainly took me a minute to wrap my brain around the fact that the word was around well before the Highlander (There Can Be Only One!) movie. (You know, I'd pluralize "movie," since there was technically more than one Highlander, but the others were awful. So, I'm going to pretend they don't exist and just stick with the singular.)
Anyhow... without further ado, here are the pics. At 18 weeks, the Bean is about the size of a sweet potato:
And here's the bump (and Kayla Mae getting in on the photo-shoot):
So, I suppose I am at the stage where I look more pregnant than fat, although some days, I feel more fat than pregnant. Z assures me that I look pregnant, but I think he's required to do that because of the Marital Law of Harmonious Cohabitation. (When he eats a meal that I prepared that is clearly sub-par without a complaint, that's also because of the MLHC.)
I've felt some movements - little readjustments or flutters - mostly at night. It's pretty cool - I know that s/he is squirming about in there, as I've seen it on the ultrasounds, but to actually feel it is a whole new level of awesomeness. I've read that the movements get more pronounced (violent?) as things progress, so I'm looking at the flutters as a gentle introduction. It is a little odd that I mostly feel them at night, but I read that my movements during the day are relaxing to the Bean and lull him/her to sleep, then once I'm quiet and still, s/he becomes more alert and wiggly. There have been a few nights where I ask the Bean which position s/he would prefer so there can be less wiggling and more Amanda-sleep.... As I told my mother the other day, I'm sure this is the first of many times I will say, "What do you want? I need to go to sleep." :)
I do find it interesting that the first time a woman feels movement is referred to as the Quickening. It certainly took me a minute to wrap my brain around the fact that the word was around well before the Highlander (There Can Be Only One!) movie. (You know, I'd pluralize "movie," since there was technically more than one Highlander, but the others were awful. So, I'm going to pretend they don't exist and just stick with the singular.)
Anyhow... without further ado, here are the pics. At 18 weeks, the Bean is about the size of a sweet potato:
And here's the bump (and Kayla Mae getting in on the photo-shoot):
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
On Role Models and their credibility
So maybe this is a tad premature to come back to Blogtown only a day before an ultrasound appointment that will let me hear my unborn child's heartbeat for the first time, but so be it. I'll just have to make a quicker return visit.
While I love Homer Simpson and Peter Griffin as characters that make me laugh, I can't often say that they're ideal role models. That being said, a few nights ago, I joked with Amanda that I was going to be the dad that disciplined completely incongruously. "What, you got caught shoplifting?? Well, you're gonna have to smoke a whole carton of cigarettes, see how you like it!" The next night (or maybe even that night), we sat down to watch some Family Guy, and dern if Peter didn't do the exact same thing with Chris, subbing (I think) wrecking his dirtbike for shoplifting. So I can't be too far off, right?
[I've obviously turned down a dangerous road in Blogtown, one that opens the door to my reference-heavy world. However, I just remembered that we named this blog after a Simpsons reference, so all is well and right.]
Jumping tangentially to The Simpsons, I see that there ARE examples (in both series, really) where the fathers do get it right. Case in point, Homer learns that Bart had in fact been caught Shoplifting: "How _could_ you?! Haven't you learned anything from that guy who gives those sermons at church? Captain Whatshisname? We live in a society of laws. Why do you think I took you to all those 'Police Academy' movies? For fun? Well, I didn't hear anybody laughing! Did you?!"
Seriously folks, Steve Guttenburg is a lucky man.
But no, seriously folks, my number one role model will most assuredly be my own father, who, against all seeming evidence to the contrary, had NEVER DONE THIS before my brother was born. Guy sure seemed like a pro. And that's what gives me hope: knowing that generation after generation has been raised by rank amateurs, with varying degrees of success. I'm sure I'll also look to my older brother Jake as well, for a more modern take on the Rutter style.
But then again, who am I kidding? I know dern well that I will more likely end up like Calvin's father (of Calvin & Hobbes fame): when Calvin asked his father where babies come from, he was told that most people assembled babies from a kit that could be purchased at Sears. Calvin's father told his son that he was a "Blue Light Special at Kmart, almost as good and a lot cheaper."
In another instance, Calvin can be heard to remark to his mother: "I take it there's no qualifying exam to be a dad."
Not as such, no. But as far as Amanda and her ever-embiggening can attest, I've crossed the first of many hurdles. I'm just hoping, many many trials and tests later, that my exit interview is satisfactory.
While I love Homer Simpson and Peter Griffin as characters that make me laugh, I can't often say that they're ideal role models. That being said, a few nights ago, I joked with Amanda that I was going to be the dad that disciplined completely incongruously. "What, you got caught shoplifting?? Well, you're gonna have to smoke a whole carton of cigarettes, see how you like it!" The next night (or maybe even that night), we sat down to watch some Family Guy, and dern if Peter didn't do the exact same thing with Chris, subbing (I think) wrecking his dirtbike for shoplifting. So I can't be too far off, right?
[I've obviously turned down a dangerous road in Blogtown, one that opens the door to my reference-heavy world. However, I just remembered that we named this blog after a Simpsons reference, so all is well and right.]
Jumping tangentially to The Simpsons, I see that there ARE examples (in both series, really) where the fathers do get it right. Case in point, Homer learns that Bart had in fact been caught Shoplifting: "How _could_ you?! Haven't you learned anything from that guy who gives those sermons at church? Captain Whatshisname? We live in a society of laws. Why do you think I took you to all those 'Police Academy' movies? For fun? Well, I didn't hear anybody laughing! Did you?!"
Seriously folks, Steve Guttenburg is a lucky man.
But no, seriously folks, my number one role model will most assuredly be my own father, who, against all seeming evidence to the contrary, had NEVER DONE THIS before my brother was born. Guy sure seemed like a pro. And that's what gives me hope: knowing that generation after generation has been raised by rank amateurs, with varying degrees of success. I'm sure I'll also look to my older brother Jake as well, for a more modern take on the Rutter style.
But then again, who am I kidding? I know dern well that I will more likely end up like Calvin's father (of Calvin & Hobbes fame): when Calvin asked his father where babies come from, he was told that most people assembled babies from a kit that could be purchased at Sears. Calvin's father told his son that he was a "Blue Light Special at Kmart, almost as good and a lot cheaper."
In another instance, Calvin can be heard to remark to his mother: "I take it there's no qualifying exam to be a dad."
Not as such, no. But as far as Amanda and her ever-embiggening can attest, I've crossed the first of many hurdles. I'm just hoping, many many trials and tests later, that my exit interview is satisfactory.
Monday, August 29, 2011
16 Weeks: Amanda is no longer Secret Agent Squirrel
So here I am at 16 weeks along, which is actually only 14 weeks of being pregnant. (Isn't that weird how pregnancy is timed? It includes the time before you are pregnant, when you were carefree and the Bean was a hopeful twinkle. Bizarre.) If I were a Bengal tiger, I would be giving birth to wee little tiger cubs right about now. It's not that I'm ready for the Bean to be a fully formed little person that we have to feed, shelter and clothe quite yet, I just enjoy little factoids like that.
I'm actually enjoying the pregnancy more now that I've grown accustomed to the fact that Elastic is my friend and I'm not frustrating myself by trying to squeeze my bump into my old jeans or pants anymore. I do miss having a nice glass of wine some nights, though. Especially with the recent Hurricane (Tropical Storm) Irene ... an important part of "Hunkering Down" involves adult beverages! In fact, you can make a game of it: every time a meteorologist is left outside in heavy wind and rain, take a drink; every time you see Anderson Cooper reporting from Battery Park with nary a sprinkle of rain or a light breeze, take a drink; every time you are overwhelmed with multicolored representations of the storm that play 30-second loops over and over, take a drink. Had I been drinking, I would have been happily giggling at the storm coverage. Instead, I was probably a bit irritating to Zac as I kept asking him to alternately flip to CNN so I could stare agog at the coverage or to change the channel to something else, as the coverage was ridiculous in its intensity.
Irene passed us by, leaving not much more than some downed twigs and puddles in her wake. We were very lucky.
Last week, I had a client congratulate me on my pregnancy. I was shocked that she had noticed. You see, I have been living in a little bubble of delusion where I believe that no one can tell: I wear baggier shirts on top, and at work I wear a loose white doctor's coat. I was operating under the assumption that I was Secret Agent Squirrel and that my Illusion of Non-Pregnancy was complete. Oops. I suppose that from this point on, it will only be come more noticeable as the Bean makes him/herself more prominent...
I'll let you judge for yourselves. Here are some pics of me posing with an avocado- the rough representation of the Bean at this time. Afterwards, we ate the avocado. I felt a little weird, given that moments ago, it had represented our baby ... but it was tasty enough to make me forget my misgivings soon enough. :)
And here's the bump:
Much love to all!
I'm actually enjoying the pregnancy more now that I've grown accustomed to the fact that Elastic is my friend and I'm not frustrating myself by trying to squeeze my bump into my old jeans or pants anymore. I do miss having a nice glass of wine some nights, though. Especially with the recent Hurricane (Tropical Storm) Irene ... an important part of "Hunkering Down" involves adult beverages! In fact, you can make a game of it: every time a meteorologist is left outside in heavy wind and rain, take a drink; every time you see Anderson Cooper reporting from Battery Park with nary a sprinkle of rain or a light breeze, take a drink; every time you are overwhelmed with multicolored representations of the storm that play 30-second loops over and over, take a drink. Had I been drinking, I would have been happily giggling at the storm coverage. Instead, I was probably a bit irritating to Zac as I kept asking him to alternately flip to CNN so I could stare agog at the coverage or to change the channel to something else, as the coverage was ridiculous in its intensity.
Irene passed us by, leaving not much more than some downed twigs and puddles in her wake. We were very lucky.
Last week, I had a client congratulate me on my pregnancy. I was shocked that she had noticed. You see, I have been living in a little bubble of delusion where I believe that no one can tell: I wear baggier shirts on top, and at work I wear a loose white doctor's coat. I was operating under the assumption that I was Secret Agent Squirrel and that my Illusion of Non-Pregnancy was complete. Oops. I suppose that from this point on, it will only be come more noticeable as the Bean makes him/herself more prominent...
I'll let you judge for yourselves. Here are some pics of me posing with an avocado- the rough representation of the Bean at this time. Afterwards, we ate the avocado. I felt a little weird, given that moments ago, it had represented our baby ... but it was tasty enough to make me forget my misgivings soon enough. :)
 |
| Avocado-bean! |
 | |||
| Little bump |
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The Daddy-Zac to be checks in!
Here’s me, making my first official visit to Blogtown in the uber-exclusive enclave of the Embiggening. As the news of our happy, happy, awesome-awesome, kickass-kickass joy is spread, I’m feeling like I should start making contributions (unlike the kitchen, where I’m content to let my ever-loving wife request that I contribute). Otherwise folks may come see what’s going on and think Amanda’s gestating all by her lonesome, like I was off defending our country or some such lofty pursuit. So no excuses. Or at least good ones.
Here it is, nearly a full three (3) months since that groggy surprise of a wake-up call. Ok, I guess the particular method of the wake-up was a surprise, but I HAD asked Amanda to help me get my ass in gear (she’s great for that). And damnit, I shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s not like we hadn’t been trying and wanting, and we deserved it. I guess it was surprise in the form of eustress.
My point of bringing up that groggy morning is that obviously I was awake after that call, but I’m pretty sure it still hasn’t hit me fully just what it is that’s going on here. I mean, I’ve got the rough science down (near as I can tell, it has something to do with proteins and metachlorians). It’s just that, though I’m plenty old enough to be doing this and very nearly adult enough to be doing this, I’m still collecting my grasp on the idea that it really is ME doing this. Me of course being only half of the two-person cabal known as We-ness, soon to be three.
And even as it begins to sink in further, there will be no padding or shielding from the huge spiritual and emotional onslaught that will be witnessing this birth and holding my child in my arms... but easy there, Virg (as opposed to Tex), you’re getting way ahead of yourself.
In the meantime, I’m thrilled to share this with all my friends and family. And I stand by the previous sentence, despite my obvious lack of phone skills in spreading the news far and wide. I also feel as if I’m showing enormous restraint by having an opening entry of only this length. But I didn’t want to scare you off. But stay tuned.
Here it is, nearly a full three (3) months since that groggy surprise of a wake-up call. Ok, I guess the particular method of the wake-up was a surprise, but I HAD asked Amanda to help me get my ass in gear (she’s great for that). And damnit, I shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s not like we hadn’t been trying and wanting, and we deserved it. I guess it was surprise in the form of eustress.
My point of bringing up that groggy morning is that obviously I was awake after that call, but I’m pretty sure it still hasn’t hit me fully just what it is that’s going on here. I mean, I’ve got the rough science down (near as I can tell, it has something to do with proteins and metachlorians). It’s just that, though I’m plenty old enough to be doing this and very nearly adult enough to be doing this, I’m still collecting my grasp on the idea that it really is ME doing this. Me of course being only half of the two-person cabal known as We-ness, soon to be three.
And even as it begins to sink in further, there will be no padding or shielding from the huge spiritual and emotional onslaught that will be witnessing this birth and holding my child in my arms... but easy there, Virg (as opposed to Tex), you’re getting way ahead of yourself.
In the meantime, I’m thrilled to share this with all my friends and family. And I stand by the previous sentence, despite my obvious lack of phone skills in spreading the news far and wide. I also feel as if I’m showing enormous restraint by having an opening entry of only this length. But I didn’t want to scare you off. But stay tuned.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Lemons and Elastic Waist-bands: Amanda at 14 weeks
Wow. We made it to the second trimester - often referred to as the "best time" of pregnancy because there's less fatigue, nausea and weird-food-aversions. I'll say for the record, I do feel more energetic ... but coffee still tastes pretty bitter and awful to me, no matter how much creamer or sugar I add. I have tried to rationally discuss with The Bean that the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) have stated that moderate caffeine consumption is considered safe in pregnancy. The Bean doesn't seem to give a hoot for facts and figures such as those and has decided that s/he does not like coffee, and therefore, for the next few months, neither do I.
The Bean has begun to expand and I have bid a fond farewell to my waistline. There's a definite "bump" that's appearing and making it terribly difficult for me to fully zip or button any of my pants. I have discovered the joy of dressing an expanding body: I have discovered the joy of elastic waistbands on my pants. (Because, honestly, how many flowy dresses should one woman own? And truly, I can't wear that sort of hippie-chic to work - I'd be one bouncing, happy Labrador retriever away from flashing my horrified clients!)
The first shopping trip for pants that would fit (and would continue to do so) was in St. Augustine, with my mom. Before my pregnancy, I think that my mother would have rather faced a pack of ravenous wolves than go shopping with me: we have very different styles and have not had the luck to have really good shopping experiences together in the past. This time was different. Mom loved picking out clothes for me to try on -- and I think she was quite amused by the "pretend pregnancy" pillow that you could use to approximate a 39 week pregnancy belly. It was more square than round and fit awkwardly. It was hilarious. I wish I'd taken pictures. That outing was successful and I left with a few shirts and sweaters (soon it will be cool enough to wear them!) and four pairs of pants, including a pair of black corduroys. I have a ridiculous love for cords and was thrilled to find some that I could wear this fall and winter. I must say, I'm quite happy that I am pregnant now, when there are a lot of cute options to choose from in maternity wear, compared to twenty years ago when, according to my Aunt, the options were huge tent-dresses with polka-dots or baggy shirts with giant bows. It's hard enough dressing a changing body without being made to feel frumpy or clownish!
Enough about stretchy-pants! I'm sure I'll have more to say on my shrinking wardrobe options as the weeks pass .... In the meantime, here are some pictures that Zac took of me holding a lemon that approximates The Bean:
And here's a side-view of the Bump:
And here is a picture of what happens when Zac starts channeling Wolfgang, his uncle who is a photographer, by repeatedly saying to me, "What else can you do?"
...and mere seconds later, I dropped our Baby Lemon. I hope that this does not bode poorly for the future!
The Bean has begun to expand and I have bid a fond farewell to my waistline. There's a definite "bump" that's appearing and making it terribly difficult for me to fully zip or button any of my pants. I have discovered the joy of dressing an expanding body: I have discovered the joy of elastic waistbands on my pants. (Because, honestly, how many flowy dresses should one woman own? And truly, I can't wear that sort of hippie-chic to work - I'd be one bouncing, happy Labrador retriever away from flashing my horrified clients!)
The first shopping trip for pants that would fit (and would continue to do so) was in St. Augustine, with my mom. Before my pregnancy, I think that my mother would have rather faced a pack of ravenous wolves than go shopping with me: we have very different styles and have not had the luck to have really good shopping experiences together in the past. This time was different. Mom loved picking out clothes for me to try on -- and I think she was quite amused by the "pretend pregnancy" pillow that you could use to approximate a 39 week pregnancy belly. It was more square than round and fit awkwardly. It was hilarious. I wish I'd taken pictures. That outing was successful and I left with a few shirts and sweaters (soon it will be cool enough to wear them!) and four pairs of pants, including a pair of black corduroys. I have a ridiculous love for cords and was thrilled to find some that I could wear this fall and winter. I must say, I'm quite happy that I am pregnant now, when there are a lot of cute options to choose from in maternity wear, compared to twenty years ago when, according to my Aunt, the options were huge tent-dresses with polka-dots or baggy shirts with giant bows. It's hard enough dressing a changing body without being made to feel frumpy or clownish!
Enough about stretchy-pants! I'm sure I'll have more to say on my shrinking wardrobe options as the weeks pass .... In the meantime, here are some pictures that Zac took of me holding a lemon that approximates The Bean:
 | |
| Lemon-sized Bean |
 |
| Side-bump! |
 |
| Being silly. |
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The First Post ... in which Amanda brings you up to date
I found out that our family was expanding on Monday, May 30. Zac was staying upstate with friends after a Phish weekend and had asked me to be his wake up call. It was 7:30am. I saw two lines on the test: the control line and a fainter, but definitely there test line. My eyes widened, my heart soared, and I ran to my computer to google what I already knew: any color change was significant. Still reeling with happy disbelief, I drank a large glass of water and took another test. Two lines. Wow. It was nearing 8am. I called Zac. Blearily, he answered the phone. Below is a rough approximation of the conversation that followed:
Zac: Hello
Amanda: Hi. Good morning. Are you awake?
Zac: (Deep breath) Yeah...
Amanda: ARE YOU AWAKE?
Zac: Yeah.
Amanda: I got two lines this morning! A positive test! We did it!
Zac: Are you kidding me?
Amanda: What?! Why would I (insert unladylike word) kid you? About this?!
Zac: Oh. Wow. Wow.
Later, just so he wouldn’t think the conversation had all been a dream, I sent him a picture of the pregnancy test.
I was at work until 2pm that day, and I would guess that I looked at that picture of the two lines at least 20 times. It still didn’t feel real.
I called my parents and Nana as soon as I left work the next day. I know that some people keep the news to themselves until they know it’s confirmed (sometimes people don’t even tell their families until the 2nd trimester), but I wanted to share some joy. Nana had recently been admitted to a rehab facility for a fractured pelvis, and both mom & I thought that the news would do her good. I remember her joy as she said to me, “I’m going to be a great-grandmother! Oh my! A great-grandmother! How wonderful!”
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of blood tests which confirmed that yes, we were pregnant and that no, I was not previously exposed to Toxoplasma. Which, given my profession and how long I’ve been in the industry, was a surprise to me. On Friday, June 17, we got our first look at the Bean on ultrasound. Mostly, it was a blob hanging out in another blob, but it was really there. There was something growing inside me. On Wednesday, June 29, Zac came with me to the next ultrasound and we were both able to see a flutter that was the heartbeat: 130 beats/min - a good, healthy rate. Estimated DOB: Feb 15, 2012.
Here is a little picture of the Bean from that day:
Friday, July 22 we had our next ultrasound appointment. The Bean had a bit of a growth spurt, and was measuring a little older than before. New estimated DOB: Feb 12, 2012. We could see a good, healthy heart-flutter, but were unable to hear it using the doppler. However, I did see the Bean move his/her little arm around as if s/he were dancing or wiggling about in there. That was pretty fabulous. Not only was there something (someone!) growing in there - it was moving around.
August 3, I went to Lenox Hill for another, fancier ultrasound. This scan lasted about 30 minutes because the Bean (now about the size of a lime) was not being terribly cooperative and was bouncing and twisting all over the place. The Bean was starting to look like a little person, rather than a lumpy blob: I could see a little nose on the face and tiny arms and legs that waved around. I heard a strong, steady heartbeat: it was music to my ears.
Here are some pics from that visit:
After that good news, I felt comfortable enough to start taking pictures (and sharing them) of the Embiggening of Amanda. So, here I am, posing with a lime that represents the ~12 week old Bean:
I look forward to posing with more fruit as the weeks pass, as well as getting more and more comfortable in my elastic-waisted pants.
Much love,
-a-
Zac: Hello
Amanda: Hi. Good morning. Are you awake?
Zac: (Deep breath) Yeah...
Amanda: ARE YOU AWAKE?
Zac: Yeah.
Amanda: I got two lines this morning! A positive test! We did it!
Zac: Are you kidding me?
Amanda: What?! Why would I (insert unladylike word) kid you? About this?!
Zac: Oh. Wow. Wow.
Later, just so he wouldn’t think the conversation had all been a dream, I sent him a picture of the pregnancy test.
 |
| 2 lines! |
I was at work until 2pm that day, and I would guess that I looked at that picture of the two lines at least 20 times. It still didn’t feel real.
I called my parents and Nana as soon as I left work the next day. I know that some people keep the news to themselves until they know it’s confirmed (sometimes people don’t even tell their families until the 2nd trimester), but I wanted to share some joy. Nana had recently been admitted to a rehab facility for a fractured pelvis, and both mom & I thought that the news would do her good. I remember her joy as she said to me, “I’m going to be a great-grandmother! Oh my! A great-grandmother! How wonderful!”
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of blood tests which confirmed that yes, we were pregnant and that no, I was not previously exposed to Toxoplasma. Which, given my profession and how long I’ve been in the industry, was a surprise to me. On Friday, June 17, we got our first look at the Bean on ultrasound. Mostly, it was a blob hanging out in another blob, but it was really there. There was something growing inside me. On Wednesday, June 29, Zac came with me to the next ultrasound and we were both able to see a flutter that was the heartbeat: 130 beats/min - a good, healthy rate. Estimated DOB: Feb 15, 2012.
Here is a little picture of the Bean from that day:
 |
| The blobby-Bean |
Friday, July 22 we had our next ultrasound appointment. The Bean had a bit of a growth spurt, and was measuring a little older than before. New estimated DOB: Feb 12, 2012. We could see a good, healthy heart-flutter, but were unable to hear it using the doppler. However, I did see the Bean move his/her little arm around as if s/he were dancing or wiggling about in there. That was pretty fabulous. Not only was there something (someone!) growing in there - it was moving around.
 |
| The Bean is less blobby |
August 3, I went to Lenox Hill for another, fancier ultrasound. This scan lasted about 30 minutes because the Bean (now about the size of a lime) was not being terribly cooperative and was bouncing and twisting all over the place. The Bean was starting to look like a little person, rather than a lumpy blob: I could see a little nose on the face and tiny arms and legs that waved around. I heard a strong, steady heartbeat: it was music to my ears.
Here are some pics from that visit:
 |
| The Bean is looking like a little person in there |
 |
| The Poultry-pose |
After that good news, I felt comfortable enough to start taking pictures (and sharing them) of the Embiggening of Amanda. So, here I am, posing with a lime that represents the ~12 week old Bean:
I look forward to posing with more fruit as the weeks pass, as well as getting more and more comfortable in my elastic-waisted pants.
Much love,
-a-
The Prelude ... in which we define a few things
1. Embiggen:
Etymology
em- + big + -en. Ad-hoc coinage, attested in 1884. Coined anew, explicitly as a nonce word (alongside the humorous cromulent), in "Lisa the Iconoclast", a 1996 episode of The Simpsons. Use after 1996 in popular culture derives from that episode.Verb
embiggen (third-person singular simple present embiggens, present participle embiggening, simple past and past participle embiggened)2. Cromulent:
Etymology
A humorous neologism coined by television writer David X. Cohen; see 1996 quotation.Adjective
cromulent (not comparable)- Fine, acceptable or normal; excellent, realistic, legitimate or authentic.
As you may have noticed, both of these words are from the seventh season of the Simpsons. Zac and I have bonded over the Simpsons since we first met, and felt that a nod to our roots was appropriate to this blog.
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