It's a Boy!

Bright and early we went downtown for the 20 week ultrasound today. And we came away with a small roll of glamor shots featuring our kiddo!

Doesn't he cut a dashing profile? What a cute little kiddo.

Boy it is cramped in here. Can't a little guy get some space?

Adorable little footsies and toesies. And he's rubbing his feet together just like his dad does!

Welcome to the gun show. The beach is that way.

After all I've said about the baby looking less alien. In this shot of the spine, he really looks like a velociraptor.

And for those who are curious...

All evidence points to "boy."

Now don't rush out and start buying blue clothes folks. We're still hoping to get gender neutral clothes. Think yellow, green and purple. Or black pleather.

Halfway there! Checking in on the baby's development progress

I recently took time to catch up on what the baby has been up to (other than frequent somersaults and judo practice sessions).

• By week 18 the baby has vocal chords already and can go through the motions of crying, although there is no sound. It made Terry a little sad to read that our baby could be crying already.
• The heart is formed with all its chambers.
• By week 19 the baby had assumed the waking and sleeping patterns of a newborn.
• Scalp hair was beginning to form. And between fuzzy Terry and my Armenian heritage, I'm thinking our kid is a furry one.
• Teeth have begun to form.
• By week 20, myelin has formed on nerves (to improve their functioning) and the nerve cells for taste, smell, hearing, seeing, and touch are now developing in specialized areas of the brain.
• The baby not only hears sounds outside the womb, but may also startle visibly in response to sounds.
• According to average growth progression, the baby is a whopping 6.5 inches from head to tush already!

As we move through Week 21, here's what the baby is working on now:

• Skin is becoming more opaque instead of translucent.
• The tongue is fully formed.
• Baby practices swallowing
• Most amazing to me: if our baby is a girl, all of the eggs she will ever have are already formed inside her. Isn't that astonishing? Half the genetic material for our grandchild is already waiting inside the baby. If she's a girl. Which we don't know yet.

What a busy little baby. No wonder the baby wants so many Chipotle chicken burritos to fuel all that work...or is that just me?

Bump Envy

So for a while I've had a major case of bump envy. And before anyone mentions it, let me just declare: I know intellectually that I should be glad and grateful and whatnot that I have not gotten very big yet, that my old clothes still mostly fit (with a little help from the bella band). Grateful that my small belly means that I have avoided balance problems, back problems, and can still competently tie my shoes. And I get that...in my head. But the other part of me, the irrational impulsive one, is just really envious of all those cute pregnancy bumps out there.

Part of this probably stems from being something of a late bloomer in the boobs department. Something of that jealous mentality probably sticks with me. I nudged from non-existent breasts into an unimpressive moderate A-cup over the course of years. It wasn't until the end of college that I had to finally accept that the booby fairy wasn't coming my way with some impressive rack. I had what I had.

I think the other part of my bump envy comes from my sense that the way people treat pregnant women represents what is left of the best of our humanity. There is a social togetherness (sometimes oppressive I'm sure) that leads strangers to smile and talk in ways that otherwise don't really happen in a big city. Whatever damaged vestiges of compassion and kindness to others (some sort of gender-neutral chivalry) are played out for pregnant women. They are offered seats on buses. They are helped with bags.

But for this, you have to be visibly pregnant.

The other day I rode the rush hour el train home from jury duty downtown. I was dressed in a fleece and coat (it was cold) and the train was packed way beyond capacity. No spare square inch. I started overheating but I couldn't get the space to even take my jacket off. I felt sort of weak and woozy and thought seriously about just sitting down on the dirty el floor because I didn't want to fall over. Finally I just imposed my arms all over other people enough to struggle out of my jacket and fleece, and I crouched down over my backpack to try to top feeling woozy. And people just stared at my like I was an inconvenient nut. I wanted to explain, "I'm pregnant. this isn't my fault. I can't help it!" and I found myself jealous of those who carry their explanations for weird behavior prominently on the front of their abdomen for all to see.

Yesterday we went to our first birthing class (ten more to go!). In it there was a couple who were due on March 10th, just four days before we are. And there she sat, all adorably round and rotund. With my tiny little barely-there belly (because lets face it people, its not like I started this venture with washboard abs) I felt sort of like an interloper.

On the other hand, some folks had sort of lumpy bellies. I guess I've nothing to do but keep waiting, try to enjoy my flexibility and comfort, and keep my fingers crossed for a nice belly shape in the future.

On being an initiate to the club

I count myself incredibly blessed that I have been surrounded by the warmth and support of some amazing women in Chicago who have already given birth, and so can offer great wisdom about going through pregnancy, labor, and preparing for motherhood. I honestly don't know what I would do (or how crazy I would be) without them.

When my first close friend went through pregnancy and birth, I remember very distinctly going to visit her at the hospital. It was a day or two after labor, and somehow she just looked different to me. Wiser. More knowing. And I thought to myself "She's in the club." Because there seems to be this thing that women who have been through birth have, like the process of labor and delivery is the sort of thing that really cannot be grasped mentally and must be experienced. Spanish has two different verbs for "to know" one of which means to know intellectually, and the other of which means to know by experience. Women in the club know by experience.

But a totally random encounter, facilitated by the ubiquitous network technology of Facebook, has given me an appreciation of the value of knowing other initiates to the club…first timers like me. Thanks to the magic of facebook, I discovered that three girls I knew (as acquaintences) in High School are all pregnant now as well. One of them is pregnant with triplets! Her name is Erinn (like me, but with an extraneous N). She too is keeping a baby blog with updates on how things are going, and she sent me the link.

I found myself totally absorbed in her little updates. And part of the fascination came with the shared sense of newness. She had one post where she marveled that she no longer really wanted to eat chocolate. Not only did I think “me too! I felt the same way!” but I immediately recognized the tone of her words, because it was the tone of someone reflecting on something utterly new for the first time.

Later she wrote about how she was constantly tired and hungry. And it isn’t that experienced moms didn’t feel the same way, or couldn’t remember it. I think it is more the shared sense among initiates that such a revelation is newsworthy. It is worth putting on our blogs because it is this unexpected totally new experience. And although we intellectually understand that it probably happens to everyone from the dawn of time on down, emotionally we have the sense that this is the first time in the history of the world that this is happening and it is happening to us, and we just have to share what a wild ride it is.

And somehow piecing together this new understanding that helps me explain my craving for the company of other initiates to the club of motherhood has also given me a new appreciation for what I am going through. I have not been someone who approaches each day of my pregnancy like a miracle to be constantly marveled at. Sometimes I have felt it just a mildly annoying state that is a necessary precursor to the joys (and trials) of having a baby. But now, realizing that this is the only time I will be pregnant for the first time makes me want to take more time to stop and appreciate all I am thinking and feeling.

And there goes the baby. Kicking again. Baby likes jury duty.

The "bump" goes to camp

So I've now had several explicit requests for "bump" pictures, which is a genre of photograph that I did not realize existed until recently. I suspect this is one of those types of photos that has been enabled by the easy cheap "take as many as you want" approach to photography that digital cameras have enabled. But evidently people document the progress of belly growth week by week.

So I figured now was as good a time as any to start. I'm 18 weeks along in these photos, but as far as I can tell, I haven't really started to look obviously pregnant yet. But the books and stories all seem to suggest that sometime in the next few weeks I will "pop" and then goodbye normal jeans, hello preggers pants.

So until then, please enjoy the photos of the bump's trip to Camp Anokijig (where Terry and I got married).

First Kicks! Our little gymnast...

For the last few weeks I have been embarrassingly eager about entering the period of pregnancy where you can actually feel the baby moving. With all the screwy little inconveniences of pregnancy, the ability to actually feel your child moving within you seemed to me like the ultimate benefit. So for a while when I lay down at night I try to be very still and concentrate really hard and any little thing makes me wonder "was that it?" and then "How will I ever really know?"

Yesterday I decided in the afternoon that I really wanted to catch the performance of Dirty Dancing (Broadway in Chicago) downtown. I had a discount code good for at least $20 off tickets but it was only good through yesterday. So all spontaneously I called up, ordered two tickets and Terry and I were off to the theater. While walking from the el to the theater, we passed a Garret's Popcorn place (which I have been wanting like a maniac) so we stopped in to get some. We sat on the planters outside our theater while I ate caramel and cheese popcorn and generally enjoyed the unusually temperate evening.

That day Gabrielle had told me the story about how she felt her son kick when she went to the opera. The soprano hit a particularly soaring note and the baby kicked. I was recounting this story to Terry while chowing on popcorn. I joked with him that her kid was all culture and opera, but maybe our kid would be into Dirty Dancing. Munching a little more popcorn I added, "and baby loves popcorn."

We went inside and got settled into our seats. Then as we were just sitting around waiting for things to start, I leaned over and put my head on Terry's shoulder, which sort of crunched up my stomach a bit. Then, all of the sudden, clear as day there it was. My eyes flew open in surprise. I waited for a second one because I wanted to be sure before I told Terry. I didn't have to wait long. There is was again. It was so very clear and distinct. How could I have missed that before? I turned to Terry and said, "I'm not kidding, the baby just kicked!" and he said "Are you sure?" and just to dispel any doubt, the baby kicked again right then. "Yeah, I'm definitely sure."

I was so distracted by the kicking that I had a hard time paying attention to the show at times. The kid was so active! The baby must have kicked more than thirty times during the show, and once kicked me so hard it made me jump in my seat. It didn't hurt, it just surprised the heck out of me. Who knew a kid with legs as thick as your pinky finger could pack such a punch?

Before I felt it, I had read that people describe those first kicks with terms like "flutter" "nudge" or (poetic eh) gas bubbles. Once I felt it, I could sort of see where that was coming from, but none of those descriptions seemed quite right. Flutter was too faint to describe it but it correctly suggested the quick tempo. Nudge had the amount of pressure right, but seemed too slow. To me, it felt most like the way it feels to put your finger on your neck and take your pulse. Not as regular and paced as a pulse, but about that amount of quickness and force to each one.

Terry really wanted to be able to feel it too, and I wanted to share that with him, but all the books say that the dad can't really feel the baby kick for another four weeks. Even so, later that weekend when we were up at Camp Anokijig, we were sitting around the campfire. I told Terry, "Boy, the kid is really active right now! A regular gymnast" and he said "I want to feel!" So he put his hand on my lower abdomen and I moved it until he was pressing right where the kicks usually come. I felt a faint one and said "There's one" but he didnt seem to have felt anything. But when the next one came it was pretty strong and before I could even say anything, I saw him sit up with a giant smile. He said he felt something move, but it was very faint. Still, it was incredibly nice to share that with him. And I particularly liked the poetic setting: at an Anokijig campfire.

New OB: Super Gupta!

There are some things in life that always seem a bit of a mystery to me. For example, how do you pick an OB? My general practitioner suggested that we interview a few. That idea went south fast when we discovered that all three of the practices covered by our insurance (in Evanston at least) charged a minimum of $170 for 15 minutes or more of face time, even if no medical advice was dispensed. At that rate, no interviews for us. And you have to pick an OB for your first appointment at 8 weeks, at which point the pregnancy was still mostly secret. So we couldnt exactly chat everyone up about it. So we got a recommendation from one friend for a midwife she had used. And a doc I really like at student health recommended an OB that she had used. So we ultimately went with the doctor-recommended OB.

And the doctor was nice. She was fine. But we just never clicked. I always felt vaguely uncomfortable and unsure whether she would really support my decision to work towards an unmedicated labor and delivery. I felt vaguely (but increasingly) unsatisfied with how simplistic answers to my questions were, and how little guidance she was giving me. At our meeting last week I didn't yet know to ask about a flu shot, so it didn't come up. Afterwards when I started looking into it I wondered why the doc herself hadnt said "hey, you might not know this because this is your first pregnancy, but the CDD lists pregnant women as one of the key groups that really must be vaccinated for the flu, so you should be sure to get a flu shot." These dissatisfactions were nothing monumental, but they just kept piling up for me.

And then, because this is always my response to uncertainty about authority, I started questioning myself. Maybe my expectations were unrealistic. Maybe you didn't need to feel enthusiastic and rah-rah about your OB. Maybe it was enough to feel like they would exercise sound medical judgment and that was it. The only other evidence I really had for what an OB could be like, at this point, was that I had seen one episode of some documentary/reality OB show on a cable channel. And the OBs on there seemed AMAZING. But that was Hollywood right? they must be exceptional.

So then I ventured the question on an online chat forum for Chicago-area moms. I explained the situation and asked if my expectations were too high. I was so overwhelmed (in a good way) by the responses. Here's a sampling:

• Erin, if you aren't comfortable with your OB (for whatever reason), then you're not comfortable with her. You need to trust this person and this person needs to believe in you. If you don't feel that way, then look elsewhere. It doesn't really matter what your expectations are. You're entitled to get the answers you want and the information you need. You just have to feel like you're in the right place.


• Go with your gut!! I wanted to at the very least leave the door open for a unmedicated childbirth and had big birth plan expectations but was met with a very similar reaction from my OB. I didn't feel comfortable with it, but since it was my first pregnancy and I had no girlfriends to look to in the city at the time, I chose to follow my OB's advice. I followed it into an unnecessary induction, a c-section after 2 hours of pushing, and a pain management strategy (don't chase the pain! Take these narcotics!) that spiraled into a subsequent hospitalization, and a rough go bonding with my girl.


• Im due on Saturday and kinda wish I would have switched OB's earlier in the game. I like her enough but I feel like she kinda dismisses some of my worries and has this positive attitude about the whole thing to a point where I feel like she totally dismisses my worries and concerns rather than addressing them and making me feel a bit more confidant.


• i would switch, but that's just me. you only get to have that baby once.

You only get to have that baby once. And you only get to have your first baby once ever.

And then about two weeks later, after our news was officially out and about the department, I was sitting with Gabrielle and Lori (two new moms in our department) who were talking so enthusiastically about how much they loved their OB. I think raving might be putting it too lightly. And here was this evidence in front of me that real people, people I knew and respected could and did love their OB. And Lori had a natural childbirth with this OB practice and felt like her decision was wonderfully supported all along the way.

And all I could think to myself was: I want that. I want to feel that way.

And then all I had to do was convince myself to act against inertia and actually go out there and see if I would prefer to be with their OB. So I made an appointment.

I was nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof while we sat in the waiting room. I felt like I was on a first date. Maybe more like a first meeting of an arranged marriage. I wanted so badly to like her, to love her. Moreso, I wanted her to like me. Their paperwork was confusing so I was frustrated: where it said "spouses name" (I dutifully put Terence McDonnell) what they really wanted was "insured's name." The staff explained to me that most women are covered on their husband's plan. I almost exploded. It was like walking into an episode of Mad Men where the era is all screwed up.

Plus we waited for an hour. I caught snatches of conversation that told me that I wasnt actually on the book, but that I had clearly been sent the forms to fill out in advance, so they were trying to figure out how to squeeze me into the schedule.

My concerns mounted. But everything went away when Dr. Gupta came in. She is a short dimunitive woman, but her smile hooked me right away. It just seemed so real. And when I talked, she seemed to really understand me. Everything she said back to me was like she was reading a script from my dreams.

I mentioned that I had a terrible episode of migraines. My former OB just offered me drugs. Gupta asked when it happened, and then she explained that when many women enter the second trimester, their blood pressure drops off by quite a bit, and that drop can often trigger bad headaches, wooziness, blood sugar issues. Not only was she explaining to me what was going on in a way that was incredibly comforting (for me understand = comfort), but she was even explaining why I've felt so woozy lately! When I had specifically asked the old OB that, she just told me that some women feel morning sickness through week 20. But Gupta nailed it.

I am also heterozygous (one of two risk factors) for a particular clotting problem. Gupta talked me through what she would do about it. She explained that last year the top medical journal in the OB field published a big meta-study on treating my particular clotting disorder and broke it down by a variety of risk factor combinations. She said that the study's recommendation for someone like me, who was heterozygous but had no prior history of clotting, was not to treat it because all the treatments carry their own risks, and there was no evidence that the treatment outcomes were significantly better than non-treated women. But then she said, "but I am going to go and look up that article again and read through it with specific attention to your case to be sure I am recommending what is the best of evidence-based medicine right now." I was wowed. She was explaining things to me like an adult capable of understanding my body. She understood that as a grad student, understanding what was going on and why would help me feel more comfortable and confident.

When it came to talking about the quad-test (for genetic abnormalities) she was able to explain to us in detail how finding out about some of them might change the way we would do prenatal and labor care. Terry and I had been struggling to figure this out for weeks, and she was so kind and clear about it. She explained, for example, that if we found out the baby had particualr neural defects, we would want to be sure to schedule the delivery for during the day so that they could have neural surgeons at Children's Memorial Hospital standing by to help the baby as soon as it was born. Hearing that made me cry, and truthfully I am crying now just writing it again. That amazing sense of fear of such a sad event coupled with the awe at the idea that so many amazing resources would be marshaled to help the baby if that happened.

It just kept going like that. Everything was like a dreamy first date where they say all the right things. At the end she even told me I should get a flu shot, and that if I wanted they could give it to me in the office and insurance would cover it because it was standard of care for preggers.

I was totally drinking the Gupta kool-aid. I scheduled my regular 20 week visit with her office in three weeks, where we will get the hour-long ultrasound to image all the baby's organ systems and find out the sex. I call my old OB today to officially close my file at their office. I feel sort of like a traitor. But this isnt like I'm cheating on my hair stylist by letting someone else give me a cut. This is just a much bigger deal.