11 (??) Days and Counting

It was check-up time for Orange Seed today. No major news to report - she is head down, has a strong heartbeat, all mommy's levels and numbers and vitals are good and so...basically...ain't nothing happening. That said, we do have an ultrasound and internal exam scheduled for next Thursday. I never thought I would say this about an internal exam from the OBGYN (Ladies, are you with me?), but YAHOO! Even if the result is nothing more than "no progress", just knowing that someone has actually looked and the result is official will be nice. Though logically I understand that there is no reason for them to do an internal exam every time I'm in, especially when nothing is happening for me water-breaking/contraction/bleeding-wise, still...you do wind up sitting around at this point in a little bit of denial. Every appointment is the same. Every day feels pretty much the same. You can't help but sort of fade into this stage of thinking where you KNOW the big day is coming...but you don't really believe it. And I don't even mean that in a forlorn, woe is me kind of way. Though I am anxious and excited for Orange Seed to get here, this lessening sense of reality in relation to the birth hasn't made me feel sad. I just feel this sense of acceptance - things are still the way they've always been. Why would they change? That feeling is so strong, in fact, that the idea of Orange Seed showing up early hasn't even entered my head. I'm pretty darned convinced she's going to be late, if anything. Who knows though...maybe my lack of belief in her ability to be on time will work a jedi-mind trick on her - reverse psychology. If she is as strong-willed as we expect her to be, then maybe just knowing that we don't believe she will be here on time will encourage her to make a quicker entrance. Lord knows it is hard to believe that she needs anymore development time. She is a strong little lady who seems like she may come out ready to run, let alone to just be a typical little newborn.

On that note, our little Orange Seed, according to the books and the doc, is now about the size of a watermelon. A watermelon, people! Last night Chris and I were reminiscing about the days when she was her original little Orange Seed self. Hard to believe that was ever true. Hard to believe that I was ever unsure of her movements or her existence. Nowadays, she truly rules the roost and I am just along for the ride. And this is what the ride is looking like nowadays:



We took better pics with the other camera, but for some reason the computer doesn't want to recognize that card right now. We'll post those when we can get all our fancy equipment to start working together again.

When "Huge" Becomes "Tiny"

I tell this story because apparently there are people out there who can not navigate the murky waters of socially acceptable on their own and who, therefore, desperately need blog entries like this to save them from themselves.

Yesterday in Pilates, a girl was telling me about an experience she had at work that left her sobbing in her car in the parking lot. Now, let it be said that this girl is, in fact, seven months pregnant, so it is possible that hormones played a role in her reaction, but still...She was walking down the hall when a fellow teacher accosted her.
Evil Teacher: "How far along are you now?"
Angelic Pregnant Teacher: "7 months"
Evil Teacher: "7 months? Is that all? You're HUGE."
APT: *blink blink*
Evil Teacher: "You must be having twins."
APT: "Nope. Just one. We just had another ultrasound."
Evil Teacher: "But it must be twins...otherwise there is no reason for you to be so gigantic. Have you asked your doctor if everything is okay?"
APT: "Everything is fine, thanks."
Evil Teacher: "Well, wow...I can only imagine what you will look like at 9 months!"

Now listen...and if you are someone who has ever told a pregnant woman she is huge, then listen EXTRA CAREFULLY. There is a small window when it is okay to comment on a pregnant woman's stomach, exclaiming that it is large/growing/etc. That window comes in the few months (for first timers, usually months 3-5 or so) when the pregnant lady in question isn't actually showing yet and is anxiously (and naively) awaiting the day when she will finally have a baby bump to proudly display. At this point, it is okay to comment on the "bigness" of the belly because, let's be honest, it's not really there and the pregnant woman desperately wants you to notice her barely-there-bump. Of note, I'm guessing that this window narrows significantly during a second or third pregnancy seeing as a) you show sooner and b) you now understand that once the bump arrives, it ain't going anywhere. It will just continue to grow and grow and grow until you are carting around a watermelon and remembering fondly the days when your little one was no more than an Orange Seed and didn't weigh 8lbs nor boot you in the ribs over and over again (not that I'm speaking specifically of me of course...). Anywho, once the window of opportunity closes, do NOT, I repeat NOT, ever tell a pregnant woman she is huge. No woman wants to be huge. Think this through. When not pregnant, most women spend and inordinate amount of time figuring out how to look as not huge as possible. When pregnant, even if you are a glowing and proud pregnant woman, you do not, under any circumstances, want someone to look at you, eyes wide, and exclaim "My God, you are HUGE." There comes a point in your pregnancy where, in fact, you want to hear the exact opposite. You want to hear "You are 8 months pregnant? But you are TINY!" For those of you who have been reading the blog, you should know this. Think about some of my favorite moments. There was the moment the woman in the grocery store asked how far along I was and when I told her, she responded "Oh my God, but you're tiny! That is just disgusting." She has been my BFF ever since. Then there was the moment (2 weeks ago) when the Starbucks Barista, having peered over the counter for the first time, said "You are pregnant? Oh my gosh, I've been seeing your upper half and back for months and had no idea!" He is now BFF #2. There is the pilates instructor who keeps telling me how amazing I look and the Doc who keeps telling me that I am the "picture of pregnant perfection"...these are the people who, in my 9th month of pregnancy, warm my heart. Notice that there is not one person in there who has told me I am "huge", "look like I'm going to pop", or "must be having twins". Are you following? During pregnancy, you are, in fact, huge in the belly and though you are (hopefully) at peace with this, knowing that the bulk at your middle is a cuddly miracle, you still are self-conscious about whether or not you've gotten bigger anywhere else and so, I say unto all of you, if ever you have the urge to tell a pregnant woman she is huge, refrain. Instead, look at her and even if she has gained 70lbs, tell her that she is "glowing". Tell her that she looks "adorable". Tell her something that may, for a moment, take her mind off her aching back and swollen ankles, because I can promise you...she deserves it.

Revelation Time

Okay, the big secret is about to come out...

Are you ready?

Orange Seed's name...

will be...

Krzyzewski Scheyer Duck.

We'll call her "Ski" for short. I think it's really cute.


NBC Sports

Rip 'em Up!

For those of you who don't know, tonight is a big big night for the Duck household. After a number of disappointing tournament years, Duke is back fighting for the NCAA Championship! (Quiet UNC fans. Nobody is interested in your whining. Was that the NIT you couldn't even manage to win? I believe it was. Shut it.)

We've been watching the tournament religiously since it began and after an incredible Final Four game on Saturday night, we're all psyched up (and nervous and anxious and will likely bite off at least 4 or 5 nails) for tonight.


Jonathan Daniel/Getty Images - Courtesy of ESPN.com

And so, for the first time in many nights, I am asking Orange Seed NOT to come. Lately, knowing that she is full term and perfectly okay to make her entrance into the world, I have had trouble telling her to hold off. For so many months we talked about the importance of her staying in and growing strong and healthy, but now...now it is hard not to encourage her to at least start working her way toward an arrival. That said, I'm not holding out much hope that she'll come "early" or even on time. She is her father's daughter afterall. Thank God for induction, otherwise she would probably still be squirming around in there until mid-May sometime, going, "Oh! You mean you actually wanted me out by now? Well, okay, I mean I was planning it and all, but still working out some details. Okay, let me just finish this one thing, ooh, wait, look at these crazy fingers. Ooooooh. How much fun are these? Wait, where was I supposed to go again?"

Cats and Dogs

So listen...I've been hearing a lot of complaining about the abundance of galoshes trudging their way through the city lately. "There are no swamps in NYC and we aren't going hunting, so what is with the rubber boots?" Well, I will tell you what is with the rubber boots. For those of you have ever been to NYC either during a tremendous rainstorm or as a big snow is melting, you know that there are water hazards that form at the corners and each and every intersection and while I would like to call them puddles, they aren't. They are bodies of water so large that they deserve to be named and added to the Manhattan maps. These suckers are so deep that should you unexpectedly find yourself stumbling into one, you had better hope that you've brought your mask and snorkel, because it it going to take some serious navigating to find your way back out. And those "puddles" ain't got nothing on the ones that form here in Hoboken. In Hoboken we lose whole roads when it rains hard and I don't mean like a small section of road, I mean entire blocks that suddenly go from being roads to canals. If I had a rowboat, it would be a far easier option for navigating through Hoboken on days like today when the rain just refuses to stop.



Today, after attempting to drive to the gym and being rejected due to said road flooding, I decided to re-park the car in our garage and then hoof it over instead. Now, I know some of you are thinking "If the roads aren't drivable, what made you think they were walkable?", but if you were nine months pregnant and getting in your daily workout was all that was keeping you sane, you too would ignore the warning signs and strike out for the gym. It started out as an easy walk. The sidewalks had managed to stay fairly water free despite the roads turning to canals and though I did have to step through some knee-deep "puddles" at a few intersections, I didn't hit anything too serious until I got within a block of the gym. It was at that point that I hit a new body of water which we shall name Lake Blocking-My-Way-to-the-Goldarn-Gym. And this is where it all comes back to the galoshes. Oh ye who think ye are too cool for rainboots, explain to me how I would have managed to wade across said Lake were it not for my knee high rubber boots? Tennis shoes? My tennis shoes get wet if a gray cloud so much as looks at them funny. Leather boots? Kiss those boots goodbye and still...soggy toes. Stilettos? Flats? Even my tried and true Uggs were no match for this lake. Only the fact that I am not in fact too cool to rock rubber boots saved me and enabled me to wade across Lake Blocking-My-Way-to-the-Goldarn-Gym so that I could get in my swim. Yes, I recognize the irony in wading across a lake to go for a swim, but again, were you nine months pregnant...we do what we have to do. And no, my rainboots are not a pretty purple like the ones in the picture above. Mine are a hunter not-trying-to-be-something-they're-not-but-just-admitting-that-they-are-rainboots-by-God-and-proud-of-it green. And I will wear them whenever I so choose. So says I.

(phew...that felt good...)

Pinky Swear

Dear Baby -

With only 3 weeks to go, let's make a pact. I will promise to stretch out my side body each and every day to give you as much growing room as possible. I will go to yoga and will learn all the ways in which I can give you (and my organs) more breathing space. In return, you promise not to kick me in the ribs and to try your best to keep your little butt down below rib level so that mommy does not moan and groan and jump 20 feet into the air as you strike out into some kind of rib-related bruise or nerve every hour.

Sound good?

Hugs and kisses for good behavior when you arrive.

Love,
Mom

The Sweetness of an Hour Well Spent

Have I ever mentioned that I love massage? I mean LOVE massage. If any of you are ever trying to decide what to get me for my birthday, Christmas, Mother's Day, Valentine's Day, heck, Labor Day, President's Day or any other Day ending in d-a-y, please know that a gift certificate for a massage is the way to go. Or a facial. I love a good facial too. I actually might typically love facials more than massages, but seeing as I'm now almost 37 weeks pregnant and have given up on having good skin again until after baby is born, I'm currently far more focused on the massages. Nothing feels as good right now as having somebody apply good focused pressure on those poor spots in my lower back which are forced to support and compensate for the 6lb+ weight that is now strapped to my mid-section. I could have kissed this woman today as she put her knee up on the table to give her extra force with which to apply pressure to my aching back. I could have, but I didn't. I hear that is frowned upon in the massage world. Regardless, today I took an hour out of my workday to go get a fantastic prenatal massage (Hello belly! So good to finally have been able to actually lie on you (with the help of some strategically placed support pillows) again!) and I can safely say that I am not experiencing so much as one ounce of guilt. My only regret lies in the fact that I am not yet rich enough to afford to get a massage once a day or, let's admit, even once a week. That said, I am plotting that if Orange Seed does not arrive on time, I may just need another massage for consolation. Seems only fair, right?