Monday, February 23, 2009

Cheater, Cheater, Cold Cut Eater!

Have I mentioned lately how good I’ve been? I have been SO SO good. Really good. Have I mentioned how long I’ve been pregnant now? 32 weeks. 228 long days.

I don’t mind being pregnant. It comes with a few discomforts and indignities, but mainly it’s actually really neat. Nice people strike up conversations with you (which usually I would find annoying, but being stuck at home the majority of the time has caused me to appreciate these exchanges), you get to feel the babies move and watch your body do truly amazing things, and you get to laugh your ass off with your husband every time you get off the couch. Maybe that last one is just us. But the less I’m wearing, the more absurd I look, and the funnier it is. We could be watching the most serious and tragic thing in the world on TV, but if I am in boxers and a tank top and I get off the couch to waddle to the fridge or bathroom, Dearest immediately cracks up, which always gets me going. I could never be one of those people who has self-loathing over their pregnant figure. I just can’t. It’s too funny.

But back to how good I have been. Did you know that when you are pregnant, you are basically not allowed to eat anything you like? All of my favorite things are forbidden: rare beef, blue cheese, cold cuts, hot dogs, caffiene, tiramisu, not to mention booze in general, particularly red wine. The aforementioned items were pretty much staples of my diet prior to the pregnancy thing. And I have been essentially perfect in avoiding them. Up until this week.

I’m not sure what caused me to hit the wall. Maybe the viability of the babies (our Dr. said at 32 weeks survivability is nearly guaranteed), maybe I’m just weakening for unexplained reasons. But let me tell you what I did this weekend. I fell off the wagon. Now don’t panic, I didn’t have a rare filet with a blue-cheese crust, 3 glasses of Molly Dooker and tiramisu for dessert or anything (GOD does that sound good!!!) but I did eat a sub from Publix. And had an iced tea. And it was damn good. And the babies are fine.

I know they are fine because we had an appointment yesterday at the schmancy hospital, and the doctor did not comment on any ill-effects on the kids from the sub and tea. (Imagine if he had? Like, “I’m sorry ma’am, it would appear that your babies’ growth is stunted. You haven’t consumed any caffeine have you? Also they have listeria food poisoning, probably from some bad ham.”)

Anyway, the darlings continue to do well, Sophie is 3 lb 11oz and Livi is 3lb 8oz. Sophie seems to be quite proud of her breechness, and she is staying stubbornly with her butt in my pelvis and her head on my right, and Liv continues to be transverse across the top, head on my left, feet conveniently in her sister’s face. So if Olivia gets going, she kicks Sophia in the head, and Sophia has no recourse but to kick me in the large intestine with her left foot, or my bladder with her right foot. Wonderful. I kind of wish that Sophia would get head down if for no other reason than that kids who are breech have a high rate of hip instability after they are born. If she stays breech they will probably do hip x-rays and ultrasounds on her when she is a few months old to be sure her hips are not displaced. The freakiest part of this month’s ultrasound was the fact that when they focused in on Livi’s face, she had her eyes open and was staring right back at us. We could see her blink and everything. Woah. Weird.

Things here have been pretty quiet other than appointments. Went to the Osh Kosh outlet today because, even though I don’t get all gooshy about the sight of baby clothes, something about little tiny jeans makes me squeal. I got lots of cute dresses and sleep-n-plays at the shower, but I was so excited to go get some denim for the darlings. I know it would have been sensible to buy them in a bigger size, since it will be hot here soon, but look. I just really wanted the tiny ones. OK? It was fun going to the outlets, but kind of lonely going by myself. It would have been better with a friend there to shop with, preferably the kind of friend who would push you in a wheelchair so you could go to more than 3 stores without collapsing into a huffing heap. I definitely did not get to do everything I wanted to, but I got the jeans and some nursing bras (HOT) which were the top 2 things on my list. Anyway, all of my friends who would have pushed me in a wheelchair were either working, or live thousands of miles away, or exist only as a figment of my imagination, so I was solo.

Only a few weeks left. I’m ready. Very ready. For some reason I have been very worried about the girls’ well-being the past few days, I keep thinking that I would feel better if they were right in front of me. I know you never stop worrying about your kids, but if you are worried about your external kids you could just walk up to them and be like “Hey, are you ok?” whereas when you are worried about your internal kids there is nothing you can really do to calm your fears short of call the doctor like a spaz every ten minutes. Which I totally want to do. But I don’t.

Just a few weeks left.

It's Olivia... and she's staring right at you...

Sophia's cute little... um... it's kind of her, like, spine? Or something? And her head? Maybe? Anyway, some parts of Sophia.

Liv's profile. Should I be concerned that their heads look... empty? Shouldn't they have something in there? Like brains? Oh well, guess they inherited my empty skull!

1 comment:

gd said...

no COLD CUTS?!! I cannot live without salami for nine months. CanNOT.

1. Remember when we used to outlet-mall shop at that one place halfway between Grinnell & IA City? I'd totally wheel you around!

2. Little baby shoes make me squee just as jeans do. Especially if they're some brand name I like (like Keen) and look just the same except for babies. Completely pointless, of course, but I'd so spend 40 bones on them just so all of us could wear matching shoes and completely freak everyone out with the cute.

Word for the day: befers. Like, "before" spoken by an uneducated hick?