Is Your Husband As Supportive As Mine?

Ways the lovely Andy has expressed his love to his oh, so pregnant wife in the last week or so:

"Don't you ever get tired of just lying around all day?" he asks.

"You know, your feet kinda look like morgue feet," he says to me when the circulation of my feet was struggling a bit.

"You big pregnant whale!" Yes, he really did say this.

This one happened a few months ago. We receive weekly e-mails from a pregnancy website that updates readers on the babies status and gives pointers for different aspects of pregnancy. The e-mail that prompted Andy's next awesome remark was at the point where my belly was really starting to grow. The e-mail said something to the effect of "Don't worry about that belly, you'll have your old body back soon enough." So Andy in his supportive way says, "You probably don't want your old body back, do you?" It doesn't matter that what he said was true, he still shouldn't have said it!!!

Now, some of you may be saying to yourself, "I'm sure that in context these weren't as bad as they seem." Can someone tell me a context where calling your 39-week pregnant wife a whale is constructive?

Watch Out Pat Summitt, This Baby Has Your Number

Soooo, on Tuesday we had a sonogram done on the doctor's suspicion that Miss Priss might be a little big. It appears that the doctor's years in medical school paid off. The heavyweight champion of the womb is weighing in at 8lbs 9oz and showing no signs of making her debut anytime soon. (Fortunately, I have since had a friend tell me that the weight prediction for her son was a pound off, which is substantial when we are talking about the difference between 8 and 9 pounds being pushed out of my nether regions.) So, the plan is to sit and wait, which is not my favorite plan. I begged the doctor to go ahead and do something to get this show on the road, but was given an emphatic "no!". Apparently, unless it is medically necessary, this practice does not even consider intervening until 39 weeks in order to allow the lungs to mature as much as possible. I guess this makes sense, being as the lungs are, you know, THE LUNGS. So, we go back to the doctor a week from tomorrow, when I will be 39 weeks and 1 day. I will have an ultrasound the following Tuesday, June 3 and I guess a decision will be made about whether or not to induce, operate, or wait. (All this of course assumes that she doesn't decide to kick it into high gear and show up early...no surprise that this is where my vote lies!)

I guess no matter if she shows up tomorrow or shows up June 5 she's gonna be a big girl. So, my dad and I have started to think about her basketball career. I'm sure Pat Summitt will be retired 18-years from now, but I'm putting out a warning to her now just in case. Baby Girl Acton is going to have some mad skills on the hardwood and she will not be playing in TN orange. (A moment of explanation for those of you who don't know who Pat Summitt is. She is the unbelievably successful coach of the Volunteers women's basketball team. She is the all-time winningest coach in women's basketball and has 8 national championships. She is the female John Wooden.) In the same breath that I turn down Coach Summitt's future recruiting, I will go ahead and put it out there that my daughter would love to play for Duke, Vanderbilt, LSU, or North Carolina, all storied programs. And in case any of you are wondering if UConn and Geno Auriemma is an option, let me direct you to a weather map.

So, even though it is likely that none of the gabillions of newborn outfits that we were given will fit this child, we know that she'll be able to fit into her Air Jordans pretty soon.

Hold On Tight! The Excitement Might Overwhelm You.

I talk to my parents on the phone a lot. Like, probably every day. I think part of it is being an only child-that status tends to make one particularly close to one's parents. (Unless the parents were tools, in which case it is a different situation. But my parents aren't tools...good work, Mom and Dad.) Also, when my dad got diagnosed with cancer last winter I definitely started talking to him more frequently. Add in a pregnancy and there is pretty frequent phone contact. (Not to mention that I only work part time and the cats don't talk back, which sometimes equals a bored/lonely Elizabeth.) Oh, and an important note about these phone calls is that it is almost always me calling them. (See the previous sentence for insight into that.) However, yesterday both my parents called me just to check in. Yesterday was Wednesday. I think our most recent conversations prior to that occurred on Monday. Two whole days incommunicado! No wonder they were a little worried/confused.

Well, like I told them, there just isn't much to say at this stage of the game. The highlights of the day are getting off the couch with only minimal grunting and Law and Order reruns. What is deemed a big activity has definitely changed. For instance, today is leg shaving day. Never before in my life has a pre-determined day been for leg shaving. However, it just takes so much energy, not to mention contortionist skills, that now, before entering the shower, I must steel myself for the work ahead. Lame.

So, there isn't much to write about. There is another big adventure that is in the works, as some of you know, but it is secret for a few more weeks. After that the world will know. However, for now, you're stuck with stories of leg shaving.

You Want Me to Do What?!?!?!

Yesterday evening turned out to be more eventful than I planned. (However, it isn't too terribly hard to beat a frozen dinner with Charlie Gibson, Pat Sajak, and Alex Trebek as dinner guests.)

After several days of an intense pain on my right side that was coming and going depending on whether or not I was sitting or standing, I decided I should call the doctor. What actually prompted me to finally call was the fact that the pain did not subside upon sitting, which was the pain's M.O. Now when I called, this was what I had in mind for their response: "Oh, we're sure it's fine. It's probably just the baby's elbow or foot sticking in an uncomfortable position. Nothing to worry about." Then I would hang up and head for my frozen dinner. Instead they said, "Why don't you come in and see the physician's assistant in 30 minutes and that will give you some peace of mind." Despite that plan being a little more involved than what I was looking for, I agreed since peace of mind was what I was looking for after all. For about 15-20 of the interim 30 minutes I was on the phone with my dad (talking about hairstyles and such) and thus did not respond to the call waiting beeping in my ear.

After I got off the phone with my dad, I received a message telling me to just go ahead and go to the hospital so they could do a Non Stress Test. What!?!?!? No, No, No. Remember, it is just an inappropriately positioned elbow. No big whoop, remember? Alas, I headed to the hospital feeling a little like a tool since I was confident what I was feeling wasn't worth all this fuss, but still looking for the previously mentioned peace of mind. Fortunately, both the hospital and the doctor's office are literally across the street. As I was driving over I called Andy, or, to be more precise, I called the dentist's office and gave them a message to give to Andy. I asked the receptionist to as calmly as possible tell him where I was and what was going on. Fortunately, again, the dentist's office is also across the street from the hospital.

After filling out some suprisingly short forms in the lobby of Labor and Delivery, I sat and waited to be called back. Andy arrived in that time, which was good. After the nurse took us back I got to practice getting into the gown, which really should come with instructions. I'm not brilliant, but I'm not an idiot either, and I needed a dadgum diagram to figure out how to align all the appropriate pieces. I was really pretty content in my shorts and t-shirt. I'm pretty sure I should've just stuck with that!

Anyway, I feel as if I am belaboring (ha!) this story. To make it short(er), the test indicated that I was (and still am) actually having contractions, but it was unclear to the nurse whether or not they were real or not. Thus, we got a doctor's visit also, which was super fun-I especially liked the part where she stuck her hand up me to check my cervix. That's what she said she was doing anyway; it felt more like she was digging for buried treasure. Or a buried submarine.

In the end, the conclusion was that it was false labor, which I think seems really fricking unfair. I can deal with pain if we are getting somewhere, but pain just for the hell of it and to confuse me-WTF!?!?!? Hopeful that something might be gained from the experience, yet knowing the answer ahead of time, I asked the doctor if the presence of false contractions would allow us any insights into any kind of timeline. Nope. (Unfair, I say, unfair!) Instead, I was sent home with instructions to take a bath, have some Tylenol and go to bed. (She must have just forgotten the part about making margaritas.)

The end result: "an intense pain of my right side that comes and goes depending on whether I am standing or sitting." Plus a little peace of mind.

The Flip Side of Yesterday

Sooo, to counterbalance yesterday’s whining blog post, I give you the month of May’s gratitude list.

I am thankful for/that…

I can eat my cereal without holding the bowl due to the fact that the fetus comes with an external table;

Confirmation class will be done on Sunday. I have enjoyed it, but I am tired and will be glad to have the pace of work slow down;

Atlanta friends;

I am not giving birth in August (the heat would do me in);

On a related note, the air conditioner is fixed;

My parents are the most amazing helpers in the history of grandparents-to-be;

Having a baby means you get to pick out birth announcements, which means going to the stationery store, which means I might wet myself with excitement (I mean, I am wetting myself for other reasons, so I might as well find one that I am pleased with!);

We figured out how to put the stroller together, as well as install the car seat…plus, there is a county agency to check to make sure it is done correctly in case we didn’t figure it out the right way;

White cheese dip in the not-too-distant future;

New Kids on the Block’s imminent return (speaking of reasons to wet yourself!!!);

Really good friends and really good family. There is nothing better than loving people who love you back (I’ve tried it the other way…it isn’t nearly as fun.)

Reasons Why Being this Pregnant Rocks (She Said with Her Tongue Firmly Stuck In Her Cheek)

So, I have to say it, I AM SO TIRED OF BEING PREGNANT! I can't wait to be a mom, but I am over being pregnant-by a long shot. Here are some reasons:

There is an unidentified pain in my right side. I think, in fact, in may be an unidentified body part of the alien who has taken up residence in my abdomen.

There is an alien who has taken up residence in my abdomen.

I haven't seen my private parts in weeks, possibly months...but everyone else sure as hell has.

Pregnant leg shaving...a new sport that will debut in Beijing. Good grief!

Heartburn was not something I was at all familiar with prior to pregnancy. Now, however, I'm thinking I should buy stock in TUMS.

And while I'm at it, I might as well get me some stock in Charmin. Good God! How can one person pee so much...and to be frank, I could handle the frequent peeing if the pee and I could agree on when it was going to come out. Yuck.

Thank you notes...except for your's, writing your's was the highlight of the day.

This one's petty, I know ('cause the other's weren't): The baby will be born mere days after Father's Day and yet Mother's Day will go by just like any other Sunday. (Andy, you're not getting a Wii.)

So, those are some of the reasons I am ready to be unpregnant. Aren't you glad you stopped by?

(While writing this, ironically, I realized that neither Andy nor I wrote our May gratitude lists. Guess I'll make that a separate post.)

Until then...