Breaking news: My progesterone was 59 as of Thursday, which still isn't Zone 3 but given my history and so forth, Dr. M thinks it's appropriate to stop monitoring and supplementing it. I feel like there should be some exclamation points or something, but I'm a little terrified of being officially DONE. I told Dr. M it was like swimming without water wings. (He laughed.) "How will I know if it's high enough? I know, if you don't go into labor it's high enough." Him: "If you go into preterm labor you should call me." Me: "Well, I wouldn't call you first. But you probably have to put it in your database or whatever." Him: "I actually don't have a database. I probably should." Me: "It's science! Science is fun!"
Seriously, you'd think he has 7 young children or something the way he doesn't spend every waking moment obsessing about his job.
(I don't actually know how many children he has. It might be 8 or 9. I believe in having purely professional, personal-info-moves-in-one-direction relationships with my doctors--he knows how often I engage in marital relations; I don't know how many children he has. It works for me.)
Less breaking news: We had our anatomy scan a week ago Monday and I wrote a long and probably very boring post about it here. Short version: We're having what is to all appearances a perfectly healthy and robustly large BOY.
I'm very happy to be having a boy, but I would have been happy to have a girl too, and it's been a little odd taking all anticipation of girl-specific things, wrapping it up, packing it in lavender, and labeling it "Do not open until 2015." ("Unless you get pregnant by accident, in which case you can open this once you're done dying of shock.")
But mostly I'm just enjoying the prospect of using plenty of my favorite color without risking having a poor bald little girl get called a boy at every turn.
|No telling yet if he's going to be blond/bald, |
but both grandmas think he looks like me.
My mother offered to throw me a baby shower, which is particularly sweet since she is not at all fond of hosting parties. (My mother is what you might call a weak extrovert--she needs people, but she prefers to meet her needs by gabbing with small groups of familiar people in low-stimulation environments.)
Anyway, after the ultrasound I had enough "Hey, we might actually have a real live baby here in December" vibes to go make a baby registry. My shower guests should be happy, because I have about 5 million things that have an average price of about $20. (Except my godmother, who will complain about how I don't want nearly enough stuff and then buy me something extravagant that I never knew I needed.)
The cheapest thing on the registry is this, which is one of those things that I should totally just pick up at Wal-Mart sometime. Except first I need to use my spare pennies to buy breastfeeding supplies, because I am too prudish to put things like milk storage bags on a baby registry that will be seen by my brothers-in-law. (Okay, probably they'll let their wives/mother/sister do the shopping, but you never know.)
(I don't plan on doing a whole lot of milk storage, but it can't hurt to keep a bag or two on hand, right?)
The most expensive thing is this, because Ikea has inexpensive cribs and I'm already getting a carseat from my parents. You save $40 getting it off Amazon v. the Carter's website. I don't know if it's made of unicorn hair or what, but I think it's cute so it's on the registry anyway. It's been the thematic inspiration for a lot of the other stuff on there too.
Also, Tad got some more material possessions on Wednesday. (Up till then he had nothing but two sleepers to his name.) See, I was registering for cloth diaper stuff and everybody says you should get fleece liners to use when your baby has a rash so the cream doesn't damage the diapers. And everybody further says that specific-for-cloth-diapers fleece liners are a ripoff and you should just go to the fabric store and get your own fleece and cut it into rectangles.
So I went to JoAnn and got half a yard of ivory fleece.
|It's awfully pretty for a future butt guard.|
And while I was there I got a yard and a half each of a patterned fleece and a plain colored fleece, to make one of those knotted blankets. My younger siblings both have similar blankets that I made, so I figure I can continue the tradition.
I would have preferred something more pastel, but there weren't a ton of options with frogs on them. I became reconciled to this pattern when I stopped imagining a baby and started imagining a 3- or 4-year-old boy dragging the blanket everywhere. When I imagined that it seemed perfect.
(In a month or so, ask me if I've gotten started on the blanket yet. I don't want to be doing this frantically the first week of December when I'm far too huge to be crawling around on the floor with scissors.)
Conversations with my husband: Hormonal edition
Scene: I am having a weeping fit and Scott is abiding by our primary family rule, which goes: Do Not Engage The Crazy. (We're all sorts of politically correct over here.)
Him, randomly: "Do we have any ice cream?"
Him: "See, that's the problem!"
Me: [laugh/crying] "This is why you need to learn how to drive."
Him: "Wait, what does learning how to drive have to do with ice cream?"
Me: "In the movies, husbands always drive to the store in the middle of the night to get ice cream for their pregnant wives."
Him: "But what about that grocery budget you like to stick to?"
Me: "They never have grocery budgets in the movies."
Him: "But we do."
Me: "Stop using logic."
I went to Star Trek: Into Darkness with Scott and EYB last week. I'm not sure why EYB invited me along, because I was very much the third wheel on their little man-date, but I enjoyed the movie.
(Scott and EYB can literally talk for HOURS without pausing for breath long enough for somebody to say, "Excuse me, but can I say goodnight and go to sleep?" On the plus side, the conversations they used to have at 1 a.m. in their parents' kitchen were the stuff of legends. I wished for a video camera many times.)
I think Tad was majorly startled by all the loud noises, though. I seriously thought I was going to have to leave...he wasn't disturbing anybody but me with his flailing, but I felt like a bad mom, terrifying my poor helpless fetus for the sake of a movie. Fortunately, Tad seemed to figure out after the first hour that the loud scary noises weren't going to do him any harm. Either that or he got tired.
A couple of weeks ago, I impulse-bought some sparkling cider at Aldi as a way of forcing myself to be optimistic about the anatomy scan. It went well, of course, so Scott and I had a celebratory dinner this past Sunday. Behold:
|Cider, green beans, steak, and "skinny" mashed potatoes.|
(Me: "Happy halfway through your wife being crazy and hormonal." Scott: "You mean you won't be later?")
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