Ode to my baby daddy

With only a couple of days before this new baby enters our lives, I thought I would squeeze in a post dedicated to the man who made this possible...my baby daddy...David.

The other night he grabbed a popsicle and got his lip stuck to it. I heard him mutter, "Hep!" from the dining room and when I saw what had happened, I quickly waddled (an oxymoron) into the kitchen. He thought I was going to get something to alleviate his suffering, but I was really grabbing the camera. The look on his face as I snapped the picture was priceless!

He has put up with quite a bit over the last 9 months and the list is ever-increasing in recent weeks. Despite this, he has maintained a sense of humor while still being sensitive to my volatile and ever-fluctuating emotions.

One of the inconveniences is sleep related. People tell me that the scarcity of sleep before a baby is born is merely preparation for when the baby arrives. Those who know David well know that he was converted to the gospel of good sleep habits while at Stanford and strives to minimize his "sleep debt." He has had to come to terms with the fact that between being a slave at the hospital and a soon-to-be father, his debt is going to accumulate despite his best efforts, but he doesn't complain about it. Here is a typical night at our house:

10pm-David slips into a fatigue-induced coma and Jenny's manic nesting begins

1am-Jenny gets in bed and tosses and turns to position her numerous pillows

1:30am-Jenny gets up to pee then tosses and turns to reposition her numerous pillows

2:30am-Jenny gets up to pee then tosses and turns to reposition her numerous pillows

3:30am-Jenny gets up to pee then tosses and turns to reposition her numerous pillows

4:00am-David's alarm goes off and he selects which shade of blue scrubs he will be wearing that day.

After I had a particularly restless night last week, I asked him how he slept. His response was, "Well, I slept pretty well until 1am when it felt like the bed turned into a bounce house" (a reference to my restlessness...get your minds out of the gutter!). He hasn't said one word about the fact that his sleeping space has been limited to a width of approximately 12 inches over the course of the pregnancy as my need for additional cushioning and support has increased. Well, not until last week when he casually asked me, "So do you think we'll be able to get rid of a few of these pillows after the baby is born?"

Here are a few other things that have made me fall even more in love with him in recent months:

*Occasionally he comes home from the hospital wearing his latest bit of equipment which makes me laugh.

*He has accompanied me on numerous trips to baby stores looking for various paraphernalia (strollers, play pens, breast pumps, etc.). He even went so far as to brave a consignment sale with me, but put the smack down when I wanted to stand in line for more than an hour to buy an $18 Bumbo (thanks to my sister, Tiff, I now have a $15 Bumbo without having to stand in line:)

*He cares about my safety. After reading the label on the back of the lacquer spray I was going to use on the nursery furniture, he insisted that he subject himself to the harmful toxins rather than allow me to poison our unborn child while I looked on from a distance critiquing every spray to make sure it was exactly how I would do it:

*He's always been a great sport about going along with my crazy ideas for our Halloween costumes. This year was no exception and he even pieced his costume together all by himself:

*He looks good riding a bull!

So, here's to you my baby daddy. I sure love you!

Mission: Free Joe Cypress

After eating two Thanksgiving meals (one with David's ENT department and one with a family from church) which consisted of classic southern delicacies (namely deep fried turkey injected with Creole butter and sweet potato pie topped with candied pecans) I experienced some pretty strong and consistent contractions for two days thereafter and was sure Joe Cypress was on his way (see previous post for explanation of why I am referring to our baby by this name). Then, just like that, they went away and I haven't had any consistent contractions since.

The doctor informed me that I have started to dilate and "soften" (those who have paved this road know the term well) and little Joe's head is really low so I should be ready "any day." Subsequent to receiving this news, I requested a few of those lovely absorbent mats they put under you on the hospital beds and have been sleeping on those because I'm paranoid about my water breaking in bed and ruining our mattress. It makes a lovely crinkling sound every time I move (which is quite frequent since I have discovered NO comfortable sleeping position... hence why I'm writing this post at 4:45am), but I feel a little better having taken this precautionary measure.

However, despite the doctor's admonition, all I've been feeling the last few days is the most uncomfortable unilateral sciatica that has developed and I'm starting to think that having little Joe here soon wouldn't be a bad thing. Up until precisely four days ago, I strategically avoided the pregnant waddle, but it is now inevitable and with each stride, I'm not sure if I move farther forward or side to side. I dare say, my next post may very well include pictures of our first born son as long as our efforts to free Joe Cypress from his captivity are successful:)

"Let the baby out"

As our day of delivery approaches, we have had some funny experiences to remind us that this process requires a sense of humor.

*While in the waiting area for one of my OB appointments, there was a young girl (around 16) sitting next to me. She asked when my baby was due (the actual question was, "Gul, when you gonna ha dat baby?") and then she asked, "You scayed?" (scared)

"Not really," I replied.

"Guuuul, you SHOULD be!" was her response.

Turns out she had her first baby just a few weeks before and the experience left her with the desire to warn others of the agony that awaits them. Much appreciated!

*In the foyer at church after one of my many bathroom runs, I encountered two women, a mother and daughter, from our ward. The daughter took one look at my belly and said, "Gul, when you gonna ha dat baby?" Yes, the question was phrased exactly the same as my friend's from the doctor's office. Her next question was "Wat chu gonna name him?" When I told her we don't have a name yet, she said, "You oughta name 'im Joe Cypress. I knew me a gul name her boy dat and I think you oughta name yo's dat, too." This recommendation was given after both she and her mom touched every part of my stomach they could get their hands on. Since they were intimately familiar with me and the baby by then, maybe we really should consider it. 'Joe Cypress'...it has a certain ring to it.

*We are at week three of our five week birthing class and the last session focused on things your partner can do to help you relax and encourage you through the labor and delivery process. I'm pretty sure we're going to get kicked out because I have a tendency to experience uncontrolled outbursts of laughter at some of the things that are said and shown in this class. The most recent one occurred when the teacher handed out a list of phrases that a partner can say to encourage the laboring woman. Sandwiched between, "You're all right," and "You're doing fine," was, "Let the baby out." I'm sure it is intended to be said with tenderness and tranquility (even then, I'm not sure I would appreciate hearing it), but David "practiced" it with a "He_ _ no, we won' t go" picket line cadence and I couldn't stop laughing/crying for several minutes.

Here are some belly shots from the last week or so. It really is a miracle to have this little guy inside of me. He frequently positions himself so his little butt pokes out at the top giving my belly a most unusual shape. This picture captures that to a small degree:

This is closer to the homeostatic shape of my belly nowadays:

My cousin Noel takes weekly bare belly shots when she's pregnant. It's taken me 37 weeks to build up the courage, but here's the result. It is pretty fascinating, I have to admit.

Only about three more weeks until I get "scayed," David tells me to "let the baby out" and we welcome little Joe Cypress into the world.

Nesting

According to mamashealth.com, "Nesting is the term used to refer to an expectant mother’s instinct which gives her a surge of energy which prompts her to clean and do various chores around her home. Nesting usually arises as the mother nears her due date. Not all women will nest. The nesting process has no relation on how good a mother the woman will be."

With just a few more weeks to go, I think I've officially entered the nesting stage and wanted to post some pictures of my endeavors.

The biggest project was painting the nursery furniture which was very generously donated to us by my cousin Kerri. This turned out to be a much bigger project than anticipated and David came home from the hospital one night to see this:

No, I was not TRYING to be immodest, but I have a "paint shirt" from my pre-pregnancy days that's already ruined and didn't want to ruin another shirt. Unfortunately, the fabric does not stretch, so my only resort was to let it all hang out.

Here are some snapshots of the evolving nursery. The walls are still totally bare, but thanks to my awesome sisters-in-law (I think that's the right plural form) that will soon change.

The "before"...

The "after"...

This picture features the crib bedding that I fell in love with oh, so many months ago as well as a quilt made by the very awesome and talented MariLouise!

I also decided last week that if I didn't get out our Christmas stuff now, I probably wouldn't get it out at all. So now we're feeling a bit more festive in our home. Here is our Storybook Christmas collection courtesy of my mother-in-law displayed atop our new IKEA shelf.

All lit up:

Now that we have a fireplace, I hung our stockings and put up our fake tree which is the only Christmas tree we've ever had during our 7 years of marriage (also courtesy of my mother-in-law).

Now to tackle organizing the guest room so it's ready for my mom when she comes to do new-mommy-boot camp with me. We are so excited for this big change and appreciate all of your support.

What kind of "est" would you be?

David and I met a man at the gym on Saturday and in true southern form, he divulged much of his life story to us within the first 10 minutes of talking (this was during our "cool down":)). He then asked about us, specifically how many kids we wanted to have. When we told him 4-6 he said, "Ya'll Catholics?"

"No, Mormon, actually."

"You don't say. I've only known one other Mormon in my life and he was the workingest man I ever knew." He then went on to tell us about how hard this man worked to support his large family and how much respect he had for him.

Aside from the fact that I don't think "workingest" is actually a word, his comment got me thinking about what kind of "est" I might be if I was the only Mormon someone knew. Also, with election mania going on I've wondered a bit what role one person plays in all of this. This man's comment led me to the conclusion that, religion aside, we each can be the "est" at something whether it be kind-est, loyal-est, faithful-est, friendli-est, funni-est, reliabl-est (just go with it), etc. So as food for thought: if someone were to describe you, what "est" word do you think they would use?