Pregnancy Journal: The 10th Month

From 5 Minutes for Parentin

By Kelly

This is my last Pregnancy Journal post, friends, because (cue the angels and confetti) I am no longer pregnant. Baby Kieran joined our family on May 7 (birth story is here), and we've been head over heels ever since. I am grateful the editorial staff here at 5 Minutes for Parenting (read: Stephanie, Susan and Janice) graciously gave me a few weeks off so I could stare at the newborn.

But I'm back now, and before I close the chapter on this saga, I feel compelled to mention the hidden month of pregnancy -- the month after the baby arrives.

This postpartum period can be just as bizarre and uncomfortable and messy as the 9.5 months leading up to it.

Consider:

1. You've had the baby, but you might not look like it. This is especially true the first week after childbirth. My own son looked at me a week after Kieran was born and asked, "You're not having another baby are you? Because your tummy is huge."

2. Nothing fits. Maternity clothes are baggy in all the wrong places. Your normal wardrobe isn't going to see the light of day for another 6-8 months. Which probably means you'll need to go shopping for a few new pieces to get you through the in-between. And there are few things more depressing than going clothes shopping just a few weeks after having a baby. (Note to Old Navy: Install a fun house mirror in one of your dressing rooms and designate it for new or expecting moms. You'll be golden.)

3. You will be in the likeness of Pamela. Breast engorgement strikes all new moms, whether they chose to breastfeed or not. It's intensely uncomfortable and (honestly) just weird. I love nursing, but those first few weeks of my body adjusting itself to the new routine can be brutal. See also: bleeding nipples due to a child with a Dyson-like sucking reflex and gushing milk due to bovine DNA.

4. Your emotions will rise and fall more dramatically than the Himalayas. Even if you don't struggle with the baby blues or postpartum depression, you will have moments in the weeks just after childbirth when you will think it entirely reasonable to kill someone for asking to hold the baby without offering to douse themselves in Purell first. Then, three seconds later, you will cry uncontrollably when that same person says the baby has your eyes.

And then there are a few after-effects I'd throw into the "I'd Almost Forgotten That" file. These might not happen to every postpartum woman, but they always happen to me.

1. Night sweats. About two weeks after I have the baby, I start to wake up every night drenched in sweat. Medical professionals say night sweats are the body's way of shedding excess water that built up during pregnancy. OK. Fine. But it's really cold when you have to get up to feed a newborn every three hours wearing pajamas that could be wrung out over a sink. I suggest wearing cotton fabrics to bed and keeping a fleece blanket nearby. It can help keep the shivering to a minimum while you're feeding the baby, and provide a cushion between you and wet sheets when you're ready to climb back into bed.

2. Hair loss. Most women report that their hair gets extra thick and lustrous during pregnancy. I haven't experienced that, probably because my hair is so thick normally, it has no room to grow. (Although I will say I noticed my hair getting huge at the end of this last pregnancy, but not in a good way. Do you remember that episode of "Friends" where Monica goes to Barbados, and in each recurring shot, her curly hair gets bigger and bigger and bigger because of the humidity? Yeah. I felt a little like that. Only with straight hair. Straight hair that looked oddly triangular on my head from all the volume.) Anyway. Whether you notice a chance in your hair during pregnancy or not, chances are you'll notice a great hair recession shortly after the baby is born. My hair is already falling out in large clumps. Thankfully, this is a good thing for me. As long as I remember to take the hair balls off the shower wall. I haven't had to do that for a while now.

3. After pains. For the uninitiated, these are uterine cramps triggered by breastfeeding. From a medical point of view, they are a good thing, because they help shrink your uterus back to its pre-pregnancy size. From my point of view, they hurt like heck, and they get worse with each subsequent baby, so ow-ow-ow. Until Kieran, I didn't know it was possible to nurse and writhe at the same time. Live and learn.

But you know what? It's worth it. Every pain, every sag, every pound, every ache. It is absolutely worth it. There's a reason many women endure the bizarreness and uncomfortableness of pregnancy and childbirth for almost a year -- and then sign up to do it all over again. Because when you look into those bright newborn eyes, you find love.

Have any bits of wisdom or weirdness to add to this discussion of the 10th month? What was your experience? I'd love to hear it in the comments.

Kelly blogs at Love Well and breastfeeds a baby 14 times a day -- and not necessarily in that order.

Pregnancy Journal: The Calm Before The Storm

From 5 Minutes for Parentin

By Kelly

If all goes according to plan, I am one week away from having a baby.

Of course, I'm aware that life can change in a heartbeat. I know the simple statement above is fraught with potential for disruption.

But in the meantime, I'm going with it.

Having a plan puts my mind at ease. I've done all I can do to ensure that Baby Boy's arrival is stress-free and seamless for our family.

All that's left to do is wait and enjoy the relative peace and quiet of the now. Over the years, I've learned the last few weeks of a pregnancy are particularly sensory for me. Suddenly, the details of daily life are unbearably sweet, and I can't soak them up enough.

I readily agree to another game of Uno! with my six-year-old son, because I know the time is coming when I won't have a free hand.

I savor the moments spent with my eight-year-old daughter when she tells me about the latest Puppy Place book she's reading. When did my firstborn get to be such a beautiful and independent girl?

And my two-year-old. Oh my goodness. The baby who's about to be displaced. She is a jewel, lately, always discovering, always delighted at life. On the days when it's just her and me, I play Little People and read books and let her "hep" me with the laundry until I feel I could die from the sweetness. And then at nap time, I lay down with her in my bed and tuck my arm under her head and hold her so close I can smell the shampoo locked in her curls. She rubs my arm and hums a song and gently falls alseep on my pillow, her body curled toward mine like a sleeping newborn.

I know it's really just the calm before the storm. In seven days (or less), we will transform from a family of five to a family of six and we will celebrate the new little one who is already so treasured.

In the meantime, I will treasure this week, when life is as tangible as the belly I wear and even more precious.

Kelly is 38 weeks pregnant with her fourth and final baby. She is scheduled to be induced next Wednesday, May 12. You can read more about her family at her personal blog, Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: False Labor

From 5 Minutes for Parentin

By Kelly

I suppose a lot of epiphanies happen in hospital beds.

I had one Monday morning, just as the sun's light warmed the horizon to a glowing tangerine and the birds burst into song to welcome a new day.

And it is this: I know a lot of stories about women going into labor spontaneously -- women who wake up in the middle of the night to time contractions, women who deal with multiple trips to the hospital only to be sent home, women who have their water break right there in the supermarket.

But I never believed it could happen to me.

That sounds crazy, I know. But consider my history. Natalie and Teyla were induced. Scheduled. And while I technically went into labor with Connor by myself, I have a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with my OB visit that day (where she stripped my membranes, click at your own risk) than it did with my body instinctively knowing it was time to deliver a baby.

So imagine my shock when I was woke up 4:00 Monday morning to a cramping uterus. My first instinct was to say, "These can't be real contractions. Go back to sleep You'll be fine."

But I couldn't get comfortable. And as I lay there, staring at the clock, I started to remember the last time I tried to talk myself out of having contractions. It ended with me curled in a fetal position until I had to push. It's not a drama I'm eager to relive.

At 4:30, I did what I never thought I'd do: I woke my husband in the middle of the night and whispered, "I'm hurting. I think I need to go to the hospital."

He woke up immediately, disheveled and concerned. I called Labor and Delivery to make sure my decision was solid. They agreed I should head in. I threw on some clothes, told my bleary-eyed husband I would call him from the road (with three sleeping kids, we didn't see how we could both go) and I set off for the hospital.

The contractions were four minutes apart when I got to L&D. I was dilated to 3 centimeters, which was progress from my OB appointment on Friday, when I was at 2. I got changed into a fetching hospital mumu and settled in to wait.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the contractions got less intense. An hour after I was hooked onto the monitors, they were eight minutes apart. The pain, never horrible, was totally manageable. I warned Corey via text that I might be coming home. I unhooked from the machines and watched the sun rise. My OB stopped by before clinic hours and confirmed that my cervix wasn't changing like they would want to see in order to admit me. And since I was only 36 weeks-5 days at the time, they were understandably reluctant to do something like break my water and help Mother Nature along.

So I found myself driving home at 7:30 Monday morning, the newest member of the False Labor Club.

Lessons learned?

1. As annoying as it can be, I don't regret my decision to head to the hospital. Even my OB agreed that I did the right thing, given my history of lightning quick childbirth.

2. That said, if I woke up to moderately painful contractions today, I would wait longer to see if a true pattern set up before leaving home. It's true that Connor was born just minutes after I got to the hospital. (You can read his story here.) But that was after I labored at home for more than two hours (trying to convince myself the whole time that I wasn't in real labor), and the contractions had gone from cramping to kill-me-now. There has to be a good middle ground between heading to L&D every time I feel a twinge and waiting until I feel the urge to push.

3. When I left for the hospital in the pre-dawn hours Monday morning, I didn't have a hospital bag packed or emergency plans for what we would do with the older kids if I went into labor spontaneously. After all, I wasn't even 37 weeks along, at the time, and we've already scheduled an induction at 39 weeks. What's the rush? Needless to say, I now have a bag packed (which wasn't that hard; I wholeheartedly agree with #9 on Lifenut's fabulous list of pregnancy and baby musings), and I have called all our emergency contacts to alert them to the fact that we might need someone to fill in the gap between when labor starts and when my parents would arrive from Colorado two days later.

4. When it comes to pregnancy, don't get cocky. This might be my fourth baby, but until Monday morning, I had never experienced a painful contraction that didn't end with an infant-in-arms. When it comes to childbirth, anything can happen.

Anything else I should note? Now that I'm aware labor could begin at any moment, I feel strangely inexperienced and vulnerable.

Kelly is now 37 weeks pregnant (cough, full-term, cough) with her fourth baby. When she isn't going to the bathroom (every 20 minutes), she can be found blogging at Love Well and passing time on Twitter.

Pregnancy Journal: The Name Game

From 5 Minutes for Parentin

By Kelly

I am very pregnant.

Ergo, I am the recipient of all types of random, potentially offensive comments.

“You stomach looks like a torpedo,” said a fellow mom at school last week.
“You’re not due for another four weeks?” said the incredulous cashier at Target.
Or, maybe the best of the lot: “WHOA!” shouted a man as I rounded a corner (belly first) at church on Sunday. “Way to go, Dad!”

Honestly, I’m more amused than insulted by the attention. It’s true that people might want to think before they speak to a woman who is uncomfortable, hormonal and weary. But I know most aren’t trying to be rude. Their internal censors have just been temporarily fried by shock. It happens.

But there is one question that makes me grind my teeth a little, and I get it all the time. It is, simply, “So do you have a name for that baby yet?”

The rational side of me recognizes this is an innocent statement. But the irrational side of me wants to tear my hair out by the fistful (being pregnant, I have plenty to spare) when someone asks it.

Because here’s the deal: My husband and I are horrible at choosing names for our offspring. It’s laborious. A name that I might like is almost guaranteed to be at the top of his Names I Will Never Name My Children Even Under Threat of Torture list, and vice versa. I do not want to discuss it with any one other than my husband, and I most certainly do not want my momentary favorites to be fussed over as if they are dessert choices on the potluck table.

Naming a baby is war, an intense battle that requires strategy and secrecy. Doesn't everyone know that?

This being baby number four for us, my husband and I are experts at the never-ending duel. We know to keep one ace in the hole for when the other person proposes something truly hideous. (Corey’s ace this time is the threat to name the baby Samuel Diego, or Sam Diego for short. I don’t believe we need to name our child after a city, even if it is America’s Finest.) We are grimly amused by baby name web sites. And we both acknowledge the name question will not be settled until we write the final decision on the birth certificate. We might walk into Labor and Delivery with a short list, but our babies are never named until after they are born and I have had at least one shower and a meal.

In the end, we aren't fighting each other so much as we are batting through the haze in pursuit of the perfect name. The one that is acceptable to both of us, the one that has a strong meaning, the one that doesn't sound dorky with our surname.

The one that fits the baby. After all, he's the one who's going to have to live with it for the rest of his life.

Thankfully, Corey and I know it's possible to navigate this mess without becoming enemies. And at this point, we really like the names we chose for our older three children. It's funny how a name, aptly chosen, seems to mold to the child, eventually seeming as natural and fitting as skin.

But for now? No. I don't want to talk about it.

Kelly is currently 36 weeks pregnant with her fourth child and yes, she's a tad cranky. You can also find her blogging at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: Fake Contractions

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

I almost had my baby in Target yesterday.

My toddler and I made a quick trip to the Big Red Mothership after lunch to pick up a few items. But instead of strolling the aisles in search of body wash, Clementines and diapers, I ended up clinging to the cart handle while my  body endured wave after wave of breath-taking contractions. They were apparently triggered by me participating in the adventurous x-sport known as walking slowly.

I’m sure they were the infamous Braxton-Hicks, because if I stopped moving, the contractions also stopped. But as soon as I started to walk again, I felt the python tighten its grip around my abdomen.

Meanwhile, the baby was trying to tunnel out of my uterus through my belly button.

It took me about 45 minutes to get the 10 or so items I needed.

At the check-out, the woman in front of me gleefully asked, “When are you due?” before I even started to unload my cart.

“Next month,” I grimaced, as another rock-hard contraction forced me to stand still.

“Oh my word, you are so cute!” she enthused.

(I hear that a lot these days.)

“Thank you,” I laughed wryly. “I don’t feel cute. I feel huge and tired and breathless. But I will take all the reassurance I can get.”

Slowly, I unloaded my purchases onto the moving belt. Naturally, I had to take a break after I dared lift anything heavier than a buff puff. Even the box of 84 newborn-sized diapers set off a spasm of tight muscles.

But I am cute. So they say.

And I didn’t have my baby in Target.

Even if the Braxton-Hicks force me to move at the speed of a geriatric turtle.

Maybe it's pregnancy brain, but I don't remember Braxton-Hicks attacking me with such ferocity before. Does anyone else have stories to share of contractions dictating their lifestyle the last few weeks of a pregnancy?

Kelly is 34 weeks pregnant with her fourth baby. When she isn't held in suspended animation by a Braxton-Hicks, she can be found blogging at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: Behold a Miracle

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

Lately, my body groans.

It doesn’t matter if I’m sitting or standing or walking or lying down.

My muscles stretch. My back sways. My hips twist. My lungs fight.

I move with the grace of an elephant, the speed of a turtle.

My body groans.

So, if bedtime allows it and I have the energy to complete the task, I fill the bathtub with the hottest water I can stand and I sink in.

Ahhhhhhhh.

I settle deep into the water and watch my swollen abdomen rise majestically out of the waves, like a newly formed island.

I stare, transfixed, as the skin heaves with the movement of the baby inside. A large section of the island rises while another falls. A pointy peninsula appears and then, gradually, is absorbed back to whence it came.

I push gently on one side and see a jerk and a twist.

I pat what I believe is a tiny bottom, that fits perfectly into the cup of my hand.

I cannot believe another human is living inside of me.

It’s beyond comprehension.

My body may groan.

But it groans with miracle.

Kelly is 33 weeks pregnant with her fourth baby. You can find her blogging at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: Opening a Can of (Gummy) Worms

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

If you read between the lines of last week’s Pregnancy Journal post about MILK, ALL THE MILK, I CAN’T GET ENOUGH MOO-JUICE, you might have deduced: Kelly might be drinking a lot of milk, but I bet her sweet tooth is triggering a lot of that milk consumption.

If you came to that conclusion (and a few of you hinted in the comments that you had similar pregnancy issues), then you get a gold star. Go directly to psychology school.

Truth in advertising: It’s not just the milk. It’s the sweets.

This leads me down a rather treacherous road, but in the interest of authenticity, I’m going to explore it anyway.

Is it safe to say I’ve gained a lot of weight this pregnancy?

Yes.

Is it safe to say that right now, at 32 weeks, I weigh as much as I did when I gave birth to all my other children?

Yes.

Is it safe to say that rich winter foods and all those darn Christmas cookies and celebrating two birthdays in January with buttercream-frosted cupcakes had anything to do with it?

Yes.

But understanding does not equal contentment. Intellectually, I can reason away the fact that I gained 20 pounds between the end of December and the end of February. I can make excuses by pointing to my “advanced maternal age” and remembering that this is my fourth pregnancy.

But bottom line? I’m not happy about it. And my body isn’t crazy about it either. My frame isn’t designed to carry this much weight.

On Monday, when I had to take my two-year-old to the doctor for a possible broken wrist, I got winded just standing upright while holding her. I can’t walk a flight of stairs in my house without sounding like I’ve just completed a 45-minute aerobic workout. (And did I mention we live in a 3.5 level townhouse? I pretty much pant like a dog all day.) My back hurts. My gait is slow. I miss phone calls because I can’t move fast enough to answer before voice mail picks up.

I’m pitiful, basically. Pity me.

And I have anywhere between six and eight weeks to go.

This past month, I’ve tried to be more careful about what I eat. I’ve severely limited my access to sweets. I’ve watched my portions. I’ve even started drinking water in place of milk. (I KNOW! I’m going to unbelievable lengths here.)

But I still feel HUGE, and this baby inside of me feels HUGE. He’s incredibly strong. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. It will be interesting to see how much weight I’ve gained in the last four weeks.

If it’s another eight to ten pounds, I might have to throw out my remaining dark chocolate almonds with turbinado and sea salt.

On the upside, our milk bill could drop dramatically.

Kelly is pregnant with her fourth child, a boy who apparently enjoys pushing on the interior wall of her hip bone. She blogs at Love Well, and she is thankful she can do that without moving.

Pregnancy Journal: Got Milk?

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

A wave of faux shame washed over me as I reached into the milk cooler at Target yesterday. No one around me knew it, but I needed that gallon of 1% the same way an alcoholic needs her vodka. I was almost drooling as I tucked the jug into my big red cart, behind the toilet bowl cleaner and the bananas.

Turns out, I’ve developed quite the milk addiction.

Want proof? That gallon I bought at Target? It was the fourth gallon of milk I bought in the last six days. The previous three gallons are already empty and accusing and lying squished in the bottom of the recycling bin.

It’s common for pregnant women to field the “So what are you craving?” question. Normally, I don’t have much exciting to report.

I did eat approximately 384 cherry Popsicles when I was pregnant with Natalie, my firstborn, but that could be attributed to the hot California summer and a lack of air conditioning as much as hormones. I also develop an abnormal and potentially lethal lust for the McChicken during the first trimester of each pregnancy. But that only lasts as long as the nausea.

So this sudden craving – no, make that passion – for milk caught me by surprise.

I know I can chalk up some of my milk-lust to my love for cereal. I have a bowl of Kashi Go Lean Crunch, topped with berries, every morning for breakfast. (No. Seriously. Every morning.) And it’s not uncommon for me to grab a bowl of Raisin Bran and strawberries or Cheerios with bananas before bed.

But here at 31 weeks, I’m also gulping glasses of milk in-between meals and during my mid-morning slab of peanut butter on toast. Most damning is the fact that each sweet I eat – a chocolate chip cookie, a fun-sized Snickers bar, a Pioneer Woman cinnamon roll – demands that I drink at least 10 ounces of milk to quench the raging thirst. It’s not uncommon for me to need three glasses of moo juice to wash down one slice of pie.

I tell myself it’s not a horrible habit. At least it’s somewhat healthy. (Although I will admit – when I passed the three-gallons-a-week mark, I stopped buying from the local dairy with grass-fed cows. At $3.50 a half gallon, I couldn’t afford my habit.)

I guess my real problem is, I’m not sure which came first: My milk addiction or the sweet tooth fueling it?

So how about you? What’s your most notable pregnancy craving?

Kelly drank two glasses of milk and ate a French breakfast puff while writing this post. You can also find her blogging at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: Move Baby Move

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

My OB laughs at me when I tell her this, but I’m pretty confident I’m gestating a baby octopus.

It’s true that the ultrasound technician back in December saw only the normal two arms and two legs of a growing human. But I see no other explanation for all the thrashing, crazy movement inside of me except he has grown an extra appendage or three.

Since this is my fourth pregnancy, I have indentified at least five distinct movements of the babe-in-utero.

The Jab: This is exactly what you’d expect. It’s a fast, hard poke of a foot or a hand or elbow or knee. If directed outward towards my abdomen, it’s possible that other people will see the quick jump of my skin. If directed inwards toward my vital organs, other people will see me react as if someone just punched me in the gut – which they just did, essentially. This is especially fun when the jab scores a direct hit on my bladder.

The Hiccup: This rhythmic movement is usually attributed to actual hiccups, and just like it’s namesake, it is a small tic-tic-tic that is more annoying than painful. But they happen so often that I wonder if some babies don’t just make repetitive small movements that feel like the spasms of hiccups. Hence, the title covers all small movements that are recur regularly.

The Twinkle-Toes: This is a sweet, gentle stretching that feels like tiny bubbles popping against my abdominal wall. I suspect it could be nothing more than the baby curling his toes next to my skin or maybe opening and closing a tiny fist. It’s unnoticeable to the outsider, and it makes me giggle.

The Roll: The most entertaining of movements, this is when the baby performs a bit from Cirque de Soileil in my uterus. It’s a turn, a twist, an acrobatic move. Unlike the jab, the roll is a drawn-out motion, which makes my abdomen heave and swell like the ocean’s surf after a storm. Also great for bouncing off the crumbs that accumlate on the shelf of my belly during a meal.

The Jumping Jack: This is the strangest and most violent of all moves. I have no idea what the baby is actually doing in there, but it feels like Neo is battling Mr. Smith in my uterus. (Or maybe I've just watched "The Matrix" too many times.) The movement begins with a sudden jab of all four (eight?) limbs and then builds to a ferocious punch-kick-roll routine that easily makes my stomach look like something from “Aliens” is about to emerge. As you might expect, I feel this everywhere at once – internally, externally, up and down, side to side. It can literally take my breath away.

I know from experience that these movements will grow less distinct as time passes, simply because the baby octopus will run out of room. But right now, at 30 weeks, he still has lots of space in there. And he’s using it to get grow bigger and stronger and get ready for life with three older siblings. (Good luck, buddy.)

Of course, there are times when gestating an octopus is annoying. It never fails that the baby is most active at night, right when I lay down to go to sleep. ("Must someone ALWAYS be touching Mom?!?" I sigh under my breath.)

But since this is my last baby, I'm trying to store up the visceral memory of each kick, jab and roll. It seems almost impossible now, but having walked this road before, I know -- I will miss this.

Kelly is journaling her fourth and final pregnancy here at 5 Minutes for Parenting. She blogs about her daily life at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: The Ultrasound Conundrum

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

Can you help me with a scenario?

See, I have this really good friend who’s pregnant with her fourth baby. For all her other babies, she’s paid to have a second ultrasound, in addition to the ultrasound in the hospital paid for by her insurance.

It was a trend that started with her first baby, when she wanted confirmation that she was truly growing a baby girl. The results were so positive – the paid ultrasound doctor spent 90 minutes answering questions, going over every inch of the baby, taking countless pictures and even making a video of the whole thing – that she determined to do a second ultrasound for every baby forthwith.

Two years later, pregnant with her second baby, she returned to the same clinic to have a second ultrasound. She took home a baby boy – and another 45-minute video tape.

Her third child was born about four years later. By that time, ultrasound technology had advanced to the 3D/4D stage. Curious, she signed up for the new program, and was thrilled to watch baby number three – a girl – smile and brush her face and get the hiccups and yawn in full 3D glory. Once again, she took home countless pictures and a video DVD.

Now, she’s pregnant with her fourth. And to be honest, she’s doesn’t want to shell out $150 for yet another ultrasound video. She and her husband enjoyed the ultrasound at the hospital. They have faith they are having a boy.

But she’s concerned this will necessitate therapy for her fourth child someday, once he realizes his parents didn’t love him enough to make a in-womb video of his uniqueness.

What do you think she should do?

1. She should focus on the child’s feelings, not her own, and spend the money to have one last ultrasound video made. After all, all the other kids have one. Don’t make the last child be a classic last child who only gets hand-me-downs and leftovers.


2. She should forgo the video. After all, these things are done mostly for the sake of the parents, not the child. Do you know any child who’s ever pulled out their ultrasound video and said, “Mom, fast-forward to the part where they show you that bubble that’s my developing bladder. I really want to it show my friends.” No. I don't think so.


3. She should make a copy of one of her other children’s ultrasound tapes and pass it off as the fourth baby in-utero. After all, all ultrasound videos look alike. Who would ever know?

Kelly is 29 weeks pregnant with fourth baby. Amazingly, her "friend is also 29 weeks pregnant with her fourth baby. Kelly blogs at Love Well. Her friend claims she doesn't have a blog, which is why we are sharing her conundrum for her on this forum.

Pregnancy Journal: What Not To Say

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

My husband is a rock during childbirth.

Not only is he great in stressful situations - particularly useful when I started bleeding profusely after the birth of our first daughter; he held the gauze and the light for the midwife while she stitched me back together - but he doesn't leave my side from the moment I enter the hospital to the moment I waddle through our front door.

(I still remember him towering over the L&D nurse in California who told him he couldn't, technically, stay the night with me, as it was against hospital policy to let men stay in the rooms. I believe he might have said something like, "I'd like to see you try and kick me out, little woman." Chuck Norris could have learned a lot from Corey at that moment.)

But I doubt my experience is typical - at least, not to hear my girlfriends tell it. They lean in and pass along stories of horror, in which husbands ask if they can go get a bite to eat during transition or pass out when beholding the placenta or offer helpful suggestions like, "You don't need drugs, honey. Just use all that breathing!"

A few days ago, a blogging friend sent me a copy of a Facebook thread, in which the author - who is days away from being a first-time daddy - asked for help compiling a list of Things Not To Say To Your Wife While She's In Labor. The suggestions, from both men and women, were hysterical.

"Here, babe, can you hold my sandwich?"

"Wait! Don't push! I forgot the camera in the car!"

"This hangnail really hurts. Does it look infected to you, honey?"

"This is taking forever! Do you care if I fire up a movie?"

"Man, that looks like it hurts."

Or my personal favorite:

"That nurse is hot."

How about you? Do you have some words that a L&D Dad should keep to himself? Or maybe you have a personal tale of wisdom to share? Now's your chance.

Kelly is due in May with her fourth child. To be fair, her husband isn't perfect. He once called his wife a moose when he was feeling amorous. You can read more about her family at Love Well.

Pregnacy Journal: Boxes of Memories

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

Seven boxes of memories are stacked in the spare room right now, waiting for me to shed my coat of melancholy so I can sort through them. It will be a job that requires the emotional detachment worthy of a Vulcan (or Dr. Cox from "Scrubs" ).

Each tub is stuffed to the brim with baby clothes - specifically, baby girl clothes in sizes ranging from newborn to 18 months. Impossibly small fleece outfits adorned with snowflakes and hearts, tiny sundresses bedecked with flowers, little shorts and t-shirts and tank tops that once showed off chubby thighs and arms -- each one is multifaceted jewel in my treasure box of memories.

When we found in December that we will have a boy in May, I immediately said to Corey, "Now I can sort through all the baby girl clothes." Up to this point, I've kept every item of clothing my children have ever worn. I never knew when I might need it again, and I'm anything if not practical.

But now, I no longer have an excuse to hoard. For starters, we live in a small house right now, and we could use the storage space. (Seven tubs of baby girl clothes, I mean, good grief!) Plus, both my sister and my sister-in-law had baby girls this last year, and I plan to give away my favorite outfits to them. It loosens my emotional grip a little to know these sweet clothes will be worn again by my nieces, who are worthy of my offerings.

But I don't pretend this will be easy. When my husband pulled out the tubs this last weekend (since I can no longer bend over enough to fit into our crawl space under the stairs), I remarked that I would probably still have one tub of baby girl clothes to return to storage after The Sorting, because there are some things too precious and too meaningful for me to part with right now.

He smiled, because he knows me. (Even if he can't relate, because he is a Vulcan.)

And funny thing -- he also got out the tub of newborn baby boy clothes for me. I need to go through it and see what we might need for this new little one, especially since he will be born in the opposite season from his big brother.

Somehow, knowing I have one more newborn to clothe and smell and cherish lessens the sting.

Kelly blogs at Love Well. She is currently 27 weeks pregnant with her fourth and final baby.

Pregnancy Journal: For the Love of Pregnancy

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

I was talking on the phone to my sister last weekend, lamenting my falling-apart-disease and my advanced maternal age and my weariness with being pregnant in winter. And while she felt for me, she also let loose a deep sigh, and she said, "I would give anything to trade places with you right now. I love being pregnant. I love being in labor. I love having babies. I just love it all."

I laughed, because I know it's true. Emily has wanted to have kids since she was in grade school. She is extremely bossy maternal, and she has an infectious love for all things children. Even now, when she has two of her own, she salivates at the idea of adding more to her brood.

I, on the other hand, came late to the mothering game. I was 28 before I even thought I might want to entertain the idea of starting a family someday. (And even that was mostly the result of friends plying me with stories of the miraculous epidural.) I turned 30 just a few months after Natalie was born. And while it's true that I astonished everyone - including myself - by falling head over heels with parenting, to the point that I had two (almost three) more children in the next eight years, I have never - and I mean never - opined that I love being pregnant.

Pregnancy to me is a mystical means to an end. I'm fascinated by the uniqueness of it. I marvel at the creativity it showcases.

But I also freely admit it's bizarre and uncomfortable and sometimes flat-out exhausting.

Later that same night, after my conversation with Emily, I said to my husband that I wish gestating a baby were more like wearing a backpack. What a relief it would be to be able to take off the precious sack for even two hours and hand it to my husband so I might go get a cup of coffee without huffing and puffing and feeling the baby roll into my bladder and kick against my ribs.

But that's not how the process is designed. Women are the bearers, the creation vessel. We get the glorious with the grinding, the magnificent with the mundane.

Still. I can't say I love it.

How about you? Do you love being pregnant? Or would you be happy to let someone else do the gestating for you if you could still have the baby at the end?

Kelly is 26 weeks pregnant with her fourth child, a baby boy who is sadly nameless. She blogs about her daily life at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: I Am Falling Apart

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

I am falling apart.

I determined this last week when I heaved my aching, groaning self onto the couch, after a long day of single parenthood to 3.5 kids. (My husband travels a lot for business in the winter months, to unfortunate locales like Florida and Virginia and California. I am not bitter.) My back hurt. My hamstrings throbbed. I couldn’t walk to bed without that characteristic side-to-side gait of pregnant women. And I felt like the baby was perfecting his karate skills on my two bottom ribs.

Technically, I am 25 weeks right now. But I feel so much further along, like I should be counting down the days to my induction.

So last week, I did what we all do when we have vague medical questions: I took my symptoms to Dr. Google.

Thus, I have a diagnosis for “pregnant and falling apart at 25 weeks”: I have symphysis pubic dysfunction.

You can go read the technical definition, but basically, it means the ligaments in my pelvis are as stretched out as old rubber bands, and thanks to pregnancy hormones, they aren’t doing a good job of holding my skeleton together anymore. My alignment is off, you might say, and it’s exacerbated by the fact that my core muscles no longer exist to support my back and hold in my tummy. Instead, they are taking the winter off. Last week, I got a postcard from them; they were in Acapulco.

My other physical complaint right now is the near constant Braxton-Hicks. It’s not unusual for women to experience these so-called “fake contractions” in the second trimester. Medical texts say a little rest should make them fade away.

Problem is, I have a toddler to keep up with. And we live in a three-story townhouse, so I am constantly up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs. Just those two aerobic activities alone make my uterus tense into a restrictive corset that makes normal breathing and movement almost impossible.

Also? My bangs are too long. Do you think I can blame that on the baby?

I don’t mean to complain. In my house, "No Whining" is rule number one. I am acutely aware that many women would give anything to have my aching, falling-apart body – as long as the baby inside came with it. Daily, I remind myself to be thankful for this miracle, even if it does make me huff and puff as I get out of bed.

But the simple fact remains: Pregnancy is physically demanding, especially if you're 38 like me. I’m ready to meet this baby and be done with the gestating already. I want my body back.

Do you think it will be easy to piece me back together in May?

Kelly is 25 weeks pregnant with her fourth baby. In addition to the Pregnancy Journal at 5 Minutes for Parenting, you can find her blogging at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: He's Moving! I Swear He Is!

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

The baby boy inside of me moves. A lot. He kicks and jabs and turns and rolls. There are times my abdomen feels like a super-flex garbage bag that can handle the sharpest pokes and prods. There are other times my belly looks like the waves of an ocean storm, heaving and reaching and falling under the guidance from my little resident alien.

Funny thing, though: No one else has ever felt him move. I just can’t seem to get the timing right. Every time – every time – I say to my husband, “Holy cow! This boy is MOVING! Put your hand here,” the movement stops. Or the baby turns in such a way that the kicks are more internal than external.

It’s getting to be comical. My husband felt our other children kick, and he trusts that I really am growing a human and not just gorging on leftover birthday cake. (Although that's true as well.) He always humors me by sitting patiently with his hands on my ever-widening tummy for a few minutes when I insist that this time, this time, it will work. And then, eventually, when no movement is forthcoming, he’ll grin at me and say, “Sure babe. Whatever.” And he'll return to his TV show or his book or his coffee.

And then – inevitably – the baby will kick at the exact spot his father’s hands lingered a minute ago, as if to say, “Ha! Gotcha again!”

Kelly is 24 weeks pregnant with her fourth baby, who appears to be a baby boy intent on destroying his mother's sanity before he's even born. She also blogs at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: One More Toddler

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

There are few things as sweet as a two-year-old.

There. I’ve said it.

I know two is an exhausting age. In the last seven days, Teyla has discovered how to make gum out of toilet paper and toilet water, learned to take off her pants and her diaper, decided she doesn’t need an afternoon nap and just yesterday, scattered the contents of a sugar bowl around the kitchen.

But she’s also smiled at me and called me Mah-mee with the most innocent voice and asked to “hep” with everything I’ve done. She keeps me company at all hours and puts her chubby little hand into mine and is totally and utterly delighted at simple things like seeing the moon rise in the evening. She carries her toy phone around the kitchen, talking to Da as she walks, and she cares for her babies by setting them gently in her toy crib and tucking them in with a soft blanket. (Never mind that the baby’s face is under the blanket and her feet are sticking out and she’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. It’s the thought that counts, right?)

I had forgotten how much I love this age.

And I guess, in the end, that’s one of the huge reasons we’re having one more. Because I couldn’t imagine passing up one more chance to enjoy the purity of toddlerhood.

It’s true that the school years have their own joys and struggles. I’m already experiencing them with our older two children.

But when there are no more chubby feet in my future, no more spontaneous hugs around my knees, no more tangled heads and yawning mouths appearing next to my bed in the morning, no more little ones bounding instead of walking, no more cries of “I dee it!” Well. I will be a little sad.

And I will keep a few pairs of fuzzy footsie pajamas in my keepsake box, just so I can smell them and hold them and remember of the sweet simplicity of these days.

Kelly is 23 weeks pregnant with her fourth and final baby. You can experience more sappy mother moments at her personal blog, Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: Maternity Wear -- and Not to Wear

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

Today is my birthday.

It is my tradition to wear my favorite outfit on my birthday, something that is fun yet practical, comfortable yet chic.

When I was in the shower this morning, I mentally sorted through my clothes to see what I might don to make today sparkle.

Then I remembered: I’m pregnant. I have about five outfits that both fit and look stylish right now. And I’ve worn them nonstop for the last four weeks. (I did wash the sweater that got cookie dough on it. I think.)

Welcome to the wonderful world of maternity clothes.

To be fair, I know we’ve come a looonnnnggg way in the last decade. When I was pregnant with my first, in 2001, designers were just discovering the maternity market. My pregnancy books (most notably, “The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy”) lamented that the only options for expecting moms were tent-like dresses with sailor collars, flowing, hippie-like dresses covered with Laura Ashley flowers or leggings and your husband’s shirts.

Compared to the days of yore, we are living large in 2010. Not only do we have innumerable choices, but designers and celebrities alike have made maternity wear stylish and hip. Heidi Klum just announced she’s releasing her own line of maternity clothes, and there are whole websites devoted to what pregnant movie stars are wearing.

Still, for mere mortals like myself, maternity dressing can prove a challenge. So because I like lists, here are a few of the best and the worst about maternity wear, according to me.

Best Development – the Bella Band
For the uninitiated, the Bella Band is a super-soft band of stretchy nylon and spandex, designed to hold up your pants and/or cover your bulging belly through the entire course of your pregnancy.

I bought my first Bella Band in 2007, when I was about 34 weeks pregnant with my third baby.

And I haven’t taken it off since. (Not really. But close.) Best invention ever.

Best Style for Cheap – Liz Lange Maternity
Almost all the maternity clothes I’ve bought this time around have been from Target. They are cute, comfortable and – most importantly – inexpensive. I can’t stand paying $45 for a sweater that I know I will only wear for a few months. (More about that in a minute.) The Liz Lange line at Target doesn’t always fit my personal style. But it does preach that you don’t have to look maternal when you’re pregnant. I love that.

Worst Store - Motherhood Maternity
I’ve tried to shop at Motherhood Maternity. I have. And I do like their cloth tummies that allow you to see what you might look like later in pregnancy.

But every time I walk through their doors, I am accosted by their return policy – which is: No matter what, you will never get your money back. Even if the clothing falls apart after its first wash, you will only be offered an exchange or a refund in the form of store credit. And no returns or exchanges at all after 45 days.

I’m sorry, but I have a hard time making up my mind about clothes even when I’m not pregnant. I buy everything I like in the stores, take it home, try it on, think about it for days and then return what I don’t want.

When I’m in the throes of pregnancy hormones? There’s no way I can make the kind of commitment that Motherhood Maternity requires.

Not to mention that Motherhood has some of the most expensive clothing outside of actual designer labels. To be a store that supposedly caters to pregnant women, they do everything they can to ostracize their audience.

Worst Maternity Style – Pregnancy Overalls
Do I really need to say more?

(OK. Maybe one more thing: maternity overall shorts. I mean – really?!?)

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, really. Join in, fellow moms. What have you found to be the best and worst about maternity wear?

Kelly didn’t get paid to write any of the reviews above; she just has strong opinions on maternity clothes now that she’s halfway through her fourth pregnancy. She blogs at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: Halfway

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

I’m halfway there.

No. Sorry. Let me rephrase.

I’M HALFWAY THERE! WOO-HOO!

Twenty weeks (almost 21) is a milestone for most of us preggos. We are amazed we’ve made it this far, and simultaneously freaked out that we only have 20 weeks (or less) to go. “Do I have diapers? Do I need to register? Have I cleaned my fridge lately? Are my spices alphabetized? How will I get it all done?!?”

This is also the time when the minor aches and pains of late-stage pregnancy start to enter the picture.

(I mostly said that to keep up the illusion for the first-timers. If you’re pregnant with number two or beyond, late-term woes probably kicked in around week 13. It’s part of the pregnancy game. After your first trip around the board, there’s no passing go, no more collecting $200. Instead, you turn the corner from the first trimester and go straight to Heartburn Jail.)

A collection of these physical symptoms might include:

- The inability to lie on your back without feeling like an elephant is sitting on your abdomen. It happens when your enlarged uterus presses on the largest vein taking blood from your legs back to your heart, which can leave you feeling lightheaded, dizzy and nauseous.

- The inability to get out of bed in the morning without groaning and rolling around like a pig in mud. It’s sexy, no?

- Consistent if not constant heartburn. At least Tums have calcium.

- An aching back, due to the utter disappearance of your abdominal muscles.

Or if you’re lucky, you get E. All of the above.

Still, 20 weeks is also a magical time. For 90% of women, morning sickness is gone. Our hair is thick and our skin is radiant. We’re showing. ("Hey world! Check me out! I’m growing a human!") And best of all, that little baby in there is moving and flipping and doing all it can to remind us of its presence.

I read a book last week that painted such a beautiful picture of conception – of the dance between cells and the holy mystery when they merge to form a new life. That new life is woven and spun in joyous darkness; only the One who is forming it can see its spark. And the this and the that slowly becomes a baby, a person, someone with a soul and a purpose and a heart to be loved.

Then they kick. And we, their mothers, feel the thrill of new, but still hidden, life.

I almost feel sorry for men, that they never get to wear a miracle.

Kelly blogs at Love Well. She's expecting her fourth baby - a boy - in May.

Pregnancy Journal: What's Coming

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

Today, I’m 19 weeks pregnant. I think.

Hang on. Let me check my online pregnancy calendar.

(Insert cheesy hold music here.)

OK. I’m back. And it’s true – the calendar says 19 weeks. But dang if I can remember it without help. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m older or more tired or too distracted. But I’m just not focused on this pregnancy like I have been the others.

I suppose that’s the curse of being the fourth child. Nothing you do is original. You are always following in the wide swatch cut for you by your older siblings. And it’s true – I’m still amazed at each little baby kick, and the ultrasound yesterday was thrilling (especially since it allowed us to discover the sex of the babe in utero). But it doesn’t pop with the same fizz as that first pregnancy.

Do you remember your first trip down mommy-to-be lane? Everything is new. Every turn is exciting – and a little scary. You don’t know what to expect, even after you’ve poured over “What To Expect when You’re Expecting.” You know EXACTLY how far along you are (18 weeks, 5 days), you know exactly when the third trimester will begin. Your doctors appointments are booked months in advance, and you’re already obsessing over which kind of pacifier to buy.

And this time, for me? I’m just wondering when we have to move the toddler out of the crib. (Do you think the night before the new baby comes is too late?)

Still. I know it’s a miracle. I remind myself every day to appreciate this, to treasure this. If all goes as planned, I won’t be walking down this path again.

And every curve is a joy. Even if I know it’s coming.

Kelly’s fourth child is coming May 2010, which still seems like a long way off to her. You can find her personal blog at Love Well.

Pregnancy Journal: Need to Know

From 5 Minutes for Parenting

By Kelly

I haven’t confirmed this scientifically, but I’m convinced there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who can wait until the birth of their baby to find out the sex, and those who must know the minute it’s physically possible.

I’m squarely in the second group. I have never, not for one nanosecond, had the urge to let it be a surprise. I don’t mind if you want to wait. Many of my good friends have waited, and while I may have threatened to bribe their OB with chocolate until I was given access to the raw ultrasound tape, I certainly respect their choice.

I just don’t relate to it.

Here’s why:

If I know the sex of the baby now, I can plan for the future.
Yes, this pegs me as a planner, but it’s a label I embrace. I love to organize, to research, to strategize. If I know the sex of the baby before birth, I can get gender-specific bedding and blankets. I can paint the nursery. I can also let myself get sucked in by the appropriate side of Carter’s. (When it comes to baby clothes, resistance is futile.)

Knowing if we’re having a boy or girl also allows my husband and I to start playing The Name Game – but with only half the entrants. We are horrible at deciding on names together (usually, my top 5 are his never-in-a-million-years, and vice versa), and narrowing the field and giving us a few months to discuss is hugely helpful.

If I know the sex of the baby now, I can stop torturing myself.
When I was pregnant two years ago, I was slightly obsessed with the gender of the baby. I think it was because I had a miscarriage earlier that same year, so by the time we got around to the ultrasound for Teyla in September, I felt like I had been pregnant since January. (Which I had been, almost. There wasn’t much time between the miscarriage and the next conception.) The internal debate of boy versus girl threatened to take over my life. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the question was finally answered.

Conversely, I’ve watched friends who were determined to wait drive themselves crazy the last four months of the pregnancy as they agonize and cry and fret over the possibilities. Usually, they are secretly longing for one gender over the other, and the weight of knowing their hopes could be crushed in a few short weeks (or granted, depending on the outcome) makes “the surprise” a burden.

If I know the sex of the baby now, I can deal with any emotional fall-out before the birth.
This relates closely to the last point, but let me give a personal example. When I was pregnant with our second baby, the pregnancy was almost identical to my first. This led me to believe I was having another girl. It wasn’t something I admitted openly; it was more of a subconscious belief.

So my soul reverberated with shock when my OB announced, “It’s a boy!” at our 18-week ultrasound. I was ashamed of this at the time, but it took me weeks to come to grips with the boy diagnosis. I actually needed a short window to grieve the girl I thought I was carrying and get excited about the boy who was entering out lives. By the time he was born, I was thrilled to welcome Connor. Finding out his sex early gave me a chance to walk the emotional minefield before his birth, instead of after.

If I know the sex of the baby now, I can bond with the baby.
Maybe this is just me, but I have a hard time bonding with a gender-neutral alien. Once I know the sex of the baby, he or she becomes very real to me. It helps me to get excited and psyched for the last days of pregnancy.

This is also helpful for our older children, who definitely have opinions on what the sex of the next baby should be. If we can tell them now, “It’s a brother (or it’s a sister),” they have a chance to accept our new family dynamics and get excited about reality, instead of counting on something that may not be.

If I know the sex of the baby now, I can focus on the birth of the baby during delivery.
Many of my friends who elect to wait say, “Oh, but I want a surprise on delivery day!” I understand that; I was never tempted to open my Christmas presents early for that very reason.

But childbirth tends to be a surprise in itself. It’s complicated, astonishing and rarely what you expect. My first two deliveries were dramatic, each in their own way. (With Connor, we barely made it to the hospital before I started pushing.) So I’m perfectly happy spreading out my surprises over the course of the pregnancy. Because no matter when you find out if you’re having a girl or a boy, it’s always a surprise – be it at 20 weeks or 40.

So what about you? Are you like me? Or would you rather wait? And if you like to wait, please chime in with your own reasoning behind your decision. This is intensely personal and there’s ample space for both opinions. I'd love to hear your take.


Before she was a SAHM, Kelly was a TV news producer and newspaper editor, which further explains her need-to-know appetite. She currently blogs, without copy editors, at Love Well. And yes, her ultrasound is next week, in case that wasn't obvious.