Sunday, November 29, 2009

Mama's Baby, Daddy's Maybe

Last week, there was an article in the New York Times Sunday Magazine about fathers who find out that the children they are raising are not their own. It was heartbreaking to read their stories and about the upheaval it caused in their and their kids' lives. I sometimes joke with Matt about the baby not being his which leads to further joking that the baby might not be mine either. After reading that article, I am not sure if I want to kid about it anymore. Not that our situation would be one rife with betrayal and deceit like these father's, but what if there was a mix-up? How would I feel about it? Would I even want to know the truth? I try not to seriously consider the possibility, but it has happened and uncomfortably close to home. I reassure myself that my clinic is one of the best in the country and uses strictly enforced protocols to eliminate such errors, but just like those dads whose babies are born looking nothing like them, there is a creeping doubt.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

When it Rains it Pours...In my Kitchen

A few weeks ago, we had a visit from our downstairs neighbor informing us that we were raining on her apartment - the bathroom to be specific. We had no obvious water leaks, and it was soon concluded that whenever we flushed the toilet, let's just say, they felt the effects. The super said he would need to pull up our toilet to fix a broken pipe, leaving us without a toilet until the job was complete. In the meantime, the neighbor kindly offered to have us call anytime we needed to flush, but there was no way I could consciously flush my toilet knowing it caused a pee storm below me. So I played the pregnant card and the super let us in on a secret bathroom on the 6th floor, a very dirty, very icky secret toilet that I was nevertheless thrilled to have at my pregnant bladders disposal. Within a day, the problem was resolved.

So after the bubble, bubble toilet trouble, we jump ahead two weeks. This past Wednesday, I noticed a wet spot on my ceiling in the kitchen. I visited the upstairs neighbor who was having their floors refinished and was told that some water spilled but everything was fixed. The spot didn't spread or get worse. We still informed the super who agreed to look into it. Yesterday, while putting away groceries, I noticed a new spot and this once was dripping and spreading rapidly. The super was over two hours away and no one was upstairs. We gathered buckets and watched helplessly as one drip turned in to 15 and the ceiling started to bubble and warp. It was now a steady drizzle. After what seemed like 7 hours, the super showed up and literally broke into the upstairs apt via our fire escape and was able to turn off the water which dried-up the gathering storm. The ceiling is peeling, but at least we were there to do damage control.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Mom Jeans Redux

Hoping to expand my (literally) shrinking wardrobe, I cleaned out my closet looking for those clothes that were always a little too big for me to wear. Instead I found my long lost skinny pants. I haven't touched these pants since I started stimming, sure that the bloating wouldn't take kindly to their tight hug. For a laugh, I decided to try them on and see how big I am getting. Imagine my delight when the zipper came up with only a mild protest! I could have danced around the room. I love these pants. They are black and satiny, and I feel like Audrey Hepburn in them. So imagine my distressed when I pranced into the F train and tried to sit down in them!!! The high waist cut into my protruding belly and the area around my hips that is usually snug started to feel like a boa constrictor. Part of the reason I like these pants is their design. They zip up the back with a sewn-in zipper -so my trusty rubber band wasn't going to work with this one.

I discreetly tugged at the zipper and was able to take more than a shallow breath, settled in for my long commute. Once at work, I was able to keep the zipper up and sit at my desk. Despite my paranoia, the seam never split, but for good measure, I laid off on the karate kicks.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Mom Jeans

My belly has the beginnings of a swell, and I am starting to over-extert the rubber band that keeps my pants comfortably together. I have already had to break out my fat pants, so I finally decided it was time to start the search for maternity clothes. I quickly realized that unless I want to pay $200 for jeans, I might need to search a little harder or settle for those awful unisex looking things. And really how do you know what is the right size anyway? I have no idea if my ass will get huge or if the weight will (mercifully) be centralized in a cute little bump - with my luck it will be door number 1 with a large helping of lumpy bump. In any care the pregnancy hormones must be effecting my taste in clothes, because the other night I was in a cab that was stopped at a light and across the street was what must have been the Manhattan's flagship Dress Barn because it took up half of the block. Normally the phrase "flagship Dress Barn" would send me running to the nearest Anthropologie, but before I knew what I was doing, I was making a mental note of the location. In my defense, it was very late at night and the jacket in the window was pretty cute.

I hit my 12 week mark last Thursday and welcomed the 2nd trimester with epic nausea and nuchal translucency test. I had an idea of what to look for on the ultrasound, and the entire time the technician was bouncing the device off my very full bladder, I was convinced something was wrong. The amount of fluid looked huge on the screen and the tech kept saying, "come on baby" as though there were a problem. Finally she told me that the fluid levels were low enough to be virtually risk free of Down Syndrome. The test isn't as conclusive as an amnio or CVS, but it was almost as much of a relief as when they finally let me urinate.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Chaos Reigns

A few nights ago, I supervised a music class kids for kids at work. I selfishly went in hoping it would not be a success so that I wouldn't feel guilty for not doing more because too many late nights makes me a cranky girl. But then the cute little kids started trickling in and I was almost as excited as they were. Everyone was attentive and enthusiastic as the group started. They went around and sang their favorite songs and took turns holding the guitar. It was adorable. That was the first seven minutes. For the next 53 minutes, all hell broke loose. It was like a switch was flipped and everything went horribly wrong as one kid crawled under a table and wailed for 20 minutes because I asked her very sweetly not to sit on the table anymore, another small kid started spitting at and shoving the other older kids who in turn wanted to beat him up. One 9 year old insisted on talking like a baby and whining because he wanted a play with a laptop, another girl wanted to read and started throwing books when I told her Wednesday was reading group. 3 small boys kept climbing on the music teacher and each other, and one lone child sat attentive and smiling, just happy to be there. At about 30 minutes in, I expected the fox from AntiChrist to appear in the room and declare "chaos reigns".

I left with a splitting headache and soul-shaking fear of motherhood. I know I won't be dealing with 8 kids aged 4-9, and I suppose it is different with your own, but good lord if I didn't feel completely unhinged when it was over.

A day later the music teacher emailed me saying he can't wait to come back.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Where the Wild Things Aren't

I feel as though I have been in a sort of slow motion since I started my stims 2 months ago. I have been hestitant to overextert myself, and the exhuastion of the first trimester has made it hard to be social let alone have a have a full-fledged social life. Halloween rolled around with little fanfare this year. In years past, I have gone to the parade or out with friends then out to the bars. This year, I didn't think I would gather the energy to hand out candy to my friend's kid. But as the day wore on, I started to rally. At 6:30, I put on some make-up, dug out an old wig and went out on the town. Well, we stolled the neighborhood looking at the creative decorations and then we went to dinner about two subway stops from our house. Anything further would have worn me out.

It was a warm night for the end of October and there were loads of families out on the street in costumes trick-or-treating at the local businesses. We sat outside for dinner and overcame the light drizzle with a heavy duty umbrella. It felt like old times except for the virgin fruit spritzer and the bloating after about 5 bites of my saurbraten. We were home long before 9, and curled up on the couch to watch a movie. Thankfully with the time change, we earned an extra hour because after all of the excitement and partying into the night, I mean, evening, I needed it.