Archive for the ‘Pregnancy’ Category
Thursday, October 1st, 2009
When I was in Miss Pellegrino’s second grade class, we learned about measurements… not the 36-24-36 variety so often on my mind these days as my waistline expands, but the use of inches and feet, centimeters and meters, that sort of thing. Anyway, as part of the lesson, we were instructed to measure a variety of things to which we had easy access – including the circumference of our heads. Easy enough, right? Right. Only my head, it turned out, was the biggest in the class… I’m not sure, but I want to say it was 21 inches. Ginormous for a six year old (according to my smaller headed classmates) and naturally, something to make fun of me for. Luckily however, I was not about to be teased for something that was so obviously not my problem (lest we forget, all the stars have massive noggins). As such, I concluded that my giant head was the result of my giant brain. Translation: I was smarter than everyone else. And that is what I told them.
 From a local paper in CT (where I'm from), a kid getting his head measured... Coincidence? Unfortunately, this didn’t prevent future nicknames like Smithsonian, Webster’s (Dictionary) or–and here’s a favorite for a self-conscious 13 year old girl–Captain Forehead, but it did give me a leg to stand on when trouble arose. That’s right. “I’m smarter/more evolved/more interesting than you” became the defense mechanism that stayed with me through any appearance, behavior or emotional stability-related difficulties until sometime around my 30th birthday. In fact even still, three years later, I occasionally fall back on the same de rigueur position. (Though at this point I know I can’t be that smart… otherwise I’d have a lot more money).
Anyway, the point of telling you all this is that on Monday I learned that Dashiell is no longer in 95th percentile size-wise. Instead, he’s in the 98th (and rapidly headed off the charts). That’s right. At 28 weeks, your average child is 2.25lbs. My little boy? A cool 3.7. And while I used to be amused that he was so gigantic (joking about his genius and his – just like mommy – giant brain), I’m starting to get scared. Not only about how in the hell a person like me (35” hips anyone?) is going to deliver a 10 pound tot, but more importantly, about my baby’s health… Besides, the specialist did say he could be as small as 9 pounds… So why would I worry about my vagina?!
The short answer is that I’m not… not really at least. Here, on the other hand, is the real kicker:
Apparently, Dashiell’s brain really is bigger than normal. So much so at this point, that a Fetal MRI has been scheduled to screen for Ventriculomelagy. Of course the doctor did tell me he sincerely believes everything is fine – that the baby is simply a “big boy” and his brain ventricles likely just reflect his size – but he finished that sentence with “better safe than sorry,” and “the only way to know for sure that everything is okay is to look.” Now intellectually, I completely understand and am in no way alarmed (I’m smarter than most people, remember?). But emotionally? Let’s just say one should never let a concerned pregnant woman near the google. Reading about enlarged ventricles and stints in babies brains and developmental disabilities, is a lot for anyone to take – nevermind a hormonal freakshow with swollen feet, frayed nerves and too much time on her hands… specifically, a full week before she take the test to find out if there is, in fact, something wrong with her little one. And that’s to say nothing of the irony or the completely ridiculous fear that between endocrine disorders and big brain jokes and an inflated ego, I somehow caused this.
In any case, while I wait, I’m working on staying positive, which truthfully isn’t too hard most of the time. After all, here’s what the doctor who ordered the Fetal MRI (and then had me schedule another follow up ultrasound because, as he put it, “I just have to see how big this baby gets“), said.
“Okay, so here’s what you tell your husband,” he began. “His brain is big. They’re going to take a look and it’s probably fine. But his balls – as we say in the medical profession – are HUGE. Yeah. This baby is carrying around a set!”
Tags: big baby, fetal mri, health, irrational fear, medical concerns, ultrasound, uncertainty, Ventriculomelagy
Posted in Pregnancy, Uncategorized | 4 Comments »
Monday, September 28th, 2009
In the past two days, two news items have appeared seemingly to scare the living s!*t out of pregnant women everywhere (or at least this one). Not only has one woman wound up pregnant… again, whilst already pregnant, but a woman in Indonesia has given birth to a 19 pound baby. I kid you not. 19 pounds.
 Indonesian MegaBaby (aka the 19lb newborn) Of course it’s all over the news by now, so odds are you’ve already heard both of these horror stories, but in case you hadn’t, now you know. Old wives tales do come true… and I am beginning to worry internet maven Madame Zora’s prediction that my 15lb baby would be born on a rainy day after 42 hours of labor might just be dead on despite the fact that I’m 5′3″, live in sunny Los Angeles and let’s be honest, will be screaming for a c-section if the baby’s not crowning on I don’t know… the fifth or sixth push?
Meanwhile, let me explain why the second story at least, really scares me—for multiple reasons. Yesterday I found out I flunked my 27 week glucose test. For an overachiever who never flunks anything, this was disconcerting. Combine it with the fact that I am opposite of a high-risk candidate for diabetes of any kind (historically low blood pressure, hypo—not hyper—glycemic, on the petite side and a lifelong fitness freak), and I was taken aback to say the least. Never mind that I got the call whilst standing in the waiting room of my therapist’s office where I promptly blurted out “Diabetes? Doesn’t that usually happen to fat people?” (in one instant clarifying that not only am I highly intelligent and informed, but also kind and sensitive).
Anyway, being the impatient sort that I am (and looking for any excuse not to have to make eye contact with the relatively hefty receptionist or the girl seated on the couch beside mine… who also happened to be a little bit chubby), I whipped out the blackberry, googled gestational diabetes and went straight to the Mayo Clinic’s website. Instead of setting my mind at ease however, that’s when the real fear began… You see, while the serious health risks to a baby born of a diabetes mom aren’t that big a deal, what is a really big deal is just how big those babies are apt to be. Case in point, Indonesian Megababy. Turns out, his mom had gestational diabetes, and it was responsible for his massive girth.
Did I mention that Dashiell is in the 95th percentile size wise already?
On that note, next week I have a follow up ultrasound. Technically, it’s a follow up to a follow up, predicated – like it’s predecessor – on the abnormally large size of little Dash’s big brain ventricles (which the doctor assures me are mostly likely normal for him, simply the result of him being larger than average all the way around). But now, instead of being a point of pride about which I’m half-joking (huge brain, huge body, huge penis… My son will be an astro-physicist Adonis!), I’m a little bit worried. Who knew things like this could happen? Pregnancies within pregnancies, 19 pound newborns… otherwise healthy mothers who stupidly assume no ill can come to them and theirs suddenly being at risk for conditions they didn’t know existed…
In the midst of all the insanity however, there is one bright spot (well, many, but one that occurs to me when faced with another round of undoubtedly expensive tests): Thank god I have health insurance. Without it, I don’t know what I’d do right now, but with it, I can spend my energy thinking about the important stuff… Another 4-D ultrasound means another chance to see Dash’s seriously cute little face!
Tags: 19lb baby, birthweight, gestational diabetes, glucose test, health
Posted in Pregnancy, Uncategorized | No Comments »
Sunday, September 27th, 2009
Saturday morning when I woke up and toddled down the hall to the bathroom, I was treated to a whole new feeling. A feeling experienced by beer-bellied men the world over and, I suppose, pregnant women past a certain point. As I sat down on the toilet to pee, eyes still not fully open to greet the day, I noticed a strange sensation on my thighs. Like nothing I’d ever felt before.
It was my stomach. Resting on them.
Now perhaps it’s my ergonomic office chair or the fact that I’ve trained myself over so many years as a writer to sit upright, but for whatever reason, to this day there is no thigh/belly contact when I sit at my desk. In fact, though obviously protruding while I hammer away at the keys, my bump floats high enough so as to almost forget that it’s there (if it weren’t for Dash’s hiccups or increasingly consistent acrobatics, that is). Call it mommy brain, call it wishful thinking, whatever the case it probably explains why I was so surprised by my circumference (and its intersection with my quads) on my morning pee run. Aside from the compulsion to run my hands under my belly and crane it up off my legs (and my fear that this must mean my thighs are about to start rubbing when I walk – like any second), I found myself questioning the elasticity of (my heretofore relatively petite) human body. If my mid-section and legs are already making contact with thirteen weeks to go, will my navel touch my knees by late-December? That’s when Dashiell is due and let’s be honest… If I stretch too much further, not only will I tip over on my way down the hall to the toilet, I’ll end up having to camp on the throne until my husband wakes up because I won’t be able to hoist myself up off it.
In other news, this weekend my cold returned, proving that my last post displayed far too much optimism for my own good. After a round of rather frightening heart palpitations Sunday night, I wound up in the doctor’s office hooked up to an ekg on Monday morning. Assured that everything is normal and my irregular heartbeat and shortness of breath are the results of a lingering severe cold, my nerves have subsided. That said, I’m still wondering… If I feel like this for the next three months (out of breath and like I’m being intermittently kicked in the heart in between jabs to every other area of my abdomen), how am I going to get the nursery done… or anything for that matter?
Tags: baby bump, big belly, pregnancy discomfort, weight
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Saturday, September 26th, 2009
I have a confession. I like being pregnant. I also like being married, and for a girl who never really expected (or cared much) to be either, that’s saying something. Of course the latter is a discussion for a different day on a different blog. This is a pregnancy chronicle, and for all those days that I woke up cursing the nausea, heartburn, exhaustion (or the fact that I just don’t look the same in any kind of clothing), today I have awoken with a little spring in my step and a love of my big belly. Who cares if I waddle? Or if I’ve found my (once sophisticated, non-noise making) self making involuntary little duck sounds to signify the fact that I’m waddling as I make my way down the hall? (Quack, quack!) I’m having a baby!
Now naturally, I absolutely love the little guy residing in my expanding midsection… but loving being pregnant is another thing altogether. It’s something my mother and my oldest friend both swore to me they did the entire time they were carrying (an assurance I took as an insult to my womanhood during my first trimester, when I was virtually suicidal), but for me, the fluctuations have been much more pronounced than the adoration of the state. Take my wedding for example. While I had gotten over the fact that I was destined to look like Orca in Vera Wang (especially from the side), as the night wore on and my new husband reveled in socializing with our nearest and dearest, cocktail in his sexy hand and ever-present smile on his handsome face, I found myself increasingly exhausted… and seriously envious of those flowing drinks. With just sixty guests, we went through wine, beer, champagne, vodka and rum for 100 and someone had to go back out for wine and beer twice… yet none of the delicious elixir, save about a half a glass of rose champagne, passed my poor, deprived, expectant lips. (Never mind that I was willing to drink the whole glass, too – I just couldn’t!) Plus, while I soaked in the beauty of the warm, Malibu night, delighted that it had turned out just as I’d hoped, there was a part of me (a very physical part) that just couldn’t wait to go to bed! Trouble is, it wasn’t for the sordid wedding night debauchery a Coco de Mer-loving girl like me associates with tying the knot (um, sex drive – what’s that?). I wanted to go to sleep!
Still, at the end of that day (and every day that has been any kind of struggle), I’ve been able to assuage myself with the prize I get at the end of this nine (or really, ten) month rollercoaster: a bouncing baby boy who will be (for lack of a better term), my disciple. Naturally, as pregnant women for centuries have known, this makes the struggle worthwhile. But today, as I recover from a virus (let’s face it, being sick while pregnant sucks even more than usual), it’s nice not to feel any of the downsides of the experience. For the past three days, as I’ve rested, trying to recover without risking decongestants or sleep aids, little Dash has been more active than ever. His movements have gotten more consistent and I think I’ve been able to discern the difference between kicks/punches and actual changes in position. Last night, I swear I could feel his head near my right hip and his feet near my left ribs. (A previously unmentioned fact is that he’s measuring a full two weeks ahead in terms of size. So maybe I’m imagining that he’s already taking up my entire uterus at 26 1/2 weeks… and maybe he actually is.) And cooler still, this morning he woke me with a series of little flips (which he is replicating as I type this). It feels like some crazy combination of gas (admittedly, there’s no shortage of that these days)… and magic.
In short, today I am in love with this time in my life. Next week I have the dreaded glucose test (there’s an orange flavored beverage waiting in my fridge), a baby registry to construct (any suggestions?) and an email list for shower invites to get to my friends (which includes procuring emails from my husband, in itself a task)… All of this I’m sure will stress me out, especially when combined with writing and reorganizing the house to accommodate wedding gifts. In the meantime however, as I feel awed and excited by the moment and for the uncertainty that lies ahead, I’m going to settle into my little cocoon of contentment and be grateful for all the goodness that has come my way.
God knows, things could change any second. So I might as well enjoy it!
Tags: alcohol, elation, exhaustion, mood swings, sex drive
Posted in Pregnancy, Uncategorized | No Comments »
Friday, September 25th, 2009
Here’s the scoop. Six months ago, I was busy planning my wedding (a casual, elegant affair I had no financial business throwing, but had scheduled for September all the same), when… well… let’s just say my mood dipped, drastically. My boobs hurt, I couldn’t sleep through the night and if I didn’t kill myself any second, I was certainly going to brutally murder The (poor, unfortunate) Limey I’d agreed to marry a few months before. Though I will admit that a certain amount of tempestuousness is part of my Scorpio nature (Sun, Moon and three other planets all in the sign of the stinger, tyvm), this was not a normal state of affairs for me… at least not exactly. You see, six weeks earlier I had begun bioidentical hormone therapy to treat my low estrogen and testosterone (not typical conditions at my age, but just two of my four endocrine issues all the same)… and it was working. The black cloud of spiked cortisol had dissipated, my energy was improving and—best of all—my libido was returning after a six-month hibernation!! In fact, for the first time since my rollercoaster of hormone disorders began (robbing me of vitality and signaling a cruel “welcome to your 30s, kid!”), I felt just as I always had prior to these problems… in other words, like nothing could stop me.
Until, one morning in early April, I didn’t. And understandably (after three years of yo-yoing treatments, none of which seemed to do the trick for more than a few weeks), I was terrified. Especially when the feeling got worse… and worse… and worse. Not only was I nauseated and teary 24/7, but I couldn’t bring myself to write (which I have to do to make a living) and I didn’t want to get out of bed! Worried that recovery was all a hoax and that the once vibrant, sassy, sexy Stephanie would heretofore be replaced with an angry, a-sexual, acid-tongued shrew I couldn’t stand to face in the mirror, I was ready to crawl in a hole and die… When, one Friday evening (following a few glasses of medicinal Veuve Clicquot at the Avalon), I found out I had another thing coming.
You guessed it, (though let’s be honest, it shouldn’t be too hard since this blog is on The Cradle), turned out, I was pregnant.
Two positive pee sticks, a blood test, six ultrasounds and some 24 weeks later, I am officially nearing the end of the second trimester of my very first (albeit totally unplanned) pregnancy… And already, so much about my life has changed. I survived the stress of planning a wedding, am now happily (though very newly) married and am sporting a basketball sized belly inside which a little boy by the name of Dashiell Alexander currently resides, listening to my every word and kicking me on occasion (though only when I deserve it). I have also been introduced (and indoctrinated into) a world of acronyms, abbreviations and information I didn’t previously know existed (BFP, SAHM, MIL?!), and I’ve been touched as my friends with children have come out of the woodwork, willing to listen and eager to share the experiences of being a parent. I’ve even begun to feel closer to my own mom (despite the fact that she drives me crazy sometimes!), simply because I can now truly understand the bond that she feels to me as her (only) child. But there is still one catch in this blissfully happy, joyous, insta-family situation. A catch I haven’t shared with my DH or the army of supporters who have offered their help, advice and understanding… mostly because I feel too selfish admitting that I’m what’s been on my mind these days.
You see, while I’m extremely excited for Dashiell’s arrival and thrilled about becoming a mom… at the same time, I’m nervous—scared really—about what exactly, is going to become of me. All these new titles (wife, mother-to-be, mother), the stuff we spend our young lives aspiring to… but now what? Who am I really? For the first time in my life, I feel less certain about my future than I ever have before. Will my career disappear just as it was starting to take off? Will my goals all change in the face of this little person who has already become the center of my universe? Who will I become?
(And most importantly, will that person have stretch marks?)
Luckily, I’ve got three months before little Dash arrives to figure it all out. And whilst chronicling my misadventures, figuring it all out is exactly what I will try to do here, in this blog. So wish me luck and please, join me. God knows, I need all the help I can get!
Tags: fear, hormones, individuality, mood swings, uncertainty
Posted in Pregnancy, Uncategorized | No Comments »
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