Monday, December 8, 2008

Hudson's Birth Story


Our little one is three weeks old today, and while I have a quiet moment between feeding, changing, soothing, cuddling, playing with, and gazing at that amazing creature, I wanted to capture my memories of how she came into the world before they escape me forever. There are a few mildly gory details, so consider yourself warned.

On November 17, Ed and I went in for what had by then become weekly obstetrician appointments. I was just turning 37 weeks and so was considered to be full-term. Much to our complete surprise, the doctor checked me and told me I was already 2 cm dilated and about 70% effaced. Ed and I were both in shock-- just five days before, my cervix was totally closed. If anything, we were preparing for the baby to be born late, as many, if not most, first babies are. The doctor said the dilation and effacement didn't really mean anything-- many women walked around for several more weeks in that condition. Nonetheless, as first time parents who had not yet even gotten around to purchasing a CAR SEAT yet, we were totally freaked out. And I had several projects that I needed to finish up at work before I would feel comfortable going out on leave. I worked furiously the next few days, and we took an uncharacteristic weeknight trip to Babies R Us to buy the car seat two nights later. We then went on a shopping spree for all the remaining baby stuff we "needed" that weekend. The whole time, I was just hoping the baby would not come too soon! One of my colleagues at work just laughed at me, saying I was the only 37-week pregnant woman she'd ever known who was trying to keep the baby IN instead of trying to get it OUT. When I went in for my next appointment on November 24, nothing had changed, but the doctor immediately said, "Whoa, the baby's head is low!" Once again, I could not believe that she could already feel the baby's head. But she said I could still easily go another two weeks or even beyond the due date before delivery.

But I had a feeling-- I don't know if it was just a hunch or, by this point (since we were finally prepared with all our baby stuff), wishful thinking -- but I was starting to feel like the baby was definitely not going to wait until the due date to arrive. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving (about 4 days before Hudson was born), I started having Braxton Hicks contractions, which are basically fake contractions that are simply getting your body prepared for the real thing. They were totally painless, but a little uncomfortable, as they made me feel like my abdomen was kind of being squeezed momentarily in a vise. The weird thing about them was they were extremely regular-- they were coming about 4 minutes apart for most of the day. I called the doula and we agreed that it was probably nothing (she was planning to go out of town for Thanksgiving weekend, an arrangement we'd already totally agreed upon, but she was going to feel awful if the baby came early and we had to use her backup instead). But still, I had this feeling. Before I left work on Wednesday, I cleaned up my desk, threw out the food in the fridge, sent wrap up emails to people about the status of my projects, put in my final time entries, and left, thinking it was unlikely I would be coming back until the spring. Turned out I was right.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Ed and I had a nice Thanksgiving dinner with friends here in D.C., drove out to a farm in Maryland that Friday to cut down a Christmas tree, got the car seat inspected and finished putting together the Turtle's room and other stuff on Saturday. We went to sleep Saturday night and by this point, I had reconciled myself to the fact that the baby was NOT coming that weekend and that I was going to have to go back to the office Monday.

I woke up about 4AM to go to the bathroom. It was dark in the bathroom and I was groggy, but I just happened to look down at the toilet before I flushed and realized I had passed a lot of what they call "bloody show" (I won't get any more detailed than that-- if you want to know more, you can look it up!), which is among the signs that labor really may be imminent (although again, it's never a sure thing). As I went back to bed, I felt what I thought might really be a contraction-- the same tensing/squeezing feeling as I had gotten with the Braxton Hicks contractions, but this time accompanied by what felt like mild to moderate menstrual cramps. Our doula, Sarah, had stressed over and over that if you wake up feeling contractions, you should immediately try to go back to sleep because the business of labor is long and hard and the more rest you can get ahead of time, the better. So I didn't wake up Ed, and while I tried to go back to sleep, but while I dozed, I kept feeling the contractions and for at least an hour, kept checking the clock to see if they were coming regularly. They seemed to be about 10 minutes or so apart at that point. I did catch a few extra hours of sleep finally, and when Ed and I both woke up around 7:30, I told him I thought the baby might be ready to come that day, but I wasn't sure. The contractions were still so mild, and having never had another baby before, and having friends who had gone for a week or more with regular mild contractions but no baby, I was convinced it wasn't the real thing.

I kept timing them and they were coming anywhere from 4 to 6 minutes apart, fairly regularly, although sometimes they would stretch for longer periods and sometimes would come even more frequently. But they didn't appear to be getting much worse, which would have been a sure sign that I was really in labor. I called Sarah around 10:30 and told her what was happening and we agreed to check back in periodically throughout the day. In the meantime, Ed and I both spent a few hours doing some work in hopes we could wrap up anything critical in case this really was the real thing. Most of the day passed that way-- I didn't really want to call anyone just yet because I just wasn't sure if I was really in labor and didn't want to get anyone excited for nothing. So I got busy decorating the house, hoping to have it all done in case the baby was on its way.

Finally, around 7 or so, the contractions seemed to be getting worse, but they still weren't coming like clockwork. They were bad enough that I could no longer talk during them, and during several phone calls (because by this time I figured I should start putting people on the baby alert), I had to put the phone down for a minute so I could do my Lamaze breathing through the contractions. It was so wild. I called my dad, and, believing there was no way the baby was going to come before the next afternoon, told him he could probably wait and come up first thing in the morning-- his goal had been to be at the hospital when the baby arrived, and given that first babies usually take a LONG time to actually come once they've made their intentions known to do so, I figured he was safe arriving around 10AM or so. Little did I know. . .

I checked in with Sarah around 10PM and she could tell that something had changed when I could not talk through the contractions anymore. We agreed that Ed and I would spend an hour of quiet time at home focusing on our exercises to see if we could manage without her for a while longer-- we'd both been so busy calling people, etc., we hadn't really been doing our breathing or other comfort measures, so we figured we'd try them before having Sarah come over to help. But by 10:45 or so, the contractions were getting worse and were regularly coming about 4 minutes apart. We started to get worried that we'd need to go to the hospital sooner rather than later (I had been advised by the doctor to come in when they were 5 minutes apart, but had already told the doctor I was going to try to labor at home as long as I could and would probably not come in until they were 3-4 minutes apart), so we decided to have Sarah come on over.

In the meantime, I got in the shower, which helped tremendously, as I was able to direct the shower head massager straight to my back and belly, where things were getting seriously painful. The shower also helped to relax me in general-- I had spent the last several days wondering why, exactly, I had decided to go for a natural birth. While I had made the decision early on to try, I couldn’t really articulate my reasons why—it just seemed like the right thing for me. But as the contractions got worse, my resolve began to weaken—what was really the big deal about getting the epidural? More than 50% of women having babies use them. I hardly knew a single person who hadn’t had one. So anyway, the shower helped calm me somewhat, and I got into a zone with my slow breathing while we waited for Sarah.

Sarah arrived sometime between 11 and midnight. She sat quietly with us for a while, and encouraged Ed to take a nap for a bit. He tried, but couldn’t do much more than doze. Sarah had brought her rice bag—a large sock filled with rice that she heated up to apply to my belly or back—and it was awesome. Her saying was always that while you can’t take away the pain, you can change the sensation of the pain, and the rice bag was great at that.

At some point, I remembered that she had told us that keeping your bladder and bowels empty was also a good way to relieve some pain, as it would remove some pressure and keep making room for the baby to come down. So I went ahead to the bathroom and “emptied” both—not really emptied, but definitely moved some things around. (And having contractions while sitting on the toilet is really just not fun). Lo and behold, the contractions really kicked up afterwards and were coming 2 minutes apart or closer. My water still had not broken by this point, but we decided with the contractions that close together, we should probably go ahead and head for the hospital. Ed started loading up the car while I labored through the worst of the contractions I’d had so far (but little did I know how much worse they would get). I was in a lot of pain and definitely starting to doubt my decision to deliver naturally. Once the car was loaded up, I got in (hot rice bag on my belly the whole time, mind you) and we headed for the hospital. It was about 2AM at this point.

We arrived at the hospital and Ed and Sarah both needed to park, so Ed dropped me at the front entrance. I felt a little weird going into the lobby alone (and having serious contractions at this point), so I sat down on the bench outside and breathed in the cold air. About 5 minutes later, Ed and Sarah walk up, carrying a dizzying array of things I’d decided I would need in the hospital, the most conspicuous of which were the big red exercise/birthing ball and a huge trash bag carrying pillows for Ed and me, and a quilt for Ed in case he needed it to sleep. After the front desk made Ed and Sarah both sign in and get photo badges, we headed up to labor and delivery. When the charge nurse saw us and all our stuff, she said, “I sure hope you are getting admitted.” Here I was, leaning over the counter and moaning softly in pain as contraction after contraction hit me and she’s doubting whether I’m going to get admitted? It should have been obvious to anyone that this was neither a false alarm nor the very early stages of labor where they would likely send me back home to wait it out.

Anyway, they put me in a triage/assessment room and hooked me up to two monitors, one for the baby’s heartbeat and one for contractions. They would only let one person in the triage room at first, so Ed stayed in there and Sarah sat in the waiting area. I went to the bathroom and passed a lot more “show,” which freaked me out, but led me to believe that I was pretty far along. The stupid bed in the triage room would not incline and there was no way I could lie flat on my back, so I kind of turned on my side and was terribly uncomfortable. I was in a LOT of pain at this point and my resolve was really weakening. I was hoping a doctor would come in and check me and tell me that I was 7 or 8 cm dilated—then I might have felt like I could make it. Instead, the resident came in to check me and said I was dilated 5 cm. I immediately gasped, “No!” She said, “Is that good?” (she definitely thought it was), and I said, “No!” I totally lost it and burst into tears. Ed says I curled into fetal position. I remember telling Ed tearfully, “I have to get the drugs—I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t.” He said he would support whatever I wanted to do, but asked me if I wanted him to get Sarah and I said yes. Fortunately, they let her in to the triage room along with Ed (I think they were a little shell-shocked seeing a woman in active labor who had not had an epidural—I don’t think they were used to seeing women in the kind of pain I was in). She talked me off the ledge a bit at that point, and told me that I was way more than halfway there—more like 2/3 to ¾ of the way there, and that once they broke my water, I would “cruise” the rest of the way. I was still skeptical and was really considering throwing in the towel. To make matters worse, another nurse kept asking me if I wanted anything for pain, that it was too late for Demerol, but that I could still get an epidural. She continued to ask this even after being told, more than once, that I was trying to do this without drugs. Again, it was almost like they couldn’t even understand the concept of a woman who wanted no pain relief. After about the fourth time she asked, I finally said, rather desperately, “Do I have to decide this right now?” I was on the brink and knew I should at least wait until I got to a labor and delivery suite and into a more comfortable position where I could focus on my exercises. And part of me didn’t want to let Sarah down. I knew she would support whatever decision I made, but I also knew that she wanted to help me achieve my goal of delivering naturally, and that she would feel like she had failed if I didn’t. The nurses told me I wouldn’t get any drugs until I got to the L&D room anyway, so I had a momentary reprieve from my self-preservation instinct, which was telling me to GET THE DRUGS! NOW!

Finally, after about 45 minutes in the triage room (with very little explanation as to why it was taking so long for them to prepare an L&D room for me), they were finally ready to move me to and L&D room. I was so out of it, I did not realize until later that the nurse had me walk down the hallway in nothing but a hospital gown—I was terrified of having a contraction while standing, and of course, had two on my way to the room and had to lean over and hold onto the handrail on the wall for about a minute each time, trying to breathe my way through the pain. The nurse, Barbara (who would be our nurse for most of the rest of the labor), asked which childbirth classes I had taken, and when I said Lamaze, she started reminding me about breathing tips: “Did you take your cleansing breath?” and so on. A little annoying, but I was glad she at least seemed to know something about it.

At last, we reached the L&D room, and I asked if I could get in the shower before they hooked me up to the monitors again, and Barbara agreed. Sarah put the exercise ball into the shower for me to sit on and I got in, and used the shower massager head to try to “change the sensation” of the terrible pain I was experiencing in both my belly and my back. I was also starting to experience a lot of pressure, feeling like the baby was really pushing down, and it was awful. It was a different sensation from the pain of the contractions, but it was equally uncomfortable (to put it very, very mildly). And because I had to support myself on the ball, I couldn’t get into a very comfortable position—the shower was pretty small, and I tried to lean my head against the wall, but it was cold, hard tile. I stayed in the shower for about 45 minutes (so I was told—I was past the point of having any sense of time whatsoever at this point) and was convinced that it was not helping. At one point, I clearly remember saying to Ed, “I am completely miserable.” I don’t really remember getting out of the shower, except I recall wanting to get to the bed as fast as possible— I remember Sarah had to stop me and tell me to let her dry me off.

Most of the rest of the labor is a blur, with a few moments of clarity. Ed would probably be able to correct some details and the order in which things happened, but this is how I remember it. Sometime after I got into the bed, I remember we started talking about the possibility of getting a doctor to break my water to make the process go faster—again, I was already feeling a lot of terrible pressure, like I wanted to push, but they couldn’t let me push until I was fully dilated. I remember we got Barbara to come in and check me, and I was already up to 8-9 cm dilated. At that point, I basically gave up on the idea of the epidural—I figured either that it was too late to get it (not the case, I later learned) or that I had made it this far, so I might as well suck it up. I think it was then that we asked if there was any way they could go ahead and break my water, but Barbara said she could feel the membranes of the amniotic sac right on the baby’s head, so there was really no point in breaking my water yet (at least I think that’s what she was trying to say). I was desperate at this point—somehow, the breaking of my water had become my only hope, the holy grail, and I wanted it DONE. Barbara said something like, “You know, when I was in labor, I was 9cm dilated and they broke my water and it didn’t make any difference.” Even in my haze, I was with it enough to say to her, “That is NOT helping!” I guess she left the room then, because I remember that at some point, I was wailing that I really felt like I needed to push, so Sarah buzzed the nurse’s station. Barbara came in and checked me again, and told me to push down on her fingers with the next contraction. That did the trick and I dilated the rest of the way. After that, I started pushing with each contraction, and it felt great.

Finally, we were all desperate to get my water broken. Somehow, a resident came in to check me and she said of course we could break the water, and that it was probably only the amniotic sac that was keeping the baby from dropping the rest of the way into the birth canal. But apparently, my doctor had given instructions to wait until she arrived before they broke my water. The nurse had been telling us for a while that they had paged my doctor and she was on her way in—but they had been saying this for a long time, it seemed, and she still hadn’t shown up. Finally, the resident decided they shouldn’t wait on the doctor anymore, but she had to find my nurse before she could break my water. My nurse had apparently gone on break (while I was 8-9 cm dilated, mind you) – a different nurse stopped in but told us she couldn’t do anything, because she had her own patients to attend to.

At last, the resident and the nurse were in the room at the same time, and they broke my water—very little came out. After that, I don’t remember a whole lot except the pushing. Sarah was holding up my right leg and Ed was holding up my left, and I was grabbing my thighs and pushing forward with all my strength. Sarah and the nurse kept trying to instruct me to push with my stomach and diaphragm and not with my head, but it was really hard to figure out how to do it right! I remember I kept worrying about bursting a blood vessel in my head or cutting off oxygen to the baby, but I couldn’t figure out how not to make the blood rush to my head. I did three full pushes with each contraction, rested a little, and then let everyone know another contraction was coming, and we’d go again. I recall beginning to feel very faint at some points and wondering how much longer I could sustain this. I remember Sarah kept looking down between my legs, and I asked her what she was looking at. She said she wouldn’t if I didn’t want her to, and I almost laughed—I was not concerned about that at all. I just wanted to know what we were looking for, and was hoping we were looking for the baby crowning, because I hoped that would mean I would be finished soon! But I didn’t need any help to know when the baby was crowning—I remember that moment with absolute clarity-- although it hurt like hell (there is a reason they call it “the ring of fire”), I remember being amazed that I could actually feel it. It was hard to believe it was really happening at that point.

Then, at some point, I was aware of a lot of commotion in the room, and I could tell they were breaking down the end of the bed, meaning they were getting ready to deliver the baby. But I was really in another world by then, so all of this was happening only at the very edges of my consciousness. I was told later that I only pushed for 30-40 minutes—again, I have no concept of this at all. I have a vague recollection of people telling me to push, and then suddenly, they were holding this baby up in front of me. I don’t remember if it was screaming (Ed said yes) and I don’t remember anyone telling me whether it was a boy or a girl (I’m sure they did). I looked myself and immediately turned to Ed and said, “It’s a girl!” and started crying (that is, I started crying happy tears, rather than tears of pain). Even though I never really admitted it and would, of course, have been just as thrilled to have a boy, some part of me really wanted a girl, and I was so happy. The next thing I remember is that I started struggling to get out of my hospital gown, which Ed had tied pretty snugly in the bag—I was trying to rip it off, because they were going to give Hudson (she had her name long before she was born) to me and I had read how skin-to-skin contact during these first few moments was really important to successful breastfeeding. I finally got the gown off, with help, and they placed that precious creature on my chest—all of a sudden, it was as if the previous 12 or so hours had not even happened. I didn’t notice that she was covered in blood and goop (I saw this only later in the photos of these first moments)—all I saw was an amazing little person whose life was now entrusted to me. I was overwhelmed and overjoyed. They left her there for a long while—pretty much the entire time the doctor was stitching some minor tears (my doctor had finally arrived about 10 minutes after Hudson was born, so all she got to do was stitch me up—a not-so-nice job since the lidocaine kept failing on her, or more importantly, ON ME!). Then they took her for a few minutes to weigh her, etc., and then brought her back so we could try breastfeeding. After a few tries in a few different positions, we figured it out. It was not as easy as I had expected it to be (and as it later became), and I was both relieved and astounded when she finally latched on.

Finally, all the doctors and nurses left the room for a few minutes and Ed and I were suddenly alone with this creature we had made. She was swaddled in a hospital receiving blanket and a little hat, and was completely asleep. She had apparently worked as hard as I had and was ready to rest. We were tired, too, obviously (I had been awake for 27 hours at this point, and had labored hard through about 12 of them), but were filled with such love and joy, we could hardly breathe, let alone think about sleeping. We were beginning a new path on our journey together with our beautiful daughter, so we just took a deep breath and enjoyed the moment.

The family's first moments alone

Some Final Pictures

Obviously overdue (as our gorgeous little girl is currently napping in the next room), here are the pictures of Hudson's room and the final belly pictures we took about 6 days before she was born.







Turtle's Shell at 38 Weeks

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Motherless Mothers

My mother would have turned 63 years old today. She died almost six years ago after a very short but very awful battle with pancreatic cancer. I have thought many times about how I would feel one day when I was expecting a child without her to share the experience with. Would I experience my loss all over again? Now I am here, and really, I still don't think I am totally in tune with those feelings. And maybe I won't until after the baby is born. Because this is my first child, I don't know what role an expecting mother's mother usuallys play in these circumstances, so I guess in one way, I don't really know what I'm missing.

But on the other hand, there is a definite feeling of something missing. The other day, I had to ask my dad whether my mother had breast-fed me-- it obviously never occurred to me to ask her while she was alive. I go to Babies R Us and see other pregnant women shopping there with their mothers, getting advice about what to buy or register for as they go along (and many thanks to my wonderful dad for being a trooper and going stroller shopping with me, offering his valuable opinions about how easily certain models would fold or steer or fit on the train). And while my dear friend Jessica has been a constant source of advice about all things pregnancy-related (it helps that she's a doctor, too, although I try not to abuse my friend privileges too much), I haven't been able to call my mom and ask her if something I am experiencing is normal. And while I have several other "mothers" in my family (in the form of very kind and supportive sisters, aunts, and cousins), all of whom I love and am so grateful for, there's something that just seems different about having your own mom to call in a panic at 3AM when your baby won't stop crying. And I'm just very, very sad not to have that.

I've also thought a great deal about what kind of mother I want to be, especially in relationship to the kind of mother that I had. My mom had many wonderful qualities-- she was a very deep thinker, a beautiful writer and singer, an amazing cook, a sometimes craft artist, a passionate and headstrong woman, and her love for us, albeit sometimes poorly expressed, was a force to be reckoned with. But she also struggled hard with so many demons that haunted her for her entire life-- having been neglected and taken for granted as a child, she was terribly insecure in her relationships, suffered from near-debilitating anxiety about so many things, had difficulty self-actualizing in most of the many endeavors she decided to try, and was, I think, very lonely for most of her life because she never found a way to connect deeply with those around her, including her own kids. She and I fought endlessly, even through my young adulthood, but almost always reconciled in a heap of tears and apologies. I resisted her smothering and hovering but craved their counterparts, her spoiling and nurturing. Her favorite time of year was Christmas. It was then that she could truly shine-- she was a whiz with decorations and she wrapped every package, even the ones for the little kids who could care less, with exquisite care and thought. She took great pride in finding the perfect gifts, and lots of them. She was her best self when she was doing for others, in part because it was then that she could feel best about herself, delighting in the praise and admiration she received for her efforts.

I see a great deal of my mother in myself, both the good and the bad. My task now is to figure out if it's possible to consciously channel the good parts, and to at least be aware of, if not altogether weed out, the bad, if it's possible to honor the way I was raised but also to forge my own path with my family. I've already spent a great deal of time and money in therapy trying to figure these things out, and no doubt will spend more before it's all over. But I do feel strongly that I owe it to my mother, to myself and to my children to be the best of what she was to me, and to avoid, to the extent possible, doing the things she did that I felt hurt me most. I think she would be OK with that. I constantly wish that I had the thirty-plus extra years I expected to have to talk it all out with her.

In closing, I will reprint the lyrics of the song that was playing on the stereo in my parents' living room as my mother died, stubborn and upright in her wheelchair until the end, with all of us holding on to her. My siblings and I have often pondered how apropos that song was for that moment, for that woman. I don't really know what I believe about an afterlife, but I know my mother fervently believed that she would join Jesus in heaven when she died. If that is true, I hope that she is finally free and that she can now see what she has made and be content.

I love you, Mom. I wish you were here.


WHEN MY MORNING COMES AROUND by Iris Dement

When my morning comes around, no one else will be there
So I won't have to worry about what I'm supposed to say
And I alone will know that I climbed that great big mountain,
And that's all that will matter when my mornin' comes around

When my morning comes around, I will look back on this valley
At these sidewalks and alleys where I lingered for so long...
And this place where I now live will burn to ash and cinder
Like some ghost I won't remember when my mornin' comes around

When my morning comes around, from a new cup I'll be drinking
And for once I won't be thinking that there's something wrong with me
And I'll wake up and find that my faults have been forgiven
And that's when I'll start living . . . when my mornin' comes around

Monday, October 13, 2008

New (Old) Belly Pictures...

Here are the more recent pictures of the Turtle's shell... doesn't look like a whole lot of difference to me between 26 and 30 weeks, but see what you think!




26 weeks



30 weeks

Monday, October 6, 2008

Stroller Sagas...

Ok, YES, I know that if THIS is the thing causing me the most stress right now, I am pretty doggone lucky (wink). You betcha-- just call me Joe sixpack with Main Street problems. (And yes, the thinly-veiled reference I am making is actually what is causing me the most stress right now).

But man, choosing a stroller (OK, more than one, because it has become obvious that it will be hard to get by with just one) is like going into one of those old-fashioned candy shops and being told you can only buy one thing! Which one will you choose? Do you want hard candy or chocolate? If you want hard candy, which flavor do you want? If chocolate, do you want milk, dark, mint, peanut butter, blah, blah, blah? Or maybe you really want salt-water taffy! Or gum!? AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

That is pretty much what it's like trying to pick out a stroller, except in this case, you can't just pick whatever you're in the mood for. There are so many things to think about-- size (will it fit in the trunk of the Saturn?), weight (will it be easy to haul up and down Metro stairs when the escalator is ALWAYS broken?), durability (will it withstand the daily walks over beat-up sidewalks to and from the Metro every day), maneuverability (will it easily fit ONTO the Metro, especially when it's standing room only?), cost (is it priced for normal people and not celebrity moms and dads?), safety (does it have a 5-point harness?), comfort (does it recline at all so the Turtle can nap in it?), longevity (how early can we start using it? for how long?), reviews (do more parents love it than hate it?). It's a mess. I've pored and pored over Consumer Reports and online reviews and my Baby Bargains and there's just no consensus. Sigh.

Oh, well, like I said, if this is my biggest problem right now, I count myself pretty fortunate. And fortunate I am. Amazing husband, supportive family, excellent friends, world's best dog, warm home, food when I want it, and, in about nine weeks, a wonderful little creature that will call me "Mom" (still-frightening thought though that is). Fortunate indeed. Stroller schmoller.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

I'm baaaccckk!

So I will freely admit that I am the world's worst blogger. Why would anyone keep coming back to read it when I only update it every three weeks?? My sweet sister on the West Coast who I don't talk to nearly enough emailed me to let me know she checks it every night to see if there are any updates. I am a terrible blogger . . . which, yet again, makes me fret about motherhood. You know, in my dream mother world, I wanna be one of these killer moms who leaves surprises in their kids' lunchboxes and coat pockets and always has creative ideas for how to spend a rainy day, blah blah blah. But the ENERGY . . . the main reason I haven't blogged in days and days and days is not necessarily that I haven't had the time. I've certainly had some time, even if not a lot. It's more the emotional (and creative) energy it takes to commit to doing it. There's a bit of performance pressure knowing that everyone is out there reading your thoughts. Do I really have anything interesting to say? Are the posts clever enough? Do they make people want to read more? What will the Turtle think one day when it reads its mom's first thoughts about it? A person could go nuts, especially when I know (rationally) that most people who are reading just want to know how things are going-- they're not necessarily tuning in for entertainment value. So sometimes I get tired just THINKING about the blog! But the blog I can turn off-- parenting I can't. It's rather daunting to consider. I know that as a parent, there are going to be times (probably lots of them) where I am going to let my kids down. But knowing that doesn't make it any better to look forward to . . .

Anyway, now that I've sufficiently thrashed myself, on to the update part! Part of the reason (only a small part) that I haven't written much is there hasn't been a whole lot exciting going on. Probably the biggest thing going on in Turtle-land is that Ed and I finished our Lamaze class last week. I became more convinced than I was going into the class that I really want to try to make it through labor and delivery without an epidural. I can't really explain why-- it's just a strong feeling that I have that it just seems like the right way for me. So we decided to hire a labor doula. Luckily, our Lamaze teacher is a certified labor doula herself, and Ed and I really liked her approach throughout our class. While she definitely has a bias towards no unnecessary interventions, she also sees her role as helping the mom and dad have whatever kind of birth experience they want to have. She's also extraordinarily knowledgeable and has a ton of experience with births, which is what I think really makes the most difference, especially for first-timers like us. Just knowing that she will be there for both Ed and me makes us feel considerably less apprehensive about the birth than I was feeling before (to the extent I was thinking about the birth at all! It's pretty easy to just tune out of all the stuff that happens when pregnancy comes to an end!). Another big advantage that we have is living about 5 minutes from the hospital, with no bad traffic patterns in our way. So unless my water breaks before I go into labor, we have the luxury to pretty much stay at home as long as we want to, which will make getting through early labor a lot easier. Again, it's all hard to imagine at this point, but at least we'll be as prepared as we can be. Now if we could only find time to practice all those breathing exercises . . .

We've been trying, slowly, to get around to participating in the HUGE consumer industry that is baby goods, but time keeps eluding us. There's a million things you can buy, but only a few dozen you really need. And for each of those things, there is an equally dizzying number of choices for which one to get. Again, every time I boot up the computer and start looking online at carseats, strollers, bathtubs, I just get tired. I know I've got to get a grip on it sooner or later, or else the Turtle will end up sleeping in a laundry basket wearing its dad's old Carolina t-shirts. Our plan is to hit Babies R Us this Saturday to start making some decisions. Maybe actually being in the store will force my hand??!!

On another Turtle-related front, I started taking knitting classes again, and this time have made enough progress that I think I probably won't put it back in the closet. Finding time is difficult, as always, but knitting is very meditative, and at least for what I'm doing now, is very easy but leads to a tremendous sense of accomplishment. Right now, I'm working on what the pattern calls the "8-hour baby blanket." I don't know about the 8-hour part, but I'm making at least some progress on my first homemade project for the Turtle. I picked a lime green color to match some of the nursery colors, and am about 1/8 of the way through. I'm reading a pattern and counting stitches for the first time, and it's amazing how it all comes together! Even though we still haven't done ANYTHING with the nursery (people keep saying we have plenty of time, but I keep thinking "We've been saying that for three months now!"), the Turtle will at least have a homemade blanket waiting for it when it arrives!

As for the Turtle itself, it has been having some rocking good time lately. At my last doctor's visit (about a week and a half ago), the doctor said I should start doing kick counts on a daily basis. Once you're past 28 weeks, the baby (supposedly!) starts to grow out of room to move as much, so kick counts are a good way to keep track of how active the baby is and to know whether the baby might be in distress. The idea is to see how long it takes for it to move ten times-- if it's under two hours, then everything is fine, as long as there hasn't been a big change in the pattern of movements. Well, I started keeping track, but quit after a few days because this thing KICKS ALL THE TIME! I think Ed was right that we have some kind of athlete growing in here. It's so funny, too, because it is always on the right side of my belly, and sometimes it downright tickles. A friend had told me this before, but there is truly nothing more surreal than sitting and watching something contort, roll around, and pop under the skin on your tummy-- it's really like having an alien in there (when I told my knitting teacher that we were calling the baby "The Turtle," she told me they called their first child the "UFO"-- "unidentified fetal object"-- pretty appropriate). It's wild. I am also starting to feel body parts pressing outward sometimes. Even though I can't really tell what they are (one always assumes it's feet, but who knows until a picture tells you how the baby's positioned!), it's still pretty amazing to experience.

I also had my rhoGAM shot at the last appointment-- this is the shot I have to get because I have rh negative blood. If Ed happens to have rh positive blood, then something can go jabberwocky with my antibodies, which is not a problem for this pregnancy, but could mean trouble for the next one, because the new antibodies could attack a future fetus. Or something like that. I just gritted my teeth and took the shot in my shoulder-- OUCH.

Anyway, that was a lot of chatter, but it pretty much gets you up to speed. We'll take another belly pic this week and post it (along with the 26- week picture I have yet to post!) so you can see the progress there. Quite frankly, I don't think I look even close to being almost 7 months pregnant, but I'll let you judge for yourself. I guess being tall has its advantages.

Once again, I will try to improve my blogging frequency . . . stay tuned.

And P.S.: The Turtle met the future first lady last night. I got a little teary speaking with her, just thinking about the two completely different worlds my child could potentially be born into. She hugged us and reassured us that we were all going to get Barack elected. It was awesome. And I sure hope she's right-- I know Ed and I are working very hard for it. OBAMABABY!

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Baby, Meet Biden. Biden, Meet Baby


The Turtle took its first journey into the world of politics on Thursday. Ed and I have both become very involved with DC Young Lawyers for Obama and had the opportunity to attend a reception with Senator Biden on Thursday night. The senator delivered a fantastic speech, noting that this election is the most important of our collective lifetimes. After the speech concluded, Ed and I got in the handshake line. When Senator Biden reached us, I told him we were expecting our first child in December, and that, as a result, I could not agree with him more about how important this election is (more on that in a subsequent blog, I think). He flashed that million watt grin and asked, "Can I rub your belly? I'm Irish. It's lucky!" Now whether the luck is intended for us and the Turtle or for Barack and him, I'm not sure, but either way sounded pretty good to me, so of course, I agreed (and thereafter marveled that he may be the first person who has actually asked before touching my belly). After we took the picture, he leaned in and said quietly, "You know, kids are really the greatest thing in the world." Again, I couldn't agree more. Good luck, Barack and Joe. We're all counting on you.


Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Our first Lamaze class...

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can . . . ." The Lamaze teacher said that 90% of making it through a natural childbirth is your frame of mind. I totally believe that. I was just saying to Ed the night before our first class that although I really like the idea of delivering without an epidural, it is really hard to imagine myself toughing it through all that pain. I've never even broken a bone, for pete's sake. Trying to fathom an unfathomable pain and envisioning yourself willing yourself through it is pretty difficult. Good lord, I read the other day that some women emerge from labor with bruises on THEIR FACES AND CHESTS, just from straining so hard while pushing. Holy crap.

All that said, the first class actually did wonders in terms of improving my confidence. The teacher is also a labor doula, so she has assisted in a LOT of deliveries. That alone gives me confidence that she knows what she's talking about when she describes all the different ways to get through this. She also starts from the point of view that it's totally fine if you decide to go epidural, but if you want to do it naturally, you WILL get through it, and that the Lamaze techniques will help either way.

We learned a slow breathing technique that we're supposed to use once contractions begin, and although it's kind of hard to imagine doing it through a contraction, it is rather amazing how quickly the time passes when you're concentrating on your breathing. I would get through one long breath and she would already have counted off half of the contraction (they usually last 45 seconds to a minute). I started thinking, "Maybe this won't be impossible after all." But again, the unfathomable part (not to mention the facial bruising) is pretty disturbing.

More than anything, the Lamaze class just brought home again how close this little Turtle is getting to its arrival. Most of the other women in the class are significantly farther along than we are-- most are due in early to mid-October. We're taking the class now because they weren't offering one in October, and the Turtle might just decide to come a tad early before we would even be able to finish the November class! Just thinking about how close it is getting boggles the mind. Anyway, starting to think in all seriousness about the actual delivery is pretty freaky. You're pregnant for so long, and you read all the "books" about being pregnant-- you don't think much about the delivery, let alone what comes afterward. It really takes a moment (or several) to start to comprehend that at some point soon, you are no longer going to BE pregnant. And just before that point, you will go through what in all likelihood will be the most painful experience in your life to date (at least in mine, and only if I go without drugs, of course). And immediately after that point, your life will be changed in its entirety. Forever. Whew. It's a lot to chew on. And even more to look forward to.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Working Moms

Ed and I spent a blissful day with Bess at Quiet Waters Park near Annapolis. It was Labor Day and we went to rest. The park is gorgeous, complete with bike paths, a dog park, and even a dog beach where all kinds of pups were at play. We immediately began imagining the future days when we would bring the Turtle with us to this serene place.

So where's the rub in this lovely vision of ours? You may note that I haven't posted on the blog for 2 and a 1/2 weeks. This is no accident. Week before last I billed almost 70 hours (which means I worked more like 80 or so). Exhausted and totally burnt, I spent my evenings all last week in a stupor in front of televised Democratic convention speeches (not a bad way to spend those hours, in retrospect, but not the most productive, either). While a 70-hour billable week is certainly the exception and not the rule, there's no question that I have been working more and more as time goes on. Days creep longer and longer, until it's become routine not to leave until 6:30. Working "a few hours" (which could be 2 or 6 or more) on the weekend has become something of the norm. And while I intend to cut back on my hours when I return to work after maternity leave, 80% at a law firm is full-time pretty much anywhere else.

We've lived here in D.C. for a little over a year now, and yet I still feel like I barely know the place-- it's a beautiful city with many secrets to share, if only we had the time to discover them. Even shopping for groceries has become an elusive chore that takes more time than we seem to have. As the Turtle's arrival draws nearer and nearer, it gets harder and harder to think about how I will be able to justify to myself (and to the critical eyes of so many others, I'm sure) my time (overtime?) at the firm when I have a precious new presence in my life who is worthy and deserving of as much of my time as I can give.

My mom never worked at any point when I was a child. As I got older, she went back to school and later took on some volunteer roles, but she never worked full time. So I don't really have a model for how to do that successfully. I've come to terms with the fact that I can't have it all (at least not while also expecting every part of life to be as fulfilling as it might be standing on its own), but I still want a lot. I want to cook dinner for/with my family every night (or at least more nights than I do now, which is hardly any), spend quality time with my kids every day, take time for adventures as often as possible, take time for myself too, and on top of all that, feel not only competent, but successful and fulfilled at work. And I'm probably not any different than any woman who wants to work and raise kids at the same time. The question is, how do we do it?

Anyone with sage advice is welcome to post it here.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Am I "Hysterical Pregnant Lady"?

So for the last four days, I have apparently been suffering from the world's longest bout of "round ligament pain." Round ligaments are the ligaments on the sides of the uterus, and as they grow and stretch, they hurt (obviously, right?). But they're usually only supposed to hurt for short periods of time, maybe a few hours at most. And they usually hurt more on the right side. At least this is what "the books" tell me-- how the hell am I supposed to know? So when mine started hurting on the left side only and continued straight through for three days, through walking, sitting, eating, breathing, and one sleepless night, I got a little tired of it- not really worried, just tired of the nagging sharp pain that feels like a constant stitch in my side. Ouch.

So I called the doctor yesterday, during regular office hours, mostly just to see what I should do about it, with a secondary purpose of figuring out if it was anything to be concerned about. We played phone tag all day and then the office closed (at 4PM!!!). So at 4:45, I'm still in pain, so I called "after hours" (at 4:45PM!!!). They had to page the doctor, of course, who listened to my symptoms and then asked me a bunch of questions, many of which I couldn't answer ("Feeling any unusual pressure in your abdomen?" Let's think about this. I'm 5 months pregnant. For the first time. How the hell do I know what's "unusual pressure"? There's a lot of pressure!). She said to try some Tylenol and a warm bath and see if it got any better, and if not, to go in to the office today.

So I tried the Tylenol (first drugs I've taken during the whole pregnancy) and the bath. And while the sharpness subsided a little, and I was able to sleep about 5 hours, it kicked up again around 4AM. This morning, it still hurt a lot when I moved the wrong way or took a deep breath or touched that spot, so I called to get an appointment. They told me that there was no room (40 appointments for one of the other docs in 6 hours-- can you believe that???) and that because I was 23 weeks, I should go to labor and delivery at the hospital (which is where we ended up a few weekends ago). I asked if there was any way to ask my doctor whether I should go there, and she had the doctor call me. Turns out that my own doctor was staffing labor and delivery today, so she told me to come on over there to check things out. I asked her if she really thought it was worth it, and she said "Well, these things are almost always nothing, but every once in a while, it's something, so we might as well just check you out."

So back to the hospital I went. Another hospital ID band. Another urine sample. Another doppler hookup to the baby's heartbeat. Another monitor to check for contractions. A nurse, a nurse midwife and the doctor, at different times, all asking me what brought me in. Another physical exam. All this for some pain in my side (nasty, persistent pain, but still). Once it was determined that I was not in early labor (not that I had suspected such) and that nothing else seemed to be wrong, the doctor said it was just round ligament pain. And she just had to bring up my last visit to the hospital (as if they were connected), saying, "Same pain, same exam, same result-- nothing's going on. If anything was, it would have shown up by now." And the nurse midwife said to me, "You know, you're going to have some aches and pains" (as if I didn't already know this). And the nurse said, "You're going home. Hopefully we won't see you again until December!"

So all of a sudden, I have become "hysterical pregnant lady" who freaks out at the slightest thing. But really, I'm not! Last time was the first time in all 21 weeks that I had called the doctor at all! This time, I called during regular office hours. I tried to get a regular appointment. I asked the doctor if she really thought a visit to L&D was warranted under the circumstances. All I wanted was for someone to tell me the source of the pain, and more importantly, what to do about it. But they sent me home, still in pain, and with what felt like a kind little chiding not to bother them again unless it was really bad.

I don't really have a point here. I'm just feeling a little misunderstood. And damn, my side hurts.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Holy IKEA, Batman!

Who knew that 20 minutes in IKEA could transform a fuzzy idea into an entire room, complete with paint? Ok, so we had to go to Home Depot to get the paint, but by the time we got there, the colors just jumped out at us. We went to IKEA just to look at cribs (which, shockingly, have gotten good reviews from consumer groups). The cribs were not really what we were looking for (they're very low to the ground, which is bad news for this Turtle Mama's bad back), but they have tons and tons of child and baby bedroom decor.

Ed and I knew long before we got pregnant that we would do a baby's room in a sea creature theme, given our love for crabs (see our wedding cake) and dolphins, and my karmic relationship with sea turtles (one of which bit me in Hawaii last summer). But we'd gone back and forth about how to do it. Realistic or more child-like? What kind of colors? Blah, blah, blah.

Well, one set of really colorful curtains (covered with fish, turtles, crabs, seaweed, and bubbles) later, and we had the Turtle's room all planned. We snatched up the curtains (which, in true IKEA fashion, are self-hemming with only the push of an iron!), as well as a few other choice accessories (you will have to wait to be surprised by the "AFTER" pictures), and headed off to Home Depot to get paint ("Sweet Rhapsody" and "Carolina Parakeet" are the colors of choice-- don't you wish you had the job of naming paint colors?). Sadly, the doc said no painting for me, so my contribution will be limited to taping off the trim and putting the room together after it's painted. Poor Ed's honey-do list is growing as fast as I am! (But I am eternally grateful to him for everything he does, most recently for installing a ceiling fan in our stuffy bedroom. Hallelujah! At least I'm cool while I toss and turn!).

It's amazing how quickly it all becomes real. 7 months away became 6, became 5, became 4. As relieved as I feel to have some sense of a plan for the Turtle's room, it's mostly because I feel so incredibly unprepared and perfectly out of control about everything else. I've always been afraid of trying things when I don't know if I'll be any good at them. I'm not very good at decorating. Do you think IKEA has a parenting package, too?

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Before...


We have grand designs for the nursery. As experts would have you believe, you should outfit your nursery with plenty of sensory stimulation for the little tyke's development. Such advice is either pure projection or a poor diversion. The naked truth is that nursery design is the first step to healthy vicarious relationship with one's children.

Here is what the nursery looks like prior the parents making it into the room they wish they had. Sorry, dad, the camouflage green wall has to go.


Sunday, August 3, 2008

The Gene Pool...

Every cloud has a silver lining . . . the silver lining in our late night scare from last weekend are these great pictures we got of the Turtle at the resulting ultrasound test. I was convinced that this child was going to come out looking like an exact replica of Ed-- after all, he's got all the dominant genetic traits. But I have to agree with him-- at least as far as these latest pictures can tell, the Hitchcocks may conquer after all...



Ed wasn't kidding when he said this kid has big feet
(and it looks kinda crowded in there, doesn't it?)





Not sure about the nose. At first, I thought it was mine because it's so long.
But it's missing the trademark bump in the bridge.
So maybe it's a Chaney nose.
But that forehead? All Hitchcock.



Turtle's giggle, age negative 4 months



Mandy's giggle, age 3
Does anyone else see the resemblance? Or is it just me?

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Great Expectingtations

It’s time I joined in this here new-fangled ‘blogosphere.’ I can’t let my Turtle-mama have all the fun. I mean, she already selfishly hogs the joys of pregnancy, like the steady but random pain, the impossibility of a comfortable sleeping position, and the donation of her body to medical science every few weeks. What is a Turtle-daddy to do?

We had a bit of a scare last week as we thought that Mandy might have a risky condition known as cervical insufficiency (sometimes referred to as “incompetent cervix,” but that phrase is so not politically correct), which can lead to mid-term miscarriages. We had a late night hospital visit followed by a couple of anxious days before finding reassurance in an ultrasound. Such an event puts things in perspective. Life is so much fortune.

And in the process, we scored some more photos. We got a great profile shot and an action shot of the Turtle kicking itself in the head. We will post these soon, and they will clearly demonstrate that Mandy and Turtle are colluding to exclude my genes from this child’s DNA. The Turtle totally has a Hitchcock profile, and my god you should see the feet on that thing. The baby is going to come out ready to go snorkeling. At this point, my influence may be limited to bushy eyebrows or elongated nose hair. Life is so much fortune.

The most frightening thing about having a child is the realization that I have less than five months to become an adult. And at 36, I am being asked to grow up way too fast. (Actually, the most frightening thing is contemplating raising a child in modern America, but that is way too somber a topic for my first post.) Thankfully, I’ll have the opportunity to live vicariously through my child(ren). I’m so glad that he/she will get to achieve all of things that I never did.

Actually, I’m only 85% serious when I say that. To prove it, I am trying to write a children’s book for the Turtle that tells the story of Tally the Turtle, whose journey is about accepting its gifts and dealing with consternation of other turtles and pond creatures, who expect the turtle to be, well, in a box. The problem is that this story has been written a thousand times and every year, Disney and/or Pixar release a new version. That and I can’t draw. I have a great first line though, and when I am 15% finished, I will quit.

Today, we buy wallies. Ocean-theme wallies.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

The Turtle Shell-- Part I (Weeks 1-20)

20 weeks: Now we're talking... but a bit exaggerated (taken after a big meal!)

16 weeks-- OK, maybe there's something in there...

8 weeks-- Is she really pregnant?

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

"The Thinker"



So yesterday was the 20-week ultrasound. Check out the spine on that thing! While the Turtle appears to be taking more after its pensive father in this photo, the doctor said it has a "chubby tummy and long legs." Ed later told someone that meant it was taking after me. . . "right now." I told him he was lucky he added the "right now" to the end of that thought . . .

The ultrasound was exciting, as they always are. We were there for a good 45 minutes while the tech probed around and took what seemed like a hundred pictures of the Turtle's parts from all angles. At one point, as she was trying to get it to move into a certain position, she kept rapidly poking my belly with the probe -- I found myself thinking, "Stop trying to tell my kid what to do! Maybe it doesn't want to be in that position . . ." We heard the glub-glub of its heartbeat, saw it open and close its mouth (very turtle-like, actually), and watched it wriggle around to avoid the treacherous probe. . . Almost like being in its first school play, I'd say-- lots of performance pressure.

But the Turtle took it all in stride-- the doctor says it looks beautiful, is measuring about 5 days bigger than the pregnancy dating does (fingers crossed for a surprise birth in NC over Thanksgiving-- then it can claim to be a real "Tar Heel bred" unlike its imposter mom and pop!), and weighs about 14 oz. so far, which is right on target-- in the 97th percentile . . . go Turtle!

Today I saw my regular OB for my monthly checkup. I was a little concerned because according to my scale, I'd gained about 6 pounds since my last visit-- I wasn't sure if this was too much for only 5 weeks. I've completely stopped paying attention to how much I consume-- quite frankly, these days, I'm happy to get anything larger than a piece of fruit to fit in there comfortably, so I pretty much eat whenever I feel even remotely hungry. Well, now she's got me worried that I still haven't gained ENOUGH weight! She said that I'm halfway through the pregnancy and I've only gained a total of 8 pounds, and she expects me to gain at least 25 over the whole shebang. Of course, I'm thinking, "I gained 6 pounds in one month! At that rate, I'm going to gain another 30 before this thing is over!" But she didn't seem to notice that part.

Anyway, I think I'll just stay the course-- eat when I'm hungry. I hardly have the time or energy to count every calorie (for the first time in my life, in order to make sure I'm eating enough, not too much!). I really do need to eat more nutritious foods, though. We've both had some really busy months, so quick and easy has become our staple. This often means very few vegetables (although I'm pretty good about fruit). Poor Turtle. According to "the books," it is now swallowing amniotic fluid, so it can taste what I'm eating. Ed, of course, is using this as new leverage to get me to eat spicy foods, bless him. A losing campaign, I'm afraid. But I will try harder to eat better these next few months.

We'll take some new belly pics tonight and post the collection later-- 8 weeks/16 weeks/20 weeks-- the progress is pretty amazing!

Hooray for digital...


Here's the picture of the "wave" from the lost Turtle collection (doctor was able to give me some replacements-- the first of many times someone will save me from the wrath of my child, no doubt...).

Sunday, July 20, 2008

"IT JUST GOT INTERESTING!"

Ok, so we created this blog really just as a fun way to tell our family and friends that we were pregnant (my favorite response was "I really thought I was going to find a picture of a turtle."), but lots of folks have been asking for updates and this is probably the easiest way to send them!

So I promised myself that I would start posting when things got interesting or when we hit 20 weeks, whichever came first. Well, I think the two are coinciding. We go for our 20-week ultrasound tomorrow and I think (I think!) I may have felt the baby kick for the first time today. But, quite honestly (and those of you who have ever been pregnant, especially the first time, will validate this sentiment), it really could have been just gas. :) I will, however, remember today as the first time I felt the baby kick.

So we're going for the 20-week ultrasound tomorrow. First pics in 7 or 8 weeks. And I, wonderful mother-to-be that I am, lost the last ones while we were on vacation in Montana. I took them to show off to the grandparents, but didn't scan them beforehand, and voila, they disappeared. I have my fingers crossed that the perinatologist can give me new copies, but if not, I have already confessed to the Turtle in my letters to baby that I have lost them. So I may one day be called upon to answer for this treachery. How could I lose the first picture of my child waving at me? With all five fingers? Argh.

With the 20-week ultrasound comes, of course, the million dollar question, "Are you going to find out?" Most everyone knows by now that the answer is no! (I have seen a maternity t-shirt that says, "We're not finding out"-- I think I need to get one). One of my colleagues at work tried to debunk my "I want to be surprised" theory by saying I would be surprised no matter what-- it would just be 20 weeks earlier. My reply to him was that Christmas is my very favorite holiday (as anyone who knows me knows), and gift-giving is one of my favorite activities-- so I would liken this to getting an x-ray into your Christmas presents a few weeks ahead of time. Sure, you're surprised, but it does take the wind out of things somewhat on Christmas morning! So, we're not finding out, we're decorating the baby's room with a gender-neutral sea creature theme (to further our own love of all things ocean, including sea turtles!), and yes, we are totally open to purple onesies (the first of which we received from a friend this weekend), even in the event of a boy.

I also, FINALLY, have a belly that is worth showing off. So stay tuned for the Turtle's next pics and the blog debut of the Turtle's shell.

P.S. Kudos to all who can name the source for the title of this post!

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

The Chancock Zoo






The Zookeepers



Hamish
"Hard Knocks"
Chancock



Bess
"Princess Windmill de Rotten"
Chancock



TBD (Dec. '08)
"The Tarheel Turtle"
Chancock