Without thinking, I’ve already caught myself three different times today talking to my belly at work. I often stare or glare at it and say things like:

“Seriously kid, calm down. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Really? You aren’t tired of kicking there, yet?”

“Yes, that’s my bladder. Thanks for reminding me I have one.”

…in addition to odd mutterings/curse words when I don’t feel like talking in full sentences.

I’m just happy that everyone around me at the office usually wears headphones all day long. Even though I have the pregnancy excuse, I’m not sure it’s enough to keep me from being considered totally insane when regularly having an audible dialogue with my midsection.

Aaron and I talk to a lot of parents regularly now. We just survived a busy weekend of holiday parties and get-togethers and found ourselves getting all sorts of common and not-so-common advice from people.  No two labor stories or “adjustment to parenthood” stories seem to be exactly alike, which can be both comforting or concerning depending on if/when I feel like I want to have some guarantees about what’s in store for us.

This morning, I read an acquaintance’s labor story and found myself feeling like it could have been me writing that. She took classes and prepared like crazy for her birthing experience, and started labor feeling like it was manageable enough. But then, she started losing her ability to act in a rational manner  as the contractions continued to get worse. She said she became absurdly stubborn and it took people getting very bossy with her to get her to do what she needed to do. She screamed and cried and feels like she probably made people quite uncomfortable. It all turned out alright in the end, but she felt traumatized by it. She did say that once her baby was in her arms she started to feel that strong connection. She didn’t necessarily feel it while her son was in her womb because it was still too much of an abstract concept.

I read that entry a couple of times largely because I was relieved to feel that a person a little like me survived this alright. I have been known to get quite stubborn when I’m overcome with pain. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like to try and handle me at that point. I also worry my impatience will get the best of my head and I’m going to wind up not feeling like I can handle labor once it gets to the hard part. I’m sure I’ll scream and cry and make people uncomfortable. I’m hoping it doesn’t traumatize anyone, especially Aaron.  It was a bit relieving to read that I’m not the only one that isn’t totally “connected” to her baby while its in the womb. I mean, I feel her kicking around and moving, but I don’t feel like I’m developing some strong maternal connection with her at this point. Sometimes she still feels like some hyperactive lizard running around inside me.

Overall, I guess I’m just seeking out and clinging to stories and advice that reassure me that someone like me can handle something like this.  Being just over 28 weeks, it’s starting to feel a bit more real than it ever has before and, I have to admit, it’s starting to cause some anxiety. I mean, I know I get to look forward to the kid and I keep hearing how rewarding it is, but at the same time, I also get to count down to a time of  dealing with what I hear is the most extreme pain ever. How I don’t have nightmares every night is anyone’s guess, but here’s hoping there’s enough to do to distract and subdue my mind until it’s delivery day.

I remember waking up in tears, which is not at all typical for me. When I sat up, I realized I’d somehow been crying in my sleep for awhile as the pillow was soaked with tears and my cheek was wet. Then, I remembered the dream. It’s almost embarrassing to recount, but the gist of it is as follows:

I was doing chores in the kitchen when I heard a strange noise coming from the basement. Much like the idiot girls do in the horror movies, I went downstairs alone and unarmed to check it out. I found my beloved kitty lying dead by her food dish. Her stomach and neck had been ripped to shreds. A wave of anger washed over me and suddenly I was on the hunt for whatever did this. I found a very large raccoon staring at me from the other end of the basement floor. It’s calm, but its fur is stained red in spots. I obviously found the culprit. I went upstairs and found a massive meat cleaver. I calmly walked downstairs and suddenly had reflexes faster than this animal. Before it had a chance to understand what was going on, I walked up to it, flipped it on its back and hacked through its neck and stomach. It was a very gory scene. But somehow before it stained the carpet, I put it in a garbage bag. I felt it twitching around in the bag. I hoped it would die slowly. I went upstairs and outside. Four other raccoons were standing there looking at me in the driveway. I took the twitching carcass out of the garbage bag and threw it at them. They backed up quickly, but then stopped and stared at it. I stared at them coldly for a minute and then went back downstairs. Only after seeing my kitty’s body again did I start crying heavily. I started to wrap her in a blanket and that’s when I somehow woke myself up from this dream.

Ok, so I hear that pregnant women have some pretty messed up dreams. But WHAT THE HELL is up with that?! I’ve never killed an animal in my life. I don’t have a soft spot for raccoons, but I certainly am not looking for opportunities to hack one up. Aren’t I supposed to be all about being nurturing and loving now? Why do these hormones produce dreams that turn me into some cold-blooded raccoon killer hell-bent on revenge?

Aaron brought up a good point this morning when I told him about my messed up dream: How is it that nature/evolution hasn’t figured out how to give pregnant women calmness, clarity and a logical predisposition to manage their lives instead of making them feel crazy for the majority of their pregnancy? It makes me truly amazed humanity has been able to survive as long as it has.

As per usual, my mom took charge over the menu planning, prepping and cooking. And as per usual I was fired from the kitchen and replaced by my trusty sister. I did, however, still manage to stand around and snatch up a few finger foods when no one was looking. Actually, I did get caught a few times, but I get the benefit of being the pregnant lady, so no one slapped my hand and shooed me away this time around.

Aaron and my sister’s fiance got to relax and watch some rather pathetic football Saturday and Sunday. On Sunday, my mom’s team beat the crap out of the local team so it generated a great deal of simultaneous cheering and grumbling throughout the house. The dinner and dessert all turned out fantastic, and we were all relaxed/comfortable enough to sit around the table and take seconds and thirds of everything. It was rather nice to see my mom and sister’s efforts enjoyed so much this year. After dinner and dessert we even got ambitious and started a non-duraflame fire in the fireplace. Thanks to the technique(s) of Aaron and the sis’s fiance, it lasted well into the evening. We even got a cute picture of our pup napping in front of the fire at one point.

Overall, it made for a perfect “last Thanksgiving before I’m a parent for the rest of my life” event. I couldn’t have asked for anything nicer. And, yes, I’m already driving people nuts by obsessively speculating on what it will be like next year with kid around.

Mom-to-be: Hello?

Aaron: Hey, Congrats on your news! That’s awesome you’re going to have a boy!

Mom-to-be: OH! Thanks! We’re very exc–

Aaron: Keep your son the hell away from my daughter.

“You are extremely rational compared to most women.”

I pitied his poor grasp of reality.

I think it’s best to explain my first trimester of pregnancy and its challenges, so it’s easy to see how far we’ve come, and why I feel so lucky he’s in my life:

Aaron and I have been together well over a year. For both of us, that’s still not a long time to be in a relationship with someone. We got together while we were both in the midst of transition, and many would likely say that is a recipe for disaster. Yes, we were both poised to be the other’s short-term rebound. But it never worked out that way. I know as well as anyone that there’s probably still a lot to be discovered for both of us. But so far, I haven’t ever been happier with someone in my life.

But before I go off on a tangent, let me get back on topic and explain what it was like when we were surprised by this pregnancy in July 2009.

Surprises like “Hey, in less than a year, you’re going to be a parent!” are a BIG FUCKING DEAL for people like us. As much as I think I’m adaptable, it was hard to wrap my head around a huge life-altering change like this.  However, I had quickly decided that I was not going to consider abortion and I was going to have this baby one way or another. Aaron was a little shocked by my decision, seeing as I had never been all that excited about being a parent in our pre-pregnancy discussions on the matter. This led to some back and forth on what to do next. He had reservations, and I did too. I didn’t know if I could do this well. He didn’t know if he could do this, either. Aaron had never planned to have something like this be a part of his life. It was tough for both of us to adjust. We both refused to cater to just saying what the other wanted to hear. We were numb from emotion, or just completely overwhelmed for quite a few days. Being in the midst of first trimester symptoms, I found myself more emotional than I can ever remember and often jumped to some extreme conclusions. I remember driving home from work trying to hold back the tears because I was afraid he might have all my stuff piled up on the front yard and changed the locks. Or another time I was afraid that I’d walk in the door to find some letter waiting for me with no indication of where he was or if he was ever coming back. Nothing ever happened like that (or was ever threatened by him), but when I came home and found things completely normal I still cried. Partially because that’s the only way I knew how to process relief and partially because I was so clueless on how to read him and was tired of dealing with fear and anxiety about what was coming next.

However, the fog started to clear eventually. And I started to realize what Aaron had really been saying to me when we were freaking out about how to handle the pregnancy. He had kept reiterating how much he didn’t want to let his child down. He wanted to be a good role model. He wanted to make sure the child had all the opportunities we felt it deserved. He wanted us to be in a good place, emotionally and otherwise, to take on this parent responsibility without resenting the child. Overall, his reservations around parenthood centered around just wanting to do this WELL.

And when I acknowledged all that, it was hard not to be completely consumed by a whirlwind of relief, adoration, love and the thought that I was so lucky he was the father of my kid. He was essentially being the person I wanted to be in all this: Asking the tough questions and doing everything possible to make sure that if we did this, we did it right.

Even before we were confident that we could handle a baby, Aaron was diligently attending every doctor appointment with me. When I couldn’t think of questions, he would ask them. He would make sure he got to know each midwife we talked to pretty well. He kept track of the information we were told and would help me remember guidelines, advice and appointment dates. He started experimenting with diet options to find something I could keep down and that would also be good for the baby. He kept me eating fresh foods. He would cook for me daily. He would rub my back.  He would make sure I got enough sleep. He would reassure me about things in a way that I rarely wound up in tears when I was overwhelmed with my own irrational worry and concern. He let me cuddle up next to him as much as I wanted. He let me talk about my speculations of our future.

And the results of his care and attentiveness were profound. When I started my second trimester, the doctor’s appointments started getting very positive. I was getting lots of good news about the baby’s growth, and praise for doing so well during the first trimester with staying on par with weight gain and overall health. Our 20 week ultrasound appointment showed that the baby was growing perfectly and that there was generally nothing I needed to change. The average/normal line on our ultrasound report perfectly overlayed our results. Apparently, this isn’t entirely common, so it left the midwife with little to talk to us about afterwards.

We both started finding ourselves more and more comfortable with idea of being parents. I don’t know if anything specific did it for him, but for me, it was realizing that I could genuinely trust him with everything important to me. And when I acknowledged that, something in me relaxed for the first time in a LONG time. Like, since childhood. It was overwhelming, but so peaceful. And now, being in a place where even on bad days, I’m more content that I have been in years, I’m just grateful that he’s seeing such a positive outcome from his incredible efforts in caring for me.  And I’m certain this little girl who constantly kicks my bladder at the most inconvenient times is already so very lucky to have the daddy she has. I can’t wait for her to realize that for herself.

I’ve got hip pains, knee pains, back pains and pretty bad headaches, now. But worst of all is the sharp, take-your-breath-away stinging pain underneath my left lower ribs. My mom had this same pain when she was pregnant and things were adjusting for her growing baby, so I guess I get to carry on the legacy. Oh and did I mention Tylenol or any other pain med won’t last in my stomach more that about 2 minutes? Lucky me. It is, however, taking the last ounce of patience I have not to scream or throw something across the office in frustration.  Today, I’m absolutely envious of any woman that gets to handle pregnancy in the comfort of her own home.  What I wouldn’t give to lay down on my comfy bed so I can cry and moan in peace right now.

And something about what I’m writing here does seem to indicate that I’m also suffering from a particularly intense dose of preggy hormones today. I feel as though I’m going to have define today as a success merely by whether or not I can end it with a shred of maturity and self-respect in tact.

It’s not been the easiest thing trying to come up with names for our daughter. I don’t know why it’s been a challenge, either. Well, maybe I do. Naming someone just seems like the thing you do after you consider their character traits, likes/dislikes and what not. I would want a name to personify who and what they are. I don’t know much of anything about this person inside me, other than she likes to kick and/or punch a lot. And now tends to do that moreso when she hears her daddy’s voice. The other stuff is going to take a lot of time to discover. I guess I could hypothesize about her personality and interests, but I don’t think I really need to start THIS early in becoming that overbearing mom projecting all her hopes and dreams onto her child and living vicariously through her. There’s plenty of years and therapy ahead for that. So, I’m left with little to work with except our preferences and blind assumptions about the future and how well a name will fit her.

It probably doesn’t help that both her parents are chronic over-analyzers. At this rate, we’re more likely to eliminate every possible name on the planet than find one or two that we consider an ideal fit. Fortunately, there’s a few months ahead of us before this becomes an urgent issue. I’m hoping I can be posting something here in March about how easy it was to finalize a name, but the pessimist in me thinks the only way that will happen is if I’m under the influence of an epidural. Considering the historical track record, the pessimist is usually right.

The 2007 version of me would never believe I would have such a schedule. I used to loathe mornings and being up at a reasonable hour — even though I did it every weekday. Now? I actually enjoy it. I still get in to work a little later than most people at my office, but having a few hours to get up and around does make me feel a lot more relaxed and allows me to cope with my pregnant body in a way that doesn’t bring me to tears.

But I digress. The reason I wanted to write about my morning schedule is because I’ve started to notice an odd little tic that’s developed. I don’t know if this is the kid’s fault or not, and I have no idea if this is at all common in pregnant women. But I’ve realized that my morning energy and desire to get out of bed happens after I experience a couple of involuntary hiccups. Before that happens, I can wake up and go back to sleep without a problem. But once those hiccups hit, I’m up for good. The hiccups never last more than a few seconds and I never experience them the rest of the day (so far). Still, it’s rather odd, and I have to wonder if my body’s made this happen due to my lack of reliance on a typical alarm clock. Wouldn’t be the first weird thing about myself worth documenting.