Running -- and thinking -- on fumes

It was bound to happen sooner or later.
I recently was chastised by the pregnant lady for making an unreasonable suggestion given the circumstances and growing circumference.
Last Saturday, we were going to go with my parents to a concert in Minneapolis. It was snowing, the roads were slick -- though not sheer ice -- and it was cold and windy. A classic snowstorm.
Anni asked if we'd be taking her car. If so, it'd need gas.
I was busy trying to get directions to the hall, so I asked Anni: "Do you want to run and get gas?"
There's a gas station a mere mile down the road. It did not seem to me to be an egregious request. Actually, the thought that it could be interpreted as such did not cross my mind.
She quietly said, "No, not really."
Later, it was pointed out that from here on out, such a suggestion is better left, well, unsuggested
"You want your 7 1/2-month pregnant wife to drive in a snowstorm to get gas?!" she asked.
Well, when you put it that way.
Some things are worth debating. Others, not so much.
I got gas.
---
UPDATE: Everybody needs an editor, including lowly bloggers. (Actually, most of them could use several editors. But I digress.) After I posted this item, Anni said I left out an important detail that is necessary in order to understand my flawed logic. I actually agree.
The day after the snowstorm/gas fiasco, Anni said she was going to clean the bathroom. According to her, I had a concerned look on my face and asked: "Is that something you should be doing?"
So, there you have it. Should a third-trimester pregnant lady scrub the tub? No. Should she venture out for gas in bad conditions? Yep.

Got tolerance?

Anni asked this morning how I'll react if the baby is a real handful.
I said my patience would be tested like never before, but I'd adjust.
"That's why you've been with me for so long," she said. "I've been building up your tolerance."
Good point.

The game

At the beginning, it's exciting. Neither of you has done it before and now you're doing it together. You do it all the time and when you're not doing it, you're thinking about it.
You'll even talk to friends about it, maybe even get their suggestions. You stash away some of those suggestions for possible use; others leave you wondering why you're friends with such strange people.
Then, after a few months, the two of you fall into a routine. It's not as exciting as it once was. You go days -- weeks even! -- without doing it. And when you do, it seems forced and there is pressure. So to fix that, maybe you decide to get a book -- you know, to get some new ideas.
But it's when you realize that you've stopped thinking about it altogether that you start feeling embarrassed and pathetic.
Indeed, the baby name game can take expectant parents on quite a ride.
A few days ago, after weeks or maybe a couple of months of having given little thought to naming Bun, I realized that we're about two months away and, well, if we don't get crackin' that birth certificate's actually going to say "Bun."
It's tough, though, thinking of names. And the pressure's on: The bump-in-the-belly's going to be stuck with this identifier forever. You can't just think of something fun and clever; it's not a pet or car.
The name can't be too old, new, trendy, gender-neutral, strange, boring, tough to pronounce, difficult to spell or tedious to write. But with those self-imposed guidelines, sometimes I think we really will be stuck with "Bun."
Nevertheless, I'm determined to give this lots of thought. I already only half-jokingly say my life's full of guilt and regret, so I don't need to look back years from now and think to myself: "Self, way to go. You played the name game like you were cramming for a test, and neither worked out: Your kid got tagged with a crummy name and you got C's in biology."
So, here we are. There's about 9 weeks left, no time for lollygagging. Now, girl names are a struggle for us. They all sound frumpy, geriatric or pole-dancerish. Boy names are easier. We're kickin' around a few and might have settled on a first name.
What is it, you ask? Can't divulge. Couples have to keep some secrets.
That's what keeps things exciting.

So, where should the crib go?

Lately, people have been asking about the theme we've planned for Bun's nursery.
For now let's call it Simple Rustic.
Yes, this is the nursery. Clearly we're a few steps from thinking about a theme -- or walls.
Why is this room, the smaller of the two upstairs, stripped down to the studs? Well, I decided about three weeks ago that since Anni was six months pregnant, it was time for a major house project. So Dad helped -- OK, led the effort -- to install a new window in the larger upstairs room, our future bedroom. Then I gutted both rooms.
The plan is to tweak the layout, run new electrical, get it insulated well and then put up drywall.
Oh, and the plan is to complete that before Bun arrives.
I'm certain those who've seen or heard about the project think I am borderline nuts and in way over my head. Maybe, and I'm fine with that.
After weighing my options -- Option A: Start now and have improved, properly insulated rooms sooner; Option B: Start later, get done much later -- I decided to get on it now.
My approach is this: Keep pluggin' away and if it's done by the end of February, great. If it's not livable by the time Bun arrives, well, then, it's not livable, we'll squeeze into the downstairs room and I'll get the upstairs done when I can.
The first phase is done; I finished gutting the rooms this weekend. The walls -- some fiber board, some Sheetrock -- were pulled down and the crummy, crumbly Balsam Wool insulation was removed. (That part sucked; see below.)
I'll keep plugging away. In the meantime, what do you think: Should the crib go where the Shop-Vac is or would it look better by the studs? And should the mobile hang from the rusty screw or the rusty nail?

When does Ol' Rickety get a shot?

Being an expectant parent brings with it countless new things to worry about, from whether you're capable of handling gut-wrenching parenting decisions to whether there will be enough cash on hand to buy bottles and baby powder. Nothing new or profound there.
But I've got a more practical concern. Essentially, it's this: When the time comes to leave the hospital with the newborn, and then in the ensuing months, I'll have no clue how to actually transport said newborn when I'm out.
Do you carry the car seat? Do you just carry the baby? How about a stroller? What about one of those new-age swaddled baby slings? Why not just put the baby in a grocery store basket, next to bananas and atop a soft loaf of bread?
I'm sure that'll get figured out soon enough, but for now I'm baffled.
We went to a baby store the other day and looked at strollers. Actually, they might as well be called Offspring Hauling Systems because they act as car seats, baby carriers and strollers, and are far more complicated than I would have imagined. Harness contraptions vary, handles are adjustable and I think some even offer sun shields that automatically tilt to accommodate for the changing angle of the sun at different times of the year.
I started looking at another group of strollers, ones hanging from a bin. But it was brought to my attention that you can't just transport the baby in Ol' Rickety from the day you leave the hospital. Ol' Rickety, you ask? That's one of those basic, compact, old-school, collapsing strollers. The informed call them umbrella strollers. They're the opposite of Offspring Hauling Systems.
Anni laughed when I only half-jokingly asked whether you can save money by just starting with Ol' Rickety and, if the baby's head tips to a side, just prop a stuffed animal next to each ear.
My recent attempts to visualize scenarios I'll find myself in after the baby's born prompted this very practical question: If I take the child with me on a quick trip to, say, Menard's, and I set the car seat/carrier on the ground next to me while paying at the register, will women gasp and wonder how a man can treat his child like a bucket of paint?

An early sign

As the ultrasound continued longer than normal this morning, we started developing a theory: Bun's got a fair amount of Anni's genes, because it was being difficult.
The doc requested the ultrasound to get a good look at the heart, specifically the arch. (Don't bother Googling "arch of heart" to find out what it is; you'll get YouTube video of and lyrics to the band Arch Enemy's "Heart of Darkness.") Anyway, it was nothing to be concerned about; it's just that the previous ultrasound didn't allow for a good view of the heart.
We thought it'd be easier this time around. Bun had other plans.
Let me back up. Before we even got into the exam room, Anni said she learned something about me. It came about when I started quietly singing along to a '90s country song playing on the waiting room radio. It was the only country tune to which I sort of know the words; however, she now is convinced I'm a closet country fan. Relevance to the ultrasound story? Not much, but Anni thinks she discovered a deep, dark secret. Whatever.
Not long after the ultrasound started, there was tension. Not between us, but between our nurse and another nurse who walked in about 10 minutes into the process. We eventually learned Nurse 1 is retraining in the ultrasound unit after toiling with gall bladders for years. (It made me wonder if, without our knowledge, she was actually using the ultrasound wand to check out Anni's gall bladder.)
Once the more experienced nurse (who broke the news that we had been dealing with a trainee) got involved, things improved. They checked Bun's heart rate: 140. They estimated Bun's weight: A healthy 2 lbs 3 oz. They measured Bun's legs: Long.
And, unfortunately for Anni, they made her roll around on the butcher-paper-covered table like a beached whale (her description, definitely not mine) as they tried desperately to get a good view of the heart. No luck. So, Bun's heartless. No, no, it' s just that the spine was in the way -- and Bun wasn't cooperating, laying sideways and nudging the bottom of Anni's rib cage.
They said there was nothing to worry about, though, which is good to know because it would have been a drag to leave the office thinking Anni was carrying around a baby with a giant spine.
So, it was good news again today, thankfully.
Here are two photos. I got spoiled by the good pictures from the last ultrasound, but this all we got today.
The first is obvious: Head on the right, belly and back on the bottom left, legs and arms at top left.

The second is a shot of the legs, which seem long. (My genes for height, I hope.)

New pics, ultrasoon

We're headed to an ultrasound Friday morning. I'll post some pics afterward.
I'm just hoping the nurse understands my appreciation for good ultrasound photos, lest I embarrass myself again by telling her when to capture the image on screen.

Turning Japanese?

It was time for a new photo on the blog. What better choice than one of Anni and Bun draped in the kimono Bryan bought for her in Japan two years ago?
The photo's actually a nod to the uncle-to-be, who's touring Japan again for the next few weeks and hasn't had a glimpse of Anni's expanding belly.
Anni's message to Bryan: "Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto."

Finally

At last, it happened.
No, I didn't get a good feel of Bun yet. Anni had a craving the other night. She wanted chocolate.
Thrilled, I jumped at the chance to go to the grocery store. Finally, a supermarket run that didn't involve zig-zagging through the aisles, selecting bananas, beans and bread.
So I rushed to the store before it closed, found ice cream and some chocolate.
Then the following exchange occurred:
"Ooh, ice cream tonight," Old Cashier Lady said. "That sounds good."
"Well, actually, my wife is pregnant and had a craving for chocolate," I said.
"Oh, that's nice of you," Old Cashier Lady said.
"Well, it's for me, too," I said.

A sign of nothing but a healthy heart

Anni and The Belly had a doctor's appointment the other day. Anni's mom and aunt tagged along, and got a kick out of hearing the heart beat.
Bun's heart rate was 138. And before I get any further, let's get this out of the way: I don't believe for a second that ol' wive's tale about the heart rate indicating gender, so don't give me that, "Oh, it's got to be a boy," business because it's under 150. Actually, the doc made a good -- and obvious -- point. The baby's heart rate can be affected by a number of factors, including Anni's physical activity. So, maybe she was just lazy that day.
The Belly has grown from 21 centimeters to 27 centimeters -- however that's calculated. (When I heard the 27-centimeter measurement, I asked if that was how much Anni was dialated. It's fun to play the ignorant one every once in a while.)
The most important part of the check-up, however, came when the doc wanted to talk about me and the just-completed election.
An ultrasound is scheduled for two weeks, when they'll check the heart valves and maybe even see what books Bun is reading in there.

For the record

Anni has taken to calling her noticeably expanding stomach a "bowl full of jelly."
She knew I was blogging a short time ago and then read the previous blog item and had this response: "I thought you were going to write something about how big my belly is now."
Maybe sometime.

Feel a flutter

We've got movement.
Bun's making a daily habit of reminding us there's really something in there. Anni will be resting on the couch and say, "Baby's really moving," or she'll come home from work and say the baby was bouncing around in there during the day.
It's not to the point where an elbow or leg is pushing out on her belly, but there's movement. Anni said it feels like an upset stomach -- without the upset stomach part of it. Got that?
Anyway, the important part of the story is that I finally felt the baby the other night. (Yep, it's all about me.)
Anni said the baby was really moving, so I put my palm on her stomach and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Then, all of the sudden, I felt a brief, ever-so-subtle flutter of pressure on my hand.
And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Crash landing

No doubt the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book has been invaluable to millions of pregnant women, Anni included.
But that's not the book that has fascinated me.
Nope, the science geek in me has gotten a kick out of a book my mom gave us. It's called "The Miraculous World of Your Unborn Baby."
Yes, it has fewer pages. And yes, there are lots of color pictures, but they're the scientific-stuff-in-a-microscope-type photos.
Paging through the book serves as a refresher course in Human Biology: 101. And since biology became my college minor instead of major for a reason -- "You don't get into grad school with C's," my advisor said -- I definitely could use the review.
The science behind pregnancy really is fascinating. From gender determination to the sheer number of ducks that need to be in a row for a pregnancy to occur -- I was a biology minor, but struggled with those fancy terms -- I'm intrigued.
So, while it's nice to know Bun's the size of a spaghetti squash this week -- no joke, that's what "What to Expect" says -- I'm still stuck on my book's photos of actual chromosomes.
The funniest picture, though, is of a swimmer landing on an egg. It looks like a spacecraft with a banner trailing behind has just landed on mars.
How's that for a failed biologist's explanation of fertilization?

What won't he sleep through?

My parents readily admit they may have goofed by allowing me to fall asleep to the sound of the TV. I don't remember that, but then again, I don't remember wearing a diaper, either, and the two probably happened about the same time.
Anyway, I learned from an early age to sleep through just about anything. Fireworks, fire engines, the alarm clock, thunderstorms, two alarm clocks and even a car-meets-telephone-pole crash right outside the house.
I've gotten better at waking to the alarm, but I still sleep soundly through the night. Anni can vouch for that, especially following the episode the other night.
She woke about 3 a.m. with a nasty cramp in her left leg -- the kind that makes you jump from bed and scream in pain. She did both.
The next day, she asked if I remember anything strange happening the previous night. Did I remember her jumping out of bed?
I vaguely remembered that. She filled in the details:
Apparently, my response to her yelping and one-legged hopping was simply to make some sort of grunting noise. Anni then told me there wasn't anything wrong with the baby, she just had a leg cramp.
"And all you did was grunt one more time and turn over," she said later. "You didn't even acknowledge me."
They say you learn to wake up instantly to the sound of a crying newborn. We'll see about that.

Holy flip!

Tonight Anni said she felt the baby movin' around for the first time.
Initially she wondered if her stomach was upset, but it was a different feeling.
"It was like it flipped," she said.
I tried to cop a feel of the flippin' fetus, but was told I wouldn't be able to feel it yet. A few more weeks, though, and I'm sure I'll get my chance.

'It's all in there'

More on the ultrasound--
We went to the clinic Wednesday morning and assumed the positions: Anni on the doctor's table, me on a crummy stool nearby.
We'd been told the ultrasound was going to take up to an hour because of all the measurements needed: brain (It's got one!), head, arms, legs and even heart chambers.
That would have been fine with me because an ultrasound is fascinating to watch. Clinics seriously should record them and sell the videos to the expecting parents. (Who wouldn't pop $10 for that?)
Anyway, much to my disappointment, the ultrasound lasted about 15 minutes. The nurse didn't say much during the procedure, leaving us to ask basic. (It was strange to learn earlier on that the intestines develop in the umbilical cord and then at some point shoot down the tube and into place.)
I asked whether, at this stage, all of the organs are where they're supposed to be.
"It's all in there," the nurse told us, sparing any technical term or explanation. "It just needs to get bigger."
And good thing because Bun still looks a bit alienish. In a good way, of course.
We could see the heart pumpin' away (144 at an appointment the following day) and see occasional leg and arm movements.
At one point I thought Bun did a flip during the ultrasound. Turns out the nurse just moved the wand from one side of Anni's belly to the other. Oh, well.
It was brought to my attention after the appointment that I may have been a bit too eager during the procedure to let the nurse know when there was a good view that should be recorded for a photograph. (They give you about five or six prints on your way out.)
"Ooh! There's a good one," I'd say quietly, hoping the nurse had clicked print.
She didn't listen to me, but we still got some nice pics to take home. Two are below. The first is pretty straightforward, the second was a photo meant to highlight the spine, which was measured during the procedure.



After posting these photos, Anni told me that her cousin Greta had this to say about the above spine photo: "It looks like a chicken wing." Well, then.

Week 19

Anni had an ultrasound today. Another great experience. So many questions -- from "Is that a leg?" to "Why does the spine look like a fossil?" -- and yet all I could do was sit there and stare in amazement.
More on the ultrasound soon.

Ice cream cravings? Well, not for Anni

When people find out Anni is pregnant, they ask whether she's having cravings.
"So are you buying a lot of ice cream?" I've been asked.
"Only for me," I respond.
Actually, she's all about the fruit right now. Bananas, kiwi, apples, nectarines, oranges, grapes and just about anything else.
We were at the grocery store recently and had stocked up on what I thought was enough fruit. Then I looked down the aisle and here comes Anni, holding up a 5-pound sack of oranges like it was a trophy catch. The bag was added to the cart.
Then we moved on to the ice cream section, where I held up a carton of mint chocolate chip like it was a trophy catch. It was added to the cart.
We each left happy.

Pillow talk

It's not what you think, so read on.
We're sleeping in a double bed upstairs while I work on the downstairs bedroom. It's snug -- especially when you're used to a queen bed.
Anyway, the other night I turned to Anni and, ever so delicately, said I had a question. (It doesn't take long to learn one should approach questions about pregnancy routines delicately.)
I wondered whether the pillow she's been putting between her legs each night is going to be a nighttime staple for the foreseeable future.
The answer was yes. She brings it to bed because it's comfortable and because it's good for circulation, I was told.
OK, I thought, I can live with being a even more cramped if it helps her. After all, I'm not pregnant so can't complain.
But then Anni added this little bit of news: "I might eventually get a body pillow."
"I can't wait," I said to myself while trying to contain my sheer giddiness at the thought of sleeping three to a double bed.

'Trying' to understand something

Being an expectant father -- gulp -- prompts myriad questions.
Here's one I've been considering for a few weeks: Is it normal, upon learning that a couple is expecting a child, to inquire whether the expectant parents "were trying" to get pregnant?
Several people -- relatives, friends -- asked us that question after learning Anni is pregnant. (They all were excited and happy for us, for which we're grateful, but each time that question lingered long after the "congrats" and impromptu celebrations.)
I don't get it. Are there that many surprise first pregnancies among married couples in their late 20s who've been together nearly a dozen years?
Just curious.

The pants

I've found there are increasingly obvious pregnancy indicators.
First came the positive pregnancy test. No, make that positive pregnancy tests. A jolt to the psyche, that little blue cross on the plastic popsicle stick.
The next big indicator is the ultrasound. You've seen the routine in movies -- the scene in "Juno" tops any other -- on TV shows and in commercials. It's pretty neat. But it's a surreal and wonderful experience when you're sitting there in the doctor's office -- lights dimmed and belly lubed -- and all of the sudden it appears on the screen. It leaves you wishing all silent, black-and-white films were this good.
But I recently stumbled upon another, even more obvious sign Anni really is pregnant.
She went shopping the other day. When she came home she told me she bought some clothes, including a pair of pants that were on sale.
She pulled the black pants from a bag, held them up and stretched the waistband to what seemed like the width of her arm span.
The sight of these stretchy pants prompted from me a blank stare and this: "Oh, boy, this is really happening."
Somewhere, an aircraft carrier is missing its jet-launching sling.

A crazy question

Some questions are better left not asked.
A few weeks ago Anni was reading "What to expect..." or something like it and mentioned -- warned? -- she may have mood swings during the pregnancy.
Since then, I've started playing a little game in which I try to detect when a mood swing swings by for a visit. They are not frequent and sometime subtle, which can make the game challenging.
About a week ago we were eating dinner when we got into a minor spat about something I considered trivial. I thought to myself, "I wonder if this is a pregnancy mood swing?"
I should have simply wondered. Instead, I took it a step further.
"Are you pregnant or just crazy?" I asked.
It didn't go over well.
I'm still wondering, but won't ask again for the answer.

It's really in there

Most photos are worth a thousand words. This one's worth six, but they're great: Yep, there's really something in there.