Delivered through duct work

I neglected to post about our recent birthing class experience. It definitely wasn't for lack of material.
People told us ahead of time that they had found the pre-birth class for first-time parents worthless, full of info they didn't ever use.
To my surprise, that wasn't our experience. For the reporter, lots of questions were answered over two days. Many were practical or logistical -- like "Where do we go at the hospital?" and "How much say do parents really have in what the doctor does?" -- but it's all useful. For the mother, much of her anxiety about labor and delivery was alleviated by learning more about it, asking questions and listening to our instructor.
Of course, it wasn't just a buttoned-up baby briefing. You can't go several hours with 14 strangers -- who have the same questions and concerns but different backgrounds -- and not walk away somewhat amused by the whole experience.
Some of us had not thought much about the actual process of labor -- that would be the guys. Others had. One woman said that when she goes into labor she would prefer to snuggle with "animals or loved ones." Yes, animals -- plural. (Nobody had the gall to tell her this is a hospital, not a kennel.)
Even for a "drive-thru" delivery class -- we could have taken a six-week course -- there was a lot of information to digest.
At times, there was too much information. One mom-to-be works on the hospital's NICU floor. She came to the class with knowledge of just about everything that can go wrong in birth -- and decided it was Show and Tell Day. We had to hear about each of those obscure and traumatic scenarios in medical acronym-laced outbursts. The instructor, to her credit and our appreciation, put those Tales of Delivery Horror in perspective, given that in most cases things go just fine.
What's a class without props? We had plenty. The instructor held up a pelvic skeleton as she talked about the baby's positioning, etc. Then, she dug out some duct work and shoved it into the pelvic skeleton to complete the rudimentary but effective visual of a birthing canal.
However, I'm sure someone left that class thinking the birthing canal looks just like the elbow joints attached to a furnace.
Another prop made me think of a question, but I did not ask the question in order to spare Anni the embarrassment of having to sit next to the guy who asked the "What's life mean?"-type of unanswerable question.
See, the instructor's uterus prop was a large sock-like, stitched tube. She discussed the actual reason behind the need to "push" the baby out, that the cervix basically needs to be forced open.
So my question was: In human reproduction, every body part has a role and usually carries out that role on its own -- except for the cervix. The cervix seems lazy. I wondered why, after thousands of years of evolution, the cervix has not learned to "push" itself when the time is right. Why isn't there a hormone that's triggered to carry out that task when there seems to be a hormone for every other step of child-rearing?
I left without an answer.
Maybe that's the kind of topic delved into during the six-week class.

Haikus for Bun, 'cuz why not?

Bun's growing bigger
The belly keeps expanding
Soon so will with fam'

Mom supposed to crave
Fruit and veggies on her mind
The chocolate's Dad's

Baby stuff on porch
Must be brought in within weeks
Outdoor cribs frowned on

Bun's one for nighttime
Moving and shaking at dusk
Rumbles in belly

A house sans diapers
You say changing them not bad
Then first blowout's yours

Parenting seems neat
Easy to say when not one
Where is the guide book?

Dad's used to children
Whine and bicker all day long
These born 'lection day

Sweet little baby
Excitement trumps nervousness
Get sleep while you can

Wife's very pregnant
Tells me next time it's your turn
Epidural now

Nesting and nest building

I might as well come right out with it: We've been nesting as frenetically as squirrels store nuts when greeted by the first fall frost.
I had heard about the whole nesting phenomenon, of course, but now I understand it. And I see how expectant parents are hard-wired to nest in anticipation of a child's arrival.
There's the practical, logical stuff. You know, hunkering down, getting ready, making lists both mental and written, deciding what's left to do.
Stockpiling meals is part of that. We decided that we -- well, mostly Anni -- would make those first few weeks and months of parenting a bit easier by stashing home-cooked meals in our freezer. They will serve as a quick meal after a long day, a dinner in a pinch, a bite to eat in between a diaper change and a feeding.
So, to her credit, Anni's been churning out batches of soup and other easy-freeze items. She's split recipes, putting portions on our dinner plates and the rest in the freezer. I have a grand plan -- it's on one of those lists mentioned earlier -- to whip up a few of my favorite recipes and freeze them as well. (Although, when Anni asked to hear those items, I could only think of two.)
Anyway, nesting certainly isn't limited to food prep. Anni's going to take a few days off soon to get things ready around the house, tie up loose ends, take care of everything I haven't thought of and hopefully get some much-deserved time to relax.
There are other nesting tasks. Thanks to Laura and Jim, we've got a crib and a dresser/changing table to assemble and locate. I decided we should reorganize kitchen cupboards and dedicate one cupboard or drawer to baby stuff. We need to make room in the bathroom closet for other baby stuff. I walk around the house now thinking, “That cabinet's going to need to be baby-proofed sometime,” “I wonder on which side of the table we'll put the high chair,” and “Soon I'll have to stop leaving tools on the floor, especially the sharp ones.”
---
So there's the practical elements of nesting. But then there are the not-so-practical, maybe even irrational, nesting habits. What's on that list? Well, it includes cleaning things I haven't cleaned in months, if ever, for no other reason than I think that given the coming events I won't get around to cleaning those things again for months or longer. (Next up are those wooden grates on the cold-air return ducts. The ones nobody notices.)
Another item on the list? Packing overnight bags and a small cooler to bring to the hospital. Pack clothes? Maybe. Pack crackers and sodas at this point? That can wait.
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There's nest building under way, too. I'd post a photo of the progress I've made on the remodeling upstairs, but you'd question my use of the word "progress." Perhaps I'll wait until it's insulated to provide another photo update. (No, it's not insulated yet. Yes, I know it's January.)
Still, progress is being made. For instance, the ceiling is reinforced, the closets larger, the walls sturdier. And I'm looking forward to when Anni can stack her children's books on the built-in bookshelf I'm attempting to build in the nursery.
The nest building continues. It's enjoyable work.
---
The irony in nesting, though, is that it is peripheral preparation.
For instance, we'll have a place to change diapers, but when it comes time to change that first diaper, will I know what to do? Maybe. (Just recently I learned of the term "blowout.")
We'll have baby food stocked, but do I know how frequently a baby needs to be fed and what's best for a baby's diet? Nope. (How soon can it eat ice cream with Dad?)
We've got a kit of medical stuff for newborns, but do I know how to detect an infant ear infection? Nope.
We know where the baby will be delivered, but do I know what I'm going to do the moment the nest expands from two occupants to three? Nope.
I hope that just as the hard-wired nesting instincts kicked in, whatever child-rearing intuition I have will do the same.

By the numbers

Anni had a doctor's appointment today -- I guess a 35-week, 6-day check-up.
The appointments are occurring frequently -- another sign we're getting closer. She's got another one in two weeks and after that it's once a week.
In summary, all's well.
In detail, the doc said everything appears as it should be at this point. Anni's blood pressure's just fine and her belly has grown about 37 cm. I was expecting some high-tech measuring system. There isn't one. I could have brought a tape measure from home and it would have worked just as well as the doctor's tape.
"You've gotten bigger," the doc said, looking at Anni's belly, "but not too big."
She liked the last part of that observation.
We heard Bun's heartbeat, which, while it's not a new sound anymore, it still sounds good. And, for those of you still trying to predict the gender -- I gave up weeks ago -- this could challenge your old wives' tale: Bun's heart rate was 153.
"That's going to throw everybody off because it's been so low," Anni said.
Remember, the heart rate was 137 at the last check-up.
We've been talking lately about the due date -- we thought it was Feb. 27, but the clinic's records show Feb. 24 -- and reminding ourselves it's only an estimate. The doc said that based on all the signs -- belly size, weight gain and maybe even a shake of the Magic 8 ball -- he thinks Anni's on pace to deliver right around the due date.
So, if that's the case, she could deliver on Feb. 24 and, a day later, we'll celebrate our wedding anniversary over a nice hospital meal of chicken and Jell-O.
It won't taste like we're eating at a nice restaurant, but I'll bet the prices are the same.

Call me Coach

Next weekend we sharpen our pencils, get our textbooks and head to class.
Actually, I think Anni will be encouraged to wear comfortable clothing and I'll prepare to breathe.
We enrolled in a birthing class at the hospital. The doctor suggested it and while I've talked to a few parents lately who say the class was useless, I figure it can't hurt. (It's also the hospital's first dip into our pocketbook. You'd think this would be a package deal -- classes, delivery, medical booties, etc. Nope.)
Because of my unpredictable schedule, we decided to do the "drive-thru" class -- Friday evening and most of Saturday.
"Is 8 1/2 hours enough time to learn how to be a parent?" I asked Anni.

Beer belly 2.0

Gotta rest that root beer float somewhere...

Bottom's up

Anni had a check-up today. Everything looks good. Upside down, but good.
The doc put her at 33 weeks, 6 days. That's about where we thought she was, but when you hear that -- no, when I hear that -- things start to sink in. We're only about seven weeks away. The doc reminded Anni she could deliver up to two weeks before or two weeks after the Feb. 27 delivery date.
Hearing that, I started counting backward. Let's see, two weeks earlier, well, that's about Feb. 13, and that's, well, that's only about a month and a week away and, well, heck, that's only about five weekends away and, well, SAY WHAT?!
It's just as likely she'll be two weeks late, which I'd favor. Of course, I can still see my belly button when I look down, so easy for me to say.
Anni told the doc that she was born a month late. Yes, a month. (Photos of her that I've seen show a cute baby with a full head a full head of hair and maybe, just maybe, a full set of teeth.)
"That can cause problems," the doctor said of the the extra 30 days of incubation.
"Well, I turned out OK -- I think," Anni replied.
Everything seems to be hummin' right along inside that ever-expanding belly, though. (Yes, "hummin' right along" is a medical term.) Bun's heart rate clocked in at 138. As I've said before, that's an indication of nothing but a steady, healthy ticker. Don't give me that old wives' tale about gender.
We've been wondering how Bun is positioned, and today the doc said it's now head down, legs up. That explains why Anni's been getting booted in the ribs more often.
I take Bun's positioning to be another sign that the birth is getting closer. You know, now the baby's facing in the right direction, getting lined up.
The delivery is no longer some distant event months and months down the road.
Bun is bottom's up and on the way.

Here's a name

We're still struggling with names.
I told Anni I had a new one we should consider. It's a bit unconventional, but I thought of it because of what I'm spending all my time on at work. The name is ... Ballot.
Think about that. Ballot could be a boy or a girl.
Not a good idea? Well, OK.

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.