Oliver's new word

No Child Left Behind, 2nd edition

I had my first appointment with the midwife yesterday.  I know most women see their prenatal provider more like 8-10 weeks into a pregnancy, but since I had an ultrasound at 8 weeks, and since I was already on the Prometrium, I decided to wait until I would be able to hear the heartbeat on the doppler to go in.  I was nervous but excited.  The first appointment is another step in making the pregnancy real, as is hearing the heartbeat.  I made an early appointment because I've had problems before having to wait a long time to be seen at this clinic.  I like the place, and they're the only midwives in Nashville (that I can find) that do hospital births.  And fortunately, they do theirs at Vanderbilt, since that's the cheapest place for us to deliver on Wes's healthcare coverage.

I did get seen very quickly.  They weighed me, took my vitals, and I chatted with the midwife a little bit.  And then came the part I was nervous about.  She got out the doppler, and I pulled up my shirt and laid back.  And then she turned on the doppler and started looking.  And kept looking.  She made a comment about the baby kicking a lot, moving around, but she couldn't find a heartbeat.  She looked for several minutes before she stopped, calmly, and said she was sending me for an ultrasound.  Wes wasn't with me at the appointment.  He was sleeping off a late shift, and I didn't think was that important for him to be there.  So I got the order from the front desk, got back in my car, and drove down the street to the ultrasound facility where I had my 8-week scans.  I alternated between preparing myself for a fetus that had not developed past the last scan (when it did have a heartbeat) and knowing that there was a chance the midwife just couldn't find the heartbeat.

The ultrasound office saw me quickly, too.  The technician asked if a Vanderbilt ultrasound student could come in, and I consented.  They need practice, I figured, even if the news was not good.  One day, they would have to give some woman bad news, too.  But after I put on the gown and laid down on the table, they quickly found the baby, measuring almost a week ahead of my dates, and with a nice, strong heartbeat between 155-170 bpm.  It was moving around a lot at some points, and the ultrasound tech said that can make it hard to get a heartbeat on the doppler, especially when it's still so small.  All I could think of was my first midwife's appointment when I was pregnant with Oliver, when the midwife couldn't see anything on the transabdominal ultrasound, and Wes and I sat for 45 minutes waiting for a transvaginal scan to show up that there was, in fact, a baby in there.  I don't know if it's because the tech knew I had been worried or because she was teaching or because she was just having fun, but she spent a while in there looking around, taking pictures, and talking to me about what she saw.  The baby looked great and finally looked like an actual baby.

I had to go back to the midwife's office afterwards.  I waited for a long time for them to get the ultrasound report, but they finally took me back.  I told the midwife what I knew, which she was happy to hear, and I asked several more questions I had about the practice and prenatal care.  The whole thing took almost three hours, and I ended up missing my class because of it (the only class I missed during my entire master's program!).  I thought I would go back at 16 weeks, since I was seen every 4 weeks at my former clinic, but she said I could wait until 18 weeks and see her after the anatomy scan.  Her office scheduled it on my way out, so on August 12 we'll hopefully know the gender (and that everything looks okay), and I'll see the midwife the next day.

I hate the worry that I had for those 45 minutes or so, but if the worst my babies do in utero is hide from the ultrasound and doppler wands, that's fine by me.  I'm praying that the next appointment will be somewhat less exciting.

Father's Day helper

Oliver helped make Wes's Father's Day treat this year: Knock You Naked Brownies.  The recipe includes a bag of caramels, which is where Ollie came in.  He loves to help in the kitchen, so I pulled up the step stool to let him be involved.  I got two silver bowls, unwrapped one caramel in front of him, put the caramel in one bowl, the wrapper in the other, and then let him go.  Ollie must've spent twenty minutes, with complete focus, unwrapping caramels.  He hasn't always astounded me with his rate of learning, but he does have a lot of focus for a child his age, as was evident here.  I helped him with a few, which gave him the idea of just handing some more off to get more help.  But he persevered to the end.  I tried to let him help stir the orzo, but he was getting it everywhere, so instead he got down and Swiffered the floor.

I let him get back up later to help put the chocolate chips in the brownies.  The pan had just come out of the oven and was topped with hot caramel, so I told him repeatedly that it was hot, something he seems to understand and respect.  I poured the chocolate chips into one of the bowls so that he could manipulate them easily.  He was standing there with the chocolate chips in front of him while we waited for the caramel to melt, and he asked for a "bite," his way of asking for something he knows is a special treat.  I told him he could have one bite and put it on the counter for him, and he happily consumed it.  But then he kept staring at the bowl, and looking at me, and staring at the bowl again.  I could literally see the battle of wills.  He asked for another bite, but I told him he could only have one and he was all done.  I finally pushed the bowl out of his reach, which led to tears, which led to him climbing down the step stool, only to realize that a few had fallen on the steps that he could eat.  Which made it all better.

The brownies did finally get done and were very good.  Oliver enjoyed a "bite" or more of them over the course of the next week.  And I have to believe they were ever more sweet for his hard work put into them.

Weigh In: Week (almost) 11

Today’s weight: 123.5.  I don’t ever remember weighing that before.  The belly is now obviously more pregnancy than fat, at least when I’m undressed, but not noticeable to someone who doesn’t know when I’m clothed.  I don’t mind the weight loss, but I won’t mind the nausea being gone.  My weekly pregnancy e-newsletter said that women gain around 12 pounds in the second trimester…

Dear Husband, Part 46

Wes has named the fetus: G2.

"You never really know a [wo]man until you stand in [her] shoes."

Wes and I went to the residency graduation last night, leaving Oliver with a new babysitter I found on the sitter service that Vanderbilt has recently made available to employees.  The graduation is always a little dressy, and while I looked for a dress that would be appropriate, I heard Oliver clopping around the house in my shoes.  My high-heeled shoes.  Wes came home to find his little boy in high heels and (one of the reasons I so love this man -- other fathers we told this story to actually cringed) thought it was the funniest thing he'd seen in awhile.  So much so that he got out the video camera to get some footage.  Oliver loves shoes and puts on our shoes constantly, everything from my flip flops (which is hilarious itself) to Wes's very large, very heavy Danskos he wears to work.

It's sad to say, but Oliver might walk better in the high heels than I do.

Weigh In: Week 9

123 pounds.