Baby Rambings

You are in for a treat! I have no idea what I should write today, and therefore I have decided to go on one gigantic baby ramble. Yippee! If you think you can stomach it, read on. If not, I will see you tomorrow . . . tee hee!

So, Thing 4 is getting quite the reputation in the medical world, and it is not a good one. On Tuesday, I went to visit doctor #3 (we AMA's are so lucky!). You see I have my family doctor who has done most of my monthly check-ups, my OB-GYN, who will perform my C-section (more on that in  a minute), and my AMA specialist. Okay, so he is not really an AMA specialist, but that is what I like to call him. I saw my OB on Tuesday, and before she came in, her nurse took my blood pressure and pulled out her Doppler to check on Thing 4's heart rate. As I laid on the examining table, pulling up my shirt to expose what I think is a ginormous bump but no one else seems to agree with me (sheesh!), I bragged that I have been getting lots of movement. I say bragged and really I mean it. I know this baby is a superstar when it comes to first nudgings and I couldn't be more thrilled about it. The nurse covered my belly in warm goo and then proceeded to push the Doppler around my belly trying to locate a heartbeat. Nothing. She moved it some more. Nothing. She went all around my belly and still nothing. She was starting to get frustrated. I assured her that at that very moment I could feel Thing 4 nudging, and she look relieved. She tried again. Nothing. After ten minutes, the nurse asked if she could go prep someone else and then come back in and try again. I told her that was fine. Two minutes after she left my room, I could hear the sound of a strong fetal heart beating in the room next to me, and so I had a stern talking-to with Thing 4. 

Thing 4, the other baby is cooperating and you need to too. Listen to me. It is time to settle down and behave. Yes, mama may think that your Speedy Gonzales-like antics are cute, but this poor nurse is not enjoying them. Settle down and let her take your heart rate. Now.

When the nurse came back, I was confident she would be able to find the heart rate, but . . .  nope, and I really don't know why I was shocked because none of my other little critters ever listen to me either. The poor nurse had to try for another ten whole minutes and then finally, as if he/she had been there the whole entire time, the nurse found a good steady heart beat in the upper left hand corner of my uterus.

THING 4!

 After the nurse left the room, my doctor entered and guess what she said about Thing 4. You guessed it: 

So, I hear you have quite the uncooperative and busy baby on your hands.

I couldn't help but laugh and tell her that both of my other doctors have used those exact words when describing Thing 4. I think I am in for quite the time with this little monkey.

Oh, and so if you are wondering about the heart rate, it was in the 150 range, which according to my mama means girl, BUT . . . since Thing 4 likes to keep us on our toes, when I returned home that afternoon and went to log in my appointment info in my pregnancy book, I noticed that Mr. Man, yes none other than my Elliot, at 19 weeks played hide and seek with the doctor as well for a whomping twenty minutes. Oh, and guess what his heart rate was? You guessed it: 150's . . . tee hee! I guess we really are not going to know who Thing 4 is until he/she is born.

Which brings us very nicely around to the topic of my C-section. So, yes, I already know that Thing 4 will be delivered by a C-section, which means I can confidently say that I only have 22 more weeks to go . . . eeeek! For both Zoe and Elliot, I needed to have an emergency C-section because they got stuck in the exact same spot as they were about to emerge, and after those ordeals, the doctors recommend that I do not even try that route again. So, Avery was a scheduled C-section and Thing 4 will be as well. Now, for some people, C-sections are the way to go. No labour pain and you get to know exactly when your baby is coming. Sounds like a dream, right? More like a nightmare for me! I get really freaked out by the idea of going in, sans pain, and bending over to allow them to put that ginormous epidural needle into my spine. Call me a wimp, but the thoughts of it send it me into a panic. In fact, the other night as Mr. Level-Headed was telling the boys all about my last C-section and how the doctor allowed him to take a peak and he saw all of my organs laying right out there in the open (that man has seen far too much of me for my liking), I did, in fact, have a mild panic attack. No kidding! My legs became weak and my head became fuzzy. I felt like my heart was about to leap right out of my chest and so I had to sit down with my head between my legs taking deep breaths. This lasted for a good five minutes, and thankfully, Mr. Level-Headed realised that maybe he should stop talking about it . . . tee hee!

This is so not going to be good. On Tuesday, when I went to see my OB, I confided in her about this very real fear of mine, and instead of reassuring me that I have nothing to fear or offering me some anxiety medication just prior to my surgery (which is what I am really hoping will happen and which is so not like me since I don't even like to take a Tylenol), she told me I should be afraid.

WHAT?!?!

Oh yeah! According to her, a healthy fear of surgery is a good thing because . . . and here is where she went on to list all the things that could go wrong. I kid you not! Then, just as she is about to leave the room, she places her hand on my knee and says:

But, you'll be fine.

WHAT?!?!

Oh, my land. What am I supposed to do with that?

In all honesty, though. She did make me feel better. It's crazy, but I think her level-headed approach was comforting to me. I don't know why that would be . . . tee hee!

Anyhoo . . .

Well, now you are all caught up on my baby ramblings, and other than lots of anxiety over the fact that I may have forgotten how to nurse, or that my AMA boobies may not be up for the job, or that my AMA body may never survive the sleepless nights that are in store for me, or that I don't know what I am going to do if Thing 4 is colicky like Elliot or anything like Elliot for that matter (tee hee!), or that . . . .

As you can see, I am starting to get a little freaked out. I think I should end this post and go put my head between my legs for about five minutes.

Have a great day!

Oh, and thank heavens this finally came in. This is the book we used to help us raise our other three littles, and since they have all turned out spectacularly,  I felt it was a must-have this time around too.

We refer to it as the Baby Bible. I wonder if it has a section on neurotic mothers . . . hmmmm?

AMA

Being 37 and pregnant is a very different experience than being a perky twenty-something and pregnant. First of all, older pregnancies seem to be far more physically and mentally challenging. I have never been so sick in my life as I have been with Thing 4. It has been brutal! Not to mention, on top of the constant nausea, the vomiting the headaches, the already appearing stretch marks, and the fatigue, it is just plain scary being pregnant with old eggs. As an older mom you have a drastically higher chance of miscarriage and your baby is much more likely to suffer from chromosomal abnormalities or birth defects. Thankfully, though, after my last ultrasound the doctor reassured me that my chances of miscarriage has dropped to just 2%, and from what he can see, the baby appears to be picture-perfect. Still the chance for a miscarriage is a little high for my liking, and not enough of a reduction to stop me from frantically looking in the toilet for blood every time I use the washroom, but it is reassuring enough that I am now allowing myself to plan for this baby and to pick out names. Oh, which brings me to a great point: being an older mama means picking out names becomes infinitely more difficult because that many more people have unimpressed you in your lifetime and have hence ruined those names forever. Also, if you are an older mama with kids, you know a ton of kids and every name seems to be used up.  Grrrrrrrr! Seriously, you have no idea how tricky picking out a name has become. Please feel free to leave name suggestions in the comments. We can use all the help we can get. Except of course if you are my dad or brother. This baby is not being named Emmy Lou, Lester or Buck. Just saying. 

  Second of all, being 37 and pregnant is a whole new experience for me because the medical community slaps the label AMA to your charts, and who knew, but this little label is your ticket to multiple doctors, extra doctor appointments, more ultrasounds, and a gazillion (and might I add optional) tests. AMA stands for "advanced maternal age", or as my doctor likes to joke: "against medical advice". Now, it is not all bad because with this label comes some pretty cool perks. You know those extra ultrasounds I was talking about. Well, we AMA's don't have to fill our bladder for them! That's right; we don't have to drink those three ginormous cups of water one hour prior to our appointment and we get to pee all we want. Sorry young mamas!  Since we are talking about ultrasounds, let me tell you that we, AMA's have our own waiting room for this procedure that is filled with plush, leather couches and we don't have to sit awkwardly in a room filled with strangers because there is only one AMA ultrasound room, which means we get the waiting room all to ourselves. Sound too good to be true?  Well, it gets better. The AMA ultrasound room is large and warm, and the state-of-the-art ultrasound machine that resides there gives ultra-clear pictures even at the earliest months (hence my beautiful 12 week snapshot of Thing 4), which might I add was printed off for me by the doctor. Shall we see that again? Oh, let's:

In all honesty, have you ever seen such a cute fetus?

Anyhoo . . .

Oh, and if the ultra clear images were not enough, well, we AMA's get to sit comfortably and watch the ultrasound on a large screen directly placed in front of our bed. Oh yeah, no craning of the necks for us older mamas! 

Mr. Level-Headed also came up with a great idea for us AMA's the other day after I began whining in the car when he received his pina colada smoothie from DQ before I was handed my strawberry, banana smoothie. He believes we AMA's should be given a card to carry around with us so that whenever we are at the drive-thru, or people stop by unexpectedly, or we are unable to carry on a coherent conversation because we just can't remember what we are talking about, we can flash this card and people will automatically cater to our every whim. That man is brilliant! This is why I married him ladies, and yes, since that conversation, I have become a certified, card-carrying AMA:

tee hee!

I guess being AMA is not all bad.

I wonder if it will work . . .

Happy Tuesday!