6 pound baby and a dwindling sense of humor

Week 33: smuggling a beachball

Week 34: smuggling a much lower beachball, complete with moon face syndrome

It's official - I have finally arrived at the uncomfortable stage of pregnancy.  Nice that it took 34 weeks to get here.  Sad that I still have 5 more to go.  Up to this point, I've had minimal issues carrying my little baby belly around.  But until now, my sweet baby has been riding high.  Sometime in Week 33, I dropped.

I've read stories of women gaining some relief when their baby drops into position.  Suddenly, they can breathe again.  Their perpetual back pain goes away.  They start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  For me, not so much.  Baby's head is pressed firmly against my cervix, which is apparently the end of the line for any baby I get the pleasure of carrying.  My doctor informs me today that my pelvis may be too narrow for a baby to ever descend into.  Especially a mammoth baby like the ones I've grown so far in my gestational career.  So before the advent of modern medicine, I was the mother who died in childbirth because those two things are incompatible.  But I digress.  A dropped baby means constant pressure, walking like there's a bowling ball between my legs, and super humorous contractions.  All day.  5 minutes apart.  Just for funsies.  Thank goodness for my parents, who saved me after almost 24 hours of this nonsense.  I called them desperate for some help.  Tapout.  TKO.  Uncle.  I'm actually not sure what I thought they could do to help, but my primal instinct to have Mommy make it better kicked in and like all moms, she knew what to do.  So an hour later, I was in the Tylenol PM land of nod while Ben got to play with Gram and Grandpa.  And problem solved.  For now.  I woke up hours later, contraction free, but with a slight medicine hangover.  Which I will gladly take over watching my belly come to a point and get as hard as a drum for absolutely no reason.

The good news for the baby is that none of this is hurting him in any way.  My body isn't preparing for labor.  Yet.  It's just irritated that a 6 pound bowling ball is sitting in its current position.  So baby gets to cook longer.  Bad news for me: I get to waddle around feeling this way for another month or so.

The last couple of doctor appointments have gone well.  My labs are all stable and Gestational Diabetes was officially ruled out when I rocked my fasting sugar tests.  Blood pressure is still in the normal range, and so far, I'm not presenting anything to make the doctor raise an eyebrow.  These are all good things.  I am retaining some serious water in my face and hands, still, but I'm encouraged by being told this is completely normal.  Not so encouraged when I wake up with moon face and my decoy wedding ring won't slide off my swollen sausage finger.  But trying to take it in stride.  As long as it's not part of a bigger problem, I'm cool with it.

Baby Bean is doing very well.  His movements have gotten fewer and further between because he is running out of room.  About a month ago, his pinball wizard impressions caught the attention of anyone close enough to see his act.  He would literally bounce from one side of my belly to the other, quite violently, as if he didn't realize he was quickly running out of room.  This is no longer an option for him.  So we've gone from acrobatics to slight taps every now and then, just to let me know he's still in there (as if I needed a reminder).  He's a bit bigger than your average 34 weeker, probably weighing in at 5.5 to 6 pounds, and is on track to be a 9 or 10 pound bouncing baby boy at full term.  Thank goodness for c-sections. 

We're really looking forward to delivery day.  Which, by the way, is September 28th, as long as labor doesn't kick in first.  The list of things to do is getting shorter, but is still somewhat overwhelming to someone who needs help getting her shoes on.  Earlier this month, Jacob's family surprised us with another baby shower, or "sprinkle", where we received lots of needed stuff for the baby.  The nursery closet now resembles Target's diaper aisle, so if you were wondering, we are set on Size 1 diapers for life.  We've also gotten the swaddlers that I was hyperventilating about last month, and lots more size 0-3 clothing.  So baby won't be rocking hand-me-downs every day, just some days.  We also received a baby book that I have big plans to get started on BEFORE he gets here.  And as a sidenote, I may even work on Ben's book some, and pretend I've stayed on top of that in the last two years (I totally haven't).  Really, I consider the guys' blogs as their baby books, so I've let that task fall by the wayside.  But in my preggo craziness, it is now imperative that they both get worked on.  I'm also knitting a baby blanket for the coming home event.  It's pretty important that this gets done in the next month as well, so add it to the list.  And of course, my list of nesting behaviors that seem to get longer instead of shorter.  Putting towels away in the linen closet turned into a complete excavation and reorganization project.  Cleaning up Ben's toys turned into a rearrangement of furniture project.  Putting dishes away in the kitchen lead to me washing cabinet doors and deep cleaning the microwave.  It's a compulsion I can't control.  And under normal circumstances, none of this stuff ever happens and were never priorities.  The pregnant brain is a funny, funny thing.

So that's month 8 in a nutshell.  All is well.  Mama is ridiculously uncomfortable.  Delivery date set for next month.  We're very nearly the parents of two children!  Excited and freaking out at the same time, y'all!

Summer of Ben - Two Thousand Ten

August 2010: Bubble watch at the beach house

The return from our annual beach trip means that summer is almost through.  The end of the summer means we're closer to harvest.  Harvest, at least in Henderson County, means the apple trees are picked and the corn fields are plowed.  It also means that the little boy pictured above is that much closer to being redefined as a "big brother".  Good things are on the horizon.

Ocean Isle was a big hit with Ben again this year.  Every August, Mimi's side of the family packs their sport utility vehicles full of household items, food and beach supplies and participate in this trip. We travel from all four corners of North Carolina to a house on stilts in the middle of the island.  Traveling from as far as the North Carolina mountains to as close as a 45 minute drive within the county (and everywhere inbetween), we hang out, reconnect and worship the sun for seven days.  After spending our final year in a beautiful five bedroom house last year, the family opted for a bigger place.  Six in one bedroom was cute and everything, but we're not getting any smaller here.  So this year, we hung out in style, in an eight bedroom home with four flights of stairs, an elevator, and a neat view of the ocean. Unfortunately, Ben and I represented the Hendersonville Turners alone this year.  Someone has to earn the paychecks around here, so Jacob volunteered.  At our last visit, Ben was nine months old.  This year, he was 21 months.  Definitely more aware of his surroundings and more responsive to his relatives, Ben really seemed to enjoy the extra attention, homecooked southern meals, and play time outside.  Things he did not enjoy were severely interrupted sleep schedules, the ocean, and the inability to brush sand off his hands.  He spent most of the day playing indoors with his cousin Adam while his very pregnant mommy avoided direct UV rays.  He and Adam bonded over a dump truck and a pile of legos.  Ben very sweetly shared his toys with Adam but was also a very overbearing project manager regarding how Adam played with said toys.  But overall, a success.  Ben traveled to the ocean three times during his visit and hated it every time.  He was good for about 20 minutes before having an epic meltdown, throwing himself into the sand and demanding that we leave.  The most we ever got out of him was probably 90 minutes.  But we can at least claim he was there.

At the shore and almost enjoying it while Poo fills his bucket:

Cooling off in the pool:

Chasing bubbles with Adam:

Ben also enjoyed a couple of trips to Calabash for seafood night.  He remembered his love of hush puppies and ate them by the basketful, but did not have the same affinity for fried shrimp.  He did, however, enjoy stuffed flounder, which is a fabulously filling combination of flounder and breaded crabmeat.  Between that, the endless hush puppy baskets, and Mommy's phone equipped with Yo Gabba Gabba episodes, Ben was perfectly content.  He even got to check out the dock behind the restaurants afterward.

Rocking the Dockside tie-dye t-shirt in front of his shrimp boat:

Other fun happenings included a trip to the Ocean Isle museum to be educated and escape the heat.  Ben, his grandparents, aunts, cousin and Mama all spent a couple hours checking out exhibits at the museum.  The adults definitely learned more than the babies, but fun was had by all.

Checking out the wildlife exhibit, or as Ben calls all furry animals, the Titi exhibit:

After a week of family and sunshine, Ben and Mama returned to the mountains.  Only to head down our mountain and back up the Avery County mountain for Mimi's birthday celebration.  And then back to Henderson County for the rest of the summer.  We're traveled out.  And now in nesting mode, cleaning excessively and waiting for our newest family member to make his appearance.  In related news, our family has welcomed another little cousin in the first week of August.  Technically due at the end of July, Ella Katherine was fashionably late and welcomed by her parents, Elizabeth and Blair in Raleigh.  We still haven't met her yet, but the pictures are precious.  Because we are traveled out (and ordered by the doctor to stay close to home), it may be the holidays before we lay eyes on this little pink bundle, but it will be worth the wait!

At the end of July, I left my full-time job to be an official stay at home mom and complete another "gestation vacation".  It's been amazing to wake up with Benny every morning, fix all of his meals, and play trucks on command.  He loves it too.  We've had lots of fun bonding and spending all the time we can together, just me and him, before our family expands.  It seems like he's beginning to get what's happening.  As the belly grows, he's taken more notice of it and pats his own belly when he sees me patting mine.  When I ask "Where is the baby?" he first pats his belly, and then pats mine, trying to lift up my shirt so he can see my belly button real quick before covering it up again.  He loves his baby brother and will hug the belly when he's just hanging out with me on the couch.  Hopefully his attitude stays the same when the baby is on the outside, but I don't anticipate it being that easy.  This is the same child who freaks out if a cat is in my lap when he would rather be there.  And by freak out, I mean full-throttle, epic meltdown complete with glass-shattering screams and headbanging.  Every time I think we've arrived in the "terrible twos" early, he kicks things up a notch and shows me what true toddler behavior can consist of.  Meltdowns are no longer quick, dirty and to the point.  They can last for hours, and walking out of the room doesn't solve the problem anymore.  He will just scoop his pitiful self off the floor and follow me where ever I go, wailing and shuffling his little feet like the saddest boy who ever lived.  And this can be for reasons including me refusing to pick him up and carry him all day. Or his truck wheel getting caught up in the rug edge, requiring a different maneuver to navigate it.  Or Spongebob going to commercial.  You know, really serious situations. 

But on a more positive note, his sweetness is also developing, melting the hearts of everyone around him.  In explaining Ben's emotions to someone recently, I described him as picking a feeling and REALLY committing to it.  When he feels something, he feels it at 100% and expresses it accordingly.  Ben is the best hug and kiss giver of all time and will do both on command.  His cuddle times are rare because he is a very busy boy, but when he crawls onto the couch and snuggles, it is the best snuggle ever.  The love he has for his cat is endless and sort of surprising.  I've never really seen a toddler care about a cat before.  Cats aren't the most friendly creatures to walk the planet.  Generally speaking, anyway.  But Ben and Toby have a love that can't be comprehended.  Toby greets Ben every morning when he wakes up by standing on his hind legs and rubbing Ben's head with his own.  And Ben smiles from ear to ear and greets him by saying "Titi!".  Sometimes, he'll even wake up in his crib and call "Titi" instead of "Mama".  His newest phrase is "Hi Ti?" which seems to be the way he calls his cat.  He'll walk around the house and say very sweetly in a high pitched voice "Hi Ti?" until Toby answers him.  And he always does.  Ben is very gentle with cats and pets them sweetly and carefully, if they'll let him.  And very few will.  But Toby is a good sport. 

Ben's playfulness and confidence is also starting to develop.  Better late than never.  My child has always been very cautious and the ultimate spectator when it comes to perceived danger or activity in general.  A genetic trait that I'm afraid I've passed down.  But recently he's become more trusting of the "throw Ben in the air" game and will approach certain family members to be tossed around.  He'll also get in the middle of a group of kids and play alongside them, whereas before he would just stand on the sidelines and laugh from a distance.  We recently got a membership at Hendersonville's children's museum, called Hands-On.  It's a neat little place with community sponsored stations that have different themes, stimulating different senses and evoking creativity.  He loves it and takes me at least twice a week.  As soon as we get there, he takes off running, after a group of kids or into the Legoland where he can build towers to knock over.  It's been a great outlet for him and an even better way to keep him entertained when his own legos and dump trucks just aren't cutting it.

In other news, Ben is about to start a new journey in his life.  The quest for verbal communication.  We finally mentioned our concerns about a suspected speech delay.  At 21 months, Ben's vocabulary consists of less than 10 words.  And most of those are pronounced incorrectly.  After discussing this at length with his doctor, we were given a referral to Early Childhood Intervention.  And the referral led to a formal evaluation.  The speech therapist observed Ben carefully for a few hours, asked me tons of questions and determined that Ben is in need of speech therapy.  Twice a week.  For an undetermined, yet prolonged period of time.  She even threw out a "suspected diagnosis": Childhood Apraxia of Speech.  This is the fancy way of saying that Ben has verbal planning difficulty and understands exactly what is being said to him, but has trouble mapping out the word in a meaningful way to repeat it back.  It seems to be a neurological condition, not much unlike stuttering and can be corrected with good outcomes if it is caught early.  So our suspicions were right.  And now we finally get to bridge the gap and work on acquiring some speech to go with the many signs he's picked up this summer.  We look forward to working on the therapy as a family and are excited to see Ben jump this hurdle to be a better communicator.

So that's been our life in the last 6 weeks.  We're still in the heat of the summer, but can see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.  The news says this has been the hottest summer on record for us North Carolinians.  We look forward to cooler days.  And fresh from the orchard Honey Crisp apples.  And a new Turner to join us.  Another milestone on the way for Ben, as he goes from only child to big brother!

Deep Breaths

Figuratively and literally.  We recently compared belly pictures from this round to the belly pictures in my maiden voyage and found that 1. I am smaller this time around (who knew?!) and 2. I am carrying this baby lower.  Up until now, I've been telling everyone the opposite of those two statements.  I guess I don't remember as much as I thought I did.  But I find these facts curious when I am sitting on the couch, catching my breath as if I just ran 5 miles as fast as I could.  I'd swear that this kid is all up in my ribcage, squishing out my lungs and making it hard to catch a breath. 

Also, I am swelling.  It took 29 weeks, but the rings are finally gone.
December 30th - July 18th - RIP

My cute little hand in 2005 when I received the ring.  A little solitare diamond with a sapphire underneath.  It makes the diamond look blue in natural light.  I like looking at it when I'm driving and my hand is on top of the steering wheel, catching the sunlight at just the right angle.  It's currently in a container full of jewelry cleaner.  Along with the sapphire/diamond wedding ring that was dropped in behind it a day later.  I'll probably dig it back out sometime this week to be certain it won't fit on my chubby sausage fingers before putting it away in the jewelry box until this baby is born.  So in addition to the little old ladies wondering whether or not I am carrying twins or miscalculated my due date somehow (seriously, do people have NO filter when it comes to pregnant women?), they can also wonder how I managed to get pregnant twice with no proof of a husband.

Back to breath catching.  I am closing in on 30 weeks.  Can you hear Europe's "The Final Countdown" in the distance?  I can.  Which in and of itself, is pretty awesome.  But in all of the situation's awesomeness, I am finding myself secretly freaking out over being the mama of 2 small children.  Every time Ben hits a new milestone, I am so thankful that we put the previous baby stage behind us.  For example, communicating.  He recently started signing words to us instead of screaming his head off when he wants something.  Fabulous, right?  Absolutely.  But guess what?  We're about to do it all over again.  You know, that kind of thing.  I am also finding that the nesting hormones are creeping up and I feel oddly (and completely unjustifiably) unprepared to bring an infant home.  We have a nursery, clothes, blankets, a bassinet, etc all stocked up and ready to go.  But I am finding myself freaking over the little things that we don't have yet, but can be easily picked up in one shopping trip.  I need swaddlers!  I need packs and packs of diapers!  What if it gets cold early and I don't have enough long sleeved onesies in his size?  OMG!  This is not helping the lack of space my lungs have to inflate with oxygen.  I've also found myself flipping out over the next 9 weeks and my ability to clean the house.  I am too proud to hire a maid.  And let's face it, it's not exactly in the budget.  But before I was a hippopotamus, cleaning baseboards wasn't a big deal.  And beyond that, do you really need to clean baseboards that frequently?  That fact suddenly doesn't matter as much as the fact that I am now physically unable to do this with ease.  And I can be brought to tears over the subject.  I can no longer be reasoned with.

I am an emotional disaster.  A swollen, hyperventilating tear-soaked mess with a belly full of child.  A child that has been lying transversely all weekend, kick-punching me in either side of my abdomen like an MMA fighter.  Savoring the moments, and trying to document all that I can so that I have access to a friendly reminder this time next year when I am begging Jacob for #3.  But seriously, even in the midst of this disaster, I am totally thankful for the experience, and excited to meet my newest little one.  And on the day he's born, this stuff might even be laughable.  So deep breaths and keeping things in perspective for 9 more weeks.  Time flies when you're having a blast.

7 months and all's well

Hey friends!  Lots of people are hunting us down, trying to get information about Mama's health status so I figured a little posty-post would keep me from typing lots of e-mails and having the same conversation several times.  So here it goes...

Last week at my July check-up, things didn't go so well.  To back up, let's go over what happened the week before that.  We already covered the wedding weekend, so skip a work week, and then we were back with the Turners in Avery County.  When you are pregnant and are caring for an active 1 year old, things that seem relaxing to others just aren't relaxing.  Short of parking it on the couch and watching him play in his toybox, everything else is physical and stressful.  Keeping a child from hurting himself in a different setting is hard and constant work.  Especially when you are smuggling a beach ball and sporting swollen ankles.  My sweet friend, Monique watched me do this recently.  I was chatting with her and completely absorbed in the conversation, but had one eye on her, and one eye on my son, who was trying to figure out ways to 1. break stuff in her house, and 2. find a way to hurt himself creatively.  So I am always on alert in this circumstance.  For 4 straight days, I was on alert.  And this means being able to hoist my overweight self off of any surface and run to scoop up my child prior to a potentially bad outcome.  OK, so that situation was always running in the background.  Now add salt.  A lot of it.  It was a holiday, and holiday food is never good for you.  Think burgers, chips, bacon, ham, the usual salty offenders.  All on my plate.  While I'm stressed.  How I didn't stroke out is still a mystery.  I basically set the stage for failing my physical and was completely oblivious to it.

So upon my arrival back home, I was shocked to hear my blood pressure was out of control and I needed to be monitored more closely.  Who, me?!  Nu-uh.  I later realized I may have set myself up for this, but at the time I was convinced that my nurse had no idea how to take someone's blood pressure.  What else did I fail?  My glucose challenge test.  Oh yes, the tasty and refreshing cup of syrupy warm orange sugar-drink that every pregnant woman looks forward to enjoying.  I don't see how former pregnant women could EVER drink a Sunkist after downing one of these babies, but I hear some people actually don't mind it.  I do not fall into this category.  But I put on my brave face and forced it down my gullet like it was several shots of vodka during a drinking game.  And miraculously, I felt fine after the hour was up and I had my blood taken.  Also unexpected.  I walked around for the rest of the day, bragging about how I rocked the test and surely don't have diabetes.  A small victory for me, right?  Wrong.  I went to the hospital later in the afternoon to get my test results and saw a bunch of numbers, and then a big, fat 150 at the bottom of the page.  150 in bold, next to the value it was supposed to be: < 130.  Whoops.  I scanned through the other blood results and also found that my helpful little platelets had been eating themselves since I've been pregnant.  They do that sometimes, but not at this rate.  Disappointed and defeated by my crappy health, I went home and wallowed in self pity.

So to back up again, all of these things happened to me while I was pregnant with Ben.  And that pregnancy came to a dramatic end when my body decided to shut down in response to being pregnant.  It was not awesome.  One of my many diagnoses was "low platelet count". Doctors call it "thrombocytopenia".  It was the deciding factor for delivering Ben while in dreamland.  Platelets clot your blood, so when you're low on them, you bleed a lot.  Doctors don't like to give you pain management like a spinal or an epidural when your platelets are low because you could bleed a lot and create bigger problems.  So they numb you by putting you to sleep instead.  Pretty much the worst way to experience childbirth.  So my alarm sent me back to the doctor's office to discuss this finding immediately.

I arrived at the doctor's office to do the following: re-check my blood pressure (on a lower-salt/lower-stress regimen), refuse to take the 3 hour glucose test that involves an even MORE disgusting drink, fasting, and waiting 3 hours to get blood drawn (sounds fun, right?), and to discuss my platelet levels.  And it went much better than the last appointment.  I rocked my blood pressure check, thus proving that when I don't abuse my body, everything is fine.  I refused to volunteer for more diabetes testing, only to find out my doctor did the same thing when SHE was pregnant.  And I received a plan for how to field this low platelet situation.  This will include a repeat blood test in 1 month to check levels.  If they continue to fall, I will be referred to a hematologist for steroid therapy.  If my body responds positively and platelet levels stabilize, we will repeat the procedure in the week of delivery to keep me awake and alert for my son's birth.  If it doesn't respond, we will discuss an earlier delivery.  The doctor reassured me that my baby and I are just fine, and she'll continue to monitor me closely to ensure that we stay that way.  And if other issues arise, which we know from history that my body has the capability of doing, we'll cross those bridges when we come to them.  So that's the scoop for inquiring minds.

I am 28 weeks today.  I have a maximum of 11 weeks to go till I meet my little acrobat, AKA "The Bean", "Little Bean", "Bernard", etc.  He was head down yesterday, but as I was told during that exam, the peak of his amniotic fluid is 28-30 weeks. That means he has lots of room to move about however he wishes.  And he does.  This means feet in the ribs, little fingers tap-tap-tapping in my pelvis, and elbows and knees poking out of my stomach and rolling around for all to see.  Like the movie, Alien, but more acceptable.  His movements remind me of my favorite part of pregnancy, and how I only have 11 short weeks to continue experiencing them.  And I still get all excited every time I feel him and encourage whoever is around (mainly Jacob) to come feel how amazing it is.  And he can't.  Two things happen.  He is hell-bent on making me look like a liar and becomes immediately still when someone else's hand touches the belly, or he moves, but you just can't feel him.  His pesky placenta is front and center, still cushioning movement, so while I feel it on the inside, all is still on the outside.  Unless one of those elbows or knees rolls about.  Because of this, Jacob has felt his son a handful of times in the 28 weeks he's been living in there.  So that's the report for 7 months.  All is still well with Team Turner.  We'll continue to keep everyone posted and really appreciate all the prayers, warm-fuzzies and general positivity sent our way!