Tag Archives: third trimester

Well, this just makes me feel like an underachiever

RIO DE JANEIRO, Brazil (AP) — Catriona Matthew, the 39-year-old Scot five months pregnant with her second child, won the inaugural HSBC LPGA Brazil Cup by five shots over Kristy McPherson of the United States on Sunday.

[…]

“When you play well you don’t feel tired,” Matthew said. “Maybe tomorrow I will feel it a bit.”

Lessee, at five months I was … oh, yes, I was considering it an achievement to get dressed before noon. Or to wake up without ralphing in the bathroom sink. I think that might make me the Sarah Palin to Ms. Matthew’s Barack Obama.

(via Shakesville)

My weekend is full of ARRRGH

The Hatchling and I both have horrible colds. The Hatchling came down with hers last Sunday, and I started feeling bluggy on Thursday night, and we’re both in pretty pitiful shape. A lot of hacking, wheezing, endless blowing of noses – you get the picture. But here’s what sucks extra about having a cold in the third trimester: THERE IS NO WAY TO SLEEP. If I lie down in a way that’s comfortable for being a junior whale, I can’t breathe. If I lie down in a way that I can breathe, my back hurts so much that it wakes me up. If I go semi-recumbent with a ton of pillows, I can breathe and my back is OK, but I get raging heartburn. I CANNOT WIN. I got up at 4 am this morning because I just could not take it, so I was exhausted and cranky all day, which is just delightful for everyone, especially the equally sick and cranky toddler in my care. And then there’s the thing where I’m pumping all the fluids I can get into my system, which when combined with my increasingly tiny bladder basically means that I’m either actually peeing or feeling like I need to pee all. The. Time. Who the hell is in charge of this stuff? Why do they hate me? When will I get a sense of perspective and quit whining about the small stuff? Only time will tell.

This week’s pregnancy lesson

If you’re in the third trimester and vaguely resemble a beached whale in profile, it is perhaps not the wisest move to lie down on your back so you can zip up your recently washed jeans. This is true because:

a) What the fuck are you still trying to wear jeans for? You’re in the THIRD TRIMESTER. You should be wearing something stretchy that closely resembles pajamas at all times.

b) Even if you do manage to get the zipper up with this technique, you will then remain stranded on your bed, much like a tortoise on its back, flailing around from side to side in an effort to regain uprightness, for approximately five minutes. Your toddler will think this is funny. (“What doing, Mama? I try? You help-a me?”) You, however, will not.

Thus endeth the pregnancy lesson for the week.

Not as rejuvenating as I would have thought

I had a lovely weekend with my chicas, doing nothing but listening to music, playing board games, eating, reading and sleeping. (Also engaging with the red squirrel who had taken up residence at the cabin and was damned if he’d leave his warm winter home just because *we* were there, but that’s another story.) I enjoyed every minute of it, especially the sleeping in part, but am feeling surprisingly un-rested now that I’m back. As in, not so much rested at all. Which is weird. And also kind of sucks a little, because tomorrow I have to start the day off with a bang getting a biophysical profile at the hospital at 7:30 am (GAH) and then jaunt off to an all-day “faculty development” seminar. This means I have to take a shower tonight and look kind of presentable tomorrow. I kind of feel like lying down and dying just thinking about all the energy the above items will take. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH COFFEE IN THE WORLD, Y’ALL.

Oh, and? It’s the coldest week of the year. With a vengeance. Have I mentioned how much I hate this stupid state in the winter?

P.S. The Hatchling remains resolutely un-potty-trained. Do they make diapers big enough for college students, do you think?

Gestational Update

Well, it’s officially ten weeks from today that the newest member of the Squab family will make herself known. Somehow ten weeks sounds like an awfully short amount of time. Shorter even than 2 1/2 months, which also sounds really short. There is a slight undercurrent of panic running through the household – I mean, not that we didn’t know this day was coming and all, but FUCK! TWO KIDS!

On the other hand, if there were an option to have someone else handle the last ten weeks of gestation, I would so be at the front of the line to sign up for THAT. This whole peeing-every-half-hour, can’t-get-comfortable, no-sleeping, still-nauseated, back-aching, ligament-pulling CRAP was getting old like a month ago, and I will not miss it ONE. BIT.

I also had an unpleasant reminder that I’m in the high-risk category of expecting mothers at my OB check-up today. Nothing scary or dangerous, but starting this week they want me to come in twice a week for a fetal non-stress test (where they count the baby’s kicks and monitor its heart rate) and an ultrasound (where they check the baby’s movements and measure the amount of fluid in the uterus). Twice a week. And these aren’t little five-minute things, either – we’re talking a good 30-45 minutes per procedure, not including the time it takes to get to and from the hospital and wait in the waiting room. Oh, and plus I still have my regular OB visits to add in there. Gah. I had to do the same thing last time, but only once a week. When I asked if there was any especial cause for concern or reason why they wanted to see me so often this time, my doc said not really, they’re just being extra cautious because of the hyptertension and the gestational diabetes and the insulin dependency and and and and … The last time around this freaked me out, all this talk of increased risk of stillbirth and labor complications and such, and I guess maybe it should be freaking me out this time, except, you know, last time everything turned out just fine and I really feel like it will this time, too. Not that I wouldn’t rather NOT have all the complications, but it seems like this is just how my body does the gestation thing, and as long as I’m doing my part to miminize the complications, things will be OK. Which is great as a positive mental attitude, but doesn’t do squat for finding me childcare or helping me juggle my schedule to accomodate these appointments. Sigh. It will all work out – Mr. Squab will adjust his schedule some, and some friends have said they’ll watch the Hatchling whenever needed, and somehow it will get done, but – have I mentioned how this pregnancy has only confirmed our decision to quit after two kids? Yeah, you can add this whole post to the growing list of reasons why two will be PLENTY.

Butterfingers

I swear, this pregnancy is making me a total klutz. I’m not saying that I’m the epitome of grace at the best of times, but the last two weeks my level of physical ineptitude has really gotten ridiculous. I can’t fix a meal without dropping at least three key items on the floor. I can no longer pour myself a drink without spilling at least a few drops. I drop … everything. Books, shoes, silverware, my glasses, you name it. I can’t even type as well as I used to be able to. IT IS IRRITATING. Particularly when I’m making many things for Christmas-type gifts, and the band-aids! I have used so many! I’m presently working on the theory that drops/smudges of actual human blood give gifts that handmade, one-of-a-kind essence that you just can’t buy. (And really, why would you WANT to?)

In other news, my other blog has been de-spammified, so there are new recommendations up for your yuletide reading pleasure.