On track!

According to today's ultrasound, in two weeks, our darling daughter has apparently gone from 4 lbs, 8 oz to 6 lbs, 2 oz. A gain of 1 lb, 10 oz, or 26 ounces, or 1.857 ounces per day for 14 days. No wonder there's been so much pressure on my hips and back - this kid is growing like a weed! I hope she doesn't get TOO much bigger, as I'm not terribly keen on the idea of pushing out a 9+ lb baby. But, as long as she's healthy and thriving, that's what I care about.

People keep asking what Our Birth Plan is. Truth? We don't have anything concrete. I can't possibly predict how things will go, and I've never been through this whole push-a-baby-out thing, so I don't know what it will be like. Painful, yes. Fast? No clue. Slow? No clue.

I have researched birth and natural pain relief methods, so I know what to expect on an academic level, but who knows how much good that will do me when this all finally goes down? My goal is to go as long as I can without pain meds, hopefully all the way, and the main things I DO NOT WANT are a C-section or an episiotomy/tear. But, if any of that ends up happening, I'll deal. The end goal is a healthy baby and mommy, with as few complications as possible. My body is made to do this, and do this, it hopefully shall.

4-ish weeks to go. Ho-leee guacamole.

As of today, there is exactly one month 'til my "due date" - I realize that such things are relative, and always +/- 2 weeks, hence the quotation marks. But, dang it, I reeeeeeeally hope it's more on the -2 than the +2 side, although I don't want her coming 'til she's fully baked. I keep looking down at The Belly and saying, "Now, listen to Mommy: You can come ANYTIME after Friday, October 7th at 5pm. But until then, just hold tight, mmkay?" Considering how well my "If you don't make me puke at ALL during the pregnancy, you get a pony!" incentivized parenting attempt went, I'll either go into labor tonight, or be waaaaaaaay overdue.

I have two weeks left of work, and am training my maternity leave replacement. There's no easier way to feel like an idiot than to train someone: "Um, I just do it this way because it works? Yeah. So, just try that." Or at least that's how it felt the first day. I now have a concrete plan for indoctrinating - er, teaching - her, and I think I'm making sense now. I hope. We'll see.

We spent part of this weekend setting up the "nursery corner" of our bedroom, where wee Thorberta will reside for the first few months: pack n' play with bassinet attachment, changing table fully kitted out with diapers and wipes, and a dresser packed full of freshly washed newborn and 0-3 month-sized clothes. A small baby bathtub is tucked away in the closet, with tiny towels and washcloths and baby shampoo. There's a new glider and side table in the living room, which I'm dubbing The Dairy as that's most likely where most of baby's feedings will take place. The "Go Bag" is packed and living in the trunk of D's car, just in case. We have car seat bases installed in each car, and the travel system (car seat + stroller) ready. A wonderful pediatrician has been picked. We're pre-registered at a great hospital. We took birthing and breastfeeding classes, and have an Infant/Child CPR class in a couple weeks. We took our babymoon, & are going out on one last big fancy no-babysitter-required date this weekend. I'm stocking up our DVR with lots of TV shows to watch, and working on cleaning and organizing the rest of our apartment. (Side note: When they call it a "nesting instinct" they are NOT kidding.)

We're basically ready, technically speaking. And I've never felt less ready for anything in my life. I'm completely terrified, but at the same time, so excited to meet this little girl who now has no room to really kick, but just squirms and pushes and snuggles inside me. I just want to meet her, hold her, watch Dave hold her, and kiss her tiny toes and sweet little face. I am so ready for us to officially become a family of three, but I keep feeling like there's something I've forgotten to do, to prepare for. There probably is, but I have four weeks-ish to figure out what it is.

The San Diego Babymoon: Or, how we celebrated the end of "Just the two of us"

Last weekend, Dave and I took our babymoon, by which I mean our last babysitter-free, kid-free vacation with just us. We drove down to San Diego and stayed at The Westgate Hotel in the Gaslamp District, which had a lobby so ornate that it would have even impressed my antiques-savvy grandfather. The first afternoon we were there, we wandered around the Gaslamp District, saw a matinee of Crazy Stupid Love (really funny!), and just sort of unwound from life in general.

The next day? SeaWorld, baby! I have always wanted to go, ever since I was a little kid, and Dave indulged my lifelong dream by buying discounted tickets through his work. I think we may have been some of the only people there WITHOUT kids, though technically we did have one with us. Obviously, I couldn't go on any of the rides (SeaWorld is half amusement park, half aquarium), so that cut down on line-waiting time considerably. We did, however, watch the Shamu "One World, One Ocean" show, which, aside from the amazing-ness of watching three GIGANTIC killer whales do backflips and loop-de-loops, was the cheesiest thing I've ever seen. And I kinda sorta loved it.

Up next? The Behind-the-Scenes Animal Tour. Dave bought tickets while I was visiting the restroom and refused to tell me how much they were, because he knows that the five year old girl inside me has always wanted to feed and pet a dolphin. And we DID. They split our tour group up into small groups and each of us got to hang out with a trainer and a couple of dolphins at the tanks behind the scenes. There was a pregnant dolphin (Calla, I think?) who especially liked me... I think she sensed a kindred spirit. Anyway, we got to pet them (they feel like wetsuits or kick boards!) and feed them unflavored gelatin cubes. We also got to feed eels (through safety tubes) and sea turtles. Awesome.

Dave insisted on buying our daughter a huge stuffed Shamu, too. This kid has already got quite the menagerie of stuffed animals, including: A sheep, a lemur, a killer whale, a homemade Raggedy Anne doll, two hand-sewn rag doll siblings, and a set of anthropomorphized vegetation - carrot, broccoli, and strawberry.

We ate dinner at Filippi's Pizza Grotto in Little Italy, per a recommendation of one of Dave's coworkers, and stuffed ourselves silly on old-school Italian-American-style pizza and lasagna. The next day, we slept in & then went to breakfast at The Mission Restaurant for killer blackberry pancakes, then took our time driving around San Diego a bit to see the sights, and drove home. We both took the next day off of work as well to sleep in and just chill out at home.... Blissful.

7.5 months: Anyone else see the resemblance?

I was telling Dave that I feel like I'm starting to resemble Alfred Hitchcock in profile. This proves it (though I do admit to kind of slouching a bit on purpose in this picture).

This may be one of the most unflattering photos I've ever posted of myself. You're welcome, internet.

Scratches all day

I have a warning for cat owners like D and I: Even if you live waaaaaaaaaaay up on the 6th floor of a building, and your cats never, ever, ever go outside (not even onto the balcony, they're scared of it), GIVE THEM REGULAR FLEA PREVENTION MEDICINE. Because if you live in Southern California, where the fleas are like Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator Fleas, super hardy and resistant to chemicals, and you live in a building with lots of dog owners who probably never treat their dogs with flea medicine - after all, many of them can't even be bothered to pick up their dog's poop, why should they even consider flea medicine.... Your cats will become infested with fleas.

And then, they will scratch themselves. And the fleas will bite you, but not your husband for some reason, and the bites will itch like a [expletive deleted]. And you will spend several weeks disinfecting your cats and every surface in your home and vacuuming every day. And your older cat will freak out at all the vacuuming (because he is convinced the vacuum is THE DEVIL OH MY GOD RUN) and start obsessively grooming himself, to the point where he actually rips out one of his claws. And since this will happen, of course, over a holiday weekend when your vet is closed, you will have to visit the emergency vets and spend $$$$$ to get his raw claw-bed cleaned and bandaged. And then you will also have to give said cat antibiotics and pain meds, which he will also hate OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU STICKING SYRINGES DOWN MY THROAT I HATE YOU and get annoyed with you. And then you will take your younger cat (whom the fleas seem to prefer) to get a flea bath at the vets, which will give her that New Car Smell, and result in the other cat thinking she is foreign because she does not smell right, ergo he needs to hiss at her and attack her. And then you will continue the cycle of disinfecting every surface in your home and moving furniture and vacuuming, and it will all begin anew.

It's kind of like If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, but with small bitey insects. We're calling it Fleamageddon 2011: This Time It's Personal.

"Think of your cervix as a mini bagel."

We had our first of two 4-hour childbirth classes today, and it was nice to meet some other parents-to-be and get some ideas on natural pain relief, labor positions, etc.

The instructor, P, a lovely woman who's a mother of 9 and grandmother of, well, many, really tried to make everyone feel welcome. She's a little offbeat, and when she was explaining cervical effacement & dilation, said, "Think of your cervix, pre-labor, as a mini bagel. Puckered, a little puffy, and closed up tight." I nearly went into labor right then and there, I laughed so hard.

....I can only imagine what metaphors we'll be treated to next week.