Hatching, part 2...

I can't help it, here's another anecdote about  how I botched another perfect opportunity for "the talk"...

The boys were arguing about our cats.

Connor said, "Lily is a Mommy."

Alex said, "No she's not!  She hasn't had kittens yet."

Connor asked me, "When's Lily going to have kittens?"

I replied, "Well, Lily can't have kittens.  Before we got her, she had an operation so she couldn't."

Connor asked, "What's an operation?"

I answered, "Well, sometimes the doctor has to take out a part of someone's body, or fix something inside..."

Alex responded, "Oh... so they took out her baby-maker!"

Me... "Umm, yes, something like that."

Kirstin pipes up, having followed the whole conversation with interest... "Mama, are you going to take out your baby-maker?"

Me... "Umm... no..."

Kirstin, "So, what if you have lots and lots of more babies? Where will we put them all?"

Me: "Well... umm... we're not planning to..."

Kirstin.  "Oh."  She ponders this for a minute.  "So, how many eggs you got left to hatch?"

Hahaha... still hatching this one, huh?  I have the best kids ever... now off to the library now to find a book that teaches me how to teach my kids about reproduction without scarring them permanently...

* * *
And  while we're on the topic, an update about my hatchling.   This little one is STUBBORN!  It has been weeks now and s/he has moved back and forth from breech to transverse in my stomach.  Basically head up to lying sideways across my belly.  S/he shows absolutely no desire to flip head down like instinct and nature intends.

And we're running out of time.

So, if my midwife decrees, on Tuesday, that baby is STILL transverse, then I will be seeing an Obstetrician for an External Cephalic Version.  Do yourself a favour and do not google it!  The nice description is that the OB will try to manually turn the baby by pressing on my stomach.  The not nice version (yeah, I googled it) is that it hurts like a son of a b@#$% and is risky enough that you have to have it done in a hospital with an operating room standing by in case baby needs to come out ASAP by caesarean.

ECV is successful about 60% of the time.  So, that means that, if this baby doesn't turn on its own, I have a 6/10 chance of avoiding an elective c-section by doing this.  If I don't do it, I'm not giving this baby the best possible chance for a natural childbirth. If I do do it, this baby might be born a couple of weeks earlier than we're anticipating.  But in my mind, it's not a question of whether we do it, it's a question of when.

My midwife thinks that there's enough room still for the baby,  for it to be successful, but she also cautioned me that it also means that there is enough room for baby to turn right back to his or her happy sideways state, so we might want to consider induction to have the baby before s/he turns sideways again.
Needless to say, we have some serious thinking to do in the next few days.

And just to put a little icing on the cake, while I am sitting here with a transverse baby kicking me in the gut, my midwife has also has cautioned me about the risk of cord-prolapse, should I go into labour and my water break before I reach a hospital.  Great.  I googled that one too! :P

Anyway, the complications of having a transverse baby are enough that I made a somewhat hasty decision to start my maternity leave two weeks earlier than intended.  I was supposed to work right up until the 26th, but now I've decided to give myself some breathing space between now and my looming due date.  So that we can do whatever we need to do to have a safe outcome.

Wish me luck this weekend, I'm going to be trying some of the old wives' tale strategies on turning breech babies.

Missed the boat completely...

My middle one starts Kindergarten this year.  My oldest just started Grade 3. My youngest (for now) is eagerly awaiting Kindergarten next year.  They're growing up so fast!  So when the perfect opening came up tonight at dinner, I took the opportunity to talk about safety.  It started out innocent enough.  We talked about how Connor is NOT to leave the school yard during the day.  Alex helped out by explaining the boundaries and where the school fence lies.

So then I led with talking to strangers and I reminded them that they are only to get into the car with their Daddy or I.  No one else is to pick them up from school.  Which of course led to a series of questions:

"What about Grandpa?"

Yes, okay, Grandpa can pick you up, too.

"How about Grandma?"

Yes, Grandma too.  And Aunty Lindsay.  But no one else.

"What about Aunty Victoria?  Or Brandon and Taylor (cousins)?"

Well, Aunty Victoria, yes, but not Brandon and Taylor, they are too young to drive!

"Would you ever send Lily and Sophie to pick us up?"  Uproarious laughter at the thought of our two cats driving to the school to pick the boys up.

No, NEVER get into a car if the cats are driving!

When they calmed down and stopped laughing, I asked them what they would do if someone they didn't know ever offered them candy.

Connor said he would eat it.  Alex said he would fall to the ground and do a litttle dance (huh?).  Kirstin said, "What kind of candy?"

So we chatted about NEVER taking candy from strangers (which of course goes out the window on October 31st) because it could be just a way for the stranger to lure you closer and kidnap you.

"What if it's a cat that offers you candy, then would it be kitty-napping you?"

"Can you take the candy if it's in the trunk of his car and not the seat?"

"What kind of candy?"

Aargh.

And what do you do if someone offers you a cigarette?

"What's a cigarette?"

Good boy!

"What's cancer?"

"Why do people smoke if you get cancer?"

"Grandma doesn't smoke, how did she get cancer?"

"Why are drugs bad?  Isn't medicine drugs?  Does that mean that doctors are evil?"

And don't even ask how our discussion about what to do if someone tries to touch your private parts went.  Let's just say that my children now have a list of people that they would tell if anyone does anything to make them uncomfortable.  It includes my husband and myself, the kids' grandparents, their teachers, the principal, our cats... and a rock.

I have the neatest children who may be hopelessly unprepared for the world.  But that's okay since I'm not so sure the world is ready for them yet, either!  Come to think of it, I'm not so sure that I even am... :)

So that's how they get out of there...

I wrote a post a while back about conversations I've had with my children about the somewhat delicate topic of baby-making and baby-birthing.  And how I am apt to change the subject when one of my inquisitive angels wants too many details.  Anyway, I'm pretty sure we've come up with a new theory about how Mama is going to get this baby out of her stomach.  

But pardon my digression for a moment, as here I have to stop to make a confession... 

I have stretch marks!  

Big, pink, glaring stretch marks.  I've had them since I was pregnant with my first eight years ago.  I probably have more now, I just can't see anything south of my navel so I can't completely verify that.  They stretch all the way from one hip to another, tattooing my abdomen with blazing pride... shouting to the world, "I carried a 10-pound baby for the better part of a year!"

They don't go away, either.  They only hibernate, turning a funny shade of silver as my stomach shrinks back to it's deflated shape.   And I use the word deflated kindly.  Because it hasn't fully deflated since giving birth to my first.  It reminds me of what it's like to blow up a balloon and then suddenly let all the air out of it.  You don't get your original balloon shape back, do you?  Nope... you get my stomach! 

So, here's what we're dealing with.  This is my 31-week belly photo. Please be kind, I'm running out of clothes that flatter and/or fit.  By this time next month I'm pretty sure that I'll be wearing my bathrobe to work.  So, at 31 weeks, that means I still have 9 more weeks (give or take) for this stomach to continue to stretch...  and stretch... and stretch..

Which leads me to the point of my post. 

How this baby is getting the heck out of here...

See, I have this problem of late.  My shirts ride up.  I can't help it.  I pull them down to cover my waist when I get dressed in the morning and by mid-day they seem to have shrunk considerably, exposing my patterned abdomen and my belly button (which has officially become an outie again... a sure sign that this baby is almost fully cooked).

So, I'm lying on my back on my bed next to my daughter the other day.  My shirt has ridden up to somewhere just below my bra.  And my little girl sits up and exclaims in fascination and horror, "Mama! Your stomach is cracking open!"

I had to reassure her that it was not.  

But it did lead to a rather funny, somewhat poignant, image and subsequent conversation about how my babies are NOT born.  

Come to think of it, maybe I should have stuck to the theory that she hatched...

It's easier on the imagination!

The Middle Ages

Today my darling husband told me, "We are in the 'maintenance phase' of our lives". He was referring to the plethora of health related prescribed aids we have been so recently acquiring.

Snort!

I turned 36 three days ago.  That certainly doesn't sound like it should be time for 'maintenance', does it?  I mean, really, I'm still well this side of middle-aged, relatively grey-hair free, fertile... and married to a much older man.  He celebrated his 36th two weeks ago, thank you very much!

So, speak for yourself, buddy!  Maintenance phase my ass!  (My taut, slim, wrinkle-free ass...)

Alright, so today was a bit of a reality check, but that doesn't mean I'm over-the-hill, or even half-way up the slope.  I had a dentist appointment, that's all.  I was fitted for a new mouth guard.  No big deal, I've had one since I was 24, and you certainly can't call THAT maintenance.  So I'm a nocturnal teeth grinder.  Big deal.  You would be too if you were married to someone who had the audacity to infer that you were middle-aged!  Of course, last month at my regular check-up, it was a little daunting to hear, "Oh, you really have to stop grinding your teeth, four of your bottom ones are loose now."   Oops!

So yeah, I've got a brand new mouth guard.  Apparently more effective than the old one that I admit I have gotten out of the habit of wearing of late.  The old one provides a barrier between my top and bottom teeth, on which I can, and did, continuously grind away.  This new on prevents me from closing my mouth together whatsoever, hopefully retraining my jaw to behave itself as I sleep. And it's an ugly sucker!

So that's all he was referring to, really.  Well, that and maybe the tiny fact that (again this is according to my darling husband and no other eyewitnesses whatsoever so you can decide for yourself the validity of the claim) that I have started snoring.  And waking up gasping for air at night.  Like certain people who've had sleep apnea for years.  So I talked to my midwife about this today.  Told her that I have never been more tired in my life and I can sleep for hours and not feel rested. And my husband mistakenly believes that it is I who is snoring.  So, the other thing that I grudgingly picked up in the city today was "Breathe Right Nasal Strips".  Merely as a precaution, because I certainly have not developed a pregnancy induced apnea.  Nope.  Not me! Snoring?  Hah!

There, that's it.  Hardly anything worth worrying about.  Right?

Well, of course, there's also the teeniest little tiny detail that I may have, inadvertently, failed my 1-hour glucose tolerance test.  The blood test done in the second trimester that rules out gestational diabetes. I've never failed it before, so I was a bit surprised to learn that I hadn't aced it this time, either.  So, tomorrow I am off to the lab to have three blood tests spaced at 60-minute intervals after drinking something akin to McDonald's orange drink, to test my body's response to the sugar surge. But, hey, according to Google, two-thirds of women that fail the 1-hour test pass the 2-hour and do not have diabetes.  So the odds are most definitely in my favour.  Most definitely!  :P

But that's it, I swear! I am no where near middle aged (or 'the maintenance phase' which really doesn't sound all that more appealing).  My body is not falling apart on me.  It is healthy, shapely (round is a shape), feminine and nurturing, teeming with life (a very active one with very pointy limbs that keep getting jammed in my side) and, might I repeat, NOT FALLING APART ON ME!  :)

There, that's it, rant over.  On to more pleasing topics... PHOTOS!!!

 My husband and I on his birthday... Alex took the photo.  He was supposed to capture my enormous 26-week baby belly, but a different baby got in the way as he was snapping the photo! 

Alex giving his Dad the "Choose Your Own Adventure" book he'd spent most of July secretly writing and illustrating.  It's awesome!  I'm very proud of him.  

 

My sweet baby boy's eighth birthday!  How did he get to be eight already, when I've barely aged a day? 

We just helped my husband's grandmother celebrate her 90th birthday. She's the one in the middle, between her daughter and her grand-daughter.  Three generations of Coccia girls! His other grandma will be turning 94 this year.  Kind of puts this aging thing in perspective, huh?  

My baby girl... four... who lovingly wished her parents a Happy Birthday and guessed their ages to be 65.  Don't worry, we set her straight pretty quickly! :)

 And my birthday, with my oh-so-ugly and impulsive haircut. Why oh why do I do that to myself??? And hmmm... come to think of it, with four birthday celebrations in 12 days, maybe there's a reason my blood sugar levels are through the roof...

My FOUR children... three on the outside, one on the in! And that is the ONLY time you will ever see a photo of me in a bathing suit on the internet!



Now, to get in a bit of reading before I retire for the night in my new, sexy, mouth guard and nasal strips.

So where did I put those bifocals?

What's in a name?

Everything!  A name is very important.  At least it feels that way.  We're the kind of family that takes four days to come up with a name for a cat, so it's a good thing that a pregnancy is 280 days long.

We have an Alexander James, a Connor Nicholas, and a Kirstin Elizabeth Freeman.  All perfect names that suit our children fabulously.  Well, we think so, anyway.

So we've hit a bit of a standstill.  Neither of us can agree on just one more (well, two more, gotta have one for each potential sex, right?) perfect name.  I think that the problem might just be "Freeman".  Try coming up with a good name for Freeman.  It's not as easy as it sounds.

Here's some names that haven't made the cut:

Morgan (Morgan Freeman, with our colouring?)

Abigail (I love it, Cory says "Abby, yuck!")

Elijah - Vetoed by my husband.  Why?  Apparently it's too biblical.

Isaac - Vetoed.  Apparently "The Binding of Isaac" is a popular online game right now.

Avery - Vetoed.  Really, what the heck is wrong with Avery?  I think Cory was just on a veto roll when I suggested that one.

Bethany (I was sold on this with baby number 1 and it would have been Alex's "it's a girl" name, until Cory admitted that the he loves the name so much he names all his Dungeons and Dragons characters Bethany).  BIG FAT VETO from me now!

Fiona - Kirstin vetoed this one.  "That's Shrek's wife's name!"  She then promptly suggested a viable alternative, "Rapunzel!"  Veto.

Linda - another one of Kirstin's suggestions.  Umm... no thanks, the baby's not coming out fifty years old.

Tobias - Not bad, but Toby gives me images of a short, round, pimply faced little boy with greasy hair.  Or a turtle. Apologies to any Toby's that might stumble across this blog.

Anthony - Kirstin vetoed... "That's a Wiggle name!"  Which effectively let's out Greg, Jeff, Sam, and Murray too.  Plus, turns out Cory has a couple of Tonys from his past that he would rather forget.

Richard.  Really, do I need to explain this one?

Justin - A very respectable name... but try saying it three times fast with our last name.  Not to easy on the ears.

Bronwyn - Cory vetoed this.  What's wrong with this one, it's beautiful!  Oh, yeah... the whole Freeman thing...

Then there's the popular names we've scratched out.  Like Emma (still holding strong on that #1 name spot), Olivia (Cory vetoed), Lily and Sophie (umm... our four-day decision resulted in us naming our cats Lily and Sophie --- so VETO)

Martin - maybe... I do have a bit of a soft spot for Martin --- but it would take some getting used to, as it also sounds lousy with Freeman.

Fred - umm... Cory, did you suggest that just to piss me off?  Vetoed!  Baby Fred.  Can't picture it at all.

Ethan... nope.  Lousy with Freeman.

Candace --- Big fat veto from Cory.  "Do you want people to call her Candy?  That's a stripper name!"  Which effectively leaves out Barbie, Trixie, Lola...   Fine, fair enough!  No stripper names.

Anyway, it's fair to say that we still need the remaining 137 days of the pregnancy to come up with a name that the five of us (well, Cory and I hold more of the vote percentage) agree on.  And from how it's looking (I suggest a new name every other day, Cory shoots it down) we'll need every last day! And then comes the battle over middle names.


Fun times.  Fun times indeed.


Maybe we need to think outside the box... Apple anyone?  

Our beautiful 20-weeks down, 20 to go, nameless miracle!  

My little girl's ears aren't pierced.

My little girl's ears aren't pierced.  Mine are.  But I'm okay with that.  She hasn't asked me why our ears look different.  Why mine have been unnaturally altered and hers haven't.  It doesn't bother her and it doesn't bother me.  It's just not that important.

Which is why I suppose that I reacted somewhat less than favourably the other day when a co-worker explained why a certain procedure was SO IMPORTANT to him.

He has a 12-day old baby boy.  He's in every way the proud papa, showing off photos on his Iphone, racing home at lunch to his wife (who also works in our office), and grinning like the chesire cat whenever anyone asks about the baby.  Yesterday,  I innocently said, "How's the baby?" as he came back from an extended lunch hour.  And grinning, he replied, "Great!  He just had his 'procedure' and he handled it like a champ."

I groaned and said, "Oh, you didn't!"

"Yes," he explained, "It's very important to me."

Surprised, and thinking maybe he was Jewish (Okay, I know he's not Jewish, but what other possible reason could there be in this day and age for committing an act of cosmetic surgery on an unconsenting infant") I asked him, "Why's it so important to you?"

He looked bemused and said, with patience and seriousness, "Because I'm done so it's important that my son is circumcised, too."

I told him that I was very glad his son was doing alright and had no apparent complications but that I couldn't ethically congratulate him on the milestone.  And we parted on good terms, him probably never giving it a second thought, and me feeling heartbroken for the wee baby.

So it's important for you because you were done???  That's it?  No health reason?  No covenant with an Old Testament God (who probably only told Abraham to chop off his foreskin as a joke, to see if he was dumb enough to follow through with it)? No nothing... just so that he looks like you???

I am shocked that so many people still blindly believe that routine infant circumcision is still a valuable practice.  Yes, a generation ago it was recommended as a routine procedure so most of the men in my generation are 'done', but over the past couple of decades medical studies have debunked the evidence that there is any benefit to it either way.  Now it is considered merely a cosmetic surgery.  The fact that there are only two doctors in our neighbouring city actually still willing to perform a circumcision, and only one doctor in our town who will, suggests to me that it should be on it's way out, and will be when those old-school doctors retire.

Especially if your reason for doing it is merely so that your son looks like his father.

What a crock!

Which is why I'd better weigh the pros and cons of having my 4 year old daughter's ears pierced.  Soon... so that she doesn't develop feelings of inadequacy when she realizes she's only half a woman for it.  Or, maybe I should go get glasses for my perfectly sighted boys, because their father wears them.  Or, perhaps I should tattoo my boys' backs so they resemble their Uncle that they so admire, because I'd hate for them to grow up thinking they're not as manly as he is.  Oh my poor kids who don't take after us in every conceivable manner!

Seriously... leave your kids' genitalia alone.  They may not look exactly like you, but are they actually comparing?   Really?  Cause then you have another problem on your hands...

***

Laura (a proud Mama of two completely intact boys, as beautiful as nature intended, who are going to grow up just fine... and will leave my grandsons' penises alone because we left theirs alone)

Conversations with my children

When our fourth miracle arrives there will be a significant age span between my two youngest.  I will have an 8 year-old, a 5 year-old and 4 year-old.  Which is a far cry from four years ago when I had all three children  in less than four years.  I hope that it's not too big of an age gap, because I really want this new one to fit in to the sibling group without a hitch.  Maybe we waited to long to try for number four.  Maybe we didn't.  Only time will tell if they will include this baby or not.

Having said that, the children's attitudes and interest in the pregnancy are definitely different this time around.  More advanced and more intuitive.  My children are asking very intelligent questions and I'm finding myself treading dangerously in areas I'm not completely sure how to navigate.

For instance... a couple of months ago, my daughter asked me, "How did that baby get in your tummy?"  So I told her that Daddy put it there (yikes!).  She asked, "How?"   Okay and you'll have to forgive me, I wimped out on this one... but she was only three and didn't want to traumatize her too much...

"Well, Mama and Daddy decided we wanted to have another baby, and since we love each other, we made one."

Gulp.  I waited for the inevitable.

She said, "Oh... you're Grandma's baby aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Oh... so how did Grandpa put you in Grandma's tummy?"

AAAAACCCKKKK!  I changed the subject.  Kirstin, my dear, that is a question I do not want to know myself!

Then, just the other day, my 5 year-old came up to me while I was hanging out with my husband chatting.  He said, "So, how are you going to get that baby out of your tummy, anyway?"

Exhale.

"Well, that's a very good question," I stalled.  I looked at my husband.  "Cory, want to take this one?"

He shook his head and gave me what can only be considered an evil grin.

"Well," I stammered, "I have to push it out.  Kind of from where I pee."   Oh my god, I can't believe I said that to my son.  He's going to be sooooo messed up now!

"Really? And the doctor helps you do that?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Well, a little bit.  But it's a good kind of hurt."

"How do you know when it's time to push the baby out?"

"Well, I kind of get a stomachache."

"Oh...."  He ponders this for a moment and I wonder where he's going to go next.  "But wouldn't that rip your body open?"

"No, Connor, no it doesn't. Mama is perfectly safe."

Can't tell him all the gory details now, can I... I do want him to sleep well without dreaming of visuals best left to fans of Alien.

Anyway, not sure I handled these questions all that well.  I'm sure there will be more coming over the next few months, so maybe I'll get a chance to redeem myself or at least answer them without stammering.In the meantime, I can take pride in the fact that my children are inquisitive little persons who aren't going to take things at face value.  They are thoughtful and insightful and for that I can be proud --- not mortified.