34W5D

Whoa, two posts within two days of each other! I am spoiling my fan base.

I just want to document an anomaly in my life. I have absolutely zero anxiety or depression in my life right now. I do worry about things for like... two minutes, and then I stop because there's no practical benefit to be gained from worrying. I do sometimes get a little sad, but I'm back to normal within a few hours or at worst a few days. I wake up feeling rested after an appropriate amount of sleep and I even wake up by myself somewhat early in the morning. I have no physical complaints besides those brought on by pregnancy. (Yes, I'm still nauseous and often sick.)

Are people allowed to feel this perfectly in mortality? I don't mean that I feel as if I'm perfect; rather, I feel perfectly contented. It's nice, but I think somewhere deep inside I figured such calm contentment must be reserved only for heaven. Or something. That secret belief was probably a natural result of dealing with depression and hypothyroidism for seven years straight.

(Seriously, if I had ever felt this good in college or even in high school, I'm sure I could've gotten a 4.0 GPA and gotten better scholarships and made more money and socialized more and... I would have been too awesome. And I don't think that's exaggeration, because only needing 6-8 hours of sleep--rather than 12-18 hours--every night for optimal performance is kind of a big deal.)

So, what I mean is... I'm not really worried about ANYTHING. Not seriously, anyway. Sure, I might muse, "Huh. That could be a bad thing." But that doesn't last long, and soon I'm left thinking, "Oh. Well, that particular scenario is highly unlikely and there is no way I can possibly prepare for or prevent that. I'll worry about it if it happens, and only if it happens." And then I go back to feeling peaceful within a few minutes.

Yet I don't feel careless or unmotivated. Nor do I feel detached in any way from the world or what I'm experiencing. To the contrary, my friends! I feel much more connected to everything. I feel as if I am getting more joy out of hobbies. I am getting more joy out of my husband. More joy from my sister. More joy from tasty noms, when I feel as if I can eat them.* More joy from the living room I tidied days ago which is still decent-looking. More joy from a warmish bath with bath salt. More joy from experimenting with my hair, even when it ends in disaster.** More joy from finding out something cool while browsing the Internet. More joy from social interactions.***

I go to group prenatal care every two weeks. (This involves a short time alone with the midwife, then we all meet together to learn about pregnancy and labor and breastfeeding and all that stuff. We also socialize a little.) I've noticed that, well, really... I seem to be the least worried person there.

I'm not worried about labor so much. I feel as if I've gathered all the information about it that I can... and really, while that information will be useful, there's really no way to really prepare for childbirth. Sure, I can read about what it feels like, but I figure I won't actually figure out what it feels like until it happens.

I feel the same way about breastfeeding. It's either going to be easy or it's going to be frustrating or somewhere in between. Sure, I've read up on it... but what I really need is practice. And then I'll know how to do it. Or perhaps, I'll be frustrated out of my mind because it isn't just happening the way it's supposed to. But that doesn't worry me too much. I've got all the resources I need. Millions of lactation consultants who spend all day, every day troubleshooting breastfeeding are available at all hours of the night. I could even get a house call if I needed it. (There are benefits to living in hippietown.) And if all else fails, Pterodactyl won't die of starvation because there's this thing called formula available.

And childcare? Again, I don't feel like there's going to be any way I'm going to figure out the secrets of childcare until I suddenly have this tiny, helpless creature to take care of 24/7/365. Yes, I could be faced with the horrors of a colicky baby. And then I'll have to deal with that, and it will be hard, and I will probably cry lots and feel inadequate or something. But really, there's nothing I can do now about the possibility of dealing with colic. I've read stuff, but I stopped reading it when I stopped gleaning new information from things I read.

The weird thing is, I almost feel bad for not being worried. (You know, for about five minutes before I dismiss that thought and stop worrying about that too.) Isn't it some sort of maternal responsibility to find things to worry about and then do something about it? All the other moms are doing it. But... what am I supposed to worry about, huh?

I also briefly worried that because life is so good right now, that must mean things are about to get pretty awful and unmanageable. I'm not sure mortality actually works that way, though. And if it does, I feel as prepared as I'm ever going to be, so that's not worth worrying about either.

So, since there's nothing to worry about, I guess all that's left is to wait. And that's not particularly torturous. I am eager to meet this Amelia-Pterodactyl creature. But I don't feel impatient.

I am also super curious to know if I will actually think she is cute as soon as I see her. I mean, it seems to me that newborns are almost universally kinda ugly. And then they get cute in short order. But they don't start out that way. Look, it's a screaming purple lizard.

I'd be more apt to name this Pterodactyl than Amelia. It does look kind of like a dinosaur.

And then it will get cute. See?

This, however, should definitely not be named Pterodactyl. This deserves a name like Amelia.

Love and suchly,
Jenna and probably-Amelia (Pterodactyl)

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*As if on cue, I suffered punishment for publicly announcing that the nausea was almost absent. Yesterday kinda sucked. However, it's not all that discouraging at this point, so it didn't really affect my mood at all.
**For instance, I've never done rag curls. I did some last night. This morning when I undid them, I realized I must have rolled them too tightly. I had crazy woman hair when all the rags were out. Then I tried to fix it, only to end up looking like Shirley Temple after a lightning strike. I find this kind of funny. And besides, I at least figured out something NOT to do next time I try rag curls.
***I still don't feel like I've found soulmate-type friends, but I have at least found friends I am content to sit around and do nothing with. Or rather, I often sit around doing nothing besides watching them do other stuff. Or listening while they talk.

34W3D

Woo! Thirty-four weeks! The majority of babies born at 34-37 weeks, while they may need to hang out in the NICU for a while, have no permanent problems. So I don't have to panic if I just happen to go into labor  at any point. (I reserve the right to panic a little anyway if I do go into preterm labor.)

I wrote the following letter to Pterodactyl:

Dearest Pterodactyl, Could you please not come before 38 weeks? Thanks. Actually, if at all possible, could you get out ASAP as soon as you hit 38 weeks? Just to clarify, this means on or very soon after August 19th. Mom is tired of being sick. Plus, it would be convenient timing-wise. Thanks. And besides... You're excited and can hardly wait to meet us, too, right? Love, Jenna and James.

Thirty-eight weeks would be perfect because that's right after James is done teaching his class and grading finals and stuff. And then there's this whole long four-week period in which he has no official school-related responsibilities. And, of course, Pterodactyl will be full-term at that point. (I can't help but also note that she is likely to be smaller and easier to push out at 38 weeks than she would be at, say, 41 weeks.)

Ah, fantasy. I can hope, right? And if Pterodactyl hangs out until 41 weeks... well, that scenario has its advantages, too. I hear the uterus is a pretty good place to put on baby fat and continue developing. 

I've decided that, officially, I was not nesting last week. It was definitely a panic attack; it felt like a kind of paralysis. I had to work super hard (in my head, I mean) to overcome that paralysis and stuff things I didn't need into trash bags. I am currently absolutely tickled pink about how much less cluttered my living room is after hiding a few things in the closet. It's so luxurious!

I'm pretty laissez-faire about messes right now... leave 'em be. Maybe they'll magically disappear. (Actually this tactic has been successful in some ways. To my absolute delight, it turns out that Becca's favorite chore is dishes, so she does that sometimes. And guess what my least favorite chore is? Dishes. Yay!) I'm mostly just noticing messes and imperfections in my apartment. Yeah, I cleaned the shower last week. The most I've done since then? I cleaned the bathroom sink this morning. And then I thought, "Man. That was hard work. I should reward myself with ice cream." But then I thought ice cream for breakfast was not a good idea and ate real food instead. Tonight I will have my reward.

Here are my predictions about what nesting will actually be like for me: insane. I have these visions of a barely reasonable lady precariously balancing on a ladder scrubbing the ceiling with a toothbrush... and meticulously detailing the interior of the car... and alphabetizing all the food in the kitchen... You know, that sort of thing. I am immensely grateful that if this does occur, James will be here and not in San Francisco. Theoretically, if I need someone to restrain me from climbing onto the roof to clean it while forty weeks pregnant, that means James will be able to provide such services.

I officially appear pregnant enough that perfect strangers will ask me when I'm due and if I'm having a boy or girl... (Actually, they usually ask, "What are you having?" I am seriously tempted to start answering, "a baby" or "a dinosaur" or even "I'd like a cheeseburger with fries, please".) People also seem to comment fairly often that I'm "tiny for eight months pregnant". Yeah, I guess so, but I think my uterus has been growing vertically more than horizontally or outward because it measures exactly the right size.

Ah, yes. Vertically. Meaning that my stomach is currently small-pancake-sized. My appetite was absolutely and completely nonexistent for a while. It kind of freaked me out. Thankfully, that did pass, and I sometimes actually feel like eating. The only problem now? I get full quickly. So I have to eat alllll the time. Eating is something like 40% of my life right now.

For those wondering about the nausea... I WON'T TELL YOU. BECAUSE IF I TELL YOU I'M NOT NEARLY AS SEVERELY OR FREQUENTLY NAUSEOUS AS I HAVE BEEN, THEN IT WILL SUDDENLY RETURN WITH A VENGEANCE. So I won't tell you. I will say that I've experimented with Zofran this week. I've been taking 16 mg every morning for a long time now, but decreased to 8 mg this week in case I didn't need it. I found out that I do need it, but I feel ***CENSORED*** when I take 16 mg every morning, which is awesome, so I'll take it! 

I am not sure to what I should attribute this change. I have three suspects. First, the natural progression of pregnancy and changes in hormones and schtuff. Second, acupoking. Third, drinking lots of Gatorade... Mmm, eating me some electrolytes! I knew when I made all these changes at once that the results would be hard to interpret, but I figured it'd be worth it. Now the scientist in me is facepalming herself with regret. Now I'll never know what the magic cure is!

Love and electrolytes,

Jenna and Pterodactyl (a.k.a Amelia Rose... 98% probability)

33W0D: I Could Just Maybe Be Nesting

James thinks I'm nesting. My dad also seems to think so.

But... I'm not quite sure. Sure, this could be nesting, but this also feels suspiciously like an ataxophobic panic attack after weeks of building anxiety (or is it weeks of building nesting instinct?). I want things to be tidy and clean and in order, but... I just... am having a hard time doing it.

Well, I got a few gifts for Pterodactyl this week, including TONS of hand-me-down clothing. I had already known that I didn't yet have a place set aside to put the baby things (my sister is living in the place we were going to put stuff), but I didn't realize that having a ginormous pile of stuff that didn't have a "home" would affect me so badly. I got overwhelmed and I ignored the pile for a few days. Then I built up the courage to take things out of boxes and... now there were two piles. Piles of packaging and piles of things that needed to be put away. For some reason I couldn't deal with it and left the piles.

Yesterday I broke into tears about it--think panic attack tears. It definitely hadn't helped that while James has been gone this week, I've been just as weak and energy-less as has been typical throughout pregnancy--and when I feel like that I tend to leave things lying around because I'm just so tired. So it's messy AND there are a million items out and about to stab your retinas.

Once I was panicky, my vision seemed to get distorted and magnified the presence of clutter, perhaps because I was desperate to find a place to put stuff. And then I had the following horrible feeling: I need stuff to put things in. I need drawers for baby clothes. I need a filing cabinet. I need more kitchen shelves for all the food sprawled all over the floor. I need... and I don't have money to buy any furniture.

And perhaps since I was already uber-bothered, the eccentricity of the clutter started eating at me. The busy pattern on the couch that completely clashed with the living room ate at my frontal lobe until the realization that I couldn't afford a slipcover for the sofa also began torturing me. And the rug in the bathroom doesn't match the rest of the room. The microwave doesn't match the rest of the kitchen. Yeah, it wasn't so good... especially because all these things I was now noticing (unlike the messiness) were things I was unable to change, at least at the present time.

I ended up freaking out a little more (both to myself and to James on the phone) before I did the smart thing and starting praying for comfort and such. It was then that I had an epiphany... and now it seems so obvious. Instead of getting more stuff to contain all the stuff I have, why don't I get rid of stuff until it's all contained?

Now, I couldn't bring myself to go outside in the heat, but I at least started stuffing things in trash bags. I got into my closet and asked myself: "When is the last time I used this?" Too many of my clothes elicited this response: "I hate every thread in this shirt. I use it only when I should have done laundry two months ago." Ah. Well, that shirt should clearly go to charity.

I came across my hat collection. It pained me, but I hadn't touched it in over a year. I barely touched it the year before that. ... Charity.

I came across several gifts I had always hated (but have kept because I'd feel guilty for tossing it... does everyone do this?)... Charity (or trash). I decided to keep only the following for sentimental value: wedding stuff and old letters. Oh, and a hand turkey that James made. I glued that in my journal at least, so it wasn't wandering free. Oh, and a gaudy picture frame I'd always hated? Epiphany! Paint it black and it'd go very well with the other picture frames in the living room. Genius.

Last night I got lots of stuff into trash bags or charity bags, but I didn't actually succeed in cleaning or actually clearing away any of the clutter. I felt better, though, perhaps because in my heart I knew all I really had to do was move lots of it to the dumpster or to the trunk of my car.

Today I cleaned the shower. Look at it in wonder. Ooooo, aaaaaaah... Okay, we're done. I'm exhausted from the effort, although I actually kind of enjoyed it. It's been hot for the last few days and we don't have air conditioning, so my nausea has been pretty bad. I really enjoyed the cold, cold water for a few hours. Refreshing. (Yes, the picture isn't properly focused, but I don't actually know how to work a camera...)

Well, if this IS nesting, then at least my apartment is benefiting from the madness.

Death to soap scum,
Jenna and Pterodactyl

P.S. Pterodactyl is doing well, and continues to grow. She's the right size, but I'm not growing that much. I didn't gain ANY weight in the last three weeks. I definitely need to try harder to swallow down food, aye? This nausea is making it hard. I'm having a hard time cooking lately, so any edible culinary donations are welcome. ;)

P.P.S. I'm not going to clean your apartment too. Edit: Except maybe if you pay me. See, I do REALLY want a sofa slipcover...

31W6D

Today is a momentous occasion. James and I purchased diapers. Actual diapers! For the very first time! As James said, "This s*** just got real." (Yes, he said it just like that. With the asterisks. He's skilled like that.) Yay, puns!

We had a Costco coupon for diapers and figured we should use it, because we are going to need them. And, if the rumors are true, we will be needing lots of them. We got a box of the tiny diapers and a box of the next size up. We figure that, unless Pterodactyl is a BEAST, we'll need to get more tiny diapers before moving up to the next size, but... maybe Pterodactyl will be a beast. (My woman parts sure hope not.)

Oh! Exciting news! I am typing this from the shiny, gorgeous Chromebox Ben (James' brother and computer programmer extraordinaire) sent us. Ben is super nice and super awesome and sent it to us because he purportedly gets cool stuff he doesn't need at programming conferences. (Cool stuff one doesn't need? What is this ye speak of?) I suppose we should also sing Liliana's praises for taking time out of her day to mail it to us. Thanks, familia!

Now, we were pretty surprised at how much we like this Chromebox thing. Once James got the monitor to work, he commenced a symphony of oos. "Oo! That was a quick boot-up time!" Four seconds, baby. "Oo!" "Oo!" "Oo!" Sure, all the Chromebox does is Internet, but let's be honest... You can do almost anything on the Internet nowadays. A notable exception, of course, is Starcraft II and Diablo III... Sorry to remind you, James.

The fate of the old laptop is uncertain. It continues to balance waveringly on a cusp between almost-could-be-maybe-slightly-useful and useless. Some days it makes interesting noises which sound like a stream of sand funneling through a swiftly rotating fan. Some days it won't boot up without thinking, "Huh. I think something is wrong with the hard drive. I should run diagnostics!" On the other hand, there are also some days that you can use it almost normally, provided you don't mind waiting 5-20 minutes for a program to load. We're not quite sure when the appropriate time is to take the poor guy out to the dumpster.

So. Pregnancy continues to be... interesting. I do believe that my midsection has finally grown out past my chest, but sometimes I'm not sure. I'm terrified, people. I think I'm going to be stuck with porn boobs* when this is all over. I mean, seriously, I would really prefer not having to go to a specialty store just to find one bra that fits. I enjoy finding cool zebra-print bras for under $10. I really do.

I had a roommate in college who faced this predicament without pregnancy. Dear lady: I officially apologize for every time I thought, "Sure, it's inconvenient, but surely it's not that bad." If you do ever decide to get a breast reduction, I will gladly donate at least $5 to the cause.

You may be interested to know that I'm getting $50 this week to be a model and get my picture taken. Women's Care (where I work) is redesigning their website and hired a photographer to get photos of warm, friendly, comfortable patient-practitioner interaction. And they decided a picture of a pregnant lady getting an ultrasound was absolutely necessary. Guess which employee is mighty good-looking and pregnant? Me! I think it's a pretty sweet deal.

Lest you demand to see the picture immediately, I should warn you that the new website may take months and months to actually materialize. I'll let you know when I finally make my debut as pregnant supermodel extraordinaire.

Pterodactyl is wiggly. I think she had hiccups this morning. She is definitely getting bigger, and thusly, those little kicks are becoming more noticeable. Sometimes, a particularly well-placed punch will wake me up out of a deep slumber. Those'uns are painful. However, these are few and far between. More often, I don't even notice that she's moving unless I deliberately sit still and concentrate. That's when I feel like she's fingerpainting the inside of my uterus. It feels like something is sliding around on the walls. Back and forth, back and forth. Very gently. Delicately.

James is leaving for a math conference tomorrow. It will last for two entire weeks. This makes me a little sad, of course. What am I going to do without a servant to do all my bidding? Eat more microwave meals and do less laundry, that's what. Also I should socialize and stuff.

Anyway, love and Costco berry smoothie**,
Jenna and Pterodactyl

---
* I discovered this phrase when one of our more colorful patients used it. She predicts that as soon as I deliver, I will no longer have an ounce of nausea and will be left with only a newborn and porn boobs. She also predicts that I will forget the months and months of nausea I've experienced and immediately announce a desire to have ten more pregnancies. I am somewhat worried that she will be accurate on all accounts.
** While we were at Costco today, one of the employees told me "the baby probably would like a berry smoothie, 'cuz it's gluten-free!" ... Wait, what?

31W0D: Computer Troubles

Pterodactyl is still doing okay as far as we can tell. She is also still in my uterus, right where she belongs. I think I'd rather lug her around for a few more months instead of having to visit in the NICU. Plus, a room in Hotel Uterus is free; a room in Hotel NICU is definitely not free.

I guess the biggest news is that our laptop had a stroke last night. (I am using sister's computer.) We have all our stuff backed up on an external hard drive and/or Dropbox, so ye need not worry about that. The main problem is our consequent computerlessness. James does need a computer to do schoolwork.

As many of you are aware, James has been pining away for a gaming* computer for ages... and not just any gaming computer, a good gaming computer. One that can run all the latest and greatest games, and will likely also be able to run the latest and greatest in the next three or four years.

I suppose that some of my audience might not realize this means spending $1,500-$2,000. I assure you--for a good gaming computer, this is reasonable. That price range, however, most likely wouldn't be enough to buy a best gaming computer. It really is just enough for a good one. If you're not a gamer and you don't believe me... this is not the place to convince you.

Several months ago, we had saved up almost enough money for the computer and had actually bought a few  components (monitor, mouse, keyboard, and case) when disaster strikes in the form of... dun dun DUN! Root canal: $1,500. Bye-bye budget. Poor James not only had to endure the pain of a root canal, but the loss of an expected computer as well. 

We have been entering all the computer sweepstakes ever, you know, just in case God is as desperate to bless us with a gaming computer as James is to get one. We figure it can't hurt, even if the odds are most certainly against us. Waaaay against us.

Well, guess what. Dooooooooommm! Our laptop died today. It was functional last night and only slightly sluggish, as can be expected from a laptop its age. This morning, however, was a whole 'nother story. Sudden dementia. We undid our most recent Windows update, to no avail. We uninstalled something we installed last night, also to no avail. And then we ran all the exciting diagnostics and discovered a hard drive problem, which means this computer is on its deathbed.

Good news! There is, apparently, some hope for our checking account. Ben, James' super awesome brother who is a super awesome programmer, apparently sometimes gets free stuff from programming conference-type events. He may be able to send us a Chromebook that might possibly run LaTeX (a math program which James, as a math Ph.D. student, understandably needs). So if Ben can somehow hack the Chromebook to run LaTeX, we may be compelled to admit that he is a miracle worker and give him... oh, I don't know. The baby teeth of our firstborn child? ... Gross.

I've also discovered that James keeps his composure a lot better when he is not allowed to control the mouse/keyboard of a dying computer. If he is... this, in a nutshell, is what happens:

James: *click*

Computer: *no response, considers unicorns*

James: *click click click click click click*

Computer: *stays frozen, gets confused, thinks about rainbows*

James: AAARRRRRGGGHHH!!! *CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK* *forehead vein throbs* My life is HORRRIBBLE! *CLICK CLICK* *scream*

Computer: *finally opens whatever James was trying to open in the first place, then freezes again to try and process the last five thousand mouse clicks received, contemplates mold*

James: *tantrum* *presses lots of buttons*

Now, when he is not in control, he still gets sad and upset, but he isn't on the cusp of destroying any furniture or snapping at his lovely wife for no good reason. I think I shall establish a new rule in my household: when a computer is misbehaving, James must relinquish control. Yes. I think this is a wise precaution.

Well. I guess we'll see how long it takes in real life for us to get a gaming computer.

Love and heartburn,

Jenna and Pterodactyl (and a very sad James)

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*I want to make one thing extremely clear. James' love of video games does not bother me one iota. People assume his gaming would make me unhappy. Yes, James is (or was when the computer let him play) a Platinum League player in Starcraft II; this does not mean he ignores me or devotes too much time to video games. (That's like assuming an decent athlete neglects other responsibilities in order to improve his or her skills.) Yes, James is a gamer. James does not neglect his wife, or his graduate studies, or his church responsibilities, or anything else important. James plays games in his honest-to-goodness, never-in-excess free time. Now stop feeling sorry for James' wife.