Butt Update

Last week Ronnie started wearing underpants. Now, this does not mean she is fully potty trained. In fact, I would say instead that she is merely in the process of potty training. She still has accidents. Lots and lots of accidents. But for her, just wearing panties is enough to make her remember to use the potty and she really, really hates having to wear a diaper at all now.

It’s amazing how different the potty training experience is with Veronica compared to her brother. Kirk was just uninterested in it at all. Pure laziness. He would have kept going in a diaper forever if we would have let him. Which is why we started the sticker charts. Potty candy was all well and good but ultimately, he needed a bigger reward. Earning stickers to save up for a toy prize mattered a whole lot more to him than the personal pride of a pair of underpants. I guess that’s why Ronnie’s moving forward so much quicker and at such a younger age. I’m not sure if it’s the younger sibling thing or the girls-train-earlier-than-boys thing or personality differences or some combination of all of that. But it’s definitely been unique.

Kirk always used the actual potty chair. He didn’t switch to the potty ring until he had been using the little chair for quite some time. We’d always have to clean it out and it was gross. Ronnie has never used anything but the toilet seat ring insert. When she was first showing interest many months ago, I pulled the potty chair out and she would sit on it but it was basically just a toy. She didn’t start actually going until I set her on the ring. That’s what she uses at daycare, too.

So now I make sure she goes every morning when she first gets up. She’s really good at morning pee. The rest of the day is hit or miss. She’s been going to daycare in underpants but always ends up coming home in a diaper. She still needs one while sleeping so she needs one while taking a nap. Miss Ronica likes to then have her panties on top of her diaper, so she’s still wearing them. Sort of. I must say, size 2T Hello Kitty panties are just about the cutest thing ever.

Mama’s also been having increased potty focus the past few months. The entire family got hit with a nasty bout of stomach flu back in February. All four of us were down for several days with repeated puking and diarrhea. It was not fun. But after we all got well, my butt never went back to normal. Essentially, I’ve had intermittent diarrhea for months now. I thought maybe it was red meat so cut that out. I cut out alcohol and caffeine and dairy. None of that made any difference. I tried adding lactobacillus to my water. Nope. So I finally went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago and had blood taken and had to provide a stool sample. That was a real joy to collect.

Last week I got the results of the tests back. “Your blood tests for Celiac disease (gluten sensitivity) were both quite elevated. This makes the diagnosis quite likely.” Awesome. I have an appointment with a gastrointestinal specialist set up for next month. But in the meantime, I get to speculate on life with a possible celiac diagnosis. There is no cure. The only way to fix my butt issues would be to change my diet. Radically change my diet. Wheat gluten is in *everything*. Seriously. It’s used to thicken even ice cream! I love pasta and bread and crackers and cereal. Sure, my favorite grains have long been corn and oats but there’s wheat flour in corn bread and dieticians are divided on whether or not oat gluten is also bad. Basically it’s at the point now where every time I eat a sandwich or a plate of spaghetti I find myself thinking, “Is this the last time I’ll ever be able to eat it?” I’m not supposed to modify my diet on my own before additional testing or else I’d have to eat a bunch of gluten specifically for tests. So in the meantime, I’m keeping on keeping on.

But what will this mean for my family? I already have a massively picky eater in Kirk. Dinner is a fight more often than not. I don’t want to have to make special meals for myself but I also don’t want to have to force them to eat weird grains and bizarre recipes when they don’t have to. There are just so many factors and such a potential for ripple effects. I’m trying not to worry. But being celiac would certainly help to make sense of certain things my whole life so part of me would be happy just to have the answers. Even if that means knowing that I’ll pay later for that sandwich on delicious whole grain bread.

Gender Appears Female

Ten fingers. Ten toes. All the correct organs in all the right spots. And three little lines between the legs, apparently the labia. It seems that Mr. b beat me to the punch and already wrote up his thoughts on learning we are having a girl. Like he said, we all already knew that it was a girl. I was 90% sure going in to the ultrasound that it was a girl. For Kirk I was definitely leaning towards boy but I didn’t have anywhere near the certainty that I felt this time.

I had lunch on Friday with my mom and some of the retired ladies from her swim class. Finding out the sex of the baby came up and some of them couldn’t believe that you’d want to know. But one of the oldest of the ladies pointed out that they never had the chance to know. The technology didn’t exist then. Basically it came down to some of them would have wanted to find out and some of them would have still waited. I thought that was interesting since that’s exactly how it is now. I can’t imagine not wanting to find out and people that wait can’t imagine wanting to spoil the surprise!

Of course now we are starting to seriously look at the logistics of having another human in the house. First of all, where do we put her? It was easy with Kirk because we just moved the guest bed downstairs and turned the guest room into his bedroom. But neither of us really want to try to squeeze a crib back into his room now that it’s finally been removed. And I don’t think it would be fair or healthy for Kirk to deal with being awakened every night for feedings and all that goes along with a new baby. But there’s certainly no space in our room for more than a bassinette, and barely even that to be honest. So I think we’re going to move downstairs.

The basement living room has an egress window and is counted as a third bedroom. We’d be able to use our current room as a guest room and have plenty of space downstairs for a crib and other baby equipment. Then when she’s older and sleeping through the night we can revisit sharing a room with her brother. Mr. b was talking bunk beds if she was a boy but I don’t see why that can’t still happen. I don’t see anything wrong with a brother and sister sharing a room – at least until they’re 8 or 10 or so. And presumably at that point we’ll have moved into a bigger place anyway. So in the meantime we need to get Kirk used to the idea of him sleeping on a different floor of the house than us. I’m not sure how he’s going to react to being the only one upstairs at night.

And we need to start rearranging furniture and getting rid of crap and organizing the basement. Which is all good stuff and will force us to better utilize a lot of space that’s currently going to waste. And I think we’ll get a dorm fridge in which to keep baby milk.

18 Weeks

I haven’t been doing a very good job of keeping track of what gestational week I’m on this pregnancy. I had to actually ask the doctor yesterday. I knew approximately but I wasn’t sure exactly. I know that my “day” is Sunday but I had just completely spaced out if I was already at 18 or coming upon 18. The former.

I guess that’s one of those Second Pregnancy things. Mr. b is experiencing a different one; he said he can’t even imagine how he could possibly love the new baby as much as he loves Kirk. I’ve actually heard that one before. I’m not sure why I’m not feeling it. Maybe because the reality of another lifeform is more immediate for me? I mean, I can literally feel it moving around.

Mr. b also hasn’t been able to come to all of my ob visits with me like before. Yesterday was the first time he got to hear the heartbeat! He announced he could just tell it’s a girl. New Doc was amused. They also had a small bonding moment of making fun of the preggo’s lack of logic. (Dammit, it makes sense to me to want to buy a new Boppy pillow instead of just steal the old one off of Kirk’s bed!)

It was an uneventful visit other than that. As they should be. I’ve gained 2 pounds since last month which is good I guess since I had been loosing before then. I did learn about the weird sharp pains I’ll occasionally get deep in my belly if I stand up too fast or shift position too abruptly. Apparently it’s the ligaments that anchor the uterus getting stretched and not keeping up with what’s required of them. Makes sense to me and nothing to worry about.

Procrastination

Last night Mr. b asked me what I was doing. I answered truthfully, "Procrastinating." He declared that Denny Thor, procrastination, and potatoes are my three favorite things in the world and has promised that should he ever write a comic strip about me it will be titled Procrastination & Potatoes. [Inside Joke Explanation: Mr. b once drew me a picture of my "boyfriend", Denny Thor (a long haired surfer), after teasing me mercilessly that I looove hateful Denethor, Steward of Gondor and father of Boromir and Faramir, which is painfully untrue though I will admit that the actor did a fantastic job of portraying such a wretched man in the film.]

I finally bought fabric for my Halloween costume last weekend. But did I start working on it? No I did not. Instead, I made Kirk a pillow case. While at the fabric warehouse, he and his father found some adorable Incredibles flannel and Kirk asked me to cut him some. I still have about a yard left which I figure I’ll either back with some cotton for a simple small "quilt" or else maybe stuff as a teddy bear. I’ve managed to put off that unnecessary project though so at least one thing is waiting its turn.

I was bound and determined to not let my procrastinatorial nature stop me from working last night. So after two loads of laundry I was finally ready. To sort through my old maternity clothes! I pulled out everything not sleeveless or obviously warm weather and started trying stuff on. I vividly remember the weird loss of self I experienced last time from wearing clothes I never picked out on my own. I love hand-me-downs but there came a point where I couldn’t recollect my own sense of style. So I immediately pulled out the items I know I didn’t wear because I wasn’t sure if I liked them or not, as well as the stuff that is just plain too small since I’m starting off several pounds heavier than last time. I’m still wearing my regular pants though so I’ll save that session for another day. I guess that’s another vote for "girl" since carrying high is a girl indicator, right?

I really did finally get some work done on my costume. Cut out all the skirt pieces. After making Kirk’s bed and spending some time on the internets. Sheesh. I’m pathetic. But now that I’m started I really will be fine. And I mean, the deadline is coming up and that’s what procrastinators need: deadlines. The tough part will be making the bodice pattern since the pattern I’m using is missing those pieces. Since I’m already sizing the whole thing up I’d have to do math anyway so it’s less dire than it would appear.

Sugar & Spice?

While going through my old posts I was reminded of all the fun gender identification myths out there. Mr. b and Kirk have both been calling this kid “she” since the beginning and they must be winning me over or something because I’m definitely getting girl vibes now. For one thing, the only names I can think of are female. And frankly, my top girl name is the same girl name we picked out last time and didn’t use. I’m glad we both love it still. Another indicator is the heartburn issue. OK so like all of these, there’s a 50/50 chance that they’re accurate; that doesn’t make them not fun! Even though I had been told that heartburn = girl, I was told more often that heartburn = boy. (And also heartburn = lots of hair at birth but that’s not relevant here and wasn’t the case with Kirk At. All.) At this point in my last pregnancy I was already popping the Rolaids like no tomorrow. I think I’ve had maybe a half dozen all told so far this time? And honestly, that could just as easily have been regular ol’ heartburn instead. Hopefully that means that I’ll get a break and it won’t get bad until my stomach is so squished up that the acid has no place to fit. That’s just physics folks, pure and simple. Of course I feel like utter crap today and have already had to choke down a mouthful of bile but that’s not regular heartburn either. Then there’s also the “a girl steals her mother’s beauty” trope. I am definitely feeling that one. I’m not saying this to plead for compliments either. I just don’t really see myself in the mirror anymore. I see someone that looks like me but is missing that spark that I do think makes me attractive. It’s not that I radically cut off my hair and I needed to get used to that. I always radically cut off my hair when it’s gotten too long. (I just don’t think haircuts are any fun if all you’re doing is chopping off a couple of inches. What’s the point in that? It’s hair people! It grows! Have fun with it!) No, this is something deeper that I can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s a self-perception issue entirely but I do keep coming back to that phrase and wondering about it.

I’ll have my ultrasound in about a month or so and we will most definitely find out if possible. So who knows, I could be totally wrong here. But I wanted to put my prediction out there just in case.

It's a Boy

"Gender Appears Male" That's the caption on two of the five ultrasound pictures we got to take home with us. Close-ups of the baby's package, with a little arrow pointing at the weiner and balls. (Two others were fabulously clear profiles.) I asked the technician what the accuracy rate of these determinations usually was. "In this case? 90%." Both Mr. b and I had gut feelings for the past couple of months that it was a boy. But you can't voice them or people will think you don't want a girl. That wasn't it. We both just *sensed* it.

I had no idea how much stuff they check out during the ultrasound. Technician had a whole list of images she needed to capture. They all get provided to the radiologist who then reads the pictures and provides the exam results to Doc in time for our visit next week. I'm certainly no expert but I counted two hands, two arms, two feet, two legs. Internal organs were on the inside. Facial features in the correct locations. Four ventricles in the heart. A spine. You know, the big stuff. There was nothing so obviously wrong that my untrained eye spotted it.

It was still kind of surreal. Sure I felt Tech moving the scanner thingie over my belly and I saw the images on the monitor hanging above us. But it was hard to connect the two and realize that what we were viewing was inside me. Mr. b teared up a couple times.

Child Person was squirming all over the place and Tech had to constantly readjust her angle to get the shots she needed. I could barely feel it. Which, considering how fiercely I have felt movement previously, means that damn, C.P. is going to end up as much a fidgety spazz as his father. It took Tech multiple tries to get a solid reading on the heartbeat. 150 beats per minute. Apparently there's a broad range for 2nd trimester babies. Also, apparently when we hear the heartbeat at the regular visits, it's actually the umbilical cord. The blood courses through it at the rate of C.P.'s heart, not mine.

Of course we went out for dinner after the appointment. And of course Mr. b brought the pictures in with us so he could keep looking at his son. (I just love Mr. b so much.) And of course we had a semi-constant stream of servers and managers stopping by to coo over the pictures and congratulate us.

Ultrasound Day

Halfday for me today because then I have to drink 32 ounces of water, not pee, and go have an ultrasound. As thinga put it, I hope Child Person puts on a good peep show!

Mr. b and I spent craploads of money this weekend. We bought a digital camera finally. I am sick of analog pictures and want nothing to do with film, negatives, and prints of bad shots ever again. Not to mention doubles. Yes, we're going to take shitloads of pictures of C.P., but I want to be able to just burn them off onto a CD if they're not going to a) get added to the scrapbook, b) get sent off to friends and family, or c) get framed and hung on the wall. I wanted to have this new camera early enough that we can figure out all its tricks long before we're dealing with lack of sleep, poo and vom.

I also got some maternity clothes. Holy crap they are expensive! We ran into a lady Mr. b knows and she asked if we got "any good deals." "Not really." But I now have two new pairs of pants--jeans and pin-striped khakis--that are stylish, don't have that nasty elastic band, and will continue to fit me for the next few months. Mr. b also picked out two shirts for me. I honestly like hand-me-downs but he's right, having something new that's your own and is actually your correct size is a good thing for psychological well being. Plus, he's really good at picking out shirts for me. Thankfully I shouldn't have to spend much money on anything for in the heat of the summer. I can make dresses and just buy hippie dresses at Ragstock or something. What I really need is some kind of a Sugar Mama that wants to buy me maternity clothes and other presents. Or maybe I should try to work on Diablo's suggestion of posting a registry....

Week 17

I have gained zero pounds since my last appointment. Nurse and Doctor were unconcerned but Mr. b was a bit aghast. Well, it's not like I don't eat all the time! It's just that I'm naturally a fairly healthy eater and I didn't start out severely underweight, all anorexic and on diet pills or living off beer and cigarettes or anything. I'm simply your standard tall and broad-shouldered Scandinavian-American mutt. Doc measured my slowly growing bump from belly button to top of pubes. And we got to listen to the whale probe, I mean Junior's heartbeat again. I told Mr. b he needs to sample it. I'm going to make him bring some gear to the next appointment. At the end of the visit Doc announed, "You're perfect." As she was busy writing Routine Pregnancy on my ultrasound form she added, "This is the time in your life where you want to be boring." Alrighty then. Everything is on track. In three weeks we should know if it's a little Major Carter or a wee Captain James T.

Leaving the clinic Mr. b was all about getting me some dinner. I told him my plans to just make quesadillas from the previous night's homemade Mexican leftovers. His face fell. "But we always go out to eat after a baby appointment!" So that's our new tradition.

Week 14

I've been hipped to some great sites that catalogue all the hilarious old wives tales for the child's sex. The first one was actually a quiz so I didn't know what each question meant. And I couldn't answer many of them because I'm not far enough along yet. I came out with a 55% chance of a girl but throughout the test my results kept wavering back and forth. So then I went here where they actually list all the folklore for each sex. And I'm still even! Sure I'm craving protein (boy) but I'm also craving sweets (girl). My skin is very, very dry (boy) but it is soft (girl). So we'll just have to wait patiently for the ultrasound. Mr. b is the kind of guy who hates secrets and surprises. He can't even handle the lead up to Christmas or his birthday because he knows there are presents to be opened. There is no way he'd be able to handle not knowing the sex of our baby!

I hope I'm not jinxing myself but I seem to have crossed the magical trimester line. I felt great this weekend, no sickness, no queasiness, only the slightest heartburn. And I was hungry! Good timing I suppose because Mr. b was sick in bed all weekend. It's funny how Sick Husband trumps Pregnant Wife. I'm not sure I approve of that. Grrrr.

My friend Diablo told me about another hilarious old wives' way of determining your baby's sex. "A girl steals her mother's beauty." So, considering that Mr. b (and his boss!!) think I look pretty, and I don't think I look like complete ass (except for under the fluorescent lights in the work bathroom--but that's nothing new), I guess that's a second "indication" that it's a boy. I keep forgetting to ask my father-in-law what the latest tally is in his pool. Locally, it seems like more people are guessing boy than girl.

Week 12

The cramping seems to have gone away. I guess the Zantac worked. I felt almost better last night and again, almost better this morning. Although standing on the bus once again certainly didn't help matters. My friend Jon thought that maybe I had something called a "rotavirus". Who knows. I'm back to the regular ol' queasiness and general stomach uncomfortableness. Which sucks but is at least familiar so there you go.

I was on the phone with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law for a while last night. SIL said she had a similar pattern in her first trimester: felt great for the first couple of months and shitty the last few weeks. I joked that our bodies must have decided, "Oh crap, almost out of time! Better hurry up while there's still a chance!" MIL said that she knows it's a boy because of the heartburn. I love that kind of stuff. As long as I don't have to deal with too many stomach pats from strangers, I will gladly withhold telling them the sex of the baby just so I can hear their various archaic methods of determining it. My dad is sure it's a boy but I guarantee that's just wishful thinking on his part. He only has granddaughters so far.

My prenatal vitamins smell like vanilla extract.

Mr. b is totally obsessed with circumcision right now. He read a pamphlet about teaching your son to keep his weiner clean if he's uncut and Mr. b freaked out. Now he can't stop bitching about uncut cock to anyone that'll listen. We don't even know Junior's sex yet!

Or if it's twins. Part of me hopes that it is. I certainly have good odds considering my dad is one and my mom has twin cousins. And then I can get it all over with at once. Because I just know that Mr. b won't settle for an only child.