Preparing to Say Farewell to the Second Trimester Glory Days

The second trimester has been so easy breasy that there hasn't been much to complain write about. But here I am at 24 weeks staring into the barrel of the third trimester. New bodily discomforts, worries, and freak outs have been building, and I'm about to cram them all—along with my soccer-ball-sized uterus—into the final stretch, which I'm told passes quickly beginning at about 30 weeks.

Why Pregnant Women are Always Touching Their Bellies
In those torturous days when strangers couldn't tell if I had a potbelly or a fetus growing in my tummy, I often would casually slip my hand onto the front of my belly hoping it would communicate to the world that I'm not fat—just pregnant. Yesterday I learned the real reason why pregnant women put their hands on their bellies: they need the extra support. I spent most of the day walking around Smithsonians with my in-laws, and by sundown, I was literally carrying my belly back to the car.

Navigating Through Pregnancy with Depression
I'm still doing really well at keeping depression at bay, but managing it has become a full-time job. If I'm not paying attention, I can flip into high-stress mode at work and not realize it until I feel hunger pangs at the end of the day from missing my afternoon snack. I can also easily worry myself senseless over who is going to buy what on the registry of things I think I need and who is going to take care of me when in the weeks following birth. Prolonged stress is the trigger that ushers me into depression land, so if I can stop my stress response, I can avoid depression.

My therapist still sees me every other week and thinks I'm doing well. At my last appointment I told her I'm worried about the baby possibly going through withdraw from Celexa during his first couple weeks of life. He'll still be exposed to some through breast milk, but not near as much as he's exposed to right now. We both agreed that I would be fine decreasing my dose from 30mg to 20mg. I'm decreasing the dose conservitavely by 2.5mg every 5 days until I reach 20mg—a minimal adult dose.

Earth to M: We're having a baby. Start worrying now!
What is it about pregnancy that makes you scrutinize your marriage for signs of health and impending doom? In the first trimester, there were evenings I thought I had to be crazy for having a baby with my husband because he was obviously not as excited as I was about scouring the Internet for daily updates of how the fetus is developing. He started coming around in the second trimester. Just two nights ago he said he wished the baby could be born now so he could play with him. But he backslid last night when he dismissed a conversation about his tentative early May business trip to Kansas City by saying, "I don't want to talk about it. Stop worrying. It will all work out." Are you kidding me? What if the baby is born May 1 instead of April 20, and what if my mom goes back to Florida May 9 and M ends up having to leave on his business trip May 10? You're telling me that will all work out? I love M's carefree attitude, but right now it's pissing me off.

A Holiday VBAC Miracle

As you know from previous posts, I can get quite riled up about women and birth—particularly when I know a woman isn't given access to her full array of options. Over the past week, I've had to sit on my hands and proactively shove foot in mouth as I watched a cousin navigate her way through an attempt at vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC).

My cousin's first birth was a cesarean section. She and her husband spent months doing hypnobabies and planning on a vaginal birth with a midwife, possibly even at home. But when the baby turned out breech and no amount of inversions or acupressure would make her flip, my cousin had no choice. Finding a health care provider in the U.S. who has the skills to deliver a breech baby is next to impossible. I pray I don't have to embark on that mission when my 40 weeks is up.

Two years later, after being blessed with a healthy baby girl, my cousin got pregnant with her second baby, due December 24. She planned on a VBAC from the beginning and chose to go with a physician in a hospital along with a doula. On December 21, they stripped her membranes. The physician would be on vacation beginning December 25, and if she didn't go into labor before then, the on-call physician would have to be her provider. That's when I started fuming. Through the family grapevine, I heard that my cousin didn't want the on-call physician to attend her birth, but I couldn't help but wonder if she was being pressured by the physicians, hospital, somebody, to deliver before Christmas.

Stripping (or sweeping) the membranes is not recommended if you want your labor and birth to unfold naturally. It can make you crampy in the days leading up to birth and rob you of the sleep you need to prepare for labor and delivery. My cousin had well-controlled gestational diabetes and was terrified of having to be induced. I doubt that anyone adequately explained to her that stripping the membranes is a mechanical method of inducing labor—one that doesn't always work and sometimes leads to complications.

But it had already been done. What could I do? Calling her to explain what I know would have upped her anxiety and would have been down-right rude. So, I zipped my lips and hoped for the best.

My husband spent Christmas in Kansas City visiting his sick grandmother, and I drove down to Fredericksburg, VA, to spend the day with my very pregnant cousin. Everything in me wanted to blurt out a list of instructions: don't let them strip your membranes again, watch out for pitocin, don't let them make you stay in bed during labor, move your hips. But I refrained and settled into drinking tea, talking about expectations for labor (neither one of us had experienced it before), knitting, and getting a killer lesson from my cousin on cloth diapers.

The next morning I woke up to an email letting me know my cousin was in labor. She was laboring in an upstairs bedroom with her husband and doula, trying to hold off going to the hospital for as long as possible. I let out a hoot and incessantly checked my email for updates throughout the day. At about 10:30am, they left for the hospital. At 2:45pm, there was still no update. I closed my eyes and thought about my cousin and, in my head, I encouraged her to know she has the strength to birth this baby and that just when she thinks she can't go on, it's almost over.

At 4:42pm, my cousin birthed her second healthy baby girl—this time via VBAC. I also have to mention that she went through 12 hours of labor with no epidural. She doesn't get a badge of honor for experiencing the pain. In fact, I know she wasn't completely opposed to having an epidural. But I have to give her props for knowing what she wanted and following through with what she thought was best for her and her baby. It was a long, scary journey to watch. I am so very proud of my cousin and so very thankful that she was able to do things her way in spite of the many factors working against her.

Quick and Dirty Update

I'm still here, I'm still pregnant, and I'm itching to shower you with updates. But alas, I am overwhelmed with responsibilities at work and at home. Here's what has been on my mind during this period of silence:

• Circumcision: Holy hell--I have to make a decision about this.
• Stress and depression: The holiday season and changes at work are providing ample opportunity to practice managing these ever-present elements in my life.
• Blog design: I'm getting a new one! This blog isn't moving anywhere, but a new design is coming to us soon.

 I'll be back shortly to expound on this list. Until then, feel free to entertain yourself with my YouTube videos if you haven't discovered them already.

Cloth or Disposables: What's a First-Time Diapering Mom to Do?

For quite a while now, I've been planning to use bumGenius cloth diapers for my little man's toosh when he arrives in April. My midwife friend was obsessed with diaper research during her first pregnancy and came out extremely satisfied with her bumGenius purchases. But something happened yesterday that made me second-guess my decision to follow her lead.

Just as I was heading out the door for work, one of my adorable Bichons pooped in their crate. It had to be cleaned. They were both scaling the side of the crate trying to avoid stepping in the smeared tootsie roll that neither of them would claim. The smell was noxious, and there was no way I was going to do whatever was necessary to remove the offense and clean the stained sheet. So, what did I do? I took out the sheet, placed it in a garbage bag (with every intention of hauling it to the backyard trashcan that evening), and laid a fresh blanket in the crate.

If I can't handle a little Bichon poop, how do I expect to clean my son's diaper after one of those explosive poos I keep hearing about from moms? What's more, I've resorted to using disposable plates because I can't find the energy to handle my share of the dinner dishes. Do I really think I can throw a newborn into the mix and keep up with cloth diapers?

Before I frantically remove the bumGenius diapers from my registry, I'm trying to give this fair consideration. My midwife friend insists that bumGenius is the only way to go. Her daughter leaked out of every disposable diaper, and she'd end up having to clean both mom and baby clothes. BumGenius contained the mess and was much easier to clean, she says.

It looks like I'll be cleaning messes no matter which diapering option I choose. What else should I be considering? I'd love to hear from parents with diapering experience.

The 20th Week Stretch

A few of my cousins, me, and my Bichons on a hike.

I reached a significant milestone yesterday—the halfway point through pregnancy. For the past week I’ve been missing in action somewhere between activity and thought, planning and reflection.

M and I drove to my hometown—New Philadelphia, Ohio—for Thanksgiving weekend. We landed in a huddle of 23 Gopps. (See why I chose not to hyphenate my maiden and marriage name?) It was surreal to watch the next generation of Gopps color at the kids’ table, play chase, cry, and double-dip celery in the ranch dressing. By next year, this generation will outnumber mine.

Work is revving up. My boss is moving to Atlanta and will telecommute through the next 2 months. That leaves me with extra responsibilities, my usual 40-page newsletter to produce over the holidays, and a major website navigation/content overhaul. I refuse to end up in a mentally tortuous place like I did last spring when my boss was out on maternity leave. I’m remembering to pause and carve out space for my tasks instead of putting everyone else’s needs first.

It was hard to get up today. I stayed out last night until 10 pm attending an open house for a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing program at George Mason University. They have a concentration in nonfiction and offer free tuition for students who hold down a TA position through the 3-year program. I can’t decide whether or not I have a shot at being accepted.

This morning I pulled out my Graco prenatal monitor for my usual belly-bonding time. Because my placenta is wedged between the baby and the front of my belly, I haven’t felt or seen much activity. But today, my belly was obviously bulging to the left, and after a few moments of silence, I felt, heard, and saw a definite kick. My little man shot me over the moon at 7:30 in the morning.