Lemme sum up May 24, 2007

Gestation: Week 17. “Your baby is forming brown fat deposits under his or her skin.” Almost as exciting as when the baby started excreting into my body a couple of weeks ago! I am still not in maternity clothes yet, but the belly is growing. Hormones are at a new high, and nosebleeds are on the rise, too, from all the extra blood my heart is pumping. I’m actually pretty excited about this whole being pregnant thing. I am in the ‘honeymoon period,” where my hormones have balanced out, and I’m not too big to reasonably function yet.

Renovation: Week ?. We have the new Plat survey (guess we won’t get that demolition begun in May). But, we thought we had to get permission from our neighbors to build more living space than our lot is zoned for. We didn’t actually need to, it turns out — but we already talked to them, and one of our neighbors has all kinds of issues. “What will be across from our bedroom window? Will we still get the same amount of sunlight? Will it interfere with our cross breeze?” I really like these neighbors. But, I just want to tell them that if they’re worried about privacy and cross breezes, they should give up and move to Winnetka. We live in a city. Where the houses are 6 feet apart. We’re keeping up discussions, and have sent them the plans, and they’ve talked to roofers and all kinds of things. The problem is that one of them is a lawyer — a hippie lawyer, but a lawyer nonetheless. Sigh. I can’t wait to get this started. I am annoyed with everything about our kitchen, and can’t wait to demolish it. The other night, I woke up, and could hear the clock on our ancient microwave. It is from Montgomery Ward. Yes, that place where my grandma shopped — before it went out of business several years ago. This stove/microwave is old. The microwave has 2 push buttons — one you push in to turn it on, and the fan starts whirring. Then you put in if you want it to cook, and for how long, etc. One you push in (as you pull the other one out, or else they won’t work) to turn it off, and make the fan stop. We would replace it with one of the newer models we have in the basement, but this microwave is attached to the stove. It is one big unit of rusty, heat-leaking (and probably microwave-leaking) inefficiency. They are the “Pong” of appliance technology. So this microwave/stove thing has a clock — not a digital clock, of course. That is much to high-tech for this deathtrap. It’s one of those clocks where the numbers are on little squares that flip, or sort of fall down, every minute to change the time. However, if you use the timer on the oven, it somehow makes the clock mess up, and the quares can’t fall. So it just clicks every minute. In the middle of the night, that clicking makes me want to institutionalize myself. It is just loud enough, and just frequent enough, that once I hear it, I can’t possibly go back to sleep. So, I go out, fiddle with the stove timer dial, wait what I think is a minute, and go back to bed. And then, “click!”

I tried to sleep with a pillow on my head, but one of the cats then tried to sleep on top of said pillow, making my head the middle of a suffocating pillow sandwich. It was almost better than the clicking. If Poe had lived with this thing, he would have written “The Telltale Clock” instead of “The Telltale Heart.” I will be very glad when the renovation begins.

Comme une poisson a besoin d’une bicyclette May 20, 2007

This weekend, JoeKim is riding his bicycle a few hundred miles in Wisconsin somewhere. He has a new bee in his bonnet about riding in a long ride through France that only takes place once every 4 years, the Paris-Brest-Paris ride (I know, I know, make all the puns you want about why a ride to a “French Brest” might seem like so much fun). The Paris ride is like 650 miles in 4 days, and in order to be able to ride it, you have to qualify, by doing several rides through official channels. Today is the 250 mile ride, so Joe was (in theory) up at 5 am to ride, and will ride all day and all night, and drive home Sunday.

This is slightly worrisome to me. But, at the same time, I can’t very well tell him he can’t do it, because I’ll miss him (my oxytocin is really kicking in — Friday morning, before he left, I sneezed. Then, I suddenly became very sad that over the weekend, whenever I sneezed, no one would be around to say “Bless you.” I am having some hormone issues), or because I’m worried he’ll end up dead in the proverbial ditch. I suppose it’s good practice for being a parent. Our next door neighbor has 2 teenage girls who are totally nice and kind and interesting (and dressed as suffragettes last Halloween). The older one is going to college in the fall, but over the summer will be driving out west to follow around the jam band “String Cheese Incident.” Our neighbor was telling us about it, and when Joe said “Oh, you know what she should do?” The neighbor interjected “What? Lose her virginity? Smoke pot? All the things I’m scared she’ll do?” Joe just wanted her to ride a bike across the US to follow the band (um, riiight), but I can see the mother’s point. At what point do you say “I have raised a child who can make good decisions and collect all the facts”? Because that seems to me the most important role as a parent — raise critical thinkers. You can never protect them from anything bad or hateful or mean, but you can give them the tools to make good decisions about those things. Just as, hopefully, JoeKim is doing right now, and not trying to keep up with some man with tree trunks for legs, or swerving into traffic, or taking off his helmet because he’s sweaty.

And really, one of the things I admire most about Joe is the way he goes for it. He sets his sights on something, and he really tries. I very rarely invest too much, or try something where I really have a chance of failure (child rearing aside). I stay pretty safe. I’ll try a new food, or travel to a new country, but it’s not very often that I’ll try to really achieve something. It’s too scary to me. So, I have been (or at least have tried to be, and Joe tells me I have been) super supportive of Joe’s endeavor. Because how many people say they want to run a marathon, or climb a mountain, or ride 600 miles, and then how many people actually take action to make that happen. I really admire Joe for doing it, and for trying. And hey, if I can still travel comfortably at the end of August, I’ll get a trip to Paris out of it! Bonne chance, JoeKim!

Amni-OK! May 19, 2007

The results are in, and the baby has all the proper chromosomes, but no extras.  Hooray!  I was amazed at how relieved I was — I hadn’t realized how stressed out I was about it.  We heard on Wednesday, and that day I had been practicing what I would say if the doctor called and said there was Downs.  What questions I would ask, what resources I would ask about, how to not break down crying, but at the same time not sound callous and just hang up, etc.  Luckily, it’s a moot point.

Now, of course, I feel guilty at being so relieved.  But, as you have probably realized, I feel guilty for just about everything.  It’s amazing that I’m not Catholic.  The day we heard, I had just given a presentation at the museum conference in town on museum programs for visitors with disabilities.  I was going that night to my volunteer “job” as a reader at Blind Service Association.  Maybe the fates decided I didn’t need to be more aware of people wtih disabilities? Maybe I’ve paid my dues and have proven that I am compassionate?  Maybe there are no fates to begin with, and I just took a good prenatal vitamin.  I have talked with my friend Jen, though, about this same sort of thing — Jen has worked for years in organizations that serve adults with developmental disabilities.  We’ve talked about the fact that maybe we were given the compassion and skills to do the things we do so that we could have children with disabilities.  I mean, would I rather I was the one to have a kid with Downs, or rather it was someone with no understanding or compassion or experience of people with disabilities?  If I were a really selfless person, I’d say me.  But, I’m not.  I’m pretty damn excited that everything is A-OK — at least as far as we can know, which is good enough for me.

And, somewhere out there, there are people who know if there are 2 X chromosomes, or an X and a Y.  But, those people are not us.  We’re going to wait and be surprised.  That kind of surprise I like.  I just didn’t want any others, if I can avoid it.  The day of delivery will have many surprises in store, I’m sure.

Whew May 11, 2007

Pregnancy 15 weeks

Home renovation: ???? weeks

So, the amnio went really well, thankfully. The needle was not nearly as big as I had imagined, and didn’t really hurt all that much. It was just kind crampy. It was actually kind of interesting, when I didn’t think about it being done on ME — that’s kind of the way this whole pregnancy is, really. It’s very interesting, in a scientific study sort of way, until I realize that it’s ME having a baby. My friend Jen gave us a super cute onesie over the weekend that I loved, until it hit me that it was for MY BABY. I would have a person who fit inside of that, that I would need to take care of. I had to put the onesie away quickly. That night I even had a stress dream where I kept dropping my newborn off cliffs. Ugh.

But anyway, the amnio. Before the “procedure,” we had a meeting with the genetic counselor, which was interesting in and of itself. She was really nice, and explained the process, and what would happen, etc. Basically, what happens in an amnio is that they take amniotic fluid, into which the baby has been shedding skin cells and the like (I try not to think too hard about what the “and the like” entails), and then separate the cells from the fluid. They grow the cells for a while to get a good sample, and then take them and map the chromosomes. So, she showed us the “normal” chomosomes, and then some common “defects” like Down Syndrome. It was pretty casual. My favorite part was when she kind of sheepishly asked “Is there any chance that the two of you are related by blood?” I looked and Joe and commented “Well, my dad was never in the Korean War…” Joe looked impugned and said “What are you trying to say about my mother??” It was nice that we could make jokes before getting needles and all sorts of things. And, turns out my dad IS technically a veteran of the Korean War, but was stationed in Germany somehow. Hmmm….

Anyway, so the amnio was quick, once we finally got out of the waiting room. They did the supermagnifier ultrasound, and then the doctor came in and stuck me. The needle was much smaller than expected — in the movies, it always looks like some giant proboscis coming down, but this was a skinny needle, just a little longer than normal, with a syringe attached. There was a little poke when it went in, but not nearly as much as you would think when you think of getting a needle in your stomach, and then some cramping when he would move it to find the fluid. When the fluid came out, it looked like pee, actually. Yellow and thin — I thought it would be milkier and thick, but that’s probably why I’m not a doctor. I wasn’t able to see much, even on the ultrasound monitor, since the nurse’s head was in my way, but Joe said he could even see the needle on the monitor, which is kind of weird.

The ultrasound is weird in and of itself, actually. You can magnify stuff SO much. And, again, I sure hope this doesn’t mean my maternal instincts are defective, but it’s still a little creepy — maybe “unnerving” is a better word — especially during such a detailed ultrasound. Like I was saying before, it’s pretty cool to watch, and see the baby in there, moving and stuff, until I realize that it is inside ME. Then it gets strange. Especially because the baby is in this weird development thing where it’s kind of baby-looking, but not quite, somehow. And, because you can see the spine through the ultrasound, and the skull and everything. It’s a little like a baby Skeletor. I hope that’s not bad to think. I mean, it’s only 15 weeks, and the baby is only like 4 inches or something, so I can hardly expect it to be a fully formed baby and look like it should be on a Gerber bottle. Although, look for updates on 17th century ideas of gestation and “preformation” as I begin The Ovary of Eve. I know you can’t wait.

Now, we wait for the results. They should come late next week sometime, and the counselor promised that they would tell me over the phone (“Once I make sure you’re not driving down the Eisenhower or something”), and not just say “You’ll have to come in.” I’ll be glad to know, one way or the other. Even if something does show up, it will only be one thing, as opposed to the myriad of things I can imagine.

Amni-oh no May 6, 2007

Monday is the day I get a giant needle stuck into my stomach. I understand that in theory, it feels about the same as giving blood (only I bet they don’t give you cookies afterwards), but still, having a giant needle stuck into your stomach is mildly disconcerting, at the least.

I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s really interesting to me how pregnancy and childbirth– especially amniocentesis — are protrayed in films and TV. It’s always this weird mysterious thing, which of course it is, but pregnancy can be turned into this scary weird mystery as often as it can be turned into the miraculous (don’t get me started) happy mystery. There’s always some scene in something like the X-Files, that miniseries “V”, Alias, Alien, and now even Lost, maybe, where a woman wakes up, strapped to a gurney, flickering lights of a sterile (but yet somehow grimy) medical procedure room. Probably there is a giant needle boring down on her like Goldfinger’s laser. Or an ultrasound that shows something a little bit “weird” and/or ominous.

I’ve been trying to figure out why pregnancy and amnios are used so often in TV and movies in such a frightening way. It doesn’t seem like real sickness is used quite in the same way — it’s not as common to have people get cancer and go into spooky operating rooms for things. Maybe pregnancy is the only time when you visit the doctor’s office so much without really being sick. Overall, I think that preganacy (and I probably shouldn’t say this) is inherently kind of creepy, if you would just read about it on paper. It’s kind of like if aliens landed, and you tried to explain french kissing — “You do WHAT?” Same thing with pregnancy. Something grows inside of you, in a sort of mysterious process that we still don’t really understand. Really, it could be anything in there, and an ultrasound is the only real way to tell. Somehow, that’s what’s most creepy to me, to have this grainy picture window into what’s growing inside your own body, and there is certainly always that moment of nervousness when you go in to see the ultrasound, because maybe there is something weird, or wrong, or whatever. And you relaly just have to depend on the doctor to tell you, because quite frankly it ALL looks weird to me. I just depend on him to tell me it’s not. If he suddenly made an awful gasping sound and looked at me with horror, it would be about the worst thing I can imagine. Because whatever made him that horrified would be INSIDE ME.

But, as creepy as pregnancy sounds on paper, it’s really cool and amazing and great at the same time. So, it’s this “condiditon” with all this ambiguity around it — it could be the best thing to ever happen to you, or the worst. If you’re sick with a terminal illness, obviously that’s pretty much all bad. It must be the ironic juxtaposition (gotta use those English major words. Although I’m not actually sure if it would be irony. I’ll have to ask Alanis Morissette….) of the “joy” and “miracle” with the scary part of having no control and not really knowing what’s going on. And the part about a giant needle getting stuck into your stomach. That can’t be a relaxing sort of a thing. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.

It will be a stressful day — amnio in the morning, then that evening, I was just asked to moderate a discussion at work for a program on Tibet. So, I have to study up on all that sometime, too.

But, the Cubs just came back in the bottom of the ninth to win in extra innings, and I just spent an awesome weekend with my best friends at a Derby party,where a 50-1 odds horse –Imawildandcrazyguy — came in 4th, so I’m feeling optimistic. Is it bad, though, that whenever I think of the procedure, I start singing in my head that chant from whenever the slaves are rowing a big ship, and what everyone at Sox Park used to chant when Ordonez came to bat, only instead of “Magglio”, in my head, it goes — “Oh-EE-oh —- AAAAM-nio.” They might frown on that in the doctor’s office.

Plat goes splat May 4, 2007

So that I am not accused again of paying attention only to the gestation part of the blog, I will give you another renovation update, just to keep it even.  I don’t know which is the more exciting, my uterus or my drywall.
Well, there was progress.  However, progress has since been halted.  I feel like I could broker peace in the Middle East faster than I can get a new kitchen.  Turns out that the general contractor we liked so much is not actually a general contractor, but rather a “project manager.”  So, somehow that means we can’t put him on the city permit.  So, now we have to find a new contractor.

Then, our architect was all ready to go to the city and start working on getting said permit, and came by our houst to get the “plat survey.”  “Plat,” I find, by the way, to be a very ugly word.  However, apparently these plats expire, and ours has, since we got it when we started the process, like 6 months ago.  I suppose it’s so you can’t say “But I have this survey from 1907.  Nothing has changed.  Really.”  When in reality you just built Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory in the backyard or something.  But jeez.  Like we need any more impediments to actually taking action.