My Momma Says. . .

that Miss Brooklyn looks like me. . . or my sister, her Aunt Manny, depending on the moment. Well, that she looks like me minus her mouth, which is so clearly her Daddy's.





I think she looks more like her brother, Elliott:

I'm a Super-Hero

No, really. Here's proof:



And because we are looking at old pictures:


A resemblance?

Brooklyn's Arrival!

After our test run on Monday evening (the 16th), I was very gun-shy about going to L&D only to be sent home again. We followed up with my OB on Tuesday afternoon as directed and he estimated that based on various symptoms that I would go into labor & deliver within 48 hours. I was still pretty skeptical, even at 40 weeks and 2 days, but felt encouraged that I would have her by Friday based on our induction plan.

All day on Tuesday I had contractions roughly 10-15 minutes apart that were fairly uncomfortable, but I was not convinced they would get closer together. Starting at about 5pm and lasting through dinner, I noticed the buggers were getting stronger and once I started timing them that they were getting closer together. By roughly 7:30, they were painful and 4-5 minutes apart. I started to let myself believe that this was it. I showered, put some make-up on and we called Dear Deana to come stay with Ell. By the time we left at 8:45, I was telling Chris to HURRY and having to really concentrate on breathing through the contractions. He was driving super-fast and I didn't even get bossy about it--I was getting really worried I wouldn't make it in time to get an epidural.

When I walked into L&D the lady from the night before got a chuckle that I was back, but the nurses quickly realized that this was the real thing and put me in a room directly instead of making me go to triage. When the nurse checked me, I was at 6-7cm and begging for an epidural. This required lab results and filling out of consents and such. She offered me some pain relief through my IV, but I really didn't was to be out of it when Brooklyn was born so I declined. My parents and best friend arrived. . . and the contractions were becoming increasingly strong. The only thing that gave me relief was intense pressure applied to my back. I was really worried that I wouldn't get that darn epidural in time! Finally, the anesthesiologist arrived (his name was Dr. Needleman-ha!) and had everyone but Chris leave the room so that he could administer the epi. I was writhing and crying in pain, so being asked to sit still was excrutiating! After some very tense and sweaty minutes, the epi was in and within 5 minutes my pain began to lessen. I am still in awe at women who do this completely medication-free, although I think if I had been in a different position or in water maybe I could have held out. . . . but I don't know. . .

The nurse checked me and I was complete. . . I'm guessing that I was at roughly 9cm by the time the epi was placed. She called my OB again and he said he would be there within 10 minutes. He arrived and it was a whirlwind of getting everything set for B's arrival. They decided it was time for me to push--difficult because my groin, particularly my left side was so numb. I *think* I pushed for 10 minutes--during those pushes, my OB was giving Chris a quick training on how to deliver babies so that he could 'catch.' I gave one big push and her head was out. . . I let my contractions do the rest of the work. Chris got to deliver and to cut the cord, which was amazing. Her delivery time was 10:55pm--pretty quick when I consider I was checked into the hospital at 9:15pm!

Brooklyn was immediately placed on my tummy, and she was gorgeous, even covered in the vernix--it was much thicker than Ell's. Her cries were a bit weak and she was a little blue so the nurse took her to get suction and it's a good thing--she had lungs full of amniotic fluid. The nasal aspirator wasn't enough and they had to deep suction. My mom and Chris were right there with her the whole time and they were telling me how beautiful and BIG she was. Finally she was stable enough to get weighed and she was a whopping 8 pounds and 10 ounces!!!! That's a full pound more than Ell was at birth! (he was 7 pounds, 8 ounces) I gave my OB a hard time for telling me that she would be roughly the same size as Elliott!

After she was stable, they placed Brooklyn on my chest for skin-to-skin contact and there she stayed for an hour or so. Our hospital has a new policy where the babies don't go to the nursery for baths and such--they complete it in the post-partum room. Needless to say, by the time everything was checked out and bath completed, we were exhausted. I believe that Brooklyn left our room about 3am after eating one last time. We got roughly 3 hours of sleep before she was back at 6am. :)

And THAT is the story of Brooklyn's entrance into the world!

Yep. It's True.

Every encounter and I mean every. one. right now begins with something along the lines of: "OMG, you are still pregnant? How do you feel? When is your due date? How do you feel? Is Elliott excited? How do you feel? Are you so ready?"

So on this, my due date, I give you the answers.*
1. Yes, I am indeed, still pregnant. Eternally and whale-like. Thanks so much for pointing out the obvious.

2. I feel really pregnant. Said with a polite smile. (Blank stare)

3. My due date is May 15th. Now I will have to say, "Oh, my due date was Sunday." Pitiful stares will commence.

4. I feel like my pelvis is splitting in two.

5. Elliott is two. Two, people. He has no effing clue about what's going to happen in his world. Yes, he thinks he is excited, but honestly, how much can he comprehend? I'm pretty sure Ell is going to think that we have lied to him about the greatness of having a new baby around when he realizes he's not the center of attention. Especially when Glammy is preoccupied with Baby Brook-Brook.

6. I feel like my every move is an effort, but you know, I'm making the best of things.

7. Ready? A complicated question to be sure. Yes, I am ready to meet this sweet little girl, ready to not be pregnant. But ready for sleepless nights? Not so much. Ready to see my sweet little boy regress and feel lost when he has to share mommy & daddys' attention? Nope. Honestly, the newborn phase is not my favorite. I would like to have about a week of it and then fast forward to 3 1/2 months or so. Evidently that part of my mom-gene is on the blink.

8. As to how I feel, I am impatient. I don't do well in limbo, so my impatience and grouchiness level is rising daily. I wake up everyday thinking today is The Day. That, or I vacillate to the opposite end of the spectrum of thinking I will go all the way to the last possible moment and my doctor will have to induce my labor. Despite walking around for 2+ weeks at 4cm dilated. That's like half-way to being complete. That means my body might just hate me. Especially since I have contractions steadily every evening, all to no avail.

And that my friends, is how I am feeling. Enter into conversation at your own risk.

{I typically try to stay away from profanity on this site, so if easily offended, step away now.}

Still Pregnant. . .

But the end is in sight. I will be holding my baby girl in no more than 9 days. Scary. Exhilarating. It just doesn't seem real--I think because I have been expecting her 'any day' for the past 3-4 weeks. At this point, it's like I've been preparing for an imaginary show. . . only the frequent but not consistent contractions and vigorous aerobic activity of my wee one in the womb keep me reminded that yes, a baby is at the end of this journey.

Thinking for Two

Just another incident in a long line that makes me wonder how the heck our species survives. (Please note: I am in love with my husband. Especially after he gave me sapphire and diamond earrings.)

Me: Are you hot?
Chris: Not particularly, but I have an icepack on my neck.
Me: I'm sweating
Chris: I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I don't know what to do for you.
Me: (Baffled stare of confusion, distaste and 'are you a moron?' all mixed together.)
Me: Really? You don't know what to do? Maybe turning down the thermostat would help. . .
Chris: Well, you could've just asked.
Me: (sigh. Decide giving myself a concussion beating my head against the wall just isn't worth it.)

The Verdict. . .

is that indeed, it was the cheese and not the baby trying to enter the world. I tell ya, it is hard to tell the difference.

Modesty Shredded

I'm on labor-watch. That means every twinge--every.one.--I wonder, "Is this it?"

So my husband convinced me tonight to have a glass o' wine, some fruit, chocolate and a bucket-load of cheese. Wise? Definitely not. Everyone knows what cheese does to a digestive tract. Turns out, the plugging properties of cheese are not an asset to a body who already has the body of another person sitting on her intestines. Now that over-full, maybe-I-need-to-poo feeling is making me question: contraction or intestinal distress? Time will tell, I suppose. And I will avoid making the comparison of pushing being universal for either phenomena. . .

Pity Party for ME.

Today I totally constructed my own pity party. . . with no clear data for the tantrum. My husband had to work today, as he does every Sunday. I slept in to the glorious time of 11:15am (Ell was at Glammy & Poppys') and then roused myself to get on with the day. This included some texting with my husband--it wasn't until later that I realized that he had said NOTHING about Mother's Day. This, coupled with the fact that he left my car on empty (despite me being chronically on the verge of labor) AND that social network sites were flooded with amazing reports of thoughtfulness of other husbands left me full of pity for myself and resentment for my husband. I even sent somewhat antagonistic and passive-aggressive texts.

I spun a tail of neglect and carelessness on the part of my husband, especially as he said that he had a card for me, but had wanted to give it in person. A card? A single card when I have provided him with one brilliant, adorable, loving child and have another arriving at any moment? How thoughtless. Callous. Selfish. How could he do this to me? Waaa. Waaaa. Waaaaa.

Imagine my chagrin when that thoughtless husband of mine called Elliott into the bedroom to get my card. . . and they emerged with a card AND a bag from the same jeweler that we got my wedding ring set. Shame! Embarrassment! Sheesh. What was I thinking?

Elliott exclaimed, "Happy BirthdayMother Day!" as I opened the small box to find these:


Beautiful aren't they? I could see that even through the egg on my face.

Polished and Ready

I made a trip to a mall today to get shampoo and conditioner, needed items for the post-baby phase. I also took the time to get threaded so that my eyebrows and upper lip are looking sculpted (in the case of the eyebrows) and hair-free (the upper lip). These were the final two must-do things on my list, especially after my fab pedicure on Saturday. Hell, I even shaved my legs. . . and such. . . So it only figures that the contractions have slowed way-the-heck down, right? Ah well, I figure she must be resisting her entrance because she needs a bit more time. I'm okay with that. I am. I am. I really think so. . .

Sweet Anticipation

I'm in bin laden overload. I just can't read anymore. I can't watch anymore 'inside scoop' news reports. He's dead. I am glad that his particular brand of evil and hate is gone, but don't anticipate this solving major terrorist problems, as there are far too many willing to take his place.

Therefore I'm going to post about me and the impending entrance of one Brooklyn Claire. Oh, she's still baking, that I can promise you. Baking away despite me being dilated to 3 1/2 cm. I'm so caught up in the anticipation and not-knowing that every twinge brings the question: "Is this it?" Each twinge also brings me back to a level of self-centeredness of which I'm not in the least bit proud, but must own up to (yes, I just ended that sentence in a preposition. I'm moving on. *Look, I did it again. *And again. ..).

The update is no real update other than almost constant Braxton-Hicks contractions that are not getting noticeably stronger or closer together. And no, my OB does not make predictive statements about when a baby might arrive. I'm guessing he learned that lesson early on in his practice? Kind of like when I learned that giving unsolicited speech advice is a bad, bad idea.

So yes, I'm ready to meet the wee little girl (I think), but must admit to a foolish level of concern over the weather and the planning coming home outfit. If you'll recall, it's a sleeveless romper. I took ample amounts of time selecting just the right thing and now it's freaking 50 degrees outside! In May! Lucky for us, by Wednesday it'll be in the 80's again. . . and by next Monday? The mid-90s. Yay. I'm guessing I'll still be pregnant then. Pregnant and swollen.