Well, my strategy of avoiding reading any of our baby books really backfired on me last month, when my sympathetic pregnancy -- deprived of any solid background research -- manifested as high fever, body aches, difficulty breathing... and let's just say plenty of bathroom time to catch up on my reading. Did you know that newborns can identify their parents by smell? Two baby books later and five pounds lighter, I'm rounding out my second sympathetic trimester much more comfortably, thankyouverymuch. (Annie suggests I've gotten off easy, but that's just her sympathetic sympathetic pregnancy talking.)
Do you know who, on the other hand, is incredibly healthy? With an official prognosis of "strong like ox?" (Well, I made that prognosis, but it's valid.) Walter Paul. Annie's most recent doc visit yielded the attached ultrasound-clip of the boy's ticker. Give it a listen... what do you hear? Do you think he's lion-hearted? Generous? Kind?
Showing posts with label "morning" sickness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label "morning" sickness. Show all posts
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Mozart for Scooters
On Saturday night I finished up my sermon (sermons written on Saturday night=maximum freshness) and asked Sean if he might be plotting something for Mother's Day. He was. "Would you like to have Mother's Day now?" Why yes, I would!
Hank the Dog and I made room for Sean on the couch (Hank sleeping on my feet is a very important component of sermon writing.) Sean brought over a plastic bag promisingly full of gifts (unwrapped gifts=maximum freshness.) I started with the card: the cover features an illustration of a very pregnant lady in profile and the words "Kick! Kick! Kick!" emanating from her belly. The message inside: "Translation: Happy Mommy's Day from You-Know-Who!"
Voldemort? Nooooooooo! Run, Harry Potter!
Obviously, I loved this card even before I read Sean's message. As you will see, I was about to love it even more.
Sean writes:
You are maybe starting to notice a theme in these blog posts. The theme is crying. My happy crying woke up Hank, who was concerned. After sniffing at my face a bit he sat down next to me very calmly and put his head on my belly. From the way he lingered with his big ear there and the thoughtful look on his face, we wondered if he could hear the baby.
We've read in our baby books that, at this stage, Little Scooter can probably hear us. I am hoping Little Scooter likes my sermons. Sean has started directly addressing the belly: "Hey Baby!" he says. "I'm your daddy!" There's a theory (not scientific) that playing music for the baby helps with brain development--Mozart, in particular, is a popular choice among fetal geniuses. As I went back into the plastic bag of presents, I pulled out a three CD set of the Best of Mozart along with a pair of big, padded, new/old school head phones. Perfect.
After church on Sunday we set me up with the Mozart and the headphones. At first, I couldn't discern any fetal activity. Then I shifted the headphones down and to the side and some very noticeable scooting commenced. At this stage, the baby's movements feel like weird little internal tickles. In this case, the tickles seemed to say: "I'd much rather be listening to Jethro Tull, Mom."
I was spectacularly sick last night--clean up required a mop. After getting me cleanly and safely to bed, getting Hank into his crate and getting a bucket for me and another bucket for the mop, Sean commented, wryly, "One thing we know for sure: the baby does not care for Mozart." As sick as I was, I was more happy and content in that moment than words can tell. I put my hands on my little baby belly and said about a thousand thanksgivings. What a wonderful, uncomfortable miracle!
Hank the Dog and I made room for Sean on the couch (Hank sleeping on my feet is a very important component of sermon writing.) Sean brought over a plastic bag promisingly full of gifts (unwrapped gifts=maximum freshness.) I started with the card: the cover features an illustration of a very pregnant lady in profile and the words "Kick! Kick! Kick!" emanating from her belly. The message inside: "Translation: Happy Mommy's Day from You-Know-Who!"
Voldemort? Nooooooooo! Run, Harry Potter!
Obviously, I loved this card even before I read Sean's message. As you will see, I was about to love it even more.
Sean writes:
I was so excited when little Scooter asked me to share a few thoughts in this card. What a wonderful mother you are and you will be! When I see you, so content, so happy, with your hands resting on your belly (not so big as the front of this card yet) I get such a thrill! Soon we will hold our little Scooter, but you are holding our little Scooter every day--what a wonderful, uncomfortable miracle. All of my love x2. Mwah!
You are maybe starting to notice a theme in these blog posts. The theme is crying. My happy crying woke up Hank, who was concerned. After sniffing at my face a bit he sat down next to me very calmly and put his head on my belly. From the way he lingered with his big ear there and the thoughtful look on his face, we wondered if he could hear the baby.
We've read in our baby books that, at this stage, Little Scooter can probably hear us. I am hoping Little Scooter likes my sermons. Sean has started directly addressing the belly: "Hey Baby!" he says. "I'm your daddy!" There's a theory (not scientific) that playing music for the baby helps with brain development--Mozart, in particular, is a popular choice among fetal geniuses. As I went back into the plastic bag of presents, I pulled out a three CD set of the Best of Mozart along with a pair of big, padded, new/old school head phones. Perfect.
I was spectacularly sick last night--clean up required a mop. After getting me cleanly and safely to bed, getting Hank into his crate and getting a bucket for me and another bucket for the mop, Sean commented, wryly, "One thing we know for sure: the baby does not care for Mozart." As sick as I was, I was more happy and content in that moment than words can tell. I put my hands on my little baby belly and said about a thousand thanksgivings. What a wonderful, uncomfortable miracle!
Friday, April 15, 2011
New Adventure in Pregnancy
And by "new," I mean probably as old as pregnancy itself. I have to think that pulling over to the side of the road to throw up (or other public vomiting) is a basic rite of passage. Everyone does it. Right? RIGHT?
Me: I'm so embarrassed.
Sean: Don't be. You're pregnant. This is what pregnant people do. (Pause.) And drunk people.
Me: That's exactly what I've been thinking. The people in that car behind us were saying, "She must be pregnant. Or really drunk at 8 in the morning."
Sean: Or both!
Yesterday at a meeting of the Bishop's Theological Think Tank of Awesomeness (I may have added a flourish or two, there) we talked about the pastor as public persona, what it means to wear a clerical collar, etc.
As you might imagine, I am hoping against hope that my collar was not visible this morning.
Me: I'm so embarrassed.
Sean: Don't be. You're pregnant. This is what pregnant people do. (Pause.) And drunk people.
Me: That's exactly what I've been thinking. The people in that car behind us were saying, "She must be pregnant. Or really drunk at 8 in the morning."
Sean: Or both!
Yesterday at a meeting of the Bishop's Theological Think Tank of Awesomeness (I may have added a flourish or two, there) we talked about the pastor as public persona, what it means to wear a clerical collar, etc.
As you might imagine, I am hoping against hope that my collar was not visible this morning.
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