Are we there yet? No, we are not.

Last week, it seemed like maybe Walt would arrive any minute now.  This week, I am thinking he's just going to hang out in there for a couple weeks more.  Motherly intuition?  No, this is based on what I learned at our birthing class on Saturday and at my regular check up today.

From here I can easily direct all nesting efforts.

Here are some signs of immanent labor and how I measure up:

• Nesting: A burst of energy combined with an irresistible compulsion to clean and ready the house for baby.  Does it count if I arrange for other people to do this cleaning and readying?  And, you know, kind of direct the nesting from my bed?
• Lower back pain: I've got this one!  But not as a sign of labor progress, sadly, just as a sign that I should have been more careful trying out those laboring positions in birthing class.  Dr. M says, "Your round ligaments are stretched just as far as they can be.  So when you bend, they're going to tell you 'Ow! Stop that!'"  I am getting that message, yes.
• Practice contractions, which turn into real, time-able contractions: Nary a Braxton nor a Hicks to be found here.  Not even a little one.  
• The bag of waters breaks: Heh. Bag of Waters.  I think there's a town with that name somewhere near here. Good old Bag of Waters, Wisconsin. Has a great Octoberfest! 
• Flu-like symptoms (diarrhea, vomiting): Like the lower back pain, any recent experience I've had with this has been entirely due to poor choices on my part. ("I will have a mushroom and swiss burger and a pumpkin shake, please! Make it a double!")
• Cervical pain and pressure: Yes!  For the past few months!  Does that count?
• Cervical ripening: What a delightful image for this harvest time of year. My exam today revealed none of it--no effacement, no dilation, nothing.  The exam, while painful, was not as bad as last week's.  I used breathing techniques from the birthing class, namely the classic technique: "Remember to Breathe!" 
• The baby "drops" or The Lightening: Not sure which one of those descriptors is more disturbing.  I'm going to go with The Lightening for it's Stephen King-esque qualities. This may actually have happened sometime last night.  I didn't have any heartburn during the night and slept well (other than the many trips to the bathroom.  "Ow! Stop that!" says my back.  "YOU stop that! I have needs!" says my bladder.)  I woke up this morning without any heartburn and with more space between belly and bosom than I remembered.  Also, I can breathe now without having to raise my arms above my head. These are all good signs ... that the baby is coming sometime in the next two weeks or so.  

I'm going to see how tonight goes before I commit to the idea that this baby has dropped ... he may just be messing with me, trying to see how much he can get me to eat before popping his little feet back up again and kicking me right in the stomach.  Hmmm, that sounds pretty adversarial and paranoid on my part.  I've heard that's a good sign of impending labor!

TTBOOK At Them

Dipping back into the dim and dusty archives of the second trimester here for a post I never quite pulled the trigger on at the time, that seems only to have grown more convincing to me in the weeks since.

Heading over the river and through the woods this past weekend, we happened to catch a full episode of Wisconsin Public Radio's own TTBOOK (To the Best of Our Knowledge, for those of you outside the cheddar belt). The theme of the day: "Does the Soul Still Matter?" We thought this was a particularly germane topic, as:

1. We'd just come from church, Annie is a pastor, and (I believe) we have souls, and
2. Host Jim Fleming's restrained, dispassionate baritone always conjures the spectre of a world-weary man who's born witness to the manifold horrors of a lifetime in radio journalism and come out the other side with soul slightly tattered.

They hooked us with soundbites from The Simpson's, but we weren't terribly moved by anything else on offer -- mostly unsurprising or calculatedly radical opinions from philosophers, writers, scientists, theologians. Oxford theologian Keith Ward's expansive, generous application of the soul was intriguing, at least. I don't recall all the details, but Ward's premise was that the soul is essentially homologous to consciousness, which I think falls pretty closely in line with popular opinion. (Okay, body/soul duality is way outside my field of study, so treading lightly here.) We owe a lot of our ideas about the soul as pristine, transcendent spirit and the body as clumsy, earthy conveyance to the ancient Greeks. It's a line of thinking that plays a hand in the modern concept of an incorporeal, ethereal heaven (despite some fairly direct Jewish and Christian scripture and tradition on the resurrection of the body.)

The dichotomy is easy to believe -- all our greatest works as a species seem to be those of intellect, of spirit, of consciousness. Symphonies, theories, ideals. Sure, sometimes fabricated by our bodies as a necessity of the physical world, but still beautiful and perfect in the realm of ideas. And the body's uninspired output is mostly, to be blunt, crap.

But I've been rethinking that.

Because this little guy that's coming, who is becoming more and more tangibly apparent, is an endeavor orchestrated and constructed by the body, to plans influenced only the slimmest wisp by our conscious will. And I think that if you believe that is a miracle, then you have to consider that the soul is embodied in a way that exceeds simple passengerhood.

The word this week from Dr. M

"It could happen any day now. Get that suitcase packed."

More motivating words have never been spoken. Suitcase: packed. (Or rather, it will be packed as soon as Sean gets back from picking up a few last supplies tonight.  Suitcase: very close to packed!)

A glimpse into our suitcase:
More clothes than I probably need
An absolutely adorable newborn outfit, with hat, decorated with puppies; seems impossibly small
Microwave popcorn for Sean (because we want to drive everyone on the unit absolutely crazy in the way only the smell of popcorn can.  Other option considered: bacon.)
Sean's hat
Sock full of tennis balls for back massage (Hank: "I cannot believe that is not a toy for me.  It simply must be a toy for me.  You people are so misguided sometimes.")
Lip goop
A deck of cards (can anyone say, "most stressful game of Mao in the history of the world?")
Werther's Original hard candies
Make up.  Don't laugh.  It was on the Mayo Clinic Guide list.

And a bunch of other stuff, too.

I've got a bit of whiplash from this sudden change in my doctor's attitude (last week: "stay put, baby"; this week: "let's get that baby out NOW!)  As glad as I am and as much as I want to meet Walt sooner rather than later (me: "Is there ANYTHING I can do about this heartburn? I can't eat or sleep!" doc: "You can have the baby.") I'm still hoping for a couple more days at least.  Tomorrow is my last confirmation class before maternity leave.  Thursday is my last day in the office, and Thursday evening Sean and I are scheduled for a photo shoot featuring my enormous belly.  Saturday is our day-long birthing class (and I don't care what anyone says, I want that class! I need information, people.  I need methods and practices that I can then choose to ignore!)

Also, I'd like a quiet day or two to write thank you notes.

I know I'm on Walter time, though.  And that part isn't as scary as I thought it would be.  We'll be ready when he's ready.

What's keeping me up at night (other than the heartburn) is that we're so close, and I still can't believe we might actually get to have a baby.  I'm still afraid that we won't, that something will go terribly wrong. Praying helps, talking about it helps, but it's a nagging, persistent fear.

I live for the quiet moments I get with Walt, still moving around like a champ even though it's increasingly tight and crowded in there. I love the hiccups, the gentle elbowing, the not-so-gentle kicks to the ribs.  "See, Mom?" he seems to say, "I'm OK.  I'm your Scooter!"

Thank you for your ongoing prayers, love and support!  We'll try keep y'all posted and keep the posts coming in these coming days.  If you have a suggestion for the suitcase, please send it our way!

Ready or not ...

It was just a matter of time.  The early signs have all been there these last few weeks: more comments on my belly size, more strangers smiling at me.  But today, we crossed a threshold.  It wasn't anything concrete, nothing tangible, but in the eyes of my congregation members I could see it clear as day:

"Oh my goodness.  Our pastor is going to have that baby right now, isn't she?"

I'm pleased to report that we made it through both services without any sitcom-worthy moments (on some level, this is disappointing to Sean, but on most levels he's as relieved as the rest of us.)  We've definitely entered new territory, though.  I call it BabyComingAnyMinuteNowAndWeAreWoefullyUnprepared Land.

The doc calls it 36 weeks, and my Mayo Clinic guide tells me that Walt could be safely born now, but to hope for a few more weeks for the sake of his health and wellbeing.  I didn't think I'd be saying this, but I'm hoping for more than a few more weeks.  Yes, of course, for the baby.  But also for some more time for me and Sean ... we need to pack a suitcase, people.  We need to set up a crib and have our emergency contact numbers handy. We need to make sure Sean's special labor hat is in the car and ready to go.

You may be wondering why we've let ourselves reach this point without being better prepared.  At 9 months in we really can't claim to be surprised. ("What?! We're having a baby?  No way!")

Some of our unpreparedness is due to physical limitations: I underestimated my 3rd trimester uselessness by quite a lot and Sean's been shouldering almost all our day-to-day life stuff. He's got good shoulders for it, but he's also been getting migraines.  This is new for Sean and, frankly, scary.  I know from personal experience that it might be a long time before Sean and his neurologist find a way to manage these debilitating headaches.  On the (kind of) bright side, taking care of Sean has given me opportunities to feel a little less useless.  And, evidently, my forehead kisses are magical, which should come in handy in the long run for us.

We are praying like crazy for healing.  It's hard not to feel like it's just not fair ... we should both be healthier than we are ... we need to be at our best!  But part of me knows that "at our best" is mostly mythological when it comes to parenting.  We will give everything we have and probably be surprised at the secret stores of energy, health and love we come up with in the most difficult moments.  I've found some of that surprising energy in the last week or so.  That's something to give thanks for, and to pray for, too.

After church today I said a goodbye-for-now to Kate and her baby daughter Mia, who are heading home to Mexico.  I baptized Mia a few months ago (my first baptism as a pastor) and have loved looking out and seeing that beautiful baby girl dancing with her mom and grandma during church.  Today Kate said, "I'll bet everyone is asking you if you're ready.  You're not ready are you?" I shook my head, no. "Good.  That's fine.  No one is ever ready."

It was exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right time.  We are not as ready as we'd like to be for Walt's arrival.  Even if we make it to 40 weeks (or beyond) we won't be completely ready.  But we are ready and excited to meet our baby boy, whenever the time is right for him.

Countdown to maternity leave has begun in earnest, which means this month has been extra busy at work.  I'm hoping to catch up on some good baby blogging soon, though ... there have been fun things to report on, like a baby shower and child birth classes.  Stay tuned!

For the record

I haven't been feeling so great.  Today I decided to consult my old pal, the Mayo Clinic Guide to Pregnancy, to find out if what I'm feeling is normal bad or bad bad.  Going to the guide is always a bit risky.  It can be a source of great reassurance or utter terror.

Today, reassurance.  It turns out that all my symptoms point clearly to one thing: pregnancy.  I am definitely pregnant.

A favorite quote from the section I read today: "You may feel as if your legs are becoming detached from the rest of your body--for the record, they're not."

Registered!

We're registered at Target, Babies R Us, and Walmart. Last name, Edison-Albright.  First name, Anne or Sean. We've got a nautical theme going, but the bed linens also feature monkeys and whales, so there are options. =) Gift cards are definitely welcome!  We hope to use those to chip away at some of the higher priced items (nursery furniture, lifetime supply of diapers, baby personal jet, baby caviar, etc.)

The process of registering was both more fun and more overwhelming than I expected.  The fun part: going to the stores and having Sean push me up and down the aisles in a wheel chair while I wielded my registry gun with deadly accuracy.  (Cue Western music, sound of spurs jingling, sound of wheelchair getting stuck in Target's less-than-spacious aisles.) The overwhelming part: there seem to be 20 distinct products with names that are all variations on "mattress pad."  Why are there so many different kinds of pads for babies to lie down on?  Do we need one of each?  Ten of each?

Friends gave excellent advice via facebook and gave me the inspiration I needed to get into nesting mode. On one hand, stuff is just stuff, and not the main event at all.  On the other hand, stuff can be awfully useful. We're grateful for all the gifts, tangible and intangible, registered and otherwise, that we're receiving these days. My favorite gift today was couch time with Walt and Hank the Dog: Hank nuzzelled the belly; Walter kicked Hank; I got to cuddle both dog and baby.  Better than any baby caviar money can buy!

Lullaby

We're well into the third trimester, the trimester in which we are all very sleepy, all the time.  Sean is sleepy because he's doing all the household upkeep by himself.  I am sleepy because I'm 32 weeks pregnant.  Hank the Dog is sleepy because he's bored out of his mind. He wakes up every hour or so and checks to make sure I'm still breathing.  Once satisfied, he goes back to sleep.

You know who isn't sleepy?  Walter Paul.  This baby is all about the moving and the shaking.  So, I wrote him a lullaby.

It goes like this:

Walter, Walter go to sleep
May your dreams be always sweet
God loves you and we do too
Walter, Walter through and through

Walter, Walter you are loved
By friends on earth and friends above
Love surrounds you everyday
And when you sleep, in love you stay

Walter, you're our precious boy
And you bring us so much joy
Tomorrow is another day
To learn and work and grow and play

Walter, Walter go to sleep
May your dreams be always sweet
God loves you and we do too
Walter, Walter through and through 

It's going to be a very lovely and effective lullaby if I can ever get through it without crying. I love this kid a whole, whole bunch. Singing him his lullaby reminds me of all the times my mom sang me to sleep (when I was little, and then sometimes when I was not-so-little anymore.)  I remember the day she told me that she wrote my lullaby for me.  I was amazed.  I was a little skeptical.  "Really?" I asked.  "You wrote the words and the tune and everything?  How did you do it?"  She responded that it wasn't really that hard to do.  It all just came to her.

I remained skeptical.  I tried to write my own lullaby that very night (I must have been 15 or so.)  Nothing doing. I worried that I would be a complete failure as a mother.  Surely my creativity was not going to improve with age.  Where would I get a lullaby?

It turns out that my mom was right.  Once inspired, it's not really that hard to do.  One afternoon I laid down for a rest and got kicked extra hard in an already-sore spot.  I wondered if singing might help.  I started thinking about all the things I wanted to say to Walter in that moment: I love you. God loves you. The whole communion of saints, on earth and in heaven, loves you. And for the love of all things holy, stop kicking me so hard.

The tune and the words came easily from there.  Sean joked that we're never going to remember all the verses.  My mom thinks we will--and we will probably come up with more.  Sometimes babies really, really don't feel like sleeping.  

There's a lot of love in a lullaby that's written just for you.  Not some hypothetical, platonic ideal of love: love inspired by real events, like sleepless nights and cranky days.  When I sing Mom's lullaby now--my lullaby--I think about those real life events, and I'm even more grateful than before (and that's very grateful, indeed.)

Here's baby Annie's lullaby, written and composed by Sue Edison-Swift, inspired by real events.  It's called Tukka Vessa Dokka ... Norwegian-sounding nonsense words, but Dokka means "Dolly" and was what my mom's dad used to call her.

Tukka Vessa Dokka
Annie's getting sleepy
Annie's getting tiah
Now's the time for bye-ah
It has been a busy day
Now let's settle down
Now's the time to dream sweet dreams and put away all frown

Tukka Vessa Dokka
You're our little Annie
And we love you dearly
'Cuz you're part of the family
And we think you're wonderful
And we think you're smart
And we know you've come in the very middle of our heart

Hank the Dog is snoring on the couch.  Sean is upstairs catching a much-needed Sunday Afternoon Clergy Spouse Nap (not as famous a phenomenon as the Sunday Afternoon Clergy Nap, but just as real.)  Walter is kicking me again, but gently.  We are a sleepy family, but we are well, and we are loved. Tomorrow is another day to learn and work and grow and play.