Make Way for Piper Blue

The Birth x 2

In an effort the get Piper to spin from breech to vertex, really the last ditch effort, I started going for Mayan Abdominal Massage. This is not the type of massage that just makes you feel good, rather, it is intended to help prepare babies to be born. Part of the purpose of the massage is encouraging babies to shift to head down; part of it is to help ensure a speedy labor.

I had my first massage on Thursday. Jennifer, the M.A.M., was very calm, almost mystical and helped foster a feeling of peace and relaxation in me. She would pause during the massage to 'speak' to Piper and ask her to turn head down. Piper rolled around slowly inside me, but didn't turn. I scheduled two more sessions for Friday and Saturday. Jennifer asked me to have Griffin come with me - 'just in case'. She said that there are points she could work to help the baby move, but they could also trigger labor. I was rather doubtful of that, but asked Griffin to go with me for the next two appointments anyhow.

On Friday she taught Griffin a few moves to help labor progress if we needed it. They both worked on stretching my body: Griffin took a foot and Jennifer took a hand and they gently pulled. It felt great. The next day we went to our four o'clock appointment and she did the same basic things, plus a few more.

It was Saturday and our 6th anniversary. We met my in-laws, Jan and Claire, for a celebratory dinner at the Black Forest Inn, a German restaurant. Dinner was delicious and I managed to save room for some ice cream - soft serve chocolate and vanilla twist. Yum! We talked about the fact that Piper might actually be coming late. We were so sure she was going to be early, but it wasn't looking that way anymore. I was 39 weeks pregnant.

Griffin and I were pretty pooped and we went to bed early at just past nine. Shortly after midnight, I woke up feeling 'off''. I had a coughing fit and went into the bathroom and threw up in the sink a little. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, my stomach had be squashed by Piper for a couple of months and food backed up rather easily. I felt a little crampy and went back to bed. Ten minutes later I felt really crampy and went to use to toilet. It felt like my dinner was disagreeing with me.

I returned to bed to try to sleep it off. At this point Griffin was awake and asked me what was wrong. I told him that I either had food poisoning or I was going into labor. We tried to sleep, but ten minutes later I was back in the bathroom on the toilet feeling miserable and my stomach lurched. I launched my dinner and dessert into the bathtub next to the toilet with a splash. It was disgusting.

Griffin got up and cleaned the tub. I sat on the bed and moaned at my belly pain. We decided there was no use trying to sleep anymore, so we went downstairs. This was just before 1am. We sat in the library and Griffin read something and I tried to relax when a real contraction hit me. It was like really bad gas pains stabbing me in the belly. I checked my phone for the time at it was shortly after 1am. The next contraction hit me a little harder ten minutes later.

If we were going to go the the hospital, as I figured would be happening since I could feel Piper kicking the same low spot in my belly, we needed to get some stuff done. I managed to get my things together that had been sitting in a drawer, just in case. I gathered some stuff together for Piper. Griffin ran around the house gathering odds and ends and doing some last minute things for the house.

Back in the library, we started discussing calling our midwife Judy. The birthing class we took said to wait until the mother starts ripping off her clothes because she is so hot she can't stand it. I told Griffin to call NOW! He talked to her and told her what had happened so far. I was on the couch on all fours moaning loudly into a pillow through another, stronger contraction, still 10 minutes apart.

Judy wanted to talk to me so Griffin handed me the phone. I spoke to her for a few minutes, I have no idea what I said, and another contraction came. I was on all fours on the overstuffed leather chair. I waved the phone at Griffin because I couldn't speak, only moan.

She asked him a few questions, something like: How far apart are the contractions? 10 minutes, maybe a little closer. Is the baby still breech? Yes. Do you want to go to the hospital? Yes. Which hospital?

Which hospital. We just had this discussion the day before. We decided that we liked the doctor who worked out of Hackensack much better than the one that tried to do the version on me who was in Morristown. Yes, Hackensack was farther away, but it would be nice to work with someone who seemed to care a bit more about us and our options. So.

Which hospital? MORRISTOWN! I don't know why I knew I needed to get to help as fast as possible, but I did. I moaned horrible guttural sounds with each contraction. Griffin called the office of the doctor that worked out of Morristown Memorial Hospital, he got the machine and the number to call if a mother is in labor and dialed that number. The person answering the phone asked him a few questions and said the doctor would call us back.

When the doctor called it was after 2am. The contractions were coming closer together - every eight minutes or so. Griffin talked to him for a few minutes and it was decided to come into the hospital right away. Griffin called Judy again and she said she would meet us there. Griffin phoned his parents to let them know what was happening - there was no answer, so he left a message. We packed everything into Griffin's Ford Ranger and we were off at just after 3am.

The contractions were stronger still and closer still. He drove carefully and I moaned a kind of "uuuuuuuggggghhhh-oooooooo" sound with each one. I was trying to get onto all fours while wearing a seat belt. It was very awkward, I practically climbed into Griffin's lap. I think the contractions were about 7 or 6 minutes apart when we left our house and when we got to the hospital they were more like 5 minutes apart.

We parked in the garage and I walked as fast as I could until the next contraction hit. Griffin carried all of the bags and helped me walk. We went through the halls following the Labor Ward signs and when the next contraction struck, I veered off into a bathroom to sit on the toilet. It lasted a minute or so and I weakly washed up and we were off again. We made it to the nurse's desk and signed in. I growled through a contraction as they tried to find a room for us. It was a little before 4am and the contractions were 5 or even 4 minutes apart by then.

The nurse got us into a room, had me strip and put on a johnny, and give a urine sample. I have no idea how I did any of this. Griffin helped me through it. I got onto the bed and a nurse strapped on a fetal monitor belt. When the contraction came, I tried to flip over onto all fours and moan through it, the nurse tried flipping me back. We compromised on letting me lie on my side and press my face into Griffin's belly and make demonic noises.

Judy arrived and she and Griffin helped me labor. One nurse tried to get an IV in my arm while another one tried to take blood. Still another nurse came in to check the baby on ultrasound. Yes, she was still breech, footling breech now. Her two feet were aimed right for the exit ramp. I writhed on the bed in pain as the contractions came faster and harder. My head pounded. Everyone moved in slow motion. I cried that I felt like I needed to push. "Don't push!" they said. One nurse finally checked my dilation. Judy asked her what I was at. The rather confused looking nurse said 8 centimeters. I screamed I could feel the baby coming out. Everyone stood around like they were made of lead.

Finally Judy jumped into action: she reached inside me and felt around. She told them that my bag was bulging and she could feel a foot. She barked orders at people and everyone started to jump into action. The doctor finally showed up. The contractions were nearly on top of each other as they got me onto a gurney and wheeled me towards the operating room.

The anesthesiologist tried talking to me about what was going to happen. Nurses shaved me and strapped down my arms. They said there was no time for an epidural and that I needed to go under general anesthesia. I screamed that the baby was coming. A panicked nurse saw feet coming out of me still inside the sac. Someone yelled to push them back in. She grabbed Piper's feet and shoved them all the way back inside me. She must have had her whole hand in there stuffing Piper back in. Piper was almost born!

Finally the IV started giving me the general anesthesia and I was out like a light. The doctor made a huge, and possibly panicked, incision across my pelvis. The second one went from navel to pubic bone through my angry uterus. Piper was born for a second time at 4:21am.

When I woke up in recovery an hour later Judy was with me. She told me Griffin was with Piper and she was fine. (I am crying now just writing this. I was so relieved.) Judy started pestering the person in the recovery room to get the baby in here. Within a half an hour I got to hold my baby girl for the first time. Judy adjusted Piper and helped me feed her for the first time. It was like magic. I was instantly in love.

By 6am I was in my hospital room with my loving husband and my precious baby girl, Piper. We bonded and fell in love all over again. That morning I held and kissed her and stroked her every chance I got. As my grogginess wore off. I made sure that no one took her out of the room for anything. We didn't want her to have a bottle, formula, a pacifier and didn't want her sleeping in the nursery. She fed from my breast like we had been doing it forever. I told Griffin over and over how much I loved him and how much I loved Piper. I was on top of the world!

The next three days in the hospital were an adventure in and of themselves, but that will have to wait. I am off to hold my sweet baby girl, Piper Blue.

Time is Dragging

29 Weeks, 6 days

I am distracted. I have 6 weeks left until I go on maternity leave and I am having a hard time focusing on work. It seems that most of the teachers I work with are also having a hard time focusing. Governor Christie has cut our budget by 7 million or so for Parsippany and the district will have to make cuts to fill the gap. It has become such a distraction here that there are few conversations about anything else. Either some teachers will be out of a job or the lot of us will have to take a pay freeze. I am annoyed and disgusted by the whole thing and I just want to focus on myself. I have become completely self-absorbed now.

There are only 10 weeks left until my due date. I am uncomfortable most of the time now, but at least the sciatic pain has been reduced away to almost nothing. My feet and ankles swell and then they don't. I grunt or moan every time I stand up, sit down or try to roll over in bed. My feet are starting to seem very far away and I have decided to get a pedicure during spring break. I still have toenail polish from September on my big toes. Typing has become a challege, because my fingers have forgotten where the keys are. My spelling has gotten even worse; I appreciate spell check all the more now. My mind wanders constantly and I waddle when I walk. And I still have 10 weeks left!

Piper is finding interesting ways to stretch inside me. She seems to curl up in a ball and then push out in all directions. A large bump slowly forms, making my belly rather lopsided. I have read that she may eventually start pushing her feet out and they could be distinguishable as feet. It's a curious process, being pregnant.

I think about how life will change when she is born. I know it will change, but I don't really know how. I am already distracted at work and she is being carted around with me. How will I focus in September when I have to leave her at home with Griffin and my father-in-law manny, Jan? I will be filled with thoughts of two men and a baby.

I am so distracted that I can't even focus enough to write. My mind wanders to the future. Everyone tells me it will be here before I know it, but to me it has been dragging on for what feels like forever. We have been trying to do the whole baby thing for nearly 3 years, so what's 10 more weeks? And really, what's 6 more weeks at work? There is spring break, weekends, Fridays barely count . . . but it is just dragging right now. I need a good distraction.

Dare I Say It?

29 Weeks.

I am almost afraid to say it out loud, but it seems that my pain in the butt is starting to go away! It was just wonderful to have so many folks concerned about me and giving me loads of ideas on what to do to help relieve me of my pain. I am so grateful to be lucky enough to be surrounded by such caring people!

I am now able to walk without wincing and sucking in my breath. The searing pain has been reduced to an annoying sharp poke. The strength in my left leg is returning allowing me to walk up and down stairs at an almost normal speed. I am finding that there are moments when I even forget that I have any pain at all! For many days it was all I could focus on.

Here are some things that seemed to set me on the road to recovery:

Heat. I continued to use my heating pad on my leg and lower back everyday. On Monday, I started bringing it to school and using it there too. I switched it on for 10 or 15 minutes and tried to relax my leg. The heat helped loosen my muscles that had become very tense from anticipating pain.

Sitting. One of the hardest things for me is to stay in my seat. At work I am usually up and about helping students and running around the school doing things. I made a conscious effort to rest and sit more. Students came up to me for help whenever possible and when it wasn't possible, I sat in my wheely chair and rolled around to them. I only used my right leg to push myself around and avoided straining my left leg. I also did a lot of sitting at home. Griffin has been just wonderful. He hops up when I need something and tells me to stay put. He has done my laundry and cooked several meals. I really am lucky to have such a kind and generous husband.

Pillows. A pillow in the proper place seems to make a huge difference with my positioning. I took the advice of a couple of people and am sleeping with my body pillow between my legs all the way down to my ankles. I am focusing on keeping my legs aligned and not crossed over each other. Before I started doing this, I think I was sleeping with one leg tossed over the other and it was twisting my spine and hips. This is probably why my sciatica hurt so much when I would first get up in the morning.

Shoes. I switched to only wearing my Earth Shoes. I love my Birkenstocks, but they were doing nothing for me with this pain. My Earth Shoes have a negative heel that pushes your posture up. I always feel a little taller wearing these and they also exercise your calves at the same time. It also helps that they are not clogs so they stay on my feet without effort.

Back brace. When I first got my Mommy to Be back support, I was skeptical that it would do anything for me. It took me a few days of experimenting with the position to figure out what would help, but now that I have, it has been a great addition to my back repair regimen. I have to wear it really low below my ever-bulging belly. It lifts my belly up and takes the pressure off my lower back a bit. Piper seems to hate it. She kicks at it every time I sit down wearing it, so I guess it must be squashing her happy home a bit. She certainly seems to be aware that I have it on.

Distractions. DVDs, PBS online, books, emails, buttons, felting and ice cream have all been great distractions for me. The more I focused on the pain the worse I felt. My lowest moment was over the weekend when I decided to take a hot bath and soak for a while. Well, the water never really was hot enough and it was a major struggle to just get into the tub. Once I was sitting there every little movement triggered the pain and I was then trapped. Out of nowhere, I burst into tears. It was just a moment later that Griffin came into the bathroom to tell me he was going to leave to pick up his brother David from work. He saw me crying and rushed in and saved me. After he got me out of the tub, fetched my clothes and helped me get dressed, I became a little more composed and parked on the love seat with my heating pad for the rest of the day. I was forced into relaxing and it was a very good thing for me.

Feeling the love. It was also really reassuring to hear from so many people that they have gone through this too. Sometimes I start to feel a little crazy and alone with this pregnancy. I spend a lot of time inside my head thinking about everything. I was reassured by the outpouring of kindness from so many people. Thank you.

What Else Can I Do?

I woke up this morning and headed to the bathroom as usual. It was only 6:30 so I went back to be to attempt to sleep in on this rainy Sunday morning. It occurred to me as I was lying there that I did not feel Piper kicking around. She is usually awake before I am in the morning. I began to focus on my belly to feel her move.

I think those few fleeting months of feeling great, being happy and looking forward to the very near future are over. Since this horrid sciatica has taken hold, so have my worries and fears about the pregnancy.

I have been wearing a back brace for three days and I am concerned that it is squashing my little grub. Everything I have read says that is impossible. She is well protected by many layers of me and is floating in her protective amniotic fluid, but every time I have the belt on I can feel her kicking against it. I am concerned that it is cramping her comfy fishbowl home.

When Piper didn't give me her usual early morning wake-up call, I became concerned to the point of actually worrying. I laid on my left side and waited. After a bit of time I felt her squirm around and then kick. It was rather a weak kick and that concerned me. She rolled around and kicked a few more. None with the strength to my satisfaction. I might have fallen back asleep after that.

When we got up a while later, I limped around the house and got my back brace on. I tried to fit it as low on my waist as I could. I don't know if the brace is really helping my back, but I will keep using it for a while. I had some cereal and blueberries and settled down on the couch to do some reading. I feel fine when I am sitting, especially with my feet up, it's when I get up to do anything that the pain strikes me now.

On weekends, I normally drink a cup of coffee before I eat breakfast, but with Piper seeming so sluggish I decided to eat first. After eating I could feel her bumping around as usual and even now as I sit here typing this, she is kicking hard enough to make me jump. So, she is back to her usual self. I guess there was actually nothing wrong this morning and she was just 'sleeping in' with the rest of us. Even the cats did not start crying until 7:30. Yet, I could not seem to help myself and begin to worry at the slightest sign of trouble.

I think this pain is driving me mad. If I sit on the couch with a heating pad under the painful cheek for 15 minutes or so, I feel fine for a while and I can actually walk normally, but the pain soon comes back. I would think that I would feel best in the morning after resting all night, but I don't. I feel best at night when we are sitting on the couch watching a DVD and I have my trusty heating pad on. I think I am going to need to take this to school with me tomorrow or else I will not survive.

Our plan for today was to clear out the stuff in the room that will become the nursery. There isn't that much in there now. It was one of those rooms that just became storage and a place to put things that had no place. There were two bookshelves filled with some vintage glass and pottery and some of my stuff too. A few pieces of furniture are going to be removed with the help of Griffin's younger brother David.

We even went to Home Depot yesterday and bought paint for the room. We bought their 'green' line of paint "Freshaire" which is a very eco-friendly paint and contains no VOC's and is GreenGuard certified, also. We picked out a warm yellow for the walls and a darker golden color for the trim. Since painting the old house, we have really come to love painting the trim with non-white, contrasting colors. Anyhow.

Griffin and I discussed clearing out the shelves and where the stuff would go. Some of my stuff would get put into the basement and some would go into the big sun room. We were sitting in the library when Griffin announced he was ready to start moving stuff and I followed him. As I got up, the sciatica stabbed me in the ass, but I tried to ignore it and keep moving. Sometimes it just works itself out. Not this time.

I dragged myself into the sun room as Griffin carried the stuff in a few at a time and piled them on the coffee table. I was supposed the take them from the coffee table and put them onto the beautiful shelves my father-in-law build for me. Every bend, every step, every breath was excruciating. I sucked in my breath every time it caught me.

Griffin saw what was going on and brought a wheely chair for me to sit on to roll back and fourth. I wheeled, but it wasn't helping. I got a blanket, folded it up, kneeled on it and tried sliding back and fourth. I felt fine as long as I didn't move. So this didn't help either. I stood up and tried to walk carefully back and fourth. It was my best option, but it took forever. It hurt so back that when I saw Griffin watching me I started to laugh. I know how ridiculous I look. If I don't laugh, I may cry.

I am not used to having any pain in my body. I rarely even get sick. When I have a cold, I ignore it and keep on working and it goes away in a couple of days. This pain in not going away and I cannot ignore it. I will try to focus on using the heat for 15 minutes every hour for the next few days until we see Judy, our midwife on Thursday. I am hoping she will have some solution for me. If she doesn't, I will have to look for other options like physical therapy. I will NOT go to a chiropractor. Don't even get me started on that quackery. I would sooner cram Chinese herbs up my ass for a month than have some charlatan doctor 'cracking' my back. But I digress.

This may be a very long week for me and I will certainly be walking around with one very warm butt cheek, but hopefully, I will be in less pain. I can't go on in pain like this and continue working. Moving around at a snail's pace is insane when dealing with a room full of teenagers, but what else can I do?

Maybe I Need Some Applesauce

26 weeks, 2 days.

I can't believe that in about three months I will have a baby. I woke up this morning with that thought in my head. It doesn't seem real. After all of the failed pregnancies, I have just gotten used to the idea of being able to successfully keep one alive inside me. Now in three months I have to figure out how to get it out? And what to do with it once it is out?

Griffin and I have lots of plans, theories and intentions, but the actual day-to-day stuff mystifies me. It is not that I will be responsible for another life, that concept I am used to, after all, I have pets. Maybe it is the idea that I, we, will be focusing our lives on this new 'pet'. I am assuming everything that I am now doing with either change, minimize or disappear altogether, but to actually have it happen is another thing.

The last two days were a bit freaky. On Friday, our second snow day in a row, I got ready to take a shower. I got Eleu, our green wing macaw (pronounced Eee-loo), out of his cage and let him stand on one of the fixtures in the shower. Yes, I shower with my parrot. (It's like showering with a friend, but never having to worry about dropping the soap.) The water was running and I got in.

Eleu was chatting and fluffing as he usually does in the shower. He likes to ruffle his feathers in the steam. I washed my face as he continued babbling away. He makes noises in the shower that he doesn't make anywhere else. We have had Eleu almost seven years now; raised him since he was 8 weeks old, I hand fed him for the first five months, and I am very attached to him. I put Eleu on the floor of the shower so he could run around.

When Eleu is on the shower floor, I don't do anything else. I focus all of my attention on him, I wouldn't want to be washing my hair and accidentally step on him. Eleu crouched on the floor as he usually does and I bounced the water off my hands to give him a soft spray. The light in the bathroom can be a little weird and can play tricks on your eyes, so as I was looking down at the water flowing into the drain, thought it was curious that it looked sort of pink. At first I thought it was just the light, but as I looked more closely I could see that it was blood mixed in the water.

My first thought was that I was bleeding. My heart began to pound. I have not had any bleeding with this pregnancy, but bled many times with the last ones and sometimes in the shower. I watched the water for a moment and realized the blood was flowing from where Eleu was standing. This wasn't a much better situation.

"Oh, you are bleeding, baby," I said to the bird as a I picked him up and put him back on the fixture on the wall. He babbled happily. I couldn't see any particular location that the blood was coming from. I noticed a dried clot on top of his tail; it looked as if the tip of his wing had been dripping blood onto it a while earlier. I picked off the little clot.

I then noticed that the water dripping off him from the soft spray was tinged red. It was dripping off the end of one flight feather. Blood mixed with water. I picked him up and opened his wing. I looked underneath, nothing. I checked his back, nothing. Where was the blood coming from?

When a bird has a new feather come in, the feather has a blood supply until it is fully grown. The blood is in the shaft of the feather and it dries up when it is no longer needed. If the feather is bent or broken while the blood is still in the shaft, it will bleed. A bird can actually bleed to death from a broken blood feather. In a parrot Eleu's size, the shafts of his bigger feathers are the size of a drinking straw. Imagine your blood pouring out of you through that? It wouldn't take long before the bird would die. Most of the time, the bird will clot before he bleeds to death. My fear was that he had broken a blood feather earlier in the day and I just washed the clot out.

I finished showering in about three minutes, shaking the whole time. I put Eleu on the bathroom floor while I got dressed. He played with the rug and babbled gleefully. This did not sound like a bird dying. I looked him over again and still could not find the source of the blood. No feathers were broken and I couldn't find any sort of a wound. I brought him back to his cage and changed his papers. I wanted to be able to see if there was more blood dripping off of him.

Griffin had be having a rough day at work. He works from home and I had learned early on in our relationship to leave him alone when he is in the middle of something. During my whole 'blood crisis' Griffin was in his office having his own crisis. Apparently, computers can be just as much of a help as a hindrance to him as they are to me, so I did not tell him what was going on, just yet. I continued to run around by myself panicking.

I checked on Eleu as he was drip-drying in his cage. I did not see any blood on the fresh papers at the bottom. Maybe it was something old that just needed to be washed off? Eleu was playing with one of his toys, having a good time. He did not seem to be in distress. I started to calm down.

Griffin finally emerged from his office and announced that it was time for pizza. I love pizza night, but I wasn't especially hungry. I told him briefly what was going on with Eleu as we headed out. When we got back, less than an hour later, I headed straight into Eleu's room (our big sun room). Eleu was playing and there was no blood on the paper. Good. He was fine. This was over.

The next morning when I got Eleu up, he was bright and happy. I changed his water and gave him fresh fruit and cheese. When I was putting the bowls back in his cage I noticed that his back was really nappy looking. His feathers were clumped and chewed on. Eleu is not a feather picker - he is a happy, well adjusted bird. It is rare that I ever find a single feather chewed on, and never a whole clump of them.

I took him out of the cage and looked him over while he ran around on the outside of his cage. I lifted his wing and parted the feathers on his back. I didn't see any blood or wounds. I let him run back into his cage and eat his breakfast.

Not long after, I was sitting on the couch in our library when I heard a very weird noise. I thought it was Griffin in the basement moving something around. It sounded like furniture being dragged across the floor. I paused with what I was doing to listen. Suddenly, I realized that it was Eleu squawking in a way I had never heard before. I dashed into his room - heart pounding.

Eleu was standing on his top perch just looking at me. I went over to him and asked him what was wrong. He said, "Apple . . . grape!" I took him out of his cage to inspect him again. He is fairly patient with me and let me dig around through his feathers on his back and under his wing. I found that his chewing had gone all the way into his downy feathers on his back. The feathers were kind of crusty and gross looking. Eleu is not a fat bird, he weighs just over two pounds - the lighter end of the scale for greenwings (they range from two to almost four pounds) and I could see right to the bones under his skin on his back there were so many feathers missing. I still couldn't find a wound.

I found Griffin and told him we need to take Eleu to the vet. I called Eleu's vet and they squeezed us in for an appointment an hour later. We are very lucky to have an avian vet nearby, he is in Chester, just 35 minutes away. I dug around in the basement and found Eleu's carrier. It is just a plastic dog crate that I installed a perch into, but the carrier is huge: Almost three feet long, and 18" high and wide. It needs to be big to accommodate Eleu's long tail - head to tail he is almost three feet long.

When we were ready to go I got Eleu packed into the crate. He is a good bird and got it without much fuss. Griffin carried the crate into the garage and proceeded to awkwardly stuff the carrier into my Mini Cooper. This is a tight fit, very tight, but it fits as long as you have the front seats moved forward to an uncomfortable position. Griffin's car is a Ford Ranger, no back seat, only room for two people, so the Mini was the only choice. We set off for the vet.

Eleu climbed around in his crate and didn't make much noise. He said 'hello' one time and spent most of the trip looking out of the window through his crate. All of the things that could be wrong with him were running through my head. I love my bird and the thought of a wound that won't heal or something even worse made me feel sick. Griffin was driving; I tried to calm down.

The vet took us in right away. He was very nice. I had taken Eleu to him a year and a half ago for a check-up and was happy with how gentle they were with him. I held Eleu on my hand while the doctor checked his back and wing. Eleu was not thrilled, but I was able to keep his beak pointed away from the vet and his tech and he focused on me instead. They then put him into a towel to check his heart and inspect his underside. The only times he has been wrapped in a towel has been at the vet. He doesn't like it and spends every second chewing large holes into the terrycloth. He didn't scream or try to flap and I rubbed his head and talked to him while they worked on him.

The vet couldn't find anything wrong with him. Yes, he has been chewing on his feathers in one spot, but there is no wound there, no tumor, nothing wrong. The doctor started talking about giving Eleu Benadryl to stop him from chewing his feathers. I was still trying to wrap my brain around the idea that there was nothing wrong. The vet explained that sometimes a bird gets hurt or twists a muscle and they start to chew in that area because they can't figure out what is bothering them. The chewed area becomes itchy and that is where the Benadryl comes in.

The vet explained that it may take a while for Eleu to stop chewing altogether and to administer the Benadry twice a day. It comes in a liquid form, so I would have to suck it into a plastic syringe and squirt it into his lower mandible. I used to hand feed Eleu in almost the same way and he loved it, how hard could it be?

Before we left the vet chatted with us about Eleu. He weighed him and checked his eyes and took a dropping sample. The doctor gave us the best compliment, too. He said that Eleu was the nicest macaw he had ever seen. He was well behaved and gentle and that I must be raising him right. The tech agreed. He said that the way I handled him was great and most people who bring in their macaws just hand them over to the tech and say "good luck!". He told me to keep doing whatever I am doing, because I am raising a nice, healthy parrot. It was good to hear.

I started to feel better and we packed up and went home. Back in the sun room, I got the syringe and the Benadry and prepared to give Eleu his first dose. I put him on my knee, held his upper mandible and attempted to squirt the Benadry into his mouth. I got a little bit in his mouth and he managed to turn his head, so the rest went on my pants. Okay, so I needed a firmer grip. I refilled and got it all into his beak. The lower mandible is like a cup, it is easy to pour something into the cup, unfortunately, it is just as easy to pour something out of it. That is exactly what he did. He tiled his he down and most of it dribbled out.

It is some pretty sticky stuff so I wiped up a bit with a tissue and made one more attempt. I think I got a bit more into him. It took about 8 ml to get about 4ml into him. I handed Eleu the tissue and he grabbed it and wiped his beak, chewed on it for a moment and dropped it. That trick is a leftover from the old hand feeding days - parrots don't like to have messy beaks and will clean up if you give them a napkin.

Eleu seemed fine the rest of the day. I tried to watch and see if he was chewing and didn't see him doing it. Maybe the Benadry was working? When it came time for his evening dose, things got a little trickier. During the winter I don't cut Eleu's flight feathers and he gets the chance to fly around a bit. Usually it is just from the love seat to his cage or from my knee to his cage.

When I put him down on my knee to give him the Benadry, he flapped and as I leaned back away from his huge wings he flew off my knee. He flew around the room and landed on my plant rack. He managed to knock one of my plant terrariums onto the floor and it smashed. Eleu - 1, Benadry - 0.

Griffin jumped off the love seat and started cleaning up the mess. I grabbed the bird and made another attempt. I put him back on my knee and tried to hold him and get the medicine in his mouth. He held still for me. As I squirted, he put his tongue on the syringe and it sprayed everywhere but in his mouth. He then flew away. This time he headed for his cage, in the process he managed to knock a glass bowl that Griffin had used for ice cream onto the floor. It smashed. I went over and started picking up the mess. Griffin was still working on the smashed terrarium. Eleu - 2, Benadryl - 0.

When we had both messes cleaned up. I asked Griffin for help. Somehow, the two of us managed to get most of the dose into his mouth. It wasn't easy. The vet said we may have to do this for weeks or months. There had to be a better way. I put Eleu back on his cage and he climbed inside and eyed us for a while. He wasn't trilled at being man-handled that way. I wasn't thrilled about having to do it.

We went to bed shortly after and I laid awake for a long time thinking about how to get the Benadry into Eleu without all the drama. I decided that we would need to experiment with adding it to food. His favorite food, cheese, was not really an option. I couldn't imagine having to wrestle with him at six in the morning before work everyday. Perhaps applesauce would work? We would need to buy some applesauce.

I learned a few things over the last couple of days: the thought of my baby being in pain, injured or sick makes me ill almost instantly and I need to toughen up, some jobs will require an extra pair of hands to avoid having many things smashed in the process, and that my Mini Cooper is not the 'family' car I once thought it could be - I think we will need a bigger vehicle.

PS

I found this article this morning, a little too late, about how to give a bird liquid medicine. It is very, very accurate:

How To Give Your Bird Oral Antibiotics

As Time Goes By

26 Weeks.

Time is dragging by now - at least in terms of the pregnancy. I find myself looking up what is happening during week ____ less and less. Most of the monumental changes and checkpoints are past. Piper just keeps getting bigger, stronger and fatter. Even her kicking is less of a thrill and now more of a means of communication between the two of us. She is not tapping out Morse code, but she does react to things in our environment in interesting ways. She gets very still at my in-laws' house; perhaps she is learning the voices of her grandparents, in the car going home from work she jumps and kicks and does back flips off my bladder and in the evenings she pokes and squirms as we watch a DVD. I think I may miss having her inside me after she is born.

I had advanced into reading about the birthing process and I feel as prepared as I am going to get. I am sure there are no written words that will be able to fully portray the experience. I understand the mechanics of what will happen, the possible risks and dangers and the many variables in birthing. As far as the emotional experience, I don't think anything will prepare me for that.

My reading has now shifted into child-rearing. I started reading the baby led weening book. The thoughts, theories and conclusions for the first six months are simply 'no food other than breast milk', so, really the practices in this book won't be put into action until next December. I have a hard time wrapping my brain around that. Next December.

I also have been watching videos on PBS and Netflix. The one that disturbed me the most was Frontline's "The Medicated Child". It was a full length video on using and over-using medication on children to 'fix' their mental problems. A lot of what I was seeing just looked like kids acting like kids - bored kids, but normal kids nonetheless. Some of the children in the show were a little off but the medication the doctors put them on made them downright bizarre. One of the things that really bothered me was that the only thing that was being addressed was the medication: Was it too much? Was it the wrong kind? Should this one be only for adults? Do these two react poorly together?

The entire time I watched the show I kept noticing the food these kids were eating, the fact that they were so young and spent all their time in front of a computer or TV. Their toys were video games or plastic hoo-hoos, surely made in China, that the littlest ones were gnawing on. Several of the parents had two or three kids running around and they couldn't focus their attention or gather their brood together. No one addressed diet, nutrition, exercise, metal stimulation or parental interaction. One woman went back to her doctor with the intention of getting her child off one or two of the many meds he was on and by the time she was leaving his office, he had upped the dosage instead. She just sat there and nodded. I was shocked.

I also watched a video, A Life Without Pain, on three children who were born with the rare disorder that prevented them from being able to feel pain. I had heard of this before, but never gave it too much thought. It was amazing to consider all of the potential problems that would ensue when your child is born without feeling pain. The three children were in different parts of the world, but had the same problem; the difference was the approach to dealing with the issues. Of course, the American family reacted in a way that was extreme and, I think, in the end detrimental to their daughter. Of course, who am I to talk, never having been in this situation?

The more I watch, the more afraid I become for little Piper. I have no idea what her future health may hold, I guess you can only do what's right at the moment and wait and see. In the mean time, I will continue to read, watch videos and try to do my best to prepare for the future. I guess the only thing I can do right now to help ensure Piper is healthy is to eat right - so I am off to have a nutritious breakfast.

Can You See Me Now?

23 Weeks, 4 days

What does it take to be a professional? It seems to involve a different skill set from simply acting professionally. I returned a call from my OB's office yesterday. I had faxed them a request to have a copy made of my records, but didn't mention why I wanted it. Yesterday, the office manager left me a brief message to call her back regarding my request.

Generally, everyone at the office is very nice and polite on the phone, just as I would expect from a doctor's office. I called her back an hour or so after I got the message and when the office manager got on the line, she asked me why I wanted a copy of my records. Was it for me personally or was I leaving the practice? I told her that we were considering using a midwife to deliver the baby and the midwife wanted to review my pregnancy history.

The office manager suddenly got very huffy with me. "So you are leaving the practice, then?" she accused me in a reprimanding tone. I told her I didn't think so, just that we wanted to have a midwife do the delivery. I had every intention on continuing to go there for my yearly exam and what not.

The office manager wasn't hearing me anymore, she wanted to know why I was leaving the practice. Was it the doctors? The staff? Something else? I told her, again, that we just wanted to have a midwife deliver the baby and that it had nothing to do with the practice. I wasn't about to tell her that we wanted to have a home birth and that I didn't think the OB would approve of that idea. I felt I didn't need to explain myself to her.

She agreed to make the copy and told me that my file was 'very thick' - don't I know it! I told her that was fine and I would pay whatever the charge was to get the copy done. She said she would call me when it was ready and that it would take some time. I got a message from her today while I was waiting at my eye doctor's office. She didn't sound any more pleasant - she simply said that the charge was $38 and that they would send out my file when they received my check for $38. And that was that.

I thought about whether or not I did, indeed, want to continue going to that practice for my womanly check-ups. The three doctors there do not act as if they know me at all and yet I have spent a lot of time there. This past summer alone we must have been there 5 times or more in a couple of months. We have been going every 4 weeks since this September, again. They still screw up my history and ask me the same questions at every visit - things that surely should be in my chart by now.

Whenever I ask a question of one of the male doctors, they respond in a way that makes me feel like I am in kindergarten. They speak simply and slowly. Most of the information they give me about my pregnancy I could get from a "How Was I Born" children's book. I like plain speak, don't give it to me gently, let's just get it over with. The female doctor only met with us once, but that wasn't much better.

On the other hand, my eye doctor only gets to see me twice a year. Once for the yearly exam and then usually two weeks later to check the fit of my new contact lenses and place the order for my year's supply. I have been going there for about seven years. So she has seen me about 14 times, maybe 16; I suppose I have had to go back for something over the years. I just don't see her a lot. It's a small practice, just the one doctor and a receptionist. She has all of the machines of the big eye doctor offices and runs me through them each year.

My ophthalmologist always recognizes me when I walk in the door at Andover Eye Care. This may not sound like a big deal, but the OB docs still aren't sure who Griffin is when he comes in with me. Griffin has been to every single visit with me. And, yet they look at him and think, "Who's the dude with the ponytail, again? Boyfriend?" We have been married for nearly 6 years. How many husbands come in with their wives? They still don't know who he is? His name is in my chart! I know this because I have seen them write it there many times, and yet they still stumble over this simple piece of information.

Today's visit to my eye doctor, her name is Amy Covucci, I will use her name since she actually knows my name, was quick and easy. It took 45 minutes, which I consider very quick for a doctor visit. She checked my eyes with my current contact lenses, we chatted a bit about how they were feeling for me. I told her that they annoy me sometimes and at random times they make my eyes hurt and I have to take them out. She made a note in my chart.

I took out my contacts and she ran me through one of the machines that checks my vision. She asked me if I wanted to try the 'puffer' machine that checks for glaucoma, I laughed and said 'no thanks'. I have not been able to keep my eyes open for that test, well, ever.

I was traumatized by a technician at "Eye Lab" when I was about 15. The woman would not give up and tortured me for a half hour or more trying to get me to keep my eye open long enough for the test to read. I would anticipate the puff of air and my eye would water and slam shut. She actually yelled at me and insulted me at one point. It was awful. I now have severe trust issues with anything that close to my eyes.

Amy already knew that I didn't want to have this test done, it was in my chart and she read my chart, and instead of insisting that we do this test, she just checked my eyes by feeling their pressure. She applied light pressure to my eyes and said they felt fine. She did not apply pressure to me and try to force me to do something I know I can't and won't do.

We talked about changing brands of contact lenses to something that would be more comfortable for me. She asked me if I would wear ones that I had to take out every week and clean. I prefer to sleep with my contacts for a month and chuck them. I told her I didn't really want the hassle of cleaning lenses again. She said "Okay," and looked for another brand.

I should say right now that I have really bad vision, uncorrected that is. The worst vision out of anyone I know. My prescription is around -9. My contacts are always special order and there are companies that don't even make them that strong. She told me about a brand that I could wear for 2 weeks, toss and then put in a new pair. She also said that it would be better for my eyes to have a new pair twice as often as I do now. That sounded fine to me. She said that the most important thing was that I was happy with how they felt, that they fit my eyes and that I could see. How logical!

After checking my vision, she had me try on the new pair. They felt great; I could see great. I was very happy. At some point during the visit I told her I was nearly 6 months pregnant. We chatted about that, she has two young girls and we chatted about that, too. We talked about the excitement of having your first child and various other things. She treated me like a real person. She also told me about how my eyes were doing: no major changes, still have a few floaters, retina looks good, etc. She used somewhat technical terms when mentioning the parts of my eye and did not speak to me like I was a moron.

Amy told me to come back in two weeks so we can see if I still like these contacts and that she would check my vision with them. If all's good, she would order my yearly supply at that time. I made my next appointment, chatted about the upcoming snow storm with Amy and her receptionist. We acted all like normal people, and yet, somehow, this was far more professional than the treatment that I get at my OB's office. I left feeling great. My concerns were addressed, I felt cared for as a patient and a person and I got what I came for - new contact lenses. Did I mention I waited all of 30 seconds when I first arrived? Amy doesn't overbook and keep me waiting. I can't say that for other doctors.

It's interesting that I know nothing personal about my OBs and they know nothing about me that doesn't involve my vagina, uterus and now the wiggler growing inside me. They are professional in a way that is cold and disconnected. They know so little about me that they can't remember who that man with the long hair is . . . Perhaps their office manager was right after all, maybe I am leaving their practice.

Just Call Me Alice

23 weeks

This day makes you smaller, this day makes you bigger.

This was a weird week. Along with the fish issues, I had been feeling a bit 'off'. It's hard to describe, nothing was particularly wrong, but I didn't feel like I was in my full on preggo groove. In between doing fishy things I have been spending a lot of time looking at the size of my belly.

For a couple of days I started to become concerned that my belly was too small. If you read about how big someone should be at five months, you will find that there is no correct answer. There isn't a standard size one's belly might be at this time, so I couldn't tell if I was going along alright. Perhaps I have gotten too used to looking at my rounded shape and now it looks too 'normal' to me.

So, now I am complaining about being normal? I just can't be happy, confident and relaxed, at least not for long. Do I even look pregnant anymore? I started to wonder if Piper has stopped growing, if I was eating enough, could I be losing fluid and not be aware of it? I have felt rather 'damp' lately. Flashbacks keep popping into my head.

Today I wore sweatpants to work. I have never, ever done this before. Actually, this is the first pair of sweatpants I can remember owning. They are brown with a soft, fleecy lining. They feel so good! I was low on clean clothes this morning and it is dang cold around here, so I was able to justify my choice. Fridays are 'dress-down' days anyhow, right?

I paired my sweatpants with a girlie maternity top and no one was the wiser. Funny how wearing a maternity blouse can make you feel more maternal. The whole day today I felt extra pregnant and very happy. What was I wearing all week that made me feel less than fully pregnant? I don't know if it was what I was wearing or what I was carrying around inside my head.

My deep concern over my fish was very distracting and I often have the disconcerting feeling of 'when it rains, it pours'. Maybe it was pouring somewhere, but not here. Since Monday's disaster, everything has been fine. Since we have decided to drop the OB, I have been a little extra nervous anyhow. It's a lot to adjust to. I liked my pregnancy training wheels even if they were annoying most of the time. I felt a little 'safer', but knew it is entirely unnecessary to travel 30 miles to have my blood pressure and weight taken. I think way too much.

Lately, I have been entirely too distracted at work. My classes are going along fine, but all of the little stuff I keep meaning to do never seems to get done. I forget to tell people stuff and I forget to hand things in. Everyone tells me it will only get worse. It's the least of my worries, but I am sure I am forgetting something important . . .

Now that I am feeling nice and big today, I am comfortable again. Is this some kind of paradox? The larger I am, the more comfortable I am? I guess I know that with every inch I grow, Piper is getting bigger and stronger. Her little kicks are getting more forceful which tells me she is doing well in her little fishbowl in my belly. Sometimes when I see a photo of a woman eight or nine months pregnant I find it shocking and can't imagine getting that big. And yet when I think about June and not being pregnant anymore, I can't imagine that either.

It's so easy carrying Piper around this way, inside me. Warm, safe and easy enough to move. What would if look like to be pregnant with a toddler? Perhaps I won't feel this way when I am eight or nine months pregnant. I might be looking forward to getting her out and getting skinny again. For now, I will enjoy my time with her rolling around inside me, in one, easy-to-carry package that keeps on getting bigger.

The Problem with Being a Benevolent God.

22 weeks, 4 days.

Yesterday was a tragic day. I know that there are things in life you can't control and in the end you have no choice but to accept them and move on. Sometimes, life malfunctions. Yesterday was such a day.

Griffin sent me an urgent email: "something is catastrophically wrong with the fish tank....it seems like the filter is not working...what should I do with it? I have no idea how it operates."

Something is wrong? Well, it was much worse than that. I called him and he told me that there were 5 dead fish floating at the top of the tank and that the tank water was hot, like tropical hot. I couldn't think. My fish were dead!?! I love my fish - I created their world, I am their benevolent god, what have I done?

The day before I had done a water change and finally disconnected the extra filter that I had been meaning to get rid of. I had simply put it in the tub to be cleaned and put away later. My tank is a well planted tank and the plants provide a lot of oxygen for the fish. I didn't know what could be happening - how hot was hot? what was with the filter? was there disease in the tank? It was going to be 3 more hours until I could get home to find out.

On the phone I told Griffin to just shut everything down. When in doubt - turn it off. I asked him to stir the water every half hour to help with the oxygen exchange. He sounded almost as upset as I was. It also occurred to me to have him scoop out the dead ones and put them in a bowl of water. I didn't want their dead bodies contaminating the tank and yet, I needed to see them to know if it was a disease attacking them. The rest of the work day went very slowly and then I raced home.

I got home to find another floater. The expletives started pouring out of my mouth, but I quickly got under control. I needed to do something productive now. My head thumped and throbbed. I changed my shirt and got to work. I reattached the old filter to get some more water moving. This filter is simple and noisy. I had gotten it in a pinch when my big filter, a canister that sits under the tank, started leaking right before vacation.

I then pulled out one heater. Seemed fine. I adjusted the temperature to 75 degrees and put it back in. I pulled out the other heater. Something was wrong here. It sizzled as I took it out of the water. It was so hot I couldn't touch it. Well, that explains what happened, at least partially. The water had gotten so warm because something in the heater fried and it just kept getting hotter and hotter.

Griffin also told me that the canister filter seemed to have stopped. I plugged it and sure enough. Nada. I asked him to carry it to the bathtub for me - it was way too heavy for me to carry in my current state - and I disassembled it. I cleaned all the parts, replaced a few elements and put it back together. Before I reconnected it, Griffin spotted a couple of more dead angels. It was so depressing. I scooped them out and added them to the bowl of dead ones beside the tank. I could see their little bellies starting to puff up with gas. They did not die from disease, it was the heat and lack of oxygen that did them in.

After I got the other filter running I sat down to look at the remaining fish. They seemed okay physically, but they were in shock. They hung around near the bottom of the tank in a cluster. I turned off the light and let them relax. Later on in the evening, I tried to feed them. They didn't even look at the food. They seemed to be traumatized. I turned off the light again.

Today, I checked on them in the morning. Not much change. No floaters, but they weren't their usual, greedy selves. I clicked off the light and left for work. When I got home this afternoon, I checked again. The striped angels still have no stripes. They are pale and huddled together. The three black ones are black, but somehow pale too.

Anyone who believes that fish have no feelings, no memory and are just emotionless ornaments has never raised or observed them. My remaining angels are sad. They are frightened. They have post-traumatic-stress-syndrome! I gave them a bit of food and they just picked at it and then went back to their huddle. Normally, these fish live to eat and will beg for food every time I walk by the tank. Now, they don't care about food. They are barely eating just to stay alive.

One of the other survivors was my smallest Clown Loach. I had five of them and all the big ones died. The littlest one had hid for many hours and showed up late last evening. I was happy and surprised to see him. These fish love to hang out and play with a group of their own kind only. Unfortunately, I guess the other fish don't speak their language. The little survivor swam back and fourth in the front of the tank - either he was looking for his tankmates or perhaps he understood what took place and was devastated by their deaths. He was not swimming up and down and round and round in the goofy way loaches usually do.

I also spotted a lone Flag Fish, peeking at me through the grasses. These, too, prefer to live in groups and he looked very lost and frightened. I knew I could not let these fish live alone for long, they have been known to go off their food and die of loneliness. I felt they had suffered enough and must do something for them.

So, today, I ordered some new fish online. I am hoping that a few new lives will help perk up the rest of the tank. They all look so sad. My new fish will come on Thursday, and yes, you can order fish online and have them overnighted to you. It's easier to get better quality fish than going to Petsmart, trust me.

I also ordered a new, top quality heater and a digital thermometer with an alarm for temperature changes above or below a certain degree. There is not much more I can do to prevent another disaster. Some things cannot be predicted or prepared for.

So what have I learned from all of this? Well, that life is unpredictable. I guess I already knew that, but life has a funny way of reinforcing these lessons. No matter how happily and uneventful things may seem to be going along, that can all change in a moment, or in a few hours, days or weeks.

The last four miscarriages all happened in slow motion and in the blink of an eye, but there was nothing I could have done to prevent them and there was no reaction that could have taken them back. Yesterday, I could have screamed and cried and thrown a fit, but it wouldn't have revived my dead fish. All I could do was try to make the survivors comfortable and thank Griffin for all of his help. He felt so bad that so many fish died. I felt lucky that so many fish survived. I feel lucky that I have survived. I know they will recover in time. After a traumatic event we all recover in time.

Sometimes You Forget

22 weeks, 2 days

We went through genetic counseling at the NJ Perinatal Association at around week 16. The genetic counselor asked us about our health and that of our families. My family is fairly healthy as far as genetic defects go. Griffin's family had very little that was noteworthy as well. Despite my 'advanced age' it seemed like we have very little chance of having a baby with any genetically inherited defects.

I am one of the healthiest people I know. I have never suffered from allergies, in fact I only started getting poison ivy when I was 31. It was a shock to me to have these itchy, red bumps on my hand after spending the day weeding in our yard. This was a week before we were going to get married and my fingers swelled so much that it was a bit of a struggle to get my wedding ring on at the ceremony. (On the other hand, my brother can get poison ivy if he sees a photo of it in a gardening magazine.)

I rarely get sick anymore: mostly just the sniffles every September when I return to work, but that's about it. High schools are very germy places and teaching computer graphics means I end up touching equipment that sick, snotty kids were touching. Other than that, I tend to stay healthy all year.

I have low blood pressure, a strong heart, the only operations I have ever had were getting my wisdom teeth taken out and the four D&C's. When I fill out the questionnaire you get when you go to a new doctor, I hardly read the 'do you suffer from' categories as I check no, no, no, no all the way down the line.

So, it really came as a shock to me when I remembered one night that I am carrying around a genetic defect. We were watching a DVD of Nip/Tuck when it hit me. One of the characters was having a child with ectrodactyly, otherwise known as lobster claw syndrome. It's a disorder that affects the hands and feet whereby the digits are either missing or fused, creating a claw-like appearance. Griffin and I chatted during the show about it, nothing of consequence.

Then the topic of my cute, little toes came up. I love my feet. They are, in my opinion, some of the most attractive female feet I have ever seen. My toes are cute, not long and monkey-like. I have friends whose feet look like an extra set of hands. I swear they could toss pasta salad and cut tomatoes with them. That is just freaky!

My toes are cute and small looking because I have syndactyly, in other words, I have webbed toes. My second and third toes on both feet are webbed 2/3 the way up. The bones are not fused, just the skin. It makes for very petite looking toes. Most people don't notice them unless I point it out, including the few women who have given me pedicures.

Specifically, what I have is syndactyly type I. It is a genetically inherited disorder. The gene that carries it is a dominant, non-sex related gene. This means that Piper has a 50% chance of having it too. It can affect the feet or hands or both. It is usually the ring and middle fingers that are fused on the hand and second and third toes on the foot. So, would I care if she have two toes fused like her momma? No, of course not. I love my toes. Would I care if she had two fused fingers? Well, yes.

I guess at this point we will not know if she has it until she is born. My parents never made a big deal of it in me. In fact, if my memory serves me, I don't think my parents even knew I had it until I pointed it out to them. I wanted to know when I would get "my toes cut apart like everyone else's". I think I was real little at the time, about five or so. I distinctly remember asking my mother that. She looked at my toes and told me there was nothing wrong with them. I don't think she was really looking at them. I just assumed everyone had been born with toes attached together, since I had never seen anyone else with my kind of toes, and that at some point everyone had them cut apart. It didn't occur to me that I could be different from everyone else.

As I grew up, I learned to love my toes for their weirdness. When you are a teenager you spend a lot of time talking about what makes you freaky or different. Most people had minor things like claiming to be double-jointed or that they could lick their nose. But, when I whipped out my webbed toes, I got respect! Or something like that. I was extra-freaky, which went a long way in the crowd I ran with. Weird = good.

As an adult, I am happy to have cute little toes that look nice in sandals and hopping around bare-foot. (I can't wait to be barefoot and pregnant when the weather gets warm!) As a future parent, I am just a little worried about my cute-toe syndrome being passed on to our child especially if it means webbed fingers.

There is no point in worrying about it now, I know that. But sometimes I can't help myself and Google a little. It's just what I do. I know that for the most part, if this shows up on her hands, it can be easily fixed with an operation that entails taking a bit of skin from the groin to allow the fingers to be cut apart and separated. It can be done at 12 to 18 months with little ill effects. The main reason I would have it done, and so early, is so that she would not lose any dexterity that would inhibit her from becoming a great artist, piano player or flipper of the 'bird'.

If her toes are fused, I imagine we will not do anything. And when she asks me about her cute, webbed toes, I can tell her she has toes just like her momma and that 'freaky' runs in our family.

Making the Move

22 Weeks, 1 day.

We met with the certified nurse midwife yesterday. Our appointment was at her home office and of course we arrived early. She didn't mind, invited us in and we sat down in a cozy room. She asked a couple of basic questions: where we lived, my due date, what week I was in and confirmed that we were looking to have a home birth.

Then she asked us if we had questions for her. I didn't know where to start, so she did. She practiced originally as a labor and delivery nurse starting in 1986 and then began doing home birthing in 1997 after going to midwifery school and doing an internship. She has delivered over 700 babies and assisted with another 1100 births.

She told us about her track record for home births. With her first time mothers have a 10% transfer rate to a hospital. That is pretty good, I had read it was 25% on average. She has never needed to do a transfusion for a mother although she could. She told us about her experience with different situations and what she would do. Her level of knowledge and confidence really made me feel comfortable. An OB would never do this - they wouldn't be expected to defend themselves and prove that they would be a good doctor for you.

She asked us to tell her about the pregnancy and what we were looking for in a birthing experience and why. I told her about the miscarriages and who we were currently seeing for care. I told her that I wanted to be home with my family included, if they want to be. I said I would like to invite my mother and father-in-laws and my brother and sister-in-law. (I think my brother would jump out of his skin, but I would invite him anyhow.) I said I wanted it to be fully natural and not be rushed. I didn't want things to spin out of control, which I think happens in hospitals far too often. She nodded a lot and asked questions that ensured me that she was listening to what I was saying and not just planning on what to say next.

She told us that she could do all of the prenatal care from here on out and we wouldn't need to continue going to the OB or perinatal group. She said she is affiliated with an OB in Morristown if we do run into any problems before 37 weeks. I told her that we had one more appointment in 5 weeks at the perinatal group for an ultrasound to check for growth. She said it wasn't necessary for us to continue to have ultrasounds and that the development of the baby could be palpated at this point. I wondered why my OB never did that.

I don't really have a problem leaving the OBs, frankly, I am glad to leave them. There are 3 doctors there and although they are very nice, they don't know me from Adam. In fact, they have gotten our due date wrong several times and keep asking the same questions about the previous miscarriages over and over even though this is all in my chart. The only thing they do every 4 weeks is check my blood pressure, weight, check my urine for protein and sugar, check the fetal heartbeat and then send me on my way. It always seems like a waste of time for us.

On the other hand, the perinatal group does all of the ultrasounds. It's wonderful getting to see Piper moving around inside me. They usually print out a few pictures for us to take home. Since we have now 'graduated' and don't need to be seen every two weeks, it seems like this is just going to be a novelty to keep seeing her through ultrasounds.

Now we have to decide whether we will go to the scheduled ultrasound appointment. The midwife said we didn't need to, but she didn't say we couldn't go. It's up to us. Griffin and I talked about it afterwords. He said he would be fine going one more time. The real question is whether he would be fine not going one more time. That is the question.

I have read over and over that ultrasounds in the third trimester are not necessary unless there is a problem, but we like the ultrasounds. It's so cool to see her and not just feel her inside me. I believe the next ultrasound would be our last one anyhow, so how could one more hurt? Do we care that it is unnecessary? Maybe this is why health insurance costs so much. Well, we have time to think about it.

We talked for almost an hour with the midwife. She asked questions, we asked questions and I felt like I knew more about her in one hour than I know about the OB I have been seeing for the last 2 years. It's a much more personal experience.

We told her that we were considering a waterbirth and she said she does a lot of them. She explained what we would need to get and how the logistics would work. It seemed to be pretty much as I had read.

I asked her again if she thought we were good candidates for home birth and she agreed. She said it's not for everyone and she can usually tell after speaking with a couple whether it is a good option for them. She said she would not take on anyone for home birthing that she thought could not handle it or if it would be too risky for mother and child.

Finally she told us that we would need to get a copy of my records from my OB's office. I thought about how fat my chart now was: filled with information about failed pregnancies. It also has all of the information from the NJ Perinatal Association. So much stuff that we want to put behind us. My only fear is telling the OB that we don't want to use them anymore. I don't know why that scares me. When we were there last time and I asked about a midwife, I could almost see the hackles going up on the doctor. They can't say 'no', can they?

We left the appointment feeling really positive about the whole thing. I asked Griffin if I sounded like a nut talking to her and he reassured me that I didn't. My reasons for wanting a home birth are equal parts emotional and logical. The thought of going to the hospital to deliver Piper makes my skin crawl. The last 4 times I was in a hospital was to have another failed pregnancy removed. I don't associate hospitals with anything good. Hospitals are where you go if you are sick, I am not sick. I am going to have a baby!

A Good Daddy

22 Weeks

Being pregnant is an interesting state to be in. Your body changes shape, you feel the little spud growing inside, people smile at you knowingly and you are so much more aware of the happy, little things in life. Pregnancy can also leave you feeling angry, helpless and broken when it doesn't go well. There is very little a woman can do to help a failing pregnancy. When I knew last summer that I was going to lose the baby, but still had to carry it around for a few more days that turned into weeks it was sheer torture. Joy and pain in one melon-sized package.

For a woman, pregnancy is something that is experienced every moment. The deep connection between mother and child is due, not in small part, to the actual physical connection. I am at the stage where I feel Piper move on a regular basis. I know that she will jump around when I eat something sweet and nap when I am walking or driving. I am always aware that I am carrying her around with me.

When I woke up this morning there was a big lump bumping out on the left side of my belly. Hard and round it was probably her head. It was really weird, a little scary and yet very exciting. I have had dreams about being able to 'see' her through my skin, but this was the first time I could see it for real. As I got moving the lump flattened out, so I suppose she moved into a more normal position. I didn't tell Griffin about it because I got wrapped up in my day shortly after coming downstairs.

As Piper's movements have been getting stronger, I have been trying to get Griffin to feel them. Often, when we are parked on the loveseat watching a movie, I ask him if he wants to feel my belly. He has felt her move, but not that many times yet. However, I have felt her move on the outside of my belly so hard that my hand has bounced. Perhaps she knows the difference between our touches?

Griffin seems more and more excited about the pregnancy and the offspring to come. When we first started dating he told me that he wanted to have a family. He said that he wouldn't even consider seriously dating someone that didn't want children. He was really looking forward to being a father. I wanted to have a child or maybe two at that time, but it was for more abstract reasons - in my mind it seemed like an interesting experiment. What did I know? I had never experienced motherhood and I had never been pregnant.

When we decided a few years ago that it was a good time to have a family my body wasn't cooperating. After the great joy and then loss of the last pregnancy we started to become very shaky about the idea altogether. The heartbreak of the last loss was so great that Griffin told me he didn't want to try again. I wanted to try one more time.

So here we are at a very successful 22 weeks and I can see that Griffin is becoming more reassured about the future success of this pregnancy. Now we discuss our ideas and ideals about pregnancy, delivery and parenting on a daily basis. Early on during this pregnancy, we didn't talk about any of that. We were playing the 'wait and see' game. I knew he was excited about the prospect of finally having a baby, but the last pregnancy and the disappointment that ensued really seems to have scarred him.

I can't imagine how helpless he felt during that last month. When we found out that things were going poorly, I did what I always do in such dire situations: try to find a way to fix it. Griffin was much more accepting of the loss than I was. He listened to me when I told him about the few options I thought we had, but he did his own research on PROM and did not like what he found.

In the past, we had had discussions about whether it was morally right to bring a baby into the world who would have a short or painful life due to illness. I have always taken the stance that life is hard enough for a 'normal' person, I wouldn't want to knowingly bring a child into this world who's entire existence would be filled with suffering. Griffin didn't entirely agree back then, but time changes a person.

When we were doing research on the effects of PROM on a fetus that was carried for as long as possible we found out that the potential complications were horrible: placental abruption, extreme prematurity, severe learning problems, little or no lung development and intrauterine growth restriction. The low amniotic fluid was already preventing the baby from moving and it was just a curled up ball on all of those last few ultrasounds. I never got to feel it move inside me like this.

On the other hand, I also read a few stories where the baby ended up being okay after several months or years of medical assistance. I became torn and started to doubt that ending the pregnancy was the right choice. The doctors all emphasized the strong likelihood of developing an infection in the amniotic sac and getting very sick or dying and then losing the baby anyhow. This was just more grim news for me to consider. In the end it was the right choice, but it wasn't really a choice at all. It was something that had to be done. Griffin had the strength to let go of his baby and with his strong and gentle heart he helped me survive through it, too. This is what any good daddy would do.

So, here we are at pregnancy number five and for the first time Griffin is getting the chance to feel his child bumping around inside me. He seems very excited and nervous at the same time. I know he is nervous about the next 18 weeks going well, but don't think he is so nervous about the next 18 years going well. He has confidence in his ability to adapt and learn, so do I.

We have been together over seven years and I have come to know many aspects about Griffin that will make him a great father. I grew up with a father that never wanted any children, much less to have a girl child. He had told me so at a very young age and that harsh fact has stayed with me all my days. So Griffin is already well on the way to being a great father, just by wanting to be a father.

Griffin has also changed a lot in these last seven years. When I met him, he was eager to cook for me (I am a vegetarian), he was trying to take the easiest, 'nicest' route for 'training' his puppy (which wasn't really training her at all) and he hadn't made anything truly creative since he was in elementary school. As we have grown together, he has learned that it is easier to let me do the cooking and have him clean up, that dogs crave discipline and training and love knowing that they are doing the right thing to please us (I think kids are the same way) and he is now an amazing artist with a beautifully creative mind.

I admire so much about Griffin, but I think it is his desire to create that I admire most. He is now taking a sculpture class at my old college. It's just for fun, but maintaining the motivation to take an evening course at a school 45 minutes away is not always fun. Besides, making art for art's sake is not easy. It takes self-discipline and dedication. (Of course, he works from home which also takes self-discipline and dedication, but he gets paid to do that.) These are two qualities that are very important in a father. I think my father had a lot of self-discipline, but very little dedication, at least to his children.

The plans we have been making for delivery and child-rearing are not based on ease and convenience for us. After all, it would be easier to just have a regular hospital delivery with our OB, buy baby formula, use disposable diapers, push her around in a stroller, tell her that Santa is watching and that all good people go to heaven. It would be easier, but I don't think it would be better. Not for us. Not after all of the reading I have done. I could never turn a blind eye to all I have learned and do things the 'easy way' now. It will take a lot of self-discipline and dedication to stick to our plans.

Griffin has gotten totally on board with everything I have been suggesting. I send him links to different articles and ask for his opinion. It's amazing how much information is out in cyberspace. I find it hard to believe that everyone isn't raising their children the way we plan to. It is all so logical and sensible on so many levels: good for the child and good for the planet.

There are many other aspects about Griffin which prove to me that he will be a good daddy. These are the qualities one would expect all good fathers to possess: he is loving, gentle, hard-working, kind to others, follows his heart and always tries to do what is right. He has a strong sense of morality and the will to carry through on his convictions. But, knowing that he is strong enough to be able to let go of his own baby when that pregnancy was failing and that he is now brave enough to love his new baby growing inside me is really all the proof I need.

Graduation!

21 Weeks, 4 days

Yesterday we had another appointment at the NJ Perinatal Associates at St. Barnabas Hospital. We have been going there every two weeks for the last two months to have my cervix measured. It's an invasive procedure, literally. There is no dignity in pregnancy and I have gotten used to be prodded in all sorts of embarrassing ways. My cervix has been measuring long and closed. Often, the doctor will congratulate me on it as if I had some ability to control this accomplishment. They have been checking my cervix to be sure I am not going into PROM again. Of course, last time my cervix was fine and my water broke anyhow. I won't complain about the kid glove treatment, it has given me peace of mind.

Before the ultrasound to check my lady parts, the tech always does a sonogram to just give us another peek at Piper. She tried with all her might to get Piper to turn her head and smile for the camera. Piper would not cooperate. Proving, once again, that our stubbornness runs in her genes.

Then the doctor came it. He did his exam and complimented my nice, long cervix. Good job! After scrawling down some notes he announced that we have graduated. This was the last check they were going to do on my cervix. Clearly everything is going along just fine and it is now unnecessary to keep measuring it. The next time they want to see us is in six weeks. Six weeks! Wow. I felt like I had won the lottery.

I asked the doctor if he would consider this a 'low risk' pregnancy - he started shaking his head before I could finish my question - which was if you don't take the other pregnancies into consideration. He smiled a bit and nodded. Yes, this is a normal pregnancy. It's so nice to be normal.

Griffin and I made the next appointment which will be in March. I will be 27 weeks and change at that time. My next OB appointment is not for another four weeks. We have nearly a whole month with no doctor visits! It's amazing. Wonderful. A relief.

We had been seeing a doctor or giving blood nearly every week, I can't believe they are letting us go so long. I feel like a little kid who had their training wheels taken off. We are flying solo for four long weeks. How will I survive without the doc stroking my cervix's ego? What will do with our free time? I guess we will look to meet with a midwife now. That will occupy us for a while. We can discuss the possibility of home birth with her. Mind you, I only said possibility.

You Can't Make Me Happy - Don't Even Try

20 weeks, 5 days

Everyday for the last seven or eight weeks I have felt pregnant. Pregnant in different ways - most of them uncomfortable. Early on it was morning sickness all day long. It got to the point where I would eat a few bites of something and I could feel the gag starting. I didn't eat much and I didn't eat often. I drank lots of juice mixed with water and whimpered often.

Just after 12 weeks the morning sickness was gone and I was hungry. My stomach would growl just half an hour after eating. I snacked all the time. I won't even talk about the gas and the clever ways I am still forced to camouflage its sounds and smells. Anyhow, very quickly my pants became snug and then downright tight. I moved into my maternity pants with a sigh of relief. Of course most of my maternity pants are stretchy yoga pants and I really miss my jeans.

So I purchased a couple of Bellabands to hold up my jeans. This clever invention allows pregnant and, I suppose, chubby women to wear their too tight jeans. You pull up your jeans and leave them unzipped and unbuttoned. Then you pull on the Bellaband. This thing looks like a tube skirt from the 90's made of spandex. It covers the unbuttoned jeans and part of your belly above. It's a great little trick, of course I would spend the day adjusting it. Yank it down below - yank it up above. Got to be sure nothing is exposed. It looks cute sticking out under a shirt or sweater, but it's a high maintenance accessory.

The last few weeks I have also been experiencing heartburn. I have not had heartburn since I was in my early 20's and working at a stressful job in the hotel industry. The sensation of something nasty, pukey and achy rising in my throat is awful. I think my sitting posture may have something to do with it, but if I sit upright I am also uncomfortable. A stitch develops in my side. I think it's round ligament pain - normal, but annoying. Either way, I lose. So, it is what it is.

Today I wore maternity pants that are adjustable. They are somewhat like chinos, but look dressier. I also wore a nice, long sweater that requires no adjustment. I was so comfortable all day. My classes were well behaved and the day flew by. I ate a sandwich on seven grain bread for lunch instead of my usual overflowing plate from the salad bar - the salad bar that contains delicious beans that I heap on, need I say more? So I was comfortable that way too.

As I drove home I started thinking about how great I felt all day and so I began to worry. I am not supposed to be comfortable, I am pregnant! I felt my belly and somehow I didn't feel puffy enough. Nothing ached. Nothing burned. I was a bit worried. Was something wrong?

I hurried home. After greeting Griffin, the dog, the bird and the cats I went to the bathroom. Facing forward I didn't look particularly pregnant. I turned sideways and whoa-nelly! There's the belly. It seems to have changed shape from wide to puffed out in front today. Maybe it's the pants. I felt a little better and showed Griffin my puffball in its new shape.

After milling around the house, I decided to crash on the couch with my laptop. I filled a glass with Bolthouse juice - this thick, berry concoction - and sipped it as I checked my email. After 20 minutes the heartburn started. My belly felt like a little basketball pushing up my stomach. There was a little tugging on my left side again. And my pants were still comfy - well, except for the label in the back that I began to notice itching me. Ahhhh. Back to feeling pregnant and uncomfortable. Why can't I just savor the moments when I feel good? I guess those annoying feelings give me comfort that all is progressing. No pain, no gain, right?

Zap! Zap! Zap!

20 Weeks, 4 days

Last night Griffin and I went to a store I had never stepped foot in before - Babies 'R' Us. We went with my in-laws to create a registry for my baby shower. I knew they would give us a zapper and we could zap everything that we wanted. Free to zap all we desired. Who could stop me? And it's best to tell people what you want to get, right?

Well - being the efficient person I occasionally am, I preregistered online the day before and checked out the many guides on the Babies 'R' Us website to see what we would need. When I realized we would need a car seat, two actually, I surfed over to Consumer Reports to find out which seats were top rated. I cross-checked this information to see what would fit into my MINI and added that seat, a Britax Roundabout 50 to our online registry. I also checked out highchairs and cradles, picked the 'best' ones, cross-checked this information with Epinions and several parenting guides to help me make the final selections. I felt like I had a good grip on what I was in for.

Griffin and I met his folks at their house, we piled into one car and took off for dinner first. Shopping for baby supplies doesn't seem like a good activity to do on an empty stomach. After a very filling dinner we were off again. We arrived at Babies 'R' Us. This store is bright - bright in a way that is offensive to the eyes: like candy that is too sweet and overpowered with flavoring. I blinked a lot.

We started at the bottles and nipples. Although I plan to breastfeed, I know I will need these devices when I return to work in September. However, I am highly concerned about giving our offspring anything made of plastic to hold food, drinks or gnaw on for a long period of time. I have read that bisphenol can leach out of plastic and be ingested by the child. This chemical is linked to cancer, early onset menses and hyperactivity among other issues. Do I want to raise a hyperactive-reproductive-cancerous-7-year-old? No thanks. So I put off on the bottle buying until I can determine what type of bottle might be best. So far stainless steel is looking pretty good and oh-so industrial chic.

We moved over to the bathing department. I read an article that says you don't need an infant bathtub, they just take up space. Space in your house and then space in a landfill. You can wash an infant in a big bowl, if need be. (Toss in some pine nuts and cherry tomatoes and you can have a lovely salad.) I also read that we Americans over-wash our kids and don't let their immune systems strengthen against common grim. Apparently, sponge bathing is fine for most babies until they can crawl around, get sweaty and stink. Boy, am I looking forward to that!

So we passed on the tub, we also passed on some bath towels with Elmo's head as the hood. That just looked freaky. So far, no zapping. We had been there 20 minutes. We made it over to the first aide supplies. I could spend a lot of time here. Neither Griffin nor I are particularly nimble or graceful. I have bruises on my bruises from crashing into shadows. Griffin can make a wine glass explode by breathing near it. Our kid may inherit our shortcomings and be in dire need of some first aide at an early age. Somehow, though, I neglected to zap a first aide kit.

Finally, we zapped some personal grooming items. Nail clipper, forehead thermometer, and a brush. I didn't think we needed the brush. Do you brush a baby? It looked just like the one that I use to brush my cats. Why would I need another one of those? I zapped it, just in case.

On to strollers. Don't need one of those. We are planning on wearing our baby - like an elegant brooch pinned to our chest. Strollers just push your baby away from you. It's not nurturing. I want to nurture. Someone mentioned netting for a stroller. No. Netting and stroller covers would just create an environment of sensory deprivation for our budding genius. Griffin piped in with something about how we are going to let our kid get bitten by bugs and it would be good for her. Not what I was thinking, but okay, that too.

Next came the bouncy-plastic-noisy-walker-rolly things. Don't need one of those. These walker things actually retard your baby from learning to walk. Who needs to balance on your fat, sloppy pins when you can just tip-toe around in your baby-wheelchair? They are also another hunk of plastic that I don't want to contribute to the landfills. I won't even mention the appalling plastic gee-gaws and doo-hickeys that blink and beep and whine which are attached to the fronts of these things. Not going to mention it.

On to car seats, you know I have that one all sewn up. The one model I picked was on display. No one seemed too impressed. "It's got the highest crash rating," I pointed out. Not much of a reaction. No zapping here. The other model I picked wasn't on display. I guess it's not that popular. Next aisle, highchairs, got that one covered too. Did my research. Done. Our model wasn't on display. What a surprise, I didn't pick a popular model here either, but it was highly rated by many parents. I also watched a cool video on Youtube that clinched it for me. Its called a Boon Flair - looks like it is from the Jetsons. I liked it. I wish it came in my size.

A few aisles later. Cribs and cradles. Days ago I picked out a crib on the Pottery Barn Kids website when I registered there. I was not going to mess around with a cheap crib that would entrap my only offspring while we slept. Again, I was not surprised to see that the cradle I picked wasn't on display. I can pick 'em. Obscure and unpopular? - my top choice!

We looked at crib mobiles. It can be good stimulation for the baby to have something to look up at while it's trapped in its sleeping quarters, however, every mobile came with a tinny music box inside that sounded like a demented clown looking for a victim. I do not need this soundtrack in my peaceful home. I zapped one I thought was silent, but turned out, I was wrong - I missed the fine print. It played 'Brahm's Lullaby'. I'm sure it sounds just as he intended.

We zapped some crib sheets. A few sleep sacks. Some velcro assisted swaddling cloths. And stumbled into the 'toy' aisles. Yikes! Can you say 'made in China' ten-times fast? Everything looked like it was made of plutonium. It was all neon and glowing. I explained that I didn't want the kid chewing on anything so freakishly unnatural looking. Are we to assume that all of these 'toys' have been tested for their chemical make-up? Am I to entrust the health of my little grub to the people who added melamine to baby formula to save a few bucks? No thanks. I decided to look for more organic toys online when we got home.

Finally, the moment we all have been waiting for - baby duds. Teeny-tiny, little outfits that will fit our kid for what? A week? A month? Well, at least we could have some fun here, right? Apparently, girls need to be dressed in pink. I scoffed as my mother-in-law as she picked out pink nighties, pink dresses, pink twin-sets and pink fluffy things. Griffin found a cute outfit with monkeys on it. That's for boys! Monsters - boys! Skulls - boys! Robots, puppies and peace signs? Boys, boys, boys. I drew the line at peace signs and zapped them. Griffin found a pair of rain boots with a skull and cross-bone pattern. I zapped 'em. Booties with funny little monsters on the toes. Zapped 'em. What does it matter what you dress your wee one in? Might as well have fun right?

We finished up and returned to the registry desk to give back the zapper. The lady confirmed that we were having a girl and promptly told us that we had accidentally selected boys' booties. It was the monster booties. I defended our choice to the woman. It was late, she didn't care. She left it on the list. We finished up and left. We zapped 24 items. I planned on removing the 'miszappings' when we got home. So, maybe 20 items? But I learned an important lesson . . . it's always important to - wait, I didn't learn any important lessons. It was still an entertaining evening for me, although I fear my in-laws think I am really nuts now.