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 |   Exploring the future through the present. One day at a time. |
| In the book, “What To Expect When You’re Expecting” in the 4th and 5th months, they said to be aware of breathlessness and lightheadedness. The breathlessness comes due to everything pushing upward to make room for baby, giving the lungs less room to expand. Plus, my blood volume is increasing and should reach 50% more than normal. That forces the heart to work quite a bit harder - hence the lightheadedness, especially during physical activity. There’s something the book mentioned not a word about. During those times of lightheadedness, and/or breathlessness, do not eat or drink anything! The stomach will rebel. I will say no more about that. Growth-wise, I am in the in-between stage of regular and maternity clothes. As far as normal clothes, I can still wear many of my shirts, but I’m down to a single pair of pants that fit me without pinching or binding. At least in maternity clothes, I look pregnant. In regular clothes, I simply look fat. It doesn’t bother me any. I’m old enough now, looking thin and beautiful is the least of my concerns. I’m out for comfort. Thomas is more active by the day. The little flutters have turned into flicks, like someone’s flicking their finger inside my belly. Kind of a neat feeling, but at times, especially when it goes on for a while, it’s annoying. I best get used to it, though! He’s not only going to move more, get stronger, but start punching and kicking the more sensitive parts of my innards. Feeling him move though, there’s no thrill like it. I can’t wait until he’s strong enough, Dave will be able to feel him as well. Got a cute story for you! Monday we drove to Linton to have supper with his two uncles and great Aunt Ellen. Aunt Ellen was Dave’s grandmother’s sister-in-law and best friend for over 50 years. She’s a funny, sweet lady who will be 97 September 15th. She - like any great aunt - was thrilled to learn about the baby. When we arrived at her apartment, she gave Dave and me a big hug and kiss and congratulated us. She then put her hand on my tummy and again expressed her excitement. I thought, “Okay, Aunt Ellen can touch my tummy without asking first any time she wants.” After supper as we said our goodbyes she said, “Now when the baby is born, you have to bring him down so I can rock him. I love to rock little babies.” Now how can I turn her down? “Absolutely!” I said. Thomas will be one spoilt little kid, I tell ya! |
| I hear many - and have made a few myself - complaints against today's youth, how they're lazy and exude a terrible attitude of "the world owes me." There is hope out there! Two young students straight out of high school worked the summer with us, John and Cooper. Both of them were motivated to both learn and work. Many times they came up to me and asked if I had anything for them to do when outside work slacked. It didn't matter if it was sweeping the floor; they wanted to keep busy. I had jury duty on Thursday and Friday (will write more about that hopefully soon), so I missed Cooper's last day on Friday. Today whilst cleaning my desk, I found a folded yellow paper I hadn't seen before. It read as follows: Andra, Thanks for the opportunity to work with you. Your fun to pick on and always lively in the mornings. I hope to come back next year depending on job offers and really need to get into my line of work, Aviation. I would make a good civil but a better pilot. I would really enjoy it next year if I could work under Casey more and be given a little more responsibility rather being babysat under Abe. Well I hope I have a better understanding and haven't misspelled too many words. I hope to run into you next summer, until then, Good Luck. Cooper I can't add any more, because the letter says it all, I think. |
| I've been writing enough, but not properly. I know in the past I've extolled the "virtues" of blogging, but when I started to cast around for subjects to write about I figured I was doing far too much blogging. I didn't like the way my writing was going, because I was blogging simply for the sake of it. By cutting right back I actually find myself now focussing on what I really want to write. The above is part of a comment zwisis added to my last entry. Oddly enough, I had been thinking along the same lines. Honestly, that’s part of why I haven’t been around to either add entries or comment in yours. I’ve learned a lot about writing through this journal. I can better communicate, because the comments people leave either informed me I made my intended point, or not. It’s also helped remove any stuffiness in my writing. That can also be a detriment, however, as zwisis stated above. When there’s no one to critique or correct my writing, it’s easy to get lazy. Here I write with a conversational tone, breaking some sound grammatical rules, and it can bleed into other works I intend to publish. I miss writing for hours a day. I lamented a bit a few days back about my abilities, or lack thereof. What others write are so high-quality and interesting, I feel like I'm just learning the alphabet by comparison. I managed to remind myself that my style of writing is different, not necessarily better or worse. I see lots of room for improvement, for certain, but that won't happen until I write more. Comparing myself to others is depressing and almost guarantees I won't write. We all have a unique voice, and to try to mimic other people's writing only suppresses what makes us unique - even special. We can't improve if we're too busy pretending or envying. Some of us have developed our unique voice so well, we’re recognized by our words alone. It's something every dedicated writer strives for, or at least should strive for. To change the subject a tish and add a bit more brutal honesty, another reason I haven’t been around is an undercurrent of anger, contentiousness, and nasty rumor around here. Others have noted this as well. For that reason, even if they never got involved in specific instances, I know of a few who have left the site, backed away from blogging and/or are considering leaving as well, myself included. They feel they can’t write what they want to, because of the fear of backlash and insults, both overt and covert. Maybe you can answer it for me, because I don’t have a clue. This used to be a community where everyone could be themselves, write about whatever they wished, and not be slammed for it. No longer. Any ideas why? If you do, please refrain from mentioning any names, or giving specific examples where others can guess who you’re talking about. This isn’t an invitation to gossip. |
| Ever notice how many different ways to spell the mostly-tomato condiment? Which is it? All of the above? My word processor recognizes the three listed in the title anyway. This entry isn’t about - whatever that stuff is supposed to be called, but about catching up. I don’t have much going on of immense (or even little) importance. I just want to write an entry. I’ve been thinking about zwisis’s last entry, "Invalid Entry"  , and the quote she added from Stephen King’s book “On Writing” about how if a person is to be successful in writing, he or she must read for four hours and write for four hours. I’ve been reading enough, but not writing. My motivation is still sporadic, and peaks at times when I don’t have the time to write. By the time I have the time, my motivation has slacked. Darn it. I wonder if soon I will forget how to write . . .I mentioned ages ago about how I submitted three entries into a Drabble (100-word story) contest (see http://www.samsdotpublishing.com/betweenkisses/DrabbleContest010.htm ), and they chose one for publication. Dave submitted eight(!), and they chose two of his. We received a few weeks ago our contributor’s copy, and the phenomenal payment of $1 per story. I received my expected $1, but Dave got $3! Yep, they ended up publishing three of them. No fair! I’m supposed to be the writer of the family *mope, mope*. That makes us tied, because two of my stories were published in a previous edition. They started a new contest ending September 30, so I best get to work soon (hint, hint karabu!). I’m hoping Dave write a few as well, because we both had so much fun last time. I’m looking forward to August 24-27. Dave and I will be driving down to Colorado to see my sister and her husband. They purchased a house not too long ago, so I thought now would be a good time to see her. After the baby is born, we won’t have as many opportunities to travel. Plus, I feel the need for a change of scenery. Well, shucks. I just called the courthouse, and I have to show up for jury duty tomorrow. It’s the fifth time I’ve been called, the second time in the last two weeks. Makes me wonder if they like me . . . I’m not complaining. Of the two times it wasn’t settled out of court, I enjoyed myself. “Enjoy” probably isn’t the best term to use since our decision effected a person’s life. In both cases, one a disorderly conduct, and the other a DUI, we voted not-guilty. The prosecution simply couldn’t prove the case in both instances. I only hope, if I get chosen for this one, they’ll give lots of potty breaks. |
 I just wanted to thank all of you for your birthday wishes and loverly gifts! You made my birthday very special. I may write more later, but my fall allergies have kicked in, and are currently kicking my big 'ole butt. Plus, Thomas has graduated from parasite to succubus, so I have little energy to spare. I see it as a good sign, though. It means my body is doing all it can to take care of the little guy. Like I told my parents on Saturday, I have a twofer - I'm old and pregnant! Ha! Have a great Monday! |
| My family, for the most part, has always approached holidays with less sentimentality and excitement than most people. The only days we treat more special than even Christmas are birthdays. It’s the one day out of the year that belongs solely to the person born on that day. I felt bad for my mom, Tom, and my sister, because they share their birthdays in the first two weeks of October. Me, on the other hand, had the entire month of August to myself. In fact, I was so happy having it all to myself, I told Dave before we married that I was open to any day of the year except the 31 in August. I’ve always loved my birthday because I’m the center of attention, and treated like the queen I am (kidding!! Sheesh, I’m egotistical, but I do have my limits). My uncle and his girlfriend came by last night to drop off a computer they're having trouble with and want me to take a look at. I "happened" to mention my birthday, so they took me out to supper. After we ate (I had seafood pasta with massive shrimp, scallops, and Alaskan king crab meat. Yummy), Judy "happened" to mention my birthday was the next day to the waitress. I held up my hands and said, "Please, no singing!!" She laughed and said, "No problem. You don't want me to sing anyway." A few minutes later she brought me the cake with a single candle and wished me a happy birthday. Wasn't that sweet? Even sweeter is the entire restaurant staff didn't surround me and sing a stupid birthday song. I never did like when they did that. I may like being the center of attention, but not that much. Plus, there’s the loot. I mean, what is a birthday without lots ‘o loot? So what are you waiting for? Gimme my birthday presents! I deserve them, you know, not necessarily because it’s my birthday, but because I’m allowing you to celebrate it with me. Certainly that’s worth some gratitude expressed via a gift or two, don’t you think? Yes, in case you’re wondering, I’m kidding in the previous paragraph. Sort of *snicker*. I hope you all have a wonderly Saturday. I’m going to, even if I have to threaten my family with physical harm in order to get it. *Sits by mailbox with laptop awaiting more material and electronic birthday gifts* Don’t forget to grab a piece of cake! There's lots left. It's chocolate with a layer of amaretto (I think) pudding and lots of whipped cream. |
| Dave called me at work at 4:30 to let me know my doctor's office called, and to call them back when I get a chance. Knowing it had to do with the results of my AFP blood tests where they check for neurological and genetic disorders such as spina bifida and Down's Syndrome. They didn't answer, so I had to leave a message. That was a long hour as my mind went through the darkest possibilities. This is what the nurse told me: For the neurological disorders, my pretest odds were at 1:100. My blood test indicated a 1:10,000 chance. I can live with that! For the Down's, the pretest odds sat at 1:130. My tests indicated a substantial drop to 1:30 or 3%. I now have to let the doctor know whether or not to have the Amniocentesis done to find out for certain. After talking about it with Dave for about a minute, we decided not. 3% isn't great, but they're not horrible either. I've gambled on lower odds; not more than $20, but I've still gambled. Now for the other thoughts that went through my head. Every parent-to-be wants a perfect child, one smarter, stronger and more beautiful than them, with a future even brighter. I would be a liar if I said I wouldn't be disappointed if indeed our Thomas has Down's. Sure, I’m thinking of myself and the challenges Dave and I would endure, but I’m also thinking of Thomas and the challenges he would have to face with a mental handicap. There is one question I have to ask myself: Could I love him completely and without reservation as if he were as perfect as every parent hopes? It’s an unqualified yes! As I told my mom weeks ago; I will take whatever child God chooses to give me. I will simply have to trust Him that no matter what happens, Dave and I will be the parents Thomas needs; to love him, to teach him, and give him the confidence to face whatever life throws at him. That’s my singular hope and prayer, whether Thomas is healthy or not. I’m not convinced Thomas has Down’s. Quite the contrary. Still, I must consider the possibility, and prepare – as much as any one can anyway. *Fast forward one hour* With time always comes a longer view. I could look at the blood test results as having increased three-fold, or I could look at the raw percentages: 1:130 is equal to 0.008% chance of Down’s, or 99.992% against. 1:30 is equal to 3% chance, or 97% against. 97% are good odds looking at it that way, so really, I have no reason to worry. Still, even if that 3% ends up 100%, Thomas is still the child God gave Dave and I to love and take care of to the best of our ability. Nothing will ever change that. |
| You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. ~ Psalm 139:13-16 A few days ago, my neighbor and I talked about ultrasounds. “They are neat; you keep thinking, ‘wow, I created that,’” he said. I didn’t say it, but my reaction was, “I didn’t create anything.” Sure, a little human grows inside me, but I have little to do with it except provide the raw materials. Even then, I have little control over that except by what I eat. I am but the incubator. All I can lay claim to is Dave and I opening ourselves to the possibility of children. God took care of the rest. Some believe that although God watches over everything and everyone, he doesn’t have a literal hand in every flower that blooms, or every human conceived. He doesn’t necessarily decide where every seed will fall, or which sperm will meet each egg. I lean toward this belief as well. That’s why he created DNA. It is the blueprint, and nature then reads that blueprint to build from. And yet, I firmly believe God watches his creation grow, even delights in it. If I’m excited about little Thomas (Kidney Bean’s real name. We have yet to decide on a middle name, though) moving and growing, surely God is more enthralled than I am. Because of technology available today, specifically the ultrasound, many expecting parents get a glimpse of what for millennia has been the sole purview of God. It’s a black and white, two-dimensional fuzzy view, but still leaves many silent with awe. I won’t discover the baby’s hair color, eye color, if he’ll be tall and skinny like his dad, or short and stout (yep, I’m a little teapot) like me until after he’s born. I also don’t know his likes, dislikes, what he’ll be good at or have to work hard for, if he’ll laugh like his dad or his mom, and ten-thousand other little details of his physique and personality. These are still the details only God has knowledge of, and he’s not telling. I’m glad, though. It still leaves room for mystery, and gives this mere human the anticipation of discovery. |
| A quickie before I get to the main subject of my entry. I want to thank all of you for sharing your thoughts and stories of parenthood throughout these last few months. They've helped me -- grow up is one way of putting it. You've given me perspectives I never would have considered before. My child will be the greatest beneficiary of your wisdom. Yesterday I went to my monthly appointment. It wasn’t supposed to last long, and I didn’t expect much beyond peeing in a cup (I’m getting good at that), meet with the doctor (for the first time), have my uterus measured, and give blood for the genetic tests I wrote about earlier. After the nurse took my blood pressure and weighed me (I only gained 2 pounds!), she checked for the baby’s heartbeat with the doppler listening thingy. This time she found it, and did I get giddy hearing the little one’s heartbeat for the first time. It was oddly synchronized with mine, and reminded me of percussion music. She measured it at about 160 bpm, a normal heartbeat. The doctor came in a few minutes later, a tall Texan with white hair, and don’t tell my hubby, but handsome, too. What I liked most about him was his focus. He asked me lots of questions, but he kept everything quick and to the point. Snappy is the best way I can describe him. He also agreed I didn’t need the amniocentesis. He said these days blood tests and ultrasounds can find much of what amniocentesis can, so it’s unnecessary in normal circumstances. He then measured my tummy and said, “Hmm. You’re much bigger than you should be for sixteen weeks. I would guess you’re closer to twenty.” I giggled at this, because I had been complaining for the last week I didn’t think I was growing enough. He then scheduled me for another ultrasound to measure the baby to determine for certain. If I was at twenty weeks instead of sixteen, then they would have to adjust my appointments, etc. This ultrasound lasted a lot longer than the first one. The technician measured the baby's head's length, width and circumference, checked the spine, the skull's structure, and innards. What thrilled me was watching the little one move around, and it moved a lot! I'm convinced now I have been feeling the baby move, and it wasn't just gas. At one point the technician was looking at the front of the baby, and I saw between the legs a white bump. I knew immediately what it was, but it disappeared before I could say anything. The technician asked, “Did you want to know the baby’s sex?” “Yes, we would like to,” Dave said. Without skipping a beat she said, “You have a boy.” Yep, that little white bump was what I thought it was. She then looked for other things, saved each view, and printed four of them for us. We also saw some terrific views of the spine, his tiny bladder, his beating heart, and his round little tummy. She also determined by the size of the skull I’m indeed at 16 weeks. Afterward they took blood, but I won’t know the results for a while I’m sure. I’m not concerned about any of them, though, so I can wait. Aside from watching him move, seeing he has all the right parts in all the right places thrills me to no end. I told Dave later at lunch I wouldn’t get any work done because I’d be too busy grinning. I decided then to invite my mom to my next ultrasound four weeks from now. I know watching her grandson in vitro will excite her as much as it did Dave and I. We went over last night to show her and Tom the latest baby pictures. I thought she was thrilled to see Little Kidney Bean from the first ultrasound, but she fell in love with her grandson last night. She refused to part with the pictures, though she did allow Tom and Dave to glance at them for about 30 seconds apiece. No longer than that, though. At one point I asked, "You're not going to sleep with those, are you?" She didn't say no. When I invited her to go to the next ultrasound in four weeks, she was beyond excited. So, ya wanna see the pictures? I know, dumb question:  Profile view  Cross section view of his pelvis. Follow the arrow, and you’ll see his, um, winky. I add this only so I can embarrass him when he’s older.  Front view of his skull.  Closer view of his skull. "Little Kidney Bean" doesn't quite fit anymore, does it? |
| I've had many surprises these last three months, some good, some annoying, some scary, some funny. I found one that at present tops my annoyance list: Hovering. My parents especially. Every time I see or talk to them, they’re all concerned about my health, if I’m comfortable, if I feel well, etc, etc. I think they’re taking my pregnancy more serious than I am! To me, this is a natural course of life, just like breathing. While it is a big deal, it’s also not - if that makes any sense. I know they mean well - they are parents after all, and their job is to worry about their children no matter how old they get - but it bugs me. My mom had her first child at 19 with no one to help her. I’m nearly twice her age, and I have 10 times the support she did. She acts as though I’m as scared as she was, and therefore I need her (constant!) presence and assurances. I’m pregnant, not suffering from a debilitating disease. I’m comfortable with how everything is progressing, so I don’t need to be coddled. Women have babies every day with little to no problems, so there’s no reason for me or anyone else to worry. It’s a natural function of the human body, this pregnancy thing. I refrain from mentioning any normal symptoms, such as my fingers swelling, because some immediately assume the worst. I’ve had to placate my mom more than once that I’m perfectly healthy after I mentioned it to her. She also expressed her desire - twice - to stay at our house for a week after the baby is born to help, such as staying up at night to feed it while I sleep. I told her - twice - that I appreciate the offer, but it’s completely unnecessary. Dave will take a week off after the baby is born to help, so I won’t be alone. Plus she’s a mere phone call and 15 minute drive away; she doesn’t need to move in. It’s also a matter of pride with me. I decided to have a baby, so it’s my responsibility to take care of it. Will I need her? Absolutely. I know I’ll thrust the baby in her lap when Dave or I (or both) need a break. I just don’t need her 24/7 attention. Taking a longer view, I think part of the problem is - at least in America - we’ve become fearful of so many things: Wear your seatbelt, because you might get in an accident. (You should see all the warnings and cautions in my Jeep’s owner’s manual. Sheesh! The thing would be 10 pages long instead of 120 if they removed all the stupid warnings.) Wear a helmet, knee and elbow guards when you ride a bike or skateboard, because you might fall and hurt yourself. Test for every known disorder and disease before, during, and after your pregnancy, because so many things can go wrong, ya know. Use anti-bacterial soap and cleaners, because God forbid should you touch a dirty counter and catch a cold. I could go on, but you get my point. To live a life of fear is no life at all. I’m not afraid for myself, so when people hover, it confounds and irritates me some. Change o’ subject: If you don’t know yet, PastVoices  started her new blog!!!
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