Thirty Two Weeks

32 weeks. Up a total of 10.5 pounds (regained most of last week's loss) but feeling pretty big.

32 weeks outtake. Because my expression looks so funny.
But I think this one more accurately captures how big my belly is.
This thing is going to grow for how many more weeks???

I am relieved and thrilled to share that the new reflux medication my primary care doctor prescribed has been... life changing. Proton.ix plus Zant.ac means I can eat again. I don't have heartburn. I don't have frequent stomach cramps and mad dashes to the bathroom six times a day and occasional nausea and bloating after every meal and the desire to stop eating just to avoid that feeling of overwhelming fullness All Night Long after even a small dinner. I feel... normal.

I mean, I still get full quickly. But I don't feel sick.

Tomorrow I start attempting to wean off the Zant.ac. My doctor said that if necessary, I can take it at night but to try not to take it in the morning with the Proton.ix.

... Edited to add, "tomorrow," that it didn't go so well. My stomach felt fine but I felt really short of breath. Even sitting at my desk and answering my phone left me panting. I called the doctor and on his advice, added the Zan.tac back in. If that didn't help in an hour, I was to go to the ER. I still feel a little short of breath, but I'm definitely better. So no ER trip, phew....

In the meantime, I haven't gone for my abdominal ultrasound or dealt with the stool testing kit because I feel so very normal and healthy. I feel like I've consumed quite enough health care resources without going for any more tests and appointments. Not to mention that I feel guilty calling on my support network for help with Calliope for all these appointments when I'm feeling fine. If I were sick, that would be another story.

But Amy, who shares the nanny with us, is forty-one weeks pregnant tomorrow. And while her mother in law is here to help with Eleanor, I still would rather not ask for more favors than I need.

Speaking of which... I'm just the teensiest bit envious of Amy right now. She's got a husband and four living, healthy, vibrant, energetic grandparents for her daughter. All of whom adore Eleanor. The sort of adoration that includes watching Eleanor so that her parents can go on adult vacations.

Meanwhile, I tried to talk to Susie, our nanny, tonight about extra help after the baby is born, if needed. It was an awkward conversation. I so strive to not put pressure on her, to just ask if she would be interested, for example, in staying over occasionally. Not to work the whole night, just to maybe take the early shift so that I could go to bed when Calliope does and sleep until midnight, say, then take over. I would pay her extra, of course. She got kind of hedgy and weird. And I totally understand that it's a lot, what with working the next day. But I kind of wish I could at least ask without it being weird. Even if she said no. But I think she hates to say no, so just kind of winces and raises her eyebrows and then I feel so damn awkward.

And then I feel pissed off that I have to ask. That I have to have a million back up plans, because I don't know if I will have another postpartum hemorrhage. I have a postpartum doula lined up for 20 hours so far, and I can ask her for more hours, if needed, but I can't reserve more hours without paying her. And I'm loathe to do that when I might be perfectly fine. I'm inclined to think that I will be fine. Taking care of a newborn just isn't that hard... unless something goes wrong. Or I get a difficult newborn. Apart from a week of spring break (starting nine days after my due date), I have fifty hours of child care per week for Calliope, as usual. Unfortunately, Eleanor and her parents (and infant brother, assuming he decides to arrive sometime soon!) will be away for about half of that spring break.

... Tomorrow again. I was feeling so damn cranky about this that I called Amy for advice. And on her suggestion, I emailed the doula and asked to reserve an additional 20 hours of postpartum help. I will view it as a gift from my late mother, since she can't be here to help me herself. And Calliope's playschool teacher mentioned that she's available the week of spring break, when the nanny is off, so I have already asked her to reserve some hours for us. And I clarified with my friend about her offers of help, and she said she can stay with me for a week, if necessary. I think it's more likely I might ask for an occasional overnight but it's good to have the option of more, just in case I need it.

Phew. So that anxiety has been dealt with, at least.

I must admit that my mood has taken a downturn for the last week or so. Usually I'm in a great mood while pregnant, so I'm not sure what's up. I've also had less motivation for adventures and leaving the house, so maybe the two are related. (Though I'm also finding myself more impatient with Calliope than usual. Suddenly I start to wonder if I even like kids, and if maybe I should have gotten a dog instead of getting pregnant.)

But meanwhile I'm panicking about my to do list. Like, I am just about done with Calliope's baby book -- I finished all of it except I decided I wanted to add a few more photos, just six more, so I ordered them and hope to pick them up today. But I also decided that I kind of hate her baby book, and that I really need to also do a photobook of her first year. But photos are saved all over the place, so I have to download some from one photo website, save them to my computer, then upload them to the new photo website. You know, the one that I have a coupon for.

Sigh.

I'm also panicking because I'm having a "sprinkle" next weekend, a very small shower for family and my very closest of friends, no gifts. And the apartment isn't ready. The crib isn't set up and photos aren't framed and hung and baby clothes aren't sorted and folded and put away. And suddenly I just have this giant need to have everything perfect and done.

I believe the technical term for this is nesting. And it may be perfectly normal but it's still annoying.