Now is the crazy time, where we can actually put a finite number on how many days will pass before we meet our baby boy. Many, many things are falling into place and that’s what a lot of this last week or so has kept us busy. The distraction with getting a bunch of last minute things and doing things like brunch and roller derby with friends has been great to get us out of the house and thinking about something besides when this baby might be coming.
We know it’s 22 days or less because the midwives have been pretty clear that they won’t let Amelia go past 41 weeks before they start talking about interventions, like an induction. It’s been very important for us (specifically Amelia) that this guy gets all the time he needs to grow and so we were struggling in thinking that we’d have to talk the medical professionals in our life out of inducing “just because”. It hasn’t been easy. They’ve thrown things our way like age and BMI and size of the baby, all of which can’t really be proven by evidence that they’re so dangerous she shouldn’t be able to have a completely normal pregnancy. Without getting too far up on a soapbox, doctors and some of the nurse midwives we’ve talked with have been more concerned about making it convenient for them than what we, and again specifically Amelia, want to happen because we know it’s okay.
And just for inquiring minds, Amelia has had an incredibly healthy pregnancy. She’s passed two one-hour gestational diabetes tests with flying colors. Her blood pressure been extremely healthy, just like it always is. She’s gained less than the amount of weight the midwives asked of her in the beginning. Essentially, at our previous place of care, they ran her through all of the tests they could multiple times. They were never consistent on why they were having them done and it became really tiresome for her. I can’t say I blame her.
It’s a lot to talk about and a lot to understand. Sadly, we’re noticing not many women do understand it all because fear gets in the way. Amelia’s a birth worker. She’s passionate about making sure women get what they want during their pregnancies and deliveries, so it’s hard for her to think that she might not be able to get what they want. It fires up the protector side of me and I have to hold back when it comes to defending her choices. That’s why we hired a doula – mainly, so I don’t punch anyone.
But on to more fun stuff, like decorating his room:
The top row is the top of his bookshelf, that he shares with his moms. The signs and buckets are from his baby shower that Shawn and Jenni threw for us. The tiny red wagon is from my grandma (his great grandma) and it’s filled with three tiny bears from her and an adorable tiny elephant from Amelia’s mom, that she sent us just a few days after we found Amelia was pregnant. There’s a lamp from IKEA, a sign reminding him to always kiss his dog goodnight from Amelia’s mom, all the good lotions and bath goodies from Shawn and Ani, and some red pillow I had as a kid that I’ve hung on to since then. Nobody seems to know where it came from or who gave it to me, but now it’s this nursery decor.
His changing pad is on top of his dresser, which is overflowing with clothes that he’ll probably never wear more than once. He is this mother’s child, though, which explains all of the witty onesies and thermal undershirts. The stuffed monkey and turtle are representative of both of his moms. Truth be told, Amelia and I have had these stuffed animals for years, I think before we met one another. I’m more monkey; she’s more turtle. I’m more baseball cap; she’s more fedora. He’s got five framed sock monkey prints we picked up at IKEA, because my grandma (his great grandma) used to make a stuffed sock monkey for all the babies in her life. In no way do I expect her to try to make one for him (even though she told me last weekend she’s already bought a pair of socks to do it), so we planned on still having sock monkeys hanging around somewhere.
This turned into a lot of rambling; I don’t care. There are just some things I want to be able to go back and reflect on in a few years. That’s why this blog has been all about for me for years, so why change that, you know?