I'd like to breathe now

So, one of the lovely side effects that some pregnant women can get is a constant stuffy nose: Rhinitis of Pregnancy. Supposedly, since there’s an increase in blood supply and estrogen, the mucous membranes and blood vessels in the nose tend to swell. Isn’t that lovely?

Practically since day one of this pregnancy, I’ve felt like I’ve never been able to breathe well. Usually one side would plug up and I find myself attempting to take deep breaths just to get my lungs full. I go through a box of tissues at work at least every couple weeks (good thing they have a huge supply for me). And, I think I’ve been using most of the toilet paper at home for my nose (why we don’t just buy tissues, I don’t know). The repetitive sniffing gets really annoying.

So, a last ditch effort in my attempt to breathe was to buy a Neti pot I’ve heard so much about. A Neti pot basically looks like a small ceramic tea pot with a long narrow spout. You fill it with lukewarm water and some salt, and here’s the kicker: You place the end of the spout in one of your nostrils, tilt your head and let the water flow from one nostril through your nasal passage way, and drain out the other nostril. Sounds like fun, right?

Wrong.

For those who know me, I’m not a fantastic swimmer. In fact, I can’t go under water without holding my nose. Yes, seriously. So, the concept of purposely forcing water into my nose was a frightful thought. But, I was desperate to breathe, so I figured I’d summon the courage to try this very old custom of clearing your sinuses.

When I brought the thing home, I carefully read the instructions. Pretty basic how-to, but what I found most amusing was a picture of a lady with her head tilted, this pot stuck up her nose and liquid pouring out her nostril….all with a pleasant smile and an almost drugged look on her face.
Wow, this must be great stuff. I microwaved some bottled water, because there was no way I was pouring our horrible tap water up my nose. But, of course I microwaved it too hot, so I had to let it sit a while to cool off.

In the meantime, I decided to go to their website for more information on this ancient tradition. I found a how-to video. Oh, I had to see this. Here again was a lady, sticking the pot to her nose, tilting her head and seconds later, the water came pouring out the other side, with that same plastered comatose smile still on her face. Something about this process disturbed me a little.

After I read and watched all I could from ‘happy water nose lady’, I stuck my pinky in the water finding it suitable for nose draining (or at least what I assumed was suitable), and I measured out the salt and swirled it in.

I stood at the bathroom sink. I stared down at the pot, then stared up at myself in the mirror, then back down at the pot. You can do this, Elly.

I tilted my head at the appropriate angle the instructions gave, stuck the spout into my nose, opened my mouth like they said, and slowly….very slowly tilted the pot.

The water flowed in….but never flowed out the other side. The pressure started to hurt and I began to panic as I quickly took pot out and snorted and coughed the salty water out.

Wonderful.

So I read the instructions again and found that you have to find the right position and tilt of your head in order for the water to freely pass.

Fine. Let’s do this.

Again, I stick the thing in my nose and tilt my head…further….further….left….down…further left…….

Nothing!

The water began to pour down my throat, and I immediately snorted and coughed again, spewing salty water from every hole in my head. Even my eyes teared up, although more from the shear shock and trauma from it all. I definitely didn’t look as pretty and graceful as ‘happy water nose lady’.

I didn’t spend $20 on this stupid thing to give up now! I’ll try one last time. I took a deep breath, then slowly poured it again.

At last the salty water began streaming out my left nostril! And boy did it burn! The instructions say you can use the entire pot for one nostril or half. I chose half. I tilted the pot higher, just to make it pour out faster. The deed was done. The instructions now said to do it on the other nostril. Great.

For some reason, the left side worked on the first try no problem, so I gladly finished off the pot. The instructions also recommended blowing your nose after the procedure to clear out any salty mucousy debris left (my words, not theirs). I was happy to oblige for that step. I think I went through half a roll of toilet paper, unlike ‘happy water nose lady’ who delicately dabbed her nose.

But, with all the suffering, I was so proud of myself. I was brave and actually shoved water up my nose. And did it work?

Nope.

I was still stuffy, but now my nose burned and it felt like I just drowned out at sea. I’m sure this is something one should do every day or so to really make it work.

Ha!

The pot is now sitting on the shelf in our bathroom, collecting dust. Anyone want a slightly used Neti pot? :)

Late Spring Moon

I see the Moon,
And the Moon sees me.
God bless the Moon,
And God bless me.


It’s been referred to by many names, including the famous Blue Moon and Pizza Pie. You probably noticed in the last couple of nights, that big illuminated sphere in the cool evening sky, floating just over the houses and peaking through the tops of trees.

There was a full moon on April 20th, and fortunately if you missed that night, the fullness can be enjoyed over the following nights. Scientifically speaking, about once a month, it’s when the moon is directly opposite of the Sun, finding Earth sandwiched in the middle. The moon get’s full glory of the Sun’s rays and we are lucky enough to enjoy this nighttime spectacular.

More importantly to this monthly lunar phenomena, are the associated effects this powerful moon has on the world. Of course, it’s a time where humans become wolves and vampires, the crazies come out to play, but it’s also a time the mighty moon’s forces pull and tug at the ocean.

It’s as if the ocean and moon were star crossed lovers that fell into a fate of constant revolving around each other without ever truly embracing. In this once a month chance, the moon yearns for the raging water, pulling with all his might the intangible liquid, only to pass her by with a roar that is silenced by the rising sun and captured in a salty shell tossed in the waves: a haunting and echoing reminder of their unattainable love. No wonder the Moon’s light glitters a sad dance on the dark water each night. How poetic and somber.

With this tug and pull of gravitation, although not scientifically proven, there have been rumors that a Full Moon affects pregnancy. Much like the pulls of the ocean, the amniotic fluids have a similar effect. There is usually a rise in strange pressure feelings for a pregnant woman, and often this is a popular time for women to go into, if not labor, then false labor.

Of course, this is all theory and nothing is quite proven, but supposedly hospitals attempt to increase their on call staff in just this kind of situation.

I have to admit, the last couple of days, I myself have been feeling the Moon’s effect: pressure and simply a strange fullness feeling for the last couple of days. I didn’t think anything of it until the association with the Full Moon was brought up. I’m usually a skeptic when it comes to most things in life, but pregnancy has definitely widened my eyes to anything out of the box of normality. Nothing surprises me anymore.

In checking with the lunar calendar, the next Full Moon in June is the 18th, about a week earlier than the estimated due date for the baby. Scientists and farmers have already named this Full Moon, the Late Spring Moon.

So, who knows? Maybe there is some truth behind the longing emotions of the Moon. If this baby is anywhere near as romanticized as I am with it all, perhaps he’ll actually see that Moon….in person.

*Edited to add* I just discovered that one of the alternate birthstones for June is the Moonstone. Coincidence? How beautiful is that stone?!

Now playing in 3D....

So, my previous theory of my “alien baby” has proven me wrong. We are indeed having a human baby as proof from the 3D ultrasound we had over the weekend. Unfortunately, he was sleeping the entire session and had his arms mostly covering his face. Ironically, his arms were in the same position as mine were as I laid there during the ultrasound. Ah, like mother, like son.

I was hoping we’d have an epiphany moment for a name. I figured, we’d see his face (or as good as the 3D representation was) and say, “Ahhhh, he looks like a ……”. But, alas, nothing inspirational came to mind. I think we were more in awe of the technology to actually see our baby in more or less real form.

At first glance, I immediately thought he looked like Jeremy. But then certain shots, I thought he looked more like me. Jeremy came to that same uncertain conclusion. As far as our parents thoughts on who the baby looked like: mine said me, his said Jeremy. Of course.

Oh, and this time the cheesy background music was Enya, so slightly better and less nauseating than the last session.

So, I proudly present to you, now in 3D….the one, the only……our alien ba, er….our baby boy!

In the womb, no one can hear you scream

I have a feeling I fell asleep somewhere next to a patch of extra-terrestrial eggs while one was hatching. Out popped a ‘face sucker’ which adhered itself to my face.

I swear, I have an alien living in me, and soon it’ll burst from my stomach and run ramped around the city, leaving me searching for some Pepto Bismo (my Space Ball friends will appreciate that reference). Where’s Ripley when you need her?

This baby is definitely making himself known as he’s becoming more potent in his movements. The fact that I can actually feel that there’s a living human being growing and twisting inside me is very surreal….

…and it’s freaking me out a little, too.

I don’t get these psychological crazed moments that often, but when I do, I fall into a minor panic attack, similar to when I run into a disgusting spider. My heart races, my breathing heavy and I get the creep vibe shiver all over my skin. The thing with spiders, though, is that I can run away from them, yelping like the pathetic girl that I am. With this baby, there’s nowhere to run.

Yes, yes, I know it’s a miraculous part of life, God’s intricate fingers at work, beautiful life growing…yada, yada, yada. I hope there are other women who can admit to feeling like this. In retrospect to my other discussion about having a bonding relationship already, I still can’t fully grasp the concept. Perhaps this is another reason why I’ve distanced myself from this baby squirming within. It’s still weird to think that there’s this symbiotic being and there’s nothing I can do about it but watch the thumping and twitches of my belly. At least Jeremy gets a kick out of it (sometimes literally).

Of course, the times when the baby’s not practicing Kung Fu, I begin to worry. “He hasn’t moved for a while….do you think something’s wrong?” paranoid I ask Jeremy.

And, moments later as if this baby heard the cue, begins playing my ribs like a xylophone. Hopefully he won’t hit the ‘booby trapped’ note (my Looney Tunes friends will appreciate that reference).

“Alright,” I already demand the baby as I get slightly annoyed with the constant movement, “Enough already, I get it!”

I know there are a lot of women out there that just love being pregnant. Let’s just say, these wild movements and feelings are one thing I really don’t think I’ll miss after June.

My poor little alien baby.

Yay! Happy Birthday to me!

I never thought at age 28, I would be at this stage in my life. Honestly, I never looked that far ahead. My idea of when I’d do something life altering was “when I got older”. I guess I’m finally “older”. Man, it feels strange. I look back ten years ago and thought it strange when my older sister, Clea, got married at 26 and had her first kid at 28 (ironically, I’m following her same timeline) and thought, “wow, that’s such an adult thing to do”. And here I am, in that very same boat on life’s crazy path down the river. I didn’t even see this chapter coming around the bend, just past the wedding reception.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m very happy with where we are. Great jobs (for once), no huge debts hanging over our heads, and a baby just a couple months away. I’m just amazed it took us this long to get to this point.

That’s the only thing I’m regretting: is that we didn’t start this path sooner. I know I’m still fairly young in the grand scheme of things, but when I see couples who got married and started a family much earlier, I wish we made that same decision. Some couples feel they started too early, saying that they feel they missed out on their ‘younger years of having fun’. Others found it great, saying they had enough physical and mental energy for the kids growing up, and look forward to when the kids are out of the house (presumably). That couple is still young enough to enjoy life and get back to being a ‘couple’.

I have no worries that our ‘coupleness’ will be neglected. Altered, but not neglected. We’ve made it clear how important it is to be not only a family, but retain our couple relationship. Far too often, couples become ‘child centered’ and their entire world revolves around the children. Now, placing the kids first IS very important and one of the priorities in raising a family. But, if that causes the couple’s relationship to falter, then that’s when it becomes a detrimental thing.

I suppose adding another ring on this ‘ol tree isn’t all that bad. I’m still not quite feeling my age (as I mentioned once before about feeling ‘ageless’), but I’m definitely feeling older. Being 30 weeks pregnant doesn’t help matters, what with the constant aches and pains and the inability to get up off a cushy couch without the help of Jeremy. So, it’s all mostly a good thing. Jeremy’s usually the one complaining about how old he feels, and I tease him how that ‘30’ mark is just months away for him. Not entirely fair, but I’m sure my time will come…“when I get older”.

So, in the mean time, I’m going to enjoy my slice of Chocolate Chip Cake that my wonderful boss, Marty, gave me, while ignoring the teasing comment that he added of how I look a year older.

Cheers!

GooGoo for babies

I had a conversation the other day with Jeremy about the intimacy a mother has with her unborn child. He was genuinely interested as he had no clue being a male, how that even worked psychologically and emotionally. For once, I was the giver of information.

In my still very new experience, as I’m only a first time mom-to-be at about seven months, I’ve noticed that there’s a wide spectrum to the kind of connection a woman feels with the baby cooking within. It ranges from absolutely no attachment, to the opposite extreme of infatuation. Me…I think I lie somewhere in the middle.

There was a great article in Newsweek a couple of weeks ago on surrogate mothers. It was a fantastic glimpse into a world I barely knew past that episode of Friends where Phoebe becomes a surrogate mother for her brother. I remember it seeming odd, but only for the fact that she had to give up the babies soon after they were born. It was a heartfelt and touching moment as Phoebe cuddled the twins she bore then reluctantly handed them over to her brother. Hey, it was a good episode for what it’s worth.

One of the girls in the Newsweek article had this similar experience. She became attached and went through quite a bit of depression after handing the baby over to their biological parents. On the other hand, the other women in the article felt little to no emotional connection with the babies. In a nut shell, it came down to it being a job for some decent money (although they won’t tell you that). How can someone go through ten months (yes 10, since there’s about 40 weeks for pregnancy) and be so unemotionally attached? I’m assuming for a surrogate mother, it’s simply because it’s really not their child, biologically.

But, what about non surrogate moms? How are they not attached, even just a little? Unfortunately, I can guess the answer. Usually it was an unwanted or accidental pregnancy. I can definitely see how a woman in that situation can not feel attached to the baby. It’s almost a grieving period for the life they could have had or lost. I liked the way Jeremy put it: The grieving pregnancy and the child are two different things. One can be upset with the pregnancy, but not necessarily with the child, as the child can become a blessing and joy of their life. Or at least I hope so. I would find it very sad for those mothers who regrets the child, even after they're born and live in the idea of “life that could have been”, if only from catching a glimpse into the work Jeremy does.

On a more cheery note, I’ve seen woman be at the complete opposite end of the spectrum where they are completely and utterly in tune with their baby. They coo and sing and talk to their bellies with such love and dedication. And most often, that baby was already named before conception and is referred to that name for the remainder of the ten months. What an amazing connection these woman have. I’m almost jealous that I don’t feel this way, as if I were already a bad uncaring mother to start off with.

We’re still battling with finding a name. I keep repeating different names out loud and I have these images of what personality is associated with them. The more I think about it, the more I realize the baby needs a personality first before I can settle on a name. My doctor, just yesterday, mentioned how she recently just had her second child and had a list of about 30 names brought to the hospital. It wasn’t until the birth certificate was dangling above their heads that they had to do a sort of Survivor elimination to pick a name. Her idea of naming the child before she was born, was sort of superstitious or unlucky. Or at least, that’s what she was able to describe it as. That actually made me feel a little better that we haven’t named this kid yet. Hopefully, if it comes down to the wire, we’ll see his face and say, “Ah ha! You look like …..”. A bummer for getting anything monogrammed beforehand, however.

Back to the whole intimacy with ‘baby who shall not be named’; I still struggle a bit with not feeling overly emotional. I don’t talk to the baby or make googly sounds to him. Jeremy’s actually a little better at it than me. He’ll talk to the baby and even started to read him (and me) bed time stories: Star Wars novels. Yep, we’re geeks at heart.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think about the baby all the time, it’s hard not too when he’s squirming all day long and testing out his fighting skills (or is it underwater ballet?). But, even still it’s more of a conceptual and emotional attachment I have for him. I’m more excited about the idea when he actually arrives and hope this will help with any possible post partum depression that could occur. I tend to be pretty susceptible to depression (as if it were a virus), as I had bouts when I was younger. Jeremy can attest to that; he would have to bring a sledge hammer to knock down the walls I built subconsciously around me.

I wonder if those woman on the far extreme of the GooGoo scale have these romanticized ideas of who their child is, and then get a completely different child when their born? Could that contest to their post partum? I’m figuring, and this is only in theory, if I don’t have this idealistic perception and attachment of who this child is right now, I have nothing to disappoint me when he actually arrives, right? Or at least, that’s what I’m hoping for.