How's this for weird?

I have not one but two placentas. The ultrasound technologist who informed me of this was nonchalant about it and said that it isn't uncommon, but I had never heard of such a thing. There wasn't much information online aside from forum posts by people who sound as surprised as I am. I'll have to ask my OB about it. In the meantime, tests show that the baby is doing well. If he can just stay put for another week, he'll be considered full term. Yay!

Do these placentas make me look fat?

This just in...

Happy happy joy joy! I have some great kitten news. Subsequent to my post about the feral felines, we learned that the furry family had relocated to our other next door neighbours' yard. Initially the animals hid in a shed at the back of the property. Since the neighbours were willing to look after them for a while, we handed over the remainder of our canned cat food. Over time the kittens grew accustomed to the neighbours feeding them and they began to explore the yard, eventually hanging out on a pile of cinderblocks close to the house. The neighbours sought our advice on what to do with the critters. Since I was on bed rest by this time, I wrote out some information on shelters and a cat rescue and lent the neighbours a pet carrier. This morning the neighbours managed to gather all five kittens in the carrier and brought them to the cat rescue. They will now receive much-needed veterinary care before being placed for adoption.

I'm not sure how Scott did it, but several days ago he managed to snap a shot of most of the family perched on the cinderblocks, and not a single one is hissing, not even the mom.

Momma cat is still around and as nasty as ever. I don't know if the neighbours are planning to try to catch her, too, but it would be wonderful if she could be spayed, at the very least.

P.S. On an unrelated note, I had tests at the hospital on Friday and learned that the baby is now 2 mm closer to making his exit.

1.3 cm

1.3 cm.* That is the distance between my baby and the, uh, exit of my womb. (I'm being uncharacteristically delicate here, but for some readers (hi Dad!) terms like "shortened cervix" and "pre-term labour" might be too much.) Anyhow, I'm extremely displeased to report that I am now on bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy. No working, no walking, no standing. I do have regular appointments with my OB and weekly tests at the hospital, so I am able to get out occasionally. Who'd have thought that I would look forward to medical appointments so much?

*0.5 inches, for my American readers

The scary news began after I reminded my OB that she had meant to be monitoring my possibly "incompetent" cervix. She referred me for an ultrasound in my 30th week. As I mentioned in my last post, the images showed that I was already starting to dilate. (Sorry, Dad.) Consequently, my OB instructed me to avoid any type of exertion, including the Aquafit course I was about to begin. I tried to take it easy and I withdrew from the course, although I didn't believe that "Aquafit" and "exertion" belonged in the same sentence.

When I saw my OB at week 32 I again inquired about an ultrasound. She scheduled one for the following week. I did not have an appointment with my OB on the day of my ultrasound, and I knew something was wrong when the technologist sent me to see her immediately afterward. My OB walked into the examination room flanked by two medical students and bluntly stated that I was on bed rest effective immediately. Tears sprang to my eyes. I was not ready to leave work. I was not prepared to rely on others for things. I did not want to be sentenced to house arrest -- worse, even: couch arrest. The alternative, however, was bed rest in the hospital, and I definitely didn't want that.

I wasn't permitted to take public transit, so I took a taxi to my parents' house, which is far closer to the doctor's office than my own home. I lay down on the sofa feeling positively miserable. I was completely thrown off by the doctor's orders and could not believe that I would be unable to wrap things up at work prior to maternity leave, or to help prepare our house for the baby's arrival.

Originally I had cursed the fact that I would be gigantically pregnant during the heat of July and August, but it turned out to be fortuitous timing. My mother is off for the summer. Since my order of bed rest, she has faithfully been making the one-hour trip to my house by public transit almost every day to ensure that I stay off my feet while she cooks, cleans, keeps me company and minimizes the additional work that Scott is left with due to my condition. As well as working full time, Scott is also toiling away on weekends along with his dad, my dad and others to complete the nursery and bedroom renovations. When Scott's dad comes into the city to help, Scott's mom will usually accompany him, giving my mom a much-needed break from looking after me.

To some, the idea of bed rest may be appealing. The reality of bed rest, however, is truly frustrating. I feel terribly guilty that everyone else is having to work extra hard because I can't work at all. I am overwhelmed with gratefulness for the generous efforts of my family and friends during this time, and I know that there is no way to thank them -- other than to obey the doctor's orders and to incubate my little one as long as possible.

I had my first hospital appointment last Friday, at which time the baby and I underwent a biophysical profile (BPP) and a nonstress test. The latter test showed mild cramping but was otherwise normal. I was relieved to learn that the baby is doing well, scoring eight out of eight on the BPP. That being said, at just short of 34 weeks it's still too early for him to emerge.

Another piece of good news is that the baby has been head-down for a while. Although his head pushing on my cervix is half of the problem, the vertex position beats breech any day. I am unable to attend prenatal classes, so I have desperately been reading and re-reading the labour and delivery section of a pregnancy manual to prepare myself for the big event. One chapter included diagrams of various birth presentations, including this one, the footling:

OMG, right?
Horrifying. I can't imagine that being a pleasant birth for mother or child. As uncomfortable as it is having my son's feet sticking up between my ribs, I'd prefer that to having his feet sticking out. (You okay, Dad?)

Now that I'm at home 24 hours a day, one thing I have time for is reading the daily digests that I receive from various baby-related magazines. Two of the more recent articles were entitled Why You Really Do Need Childbirth Classes, and Staying Home: Are You Ready? My responses are Rub it in, jerseholes, and Am I ready? It's not like I have a choice. No, I may not have a choice, but I do have a great deal of support. And with only 1.3 cm between my baby and his exit route, I need it.

Ferals and frights

A week ago my next-door neighbours mentioned that a stray cat and her five young kittens had taken up residence in their back yard and that they didn't know what to do. Fearing that they might resort to the burlap-bag-full-of-stones option, I promised to take care of the situation if they would give me some time. I placed an open pet carrier several feet from the cats. Twice a day, I brought food and water to the feline family in an attempt to gain their trust. The mother cat was decidedly hostile but undeniably ravenous, and she would gobble up whatever food I tossed to her. Her kittens, though standoffish, were willing to come out of hiding for tuna. Since the mother cat appeared to be a Scottish Fold, I figured that someone had paid good money for her and could very well be looking for her. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any postings about her on the local lost-and-found sites. I placed my own notices but had no replies.

A typical Scottish Fold

Being pregnant, I know it's more important than ever to avoid potentially germy things such as stray cats. After several days of bringing sustenance to the brood, the mother cat stopped hissing long enough to emerge from her hiding place as I filled her water bowl. I thought that I was making progress but I had no plans to touch her. She had her own plans, which involved marching up to me, scratching me and quickly retreating. I began to understand why no one was looking for her.

Earlier this week I was distracted from my feral-feeding duties after getting some frightening ultrasound results. (TMI alert here, folks.) At just 30 weeks of pregnancy, I am already starting to dilate. My obstetrician instructed me to avoid anything requiring exertion -- even the Aquafit course I recently registered for in a sad attempt to introduce exercise into my sedentary lifestyle. The doctor also made appointments for me at the hospital to receive Celestone injections to help the baby's lungs develop more quickly in case he makes an early appearance. Following yesterday's shot, I noticed no movement from the baby all day and just a few weak kicks in the evening. When I awoke this morning and still felt no movement, I proceeded to the hospital two hours before my appointment. By the time I was in Maternal Triage I was also in tears, fearing the worst.

In a hospital gown, lying on a bed with a fetal heart monitor strapped to my belly, I heard the most wonderful sound a paranoid expectant mother can hear: the rapid kaTHUMP kaTHUMP kaTHUMP of a healthy baby's heart. The on-call doctor then performed an ultrasound to show me that the baby was indeed moving, although I still couldn't feel anything. I had my second and final Celestone injection and went on my greatly relieved way, anxious to phone Scott with the good news. Well, the mostly good news. I wasn't thrilled to learn that, if I should go into labour early, there will be no attempt to stop it, as the baby has a "90-95%" chance of survival at this stage. I worry about his health if he is born prematurely, but all I can do is to take it easy, as per the doctor's orders.

Having had the distraction of the baby fright, I missed two visits with the felines next door. Scott and I bought a case of canned cat food this evening only to discover that the brood has moved on, leaving an empty plate, empty bowl and empty pet carrier. My great happiness from the morning's reassuring hospital visit was tempered by the sadness of knowing that I was unable to rescue the cats from joining the already large population of feral cats in our area. Priorities change when one is pregnant, and I certainly had to put my unborn baby's welfare above all else, but that doesn't prevent me from feeling like I let down the little ones next door.

Twelve weeks

It's hard to believe that I have only posted a few times about my pregnancy, and now here I am with just twelve weeks left until my due date. For anyone who is interested, here are a few facts about my expecting experience to this point:

-morning (all-day) sickness sucks, but it ends;
-bending down takes preparation, and standing up again often requires assistance;
-my body will never be the same, but that's okay since it wasn't all that great to begin with;
-I'm amazed at the strength of my backaches, and at my obstetrician's reaction when I reported them to her ("Well, it's only going to get worse");
-friends with little ones have been incredibly generous with hand-me-downs;
-the baby now kicks so hard he can move my laptop when I carelessly rest it on my belly;
-I'm going to miss the kicks, rolls and flutters once the little guy is born.

This isn't a very inspired post and I apologize, but it's hard to concentrate with sawing and drilling going on overhead. Did I mention that our bedroom and nursery have been completely gutted? Again, there are just twelve weeks left before my due date. Uh-huh. Scott and I owe huge thanks to my dad, brother and our friend Martin for taking care of the demolition while we were away on our babymoon. It was a hot, filthy, back-breaking job.

The nursery

Scott and his dad have been slaving away for the past few weekends to frame the new walls and repair the roof and floors. They assure me that there will be a ceiling at some point as well. We've hired or are in the process of hiring an electrician, a window installer, a mason, a spray-foam insulator and a flooring refinisher. Once they have all completed their work, it will be time for drywall and paint. As hard as Scott and his dad are working, I have expressed my doubts about our ability to have both rooms completed in time for the baby's arrival. My mother reminded me that Jehovah's Witnesses can build a Kingdom Hall in six days. Perhaps the next time the Witnesses knock at my door I'll invite them in to help with the renos. I might seek out some Amish folks while I'm at it, as they only take one or two days to raise an entire barn. Maybe it has something to do with faith; it could be the fact that Scott is an atheist and I'm a Humanist that makes our renovation projects take so long.

Mrs. Hughes

Now that I am about to have a child of my own, I found the video below particularly relevant. Enjoy.

Babymoon

Scott and I are very fortunate. We have each other, amazing family and friends, a lovable menagerie of pets and a baby on the way. We also managed to save enough money for a babymoon to Maui. We were engaged off the coast of Maui just over two years ago. That first Hawaiian trip was courtesy of Scott's parents, who booked the family cruise in celebration of their 40th wedding anniversary. To be honest, Scott and I never thought we would see Hawaii again, believing that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. With the inevitable expenses of parenthood fast approaching, we knew that taking a big trip might not be the most financially prudent choice. Still, more than one person (parents themselves) told us that we should take advantage of this last period of time as just a couple. The travel industry and numerous pregnancy-related articles tempted us with the babymoon concept. Once we discovered that it was, surprisingly, possible to visit Maui on a budget, our minds were made up.

For this trip we wanted to do activities that we hadn't done the last time -- and activities that were safe to do while pregnant. We took a tour of the road to Hana, with its more than 600 curves and 46 one-lane bridges. We enjoyed several stops along the way. The economy in Hawaii is suffering right now, and many residents make a living selling goods at roadside stands. I couldn't resist picking up some macadamia-nut brittle for my parents at one such stop. I also gathered a few pieces of coral. Visitors are not supposed to remove lava rock or sand from the islands, but coral is permitted.

Part of our tour to Hana included exploring inside a lava tube. One type of hardened lava resembled chocolate. It felt like being in a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Hana is known for its black-sand beach, where we dipped our feet in the Pacific waters.

Beaches come in a variety of colours on Maui.

Hawaii is astonishingly verdant for a place that has very little dirt. Plants, both native and imported, manage to flourish growing on rock. We spotted several of these little ones sprouting right out of the sand.

Wind, wing and water are the vehicles by which plants originally arrived in Hawaii. The coconut trees you see on the rock in the distance were planted by a handful of armed-forces members who swam out on a lark many years ago.

Everywhere we looked we saw plants in countless shades of green, and blooms ranging from delicately tiny to lusciously huge.

Normally I would think that our loudly-patterned clothing was out of place in such a beautiful setting, but then again, Hawaii is the home of aloha shirts. And yes, Hawaiians -- not just tourists -- do wear aloha shirts. Our tour guide informed us that there is no such thing as formal wear in Hawaii. Scott and I caught footage of some sort of city or county council meeting on TV while we were there, and most of the politicians were in aloha shirts or T-shirts.

I don't know why, but my baby bump was showing a lot in Hawaii. Scott swears that it shrank once we returned home. Anyway, here it is upstaging a waterfall.

One of the most spectacular things that we saw on our trip was this type of tree, the rainbow eucalyptus.

There are many chickens running free in Hawaii. According to our tour guide, this is the result of chicken coops being broken open during a tsunami years ago. Since there are no snakes in the state, the chickens' only natural predator is the mongoose. Our tour guide made a special stop to call the birds ("Heeeeeeere chickie chickie chickie!") and give them a snack.

While on our tour to Hana we drove through Paia, a hippie town that is home to Willie Nelson. Apparently Willie sometimes plays waiter at his favourite local restaurant, Charleys, just to see the patrons' reactions. Speaking of hippies, we saw several of them on the side of the road trying to thumb a ride. Our tour guide claimed that many of them live in the jungle and have lice, so it's best not to stop for hitchhikers unless you have a pick-up truck. I took that with a grain of salt, although I noticed that he didn't stop to feed any hippies.

Not realizing quite how small Maui was, I had us staying in three different hotels during our one-week vacation so that we could explore different areas. Our first hotel was a modest place on the shore close to the Kahului airport.

On our way out of Kahului, we stopped at K-Mart to pick up a cheap back-pack, as we knew that there would not be sufficient space in our luggage for souvenirs. If Scott had any doubt that Hawaii was paradise, it disappeared the moment he discovered the liquor aisle.

I was less impressed with K-Mart when I discovered a bathmat that, sadly, closely resembles my Hawaii-inspired tattoo.

Following our sightseeing at K-Mart, we explored Kihei and Wailea. We shopped, strolled and swam in the ocean. Later we enjoyed dinner overlooking a sunset-lit beach.

Our next stop was Lahaina, where we stayed in a historic plantation-style inn right on the wharf.

Our outdoor space would have been far more enjoyable had it not been for the fact that most of the occupants of the non-smoking rooms on our floor were happily puffing away on their own balconies. Even Scott picked up a Hula Girl cigar to enjoy in the formerly fresh air.

Our room overlooked the famous old banyan tree, which occupies an entire park.

On the weekend artisans set up tables in the park to sell their creations.

On our second day in Lahaina, we took the short drive to Ma'alaea Harbor to visit the Maui Ocean Center. (As a Canadian, it was a struggle to type that last sentence with the American spellings of "harbour" and "centre.") The aquarium was a treat.

We moved on to Ka'anapali for the duration of our trip. Since we had a few hours before it was time to check in to our third and final hotel, we decided to drive up the coast and check out the sights on the north end of the island. The next eight photos provide a glimpse of the beauty that we observed.

Thanks to a friend with connections, we had a great rate at our last hotel, which was actually a resort and spa featuring fully equipped villas.

We bought some kabobs at one of the resort's markets and Scott put his BBQing skills to work.

On our last night in Maui, I surprised Scott with reservations for "date night" at a fondue restaurant. The ambiance was as romantic as expected and the service was impeccable. When I had originally phoned for reservations, a staff member had asked me what we were celebrating. I had told her that we were expecting. At the end of our meal, the waiter dropped off a congratulatory card signed by the staff. Nice touch!

After dinner I was almost too full to move, so I lay in our room like a beached whale while Scott roamed the resort to take a few final photos. He spied this little fellow in the grass below our room.

When I was mobile again, I waddled out to the balcony and called down to Scott. He took a photo of me and immediately dropped the camera, so this is the end of our vacation album.

The end.

I've just about given up...

...on my lawn, which the dogs have taken from this to this:

...but I'm not quite ready to look into "air raiding."

Save yourself -- avoid me.

If it's dangerous to be nicknamed Calamity, it's equally dangerous to be in close proximity to someone who is nicknamed Calamity. My poor little fetus became a real "bouncing" baby boy last week when I took a tumble and landed flat on my stomach. (Is it possible to land flat on something round?) I had been strolling down the street when my foot slipped off the curb and I couldn't catch myself. The sidewalk caught me instead. Here, have a look at my knee one week later:

Pay no mind to my Happy Bunny pajamas.

Normally I'm inclined to blame my accidents on my own clumsiness, but I think I'll blame this one on
a) my new haircut,
b) my new centre of gravity,
c) the sidewalk being narrower than I remembered.

The last two are self-explanatory, but you might be curious about the first one. See, I had a foot chopped off again, which means that my normally long, flat, heavy hair now has some body to it and is so short that it often flops in my face and impairs my peripheral vision. You know, the vision that would have warned me that I was too close to the curb. Evidently I would make a lousy sheepdog.

Thankfully, a few days ago I felt the baby move for the first time, so he must be okay. Scott figures that the little guy is kicking me because he's mad at me for falling. If the kid has a temper like that already, we're in big trouble. At any rate, it feels more like rolling than kicking. I think we've got a couple more months before we see the outline of feet sticking out of my belly or I feel toes jammed up into my ribcage.

So, the baby is fine, but not everyone is. I've got yet another infection lodged firmly in my tonsils, Scott is recovering from surgery and both dogs have been suffering from skin issues over the past few weeks. Here's Montana after gnawing at what was either a hot spot or a dog bite:

And here we have Ferris, who was busy developing hot spots while I was preoccupied looking after Scott post-surgery:

What's that? You hadn't known about Scott's surgery? He had his stones removed. His pair of kidney stones, that is. I'd go into detail, but it was pretty much the same experience as last time, except that on this occasion I didn't feed Scott hot water, nor did I rip off quite as much of his skin. Interestingly, both his current and past surgeries took place at about the same time as we were paying over $600 for Ferris' health issues. At least Scott's medical treatment is fully covered by universal health care.

My son. My son. My son.

It sounds so strange to say it.

According to the latest ultrasound, Scott and I are going to have a baby boy. That's what the vast majority of people had been predicting. After we received the results, Scott said he had figured that the baby was male because "he looks like a boy." That's better than when he thought the baby resembled a duck.

It's exciting to see the little guy moving about, yawning and stretching on the screen when I have an ultrasound. At halfway through the pregnancy I still don't feel any movement, but I'm poking at my belly daily just in case. With the nausea behind me and nothing but an expanding tummy to remind me that I'm expecting, I've been eager for something to make this seem more "real." Somehow the piles of second-hand maternity clothing and baby items in my house haven't convinced me that there truly is a baby on the way. You'd think that the occasional emotional outburst or near anxiety attack would be clues. Apparently I'll have to find myself at home, alone, with a wailing infant in my arms before I get the full sense of forever (also known as What in tarnation have I got myself into?!).