Hate 'em, can't stand 'em, would be out buying lots of toxins and turning the house into an ant massacre if I wasn't preggo.
We are not eating here tonight.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Hey, Macarena!
We know the kid has a sense of humor. All weekend, not much movement: a little here, a little there, a good kick to wake me up the morning we had to pick people up from the airport and we overslept. Yesterday and last night the kid's turned into Mary Lou Retton or Tommy Tune: somersaults, tap dancing, a basic soft shoe pretty much every hour, which is a lot more often than before.
Logic says that the amount of walking and activity over the weekend probably rocked the kid to sleep and now it's well-rested, but we're thinking this kid has already decided that it's not our monkey.
Logic says that the amount of walking and activity over the weekend probably rocked the kid to sleep and now it's well-rested, but we're thinking this kid has already decided that it's not our monkey.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Bradley Class #1: Introduction
Yesterday we had to drop our friends off early at the airport so that we could make our first official birth class, so since it was important enough to cut their visit short, I should probably say something about it. I will have more to say about it when Mr. Secret Agent Man and I have completed our preliminary reconnaissance.
We got our workbooks. They're a little outdated in terms of appearance and font choice, but I'm also a snob about this. An earwig-looking bug ran between our pillows and The Boy killed it for me. It made me very happy that I had brought a blanket ($5, IKEA) for the "lie on the floor and practice relaxing" section of the class.
Practicing relaxing is difficult for me to do on a floor of an office. It's not all bad because we are there in the semi-dark with our partners massaging and rubbing us. I had a hard time getting into the spirit of things because the exercise is to consciously tense up a body part (hand, shoulder, foot) and then relax it. My first response was, well, duh, if you can tense something, you can relax it. But my dear husband took it completely seriously when I could not and him taking it seriously made me at least take him seriously, because he is so dear and sincere. Since I had a nasty bout with tendonitis a couple years ago (more than a couple now, hmm), I've had biofeedback therapy and the Boy and I have done a lot of relaxation exercises, which means we've practiced a lot of body consciousness/awareness exercises before. There was a time when I couldn't differentiate between relaxed and tense, so I should just get over my cheap self.
Then they showed a birth movie and this is where the class probably needed to be restructured so the relaxing was after the movie. I felt clinical towards the movie. The husband in the film was a bit of a smart ass and I was trying to decide if he was annoying to his wife or not, having (and being) a smart ass at home myself. This film was the first we've seen with full-on crowning (and some tearing), which is a little shocking. At some point during the movie, my husband gripped my shoulder very, very tightly, and while at first I thought he was trying to comfort me, I realized that this was not a happy moment for him.
Later on, he asked me if I had noticed the body language of one of the other men in class, and I had not.
"He looked like he didn't want to put his wife through that," he said, my sweet husband who hates to see me suffer.
While the whole labor thing sits heavily on the shoulders of women, at least, thank God, I don't have to decide how much to watch and I will be all-consumingly preoccupied. I don't have to worry about him or watch him be in pain. I may not feel that way when I want to pull his lower lip over his head during labor, but right now, I feel bad for the men sweet enough to not want to put their wives through labor.
We got our workbooks. They're a little outdated in terms of appearance and font choice, but I'm also a snob about this. An earwig-looking bug ran between our pillows and The Boy killed it for me. It made me very happy that I had brought a blanket ($5, IKEA) for the "lie on the floor and practice relaxing" section of the class.
Practicing relaxing is difficult for me to do on a floor of an office. It's not all bad because we are there in the semi-dark with our partners massaging and rubbing us. I had a hard time getting into the spirit of things because the exercise is to consciously tense up a body part (hand, shoulder, foot) and then relax it. My first response was, well, duh, if you can tense something, you can relax it. But my dear husband took it completely seriously when I could not and him taking it seriously made me at least take him seriously, because he is so dear and sincere. Since I had a nasty bout with tendonitis a couple years ago (more than a couple now, hmm), I've had biofeedback therapy and the Boy and I have done a lot of relaxation exercises, which means we've practiced a lot of body consciousness/awareness exercises before. There was a time when I couldn't differentiate between relaxed and tense, so I should just get over my cheap self.
Then they showed a birth movie and this is where the class probably needed to be restructured so the relaxing was after the movie. I felt clinical towards the movie. The husband in the film was a bit of a smart ass and I was trying to decide if he was annoying to his wife or not, having (and being) a smart ass at home myself. This film was the first we've seen with full-on crowning (and some tearing), which is a little shocking. At some point during the movie, my husband gripped my shoulder very, very tightly, and while at first I thought he was trying to comfort me, I realized that this was not a happy moment for him.
Later on, he asked me if I had noticed the body language of one of the other men in class, and I had not.
"He looked like he didn't want to put his wife through that," he said, my sweet husband who hates to see me suffer.
While the whole labor thing sits heavily on the shoulders of women, at least, thank God, I don't have to decide how much to watch and I will be all-consumingly preoccupied. I don't have to worry about him or watch him be in pain. I may not feel that way when I want to pull his lower lip over his head during labor, but right now, I feel bad for the men sweet enough to not want to put their wives through labor.
Birth Class: A Modern Whodunnit?
I am glad we got to birth class yesterday, because it led to this interesting exchange.
We got to class on time, and I must say that I'm impressed with our instructor's memory. Besides remembering our names and noticing that I've gotten my hair cut short since the one time she's seen me, Jan asks how our niece's birth went and how the parents were doing, since we had talked to her briefly about induction of labor at the early bird class. Good priorities.
But then she takes us into another room to give us our official workbook (which I assumed was also to talk about the fees due in private, since yesterday was the day final payment was due) and she says the most gobsmacking thing. She asks if we got her message, and we say, no, we've been out of the house today and as such haven't picked up messages recently. She says that $100 of the class fees have been paid for us as "an anonymous donation." We both sputter a little bit and ask who paid it was, and she refuses to tell us but tells us how wonderful it is. We agree, but now we're feeling like creeps because we can't express our gratitude to those who have done this. Jan isn't budging.
In the car on the way home, we make a list of suspects and realize that most of these people are inscrutable when they want to be, so the odds of getting a confession are low. We identify motive and access, interrogation techniques, idle threats, and entrapment scenarios. I wonder if I should call Jan and double-check that she's not just giving everyone a break and trying to make us feel special or if my inability to wear socks makes her think we're financially disadvantaged and can't afford socks, let alone classes, and she's just giving us a break. (I discard this plan as being crazy.) I think about calling my hair stylist and asking if Jan does this for everyone (I table this plan until my next hair cut).
Then we realize that we're lucky enough to have a list of suspects. So we're still hunting, but we're grateful. Hopefully, if you did it, you read this, and thank you very much from the bottoms of our hearts. We're really surprised and completely befuddled, which probably delights you to no end. While I hope you're not insulted that we don't immediately know who did this ("Ah ha! It was Miss Scarlett in the Dining Room with the telephone!"), I'm almost as grateful for the reality check that we have friends and family who love us and go out of their way (and behind our backs) to do ridiculously kind unexpected things for us as I am for the gift of the classes.
We're still trying to decipher your identity. But we're also thankful.
We got to class on time, and I must say that I'm impressed with our instructor's memory. Besides remembering our names and noticing that I've gotten my hair cut short since the one time she's seen me, Jan asks how our niece's birth went and how the parents were doing, since we had talked to her briefly about induction of labor at the early bird class. Good priorities.
But then she takes us into another room to give us our official workbook (which I assumed was also to talk about the fees due in private, since yesterday was the day final payment was due) and she says the most gobsmacking thing. She asks if we got her message, and we say, no, we've been out of the house today and as such haven't picked up messages recently. She says that $100 of the class fees have been paid for us as "an anonymous donation." We both sputter a little bit and ask who paid it was, and she refuses to tell us but tells us how wonderful it is. We agree, but now we're feeling like creeps because we can't express our gratitude to those who have done this. Jan isn't budging.
In the car on the way home, we make a list of suspects and realize that most of these people are inscrutable when they want to be, so the odds of getting a confession are low. We identify motive and access, interrogation techniques, idle threats, and entrapment scenarios. I wonder if I should call Jan and double-check that she's not just giving everyone a break and trying to make us feel special or if my inability to wear socks makes her think we're financially disadvantaged and can't afford socks, let alone classes, and she's just giving us a break. (I discard this plan as being crazy.) I think about calling my hair stylist and asking if Jan does this for everyone (I table this plan until my next hair cut).
Then we realize that we're lucky enough to have a list of suspects. So we're still hunting, but we're grateful. Hopefully, if you did it, you read this, and thank you very much from the bottoms of our hearts. We're really surprised and completely befuddled, which probably delights you to no end. While I hope you're not insulted that we don't immediately know who did this ("Ah ha! It was Miss Scarlett in the Dining Room with the telephone!"), I'm almost as grateful for the reality check that we have friends and family who love us and go out of their way (and behind our backs) to do ridiculously kind unexpected things for us as I am for the gift of the classes.
We're still trying to decipher your identity. But we're also thankful.
Back to work. Sigh.
Our lovely friends were just in town, which led to long and leisurely breakfasts, tours of all the San Diego Zoological Society's facilities, and just relaxing. It was so good to see them and it is so hard to see them go, but we're so glad they came. It is definitely hard to return to work today, even though work is just down the hall for me and can be done in my pajamas. Sigh.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
No dusting.
I have been wheezing all day and I don't know why. I'm going to have a cup of tea to see if that helps.
The worst physical part so far about being pregnant was being sick and unable to take drugs. The extreme fatigue of the first trimester was annoying, but I was well rested, at least. Being snotty, coughing and just unable to sleep was awful. Eventually the midwives okayed me for some low dose OTC decongestant which was the only reason sanity returned to my life and air to my lungs.
I had recovered and even put in two appearances at the scary doctor* to make sure I didn't have bronchitis or pneumonia, but now I'm wheezing again. I'm wondering if the cleaning spree has something to do with it, lots of dust kicked up from everywhere. Cleaning is bad, children.
* The doctor was scary. The intake form was typed, that's right, typed, and if it had smelled better I might have suspected it was a mimeograph. I saw the lines MR:_______________ and MRS:____________________ and thought, Lordy, you, Mr. Doctor, and I will not be friends. I felt like Hothead Paisan. He gave me a nice lecture about how giving birth with a midwife is the scariest thing since bathing in chum and jumping into the Jaws tank, and I practiced my insufferably cheerful demeanor. Jerk.
The worst physical part so far about being pregnant was being sick and unable to take drugs. The extreme fatigue of the first trimester was annoying, but I was well rested, at least. Being snotty, coughing and just unable to sleep was awful. Eventually the midwives okayed me for some low dose OTC decongestant which was the only reason sanity returned to my life and air to my lungs.
I had recovered and even put in two appearances at the scary doctor* to make sure I didn't have bronchitis or pneumonia, but now I'm wheezing again. I'm wondering if the cleaning spree has something to do with it, lots of dust kicked up from everywhere. Cleaning is bad, children.
* The doctor was scary. The intake form was typed, that's right, typed, and if it had smelled better I might have suspected it was a mimeograph. I saw the lines MR:_______________ and MRS:____________________ and thought, Lordy, you, Mr. Doctor, and I will not be friends. I felt like Hothead Paisan. He gave me a nice lecture about how giving birth with a midwife is the scariest thing since bathing in chum and jumping into the Jaws tank, and I practiced my insufferably cheerful demeanor. Jerk.
Monday, March 20, 2006
It's apparently short-burst communication day
I have the sweetest husband in the universe. I have a quilt that I've been trying to finish before my niece arrived, and since her original date was April 1, I thought I was doing well. But then she arrived. So the quilt's not done. In the middle of our list of things to get accomplished this weekend, there's a line item of "Finish quilt."
So my boy says, "Well, why don't you work on the quilt and I'll tackle the rest of the list?" I helped him with some of the massive decluttering, but then I worked on the quilt while he cleaned. Now it's basted and ready for quilting, which is leaps and bounds ahead of where it was Friday. But it felt positively decadent to sit and sew while he was cleaning. So he's super.
So my boy says, "Well, why don't you work on the quilt and I'll tackle the rest of the list?" I helped him with some of the massive decluttering, but then I worked on the quilt while he cleaned. Now it's basted and ready for quilting, which is leaps and bounds ahead of where it was Friday. But it felt positively decadent to sit and sew while he was cleaning. So he's super.
Orthodontia, take 2
They did not put all the crazy poking wires back in but just left me with the nice soft rubber chaining and I am still on track to have the braces off in May. I have had a cheeseburger and now I am happy. I always want a cheeseburger post-orthodontics; I don't know why.
Orthodontia galore
I have braces and I've had them for about 400 years at this point. No, I've had them for two years this month, but I've gotten to the point where I don't exactly remember what it's like to not have hardware in my mouth or have to tear off pieces of good crusty bread into tiny pieces to be able to eat them.
I'm getting adjusted today. For the last two times, this means an exceedingly complicated configuration of piano wire and paper clips has been added to the mix. This is all on the lower jaw and is supposed to pull my bottom front teeth back farther behind my top front teeth so I have a lovely smile at the end of this. It is probably the second most painful thing I've had done so far for the braces; the first were the spacers put in between my back molars to make room to put the bands on.
Today, however, I am looking forward to it, because one of the wires that's holding the whole mess in place is very pointy and keeps catching my lower lip and I'm tired of bleeding there. I have gone through two boxes of wax in the last four weeks. I haven't really been using wax aside from the first couple months of braces. I had pretty much acclimated to all the hardware and had toughened up everything, but positioning a nasty wire as a torture device stopped that.
I'm also debating going to IKEA after my orthodontist to get a curtain for the living room. This weekend I ended up meeting a kid who saw my little Flutternutter of a kitty in the window and came over to peer in to see if anyone else was around. Mistah H hit the floor, as far as I can tell, so I met Puett (yes, it's French) and Charlie (a lovely yellow Lab who thought my kitten would be a good snack) and learned that it was Puett's birthday party day with (non-custodial) daddy and that he was seven. So a curtain might be in order since manners seem to be in short order.
I'm getting adjusted today. For the last two times, this means an exceedingly complicated configuration of piano wire and paper clips has been added to the mix. This is all on the lower jaw and is supposed to pull my bottom front teeth back farther behind my top front teeth so I have a lovely smile at the end of this. It is probably the second most painful thing I've had done so far for the braces; the first were the spacers put in between my back molars to make room to put the bands on.
Today, however, I am looking forward to it, because one of the wires that's holding the whole mess in place is very pointy and keeps catching my lower lip and I'm tired of bleeding there. I have gone through two boxes of wax in the last four weeks. I haven't really been using wax aside from the first couple months of braces. I had pretty much acclimated to all the hardware and had toughened up everything, but positioning a nasty wire as a torture device stopped that.
I'm also debating going to IKEA after my orthodontist to get a curtain for the living room. This weekend I ended up meeting a kid who saw my little Flutternutter of a kitty in the window and came over to peer in to see if anyone else was around. Mistah H hit the floor, as far as I can tell, so I met Puett (yes, it's French) and Charlie (a lovely yellow Lab who thought my kitten would be a good snack) and learned that it was Puett's birthday party day with (non-custodial) daddy and that he was seven. So a curtain might be in order since manners seem to be in short order.
We have a niece!
She was born yesterday; mom and baby are doing great. She apparently looks like her big brother. The Boy and I are relieved and happy.
Update: We got an announcement in the mail with a teeny weeny picture of the niece. The hot contenders in the "who does she look like?" poll were Grandma and Marilyn Whirlwind from the long-departed Northern Exposure series, although the Mistah and myself are always mildly confounded by the need to have a kid look like someone. What, birth wasn't enough to prove the kid is yours? Seriously, the latter contender may just be from the terribly serious expression on that little face. If I didn't have a fundamental problem with posting pictures of someone else's kids out here on the scary internet, I would post a side-by-side.
Update: We got an announcement in the mail with a teeny weeny picture of the niece. The hot contenders in the "who does she look like?" poll were Grandma and Marilyn Whirlwind from the long-departed Northern Exposure series, although the Mistah and myself are always mildly confounded by the need to have a kid look like someone. What, birth wasn't enough to prove the kid is yours? Seriously, the latter contender may just be from the terribly serious expression on that little face. If I didn't have a fundamental problem with posting pictures of someone else's kids out here on the scary internet, I would post a side-by-side.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Think lovely thoughts
My SIL is having labor induced tomorrow night for my niece, so we're all trying to send good vibes their way. Think lovely thoughts for them.
In coincidences of the weird, my hair stylist, the lovely Sarah, went to the same birthing class with the same teacher we're going to. We traded some ancedotes (well, she had more ancedotes than I did, since she has a two-year-old and I've got one class under my belt). What she said about the class pretty much reconfirmed the reasons we had thought to take it, so that was good. People are willing talk about all kinds of stuff when you're pregnant that probably wouldn't pass muster in polite conversation, like you've got the secret decoder ring and can now be regaled with tales of breastfeeding.
There's also a custom here in SoCal where you go to the salon and they send you to take your shirt off and put a smock on so that the hair doesn't get all over you. But I find that what happens is that the hair really still gets all over you and embedded in your bra. Then you itch like a maniac and find yourself wondering if you can take a quick shower or if that is inviting your boss to pick up the phone and call. I don't know if I'm supposed to be taking the bra off with the shirt (which seems like a bad idea all around, especially now) or if I'm supposed to be fastening the smock tighter and firmer, which I can't imagine how I'd do without some duct tape. I don't think there's a nice way to avoid the hair fallout.
As alluded to, here's the 10-week ultrasound picture straight from the fridge so you can see the marked improvement in the photogenic qualities of the kid. Let's hope it just gets better from here.
In coincidences of the weird, my hair stylist, the lovely Sarah, went to the same birthing class with the same teacher we're going to. We traded some ancedotes (well, she had more ancedotes than I did, since she has a two-year-old and I've got one class under my belt). What she said about the class pretty much reconfirmed the reasons we had thought to take it, so that was good. People are willing talk about all kinds of stuff when you're pregnant that probably wouldn't pass muster in polite conversation, like you've got the secret decoder ring and can now be regaled with tales of breastfeeding.
There's also a custom here in SoCal where you go to the salon and they send you to take your shirt off and put a smock on so that the hair doesn't get all over you. But I find that what happens is that the hair really still gets all over you and embedded in your bra. Then you itch like a maniac and find yourself wondering if you can take a quick shower or if that is inviting your boss to pick up the phone and call. I don't know if I'm supposed to be taking the bra off with the shirt (which seems like a bad idea all around, especially now) or if I'm supposed to be fastening the smock tighter and firmer, which I can't imagine how I'd do without some duct tape. I don't think there's a nice way to avoid the hair fallout.
As alluded to, here's the 10-week ultrasound picture straight from the fridge so you can see the marked improvement in the photogenic qualities of the kid. Let's hope it just gets better from here.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Week of Mailing Goodness
Today, my boss sent a box of Rohr chocolates from Geneva, divine. I just had time to unwrap them and pop one in my mouth (praline, mmmmm) and the box of tea arrived.
Tomorrow, I should be getting a stack of books for the birth class.
Saturday, I should be getting some PJs.
But I'm glad the chocolate got here first.
Tomorrow, I should be getting a stack of books for the birth class.
Saturday, I should be getting some PJs.
But I'm glad the chocolate got here first.
I studied really hard...
...and I've passed my ultrasound, and look, it's a baby. The previous ultrasound looks like a blob, but this one certainly looks like a baby. Everything's normal, so I can get over my pregnant belly envy I had at the birth class. The kid is pretty much exactly where we thought for due date (± 2 days from LMP due date, -3 days from the last ultrasound due date), so we're still on track for a kid around Harry Potter's b-day. The kid's got long legs, one week ahead of the rest of the body, which I'm sure everyone will attribute to its daddy since height is not actually my strong suit. (My grandmother would be insulted, since she always insisted she had great legs, but she was 4'10".)Its? Yes, its, because saying he or she takes too long and I've got a life to lead, cha cha. We did not find out the gender, and I didn't see anything which would lead me to guess what gender it would be. The Boy toddled off to work right afterwards but if he saw anything, he didn't say so. I was just happy to recognize a baby as a baby, since usually these things are so weird looking and require serious narration, squinting, and a fair amount of imagination to see the baby. I'm always amazed at the techs, who are narrating and taking measurements of blobs to blob, "Look, it's the left kidney! Look, it's the left parietal lobe of the brain!" It looks gray and blobby with a chance of baby to me. We jump around from it to he to she, but we come back to it.
We've got a stack of photos, but this is the only one with the kid not just lying on its back. It lifted an arm and a leg (leg to the left, arm to the right) at some point so we could measure them and see where they were on the developmental scale. But the rest of the time, the kid was just hanging out. I have found that when we try to poke the kid so someone besides me can feel it, it goes still and quiet like someone hiding in a jungle, so I can only assume that poking it with the ultrasound device got the same response. This kid will be great at hide-and-seek, at least the hiding. We couldn't quite count fingers, but they are there. No thumbsucking observed, just swallowing.The ultrasound also explained why it's been difficult for the kid to be felt by anybody but me. The placenta is anteriorially-placed (that's the lighter blur at the top of the pic), which means that there's additional padding between the kid and the outside world besides just me. Our midwife said other people would probably be able to feel the kid at 28 weeks, so the rest of you will just have to wait.
Things the kid reacts to: musical theater, the noisy battle sequences of The Return of the King, meals, thunder and lightning, and a purring cat in my lap.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
First Birth Class
Last night, we went to our first birthing class. It's an early bird class, but the overall philosophy seemed to be the right one for us. It's Bradley Method(R), which I think ends up putting a large emphasis on nutrition (80-100 g of protein a day? Really?) and exercise but is mainly a class for People Who Don't Want an Epidural. In our class, it seems to be people who want to avoid the typical hospital birth and, more specifically, episiotomy. Three out of four couples there were planning on going to the same warm-n-fuzzy free standing birth center we're planning on popping in and the other couple's going to the warm-n-fuzzy midwife floor of UCSD, so it was relaxing to be with people who didn't give me the cautious and concerned "what do you mean you're not going to a hospital?" look. I think it was a little much for our instructor to discover we were already converted, but she tried gently and respectfully to get us to articulate what was bothering us about standard births in this country so we could get on with the lesson.
And we had to watch what I can't think of as anything besides "horror porn" after I heard the phrase coined on Coupling, a birth video. I think the instructor was hoping we'd all see it as an intense (but not painful) and beautiful thing, but nobody really said anything. Finally, the one person in the class who's given birth before said, "That video is just as scary as it was last time," which made everyone feel better that we all weren't swooning with the love and power of the woman giving birth without drugs. To me, it looked painful. She looked happy with the kid at the end, but I'm not a crazy person and that looked very much like it hurt before then. If the instructor calls contractions "lovehugs" or some of the other stupid crap I've seen in some of the fascist natural birth literature, I may have to roll my eyes.
But honestly, the worst part of the class was when we had to lie down on the floor with our two pillows as if we were settling in for the night. Well, see, I don't like my face being on the floor of an office. It's just distasteful to me in a very deep-seated way. It's visceral. I got up as soon as I could and kept popping up for the period we were showing our sleep postures because I couldn't believe everyone wanted to be on the ground that long. I must have looked like a groundhog. The pillows I had brought with me were my leg and body pillows, not ones I actually planned to put my face on.
So now I'm trying to figure out how to take a blanket with me next time so I don't have to put my face near the filthy floor again without saying to the very kindly instructor, "Putting my face that near this floor is like asking me to put my face in a toilet. " Oh, maybe I'll take my yoga mat. Hmmm.
We have an ultrasound tomorrow, so hopefully we'll get a picture and the midwife will have some reassuring words as to why I have the smallest belly out of all the people in the birth class when I'm not the last one due.
And we had to watch what I can't think of as anything besides "horror porn" after I heard the phrase coined on Coupling, a birth video. I think the instructor was hoping we'd all see it as an intense (but not painful) and beautiful thing, but nobody really said anything. Finally, the one person in the class who's given birth before said, "That video is just as scary as it was last time," which made everyone feel better that we all weren't swooning with the love and power of the woman giving birth without drugs. To me, it looked painful. She looked happy with the kid at the end, but I'm not a crazy person and that looked very much like it hurt before then. If the instructor calls contractions "lovehugs" or some of the other stupid crap I've seen in some of the fascist natural birth literature, I may have to roll my eyes.
But honestly, the worst part of the class was when we had to lie down on the floor with our two pillows as if we were settling in for the night. Well, see, I don't like my face being on the floor of an office. It's just distasteful to me in a very deep-seated way. It's visceral. I got up as soon as I could and kept popping up for the period we were showing our sleep postures because I couldn't believe everyone wanted to be on the ground that long. I must have looked like a groundhog. The pillows I had brought with me were my leg and body pillows, not ones I actually planned to put my face on.
So now I'm trying to figure out how to take a blanket with me next time so I don't have to put my face near the filthy floor again without saying to the very kindly instructor, "Putting my face that near this floor is like asking me to put my face in a toilet. " Oh, maybe I'll take my yoga mat. Hmmm.
We have an ultrasound tomorrow, so hopefully we'll get a picture and the midwife will have some reassuring words as to why I have the smallest belly out of all the people in the birth class when I'm not the last one due.
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