...And Now We Play 'The Waiting Game'.

So it's come to this: it's Friday night.  Like, late Friday night.  We're currently sitting up in bed, watching the last season of Boy Meets World on DVD (currently, the episode where Eric gives the student union money to the organ grinder in order to make the monkey do the happy dance), and watching my wife try to figure out if she's having contractions or not.

Jan is 39 weeks pregnant now, and over the past week, her school system has been on it's spring break.  So, other than going to her actual grad classes, she's been sitting at home yelling at her abdomen and trying to will our unborn daughter to finally make her appearance.  Knowing our karma and overall luck in this world, we've been attempting to hedge our bets on when she'll actually be born based on a number of life factors.

Mobile users, click here to see Eric *try* to take the money to the bank...

At first, we thought for sure that she would be born last weekend.  We had a number of our friends both out of town and out of the country, family members that were busy, and on our social calendar, we had a wedding on a riverboat that we were supposed to attend.  Seriously, doesn't a birth-at-sea sound like a movie just waiting to be made??  So we debated long and hard about what to do, over-interpreted every single ache, pain, and cramp, and eventually decided to chance going to the wedding.  The entire time we were preparing to go aboard, I kept figuring the moment the boat pulled away from the dock, Jan would lurch forward, look down, and she and BGA would ruin my black dress shoes with a definitive and telling "splash".  Fortunately and unfortunately, this was absolutely not the case (don't worry though, the wedding was amazing anyway; built-in designated driver!).

38 weeks pregnant.  On a riverboat.  WHAT A TROOPER.

So BGA held out for the wedding.  But surely this whole past week, with Jan sitting at home stewing over everything and me being either downtown or 30 miles south on various days at work, in class, and at one of my internships, the next best opportunity for karma-birth would be when I would need to traverse the metro system or fight traffic to get back home.  So I tried to employ a little cognitive reframing and find the positive in this scenario: my daughter might help me out and get me out of a day of work/class/various other responsibilities.  I even downloaded a special ringtone for Jan and set my phone so it would be the only one to go off audibly at all times.  ...this did lead to some amazing, butt-clenching moments whilst in the middle of a presentation, and again at a meeting, and one more time while consulting with a supervisor, when Jan called (having forgotten the aforementioned items on my schedule) just to "see what I was doing".  Unfortunately, unless the overall goal was to spike my blood pressure, I had no such luck this week.

Here you go, mobile users: experience Jan's customized, themed ringtone.

So here we are, biding our time.  Seeing as we've spent a large portion of the evening waiting to see if Jan's stomach cramps were legitimate labor pains or residual indigestion from our dinner at Chipotle, I decided rest was probably our best option, and we retired to the bedroom.  As my wife drifts off to sleep next to me (her bedtime strategy was "hey, if it's a real contraction, it should wake me up, right?"), I'm left to reflect on just how well we've played The Waiting Game over the past few days.

I described to a friend of mine this week the frustration that we have been experiencing.  I noted that other than our wedding, this birth is arguably the only other thing the two of us have been prepared for with time to spare.  I likened it to having all of the Christmas shopping and gift-wrapping completed on December 10th, and just having to wait out the rest of the month, staring at a decorated tree.  I mean, the nursery is painted; the crib is assembled; the baby's clothing is washed, folded, and organized (which is more than I can say for our own); the hospital bags are packed; the camera lenses are cleaned and the batteries are charged; heck, even our diaper bags are prepared.  Yes, plural... I bought my own diaper bag.  A durable black vinyl backpack with insulated compartments and adorned with our college logo, I can now make carrying a baby look like I'm going on a covert op.

I even took the opportunity to freshen up on my childcare skills, reviewing important points (e.g., feeding strategies) and unimportant points (e.g., when do I have to first clip her fingernails?).  Remembering the old adage, "If you don't use it, you lose it," after opening a new package of swaddling blankets I decided to practice my technique.  Unfortunately, without an actual baby, I was forced to find a reasonable analog:

Clearly, this is the look of a willing assistant.  At least my pride is evident.

I'm pretty confident with my abilities to swaddle, and even diaper at this point.  Did anyone see that episode of The Office (American) where Jim was preparing for Pam to go into labor, and the opening sequence was him diapering everything?  If this kid hangs in there for another week, I swear Jan is gonna wake up diapered.

Check it out, mobile users: the man sure can diaper.

So meanwhile, while I put our friends, family, and pets into swaddling blankets and Pampers, Jan is trying to NOT do things (e.g., not being on any Yahoo forums related to pregnancy).  Her biggest frustration has been mostly the internet and her telephone.  Everyday she tells me about how she's going to start blocking calls from people who ring her up to ask, "So, did you have the baby yet?"  Oddly enough, this is the same reaction we get when we see some friends and family face-to-face, too.  While we do enjoy benefiting from the experiences of those around us, every now and again someone will make sure to tell her that this baby will certainly be late, or that soon we'll wish this kid was still inside, or that our lives will only become more stressful from here on out and she should try to relax and enjoy this time.  THESE FOOLS, with their logic and experience; have they never dealt with another pregnant woman before??

To the best of my knowledge, I have never been pregnant.  I have, however, been in exhausting, frustrating, and physically taxing situations.  I can state from experience that fairly close to the last thing I wanted to hear in those incidences was that they would last longer than I was anticipating.  For me, at this point I have become the enforcer of this pregnancy: I get to screen the incoming phone calls, e-mails, and comments made during social engagements.  ...and as I told another friend and current first-time-dad-to-be this evening, I've also become quite the waiter and food-delivery-boy.  We haven't had any really odd food cravings as far as mixtures are concerned (alas, no pickles and ice cream), but definitely a healthy variety of dinner selections: Vietnamese, Greek, American, Italian, Mexican.  Oh, if only my wallet and passport could get pregnant instead of my wife!

I'm told that this comparison is mostly accurate.

I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to get in another post before BGA arrived.  We've been trying to find ways that we can potentially induce labor, even ones in which we thought we would never engage.  Yes, I know there are a few "classic" ones out there.  Let me say this: never before in my life have I had so many people, from so many different social and professional circles, be this concerned over my, um, "bedroom affairs".  Seriously, WHERE WERE YOU ALL WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL??

In order to be discreet and enigmatic, let me just say this: there are some we have tried and some we have not.  Yes, we're wearing holes in our walking shoes.  No, she is not drinking castor oil.  Yes, we have tried verbal harassment directed at Jan's midsection.  No, we cannot find raspberry leaf tea.  ...We vacillated for a great deal of time on the spicy food thing.  Herein, we thought our logic was sound: there are certain digestive effects that have been known to happen to people while delivering a baby, and perhaps we shouldn't have spicy comestibles play a feature role in that performance.  In the end, though, desperation took over and we decided that the gamble would be worth it and that we could give Chipotle a shot tonight.

Subsequently, I took a nap on the couch, only to wake up hours later to observe Jan mediating a debate of sensations between her digestive and reproductive systems.  However, since that all began back when Topanga's parents told her they were getting a divorce and she called off her engagement with Cory, and now I'm watching them on their honeymoon, it's fairly safe to say that Jan's gastrointestinal tract has won the day.  So now it is a very real fear of mine that on Monday we'll be back where we've been every week for the past month: at the OB/GYN's office, being told that every single thing is progressing exactly as it should... except for this kid's plan for egress.

Teach Me How To Baby: Part Three

So now we've finally found ourselves in the third and final portion of our day at Baby School.  Having already been provided with a decent amount of time to pass judgement on the other people in our class during the previous two sessions, we eagerly scarfed down our chicken wraps in anticipation of what was to come.  Although I was questioning the logistics of having this session immediately following lunch, I was excited to see who could make it through...

SESSION III: EXFILTRATION

I definitely tried my best in this session to not be too critical of my peers; after all, we (and by "we", I of course mean "Jan") were birth-newbies as well.  There was definitely some helpful information that was presented: for instance, we learned that in order to pay for BGA's birth certificate, we would need to bring a check to the hospital.  ...so item #1 on my to-do list quickly became "find a damn check".

Another helpful tip came in the form of an acronym (and gosh-help-me if I don't love a good acronym) that was designed to help us determine if Jan's water has broken appropriately and healthily.  Apparently all we need to remember to do is COPE:

C - Color

O - Odor

P - Amount

E - Time

I know what you're thinking.  In the moment, I dutifully copied these words down from the slideshow and listened to the instructor discuss it as if it was dogma.  My inner grad student was taking over as I could feel myself shutting off my brain and blindly memorizing information without making inferences, when suddenly, I snapped back to reality and realized that this acronym, while cute, was a little confusing.  I then spent the next 5 minutes trying to figure out how to decipher it, and this is the best I could come up with:

C - Color: It should be clear.  Got it, but is clear a color?  Why, then, doesn't the "C" just stand for "clear"?

O - Odor: I suppose it should have one.  ...I ain't sniffing it, though.  If something gushes forth from betwixt my wife's legs, I guarantee you my initial reaction is not, "What do you suppose that smells like??"

P - Amount: What?  "P" isn't short for "amount"!  Who wrote this??  Unless they want me to measure the amount of "P" that is now running down my leg because "holy crap, my wife's water broke, we're about  to have a baby," this letter is out of place.

E - Time: Ok, that's cheap.  No 3rd grade student has ever received anything better than a B on an acrostic poem if they used the last letter from a word instead of the first.  That's bush league.

This led to me developing my own acronym to help me remember what to do when Jan's water breaks; I need to remember to FREAK.

F - F***, her water broke.

R - Realize it broke on the upholstery of your car... see "F".

E - Emit a series of shrieks and profanities at drivers in-between wherever you are and the hospital.

A - Act cool; don't do anything to get kicked out of the delivery room (e.g., no animal noises during labor).

K - Klepto: get ready to steal A TON of free baby supplies when the nurses aren't looking.

There's an acronym A-student right there; fine work, Dwight Schrute.

There was also a discussion about the stages of labor through which one will pass.  I assumed that the point of this discussion was twofold: 1) to inform the mother about the natural progression of the birthing process and to familiarize her with the benchmarks to be achieved, and 2) to give the father just enough information to look like a complete jackass in front of trained medical personnel, when he starts talking about cervical effacement and at which station the baby is.

  

Oh, Barbie; if only it was really that easy.

I'd like to also point out before I venture any further that I firmly believe people are fully entitled to bring forth their seed in whichever HEALTHY AND SAFE way that they deem appropriate.  If you want to use the squat bar, go natural, have a c-section, be at home... heck, even if you want to give birth in a cave full of bonobos, if it is safe for your baby, go right ahead.  I used to joke with Jan that I was going to bring a snorkel, flippers, water wings, and a backyard pool to the hospital for a water birth.  (There may have also been mention of a Hibachi, I'm not sure anymore.)  The point is: to each their own.  No matter what method chosen, though, it should be pretty clear by the time you're thinking about actually delivering that the baby has to somehow transition from inside to outside.  ...and this is what seemed to have been lost on some of the people with which I was currently sharing a conference room.

Click here to see a method that was NOT discussed, mobile readers (WARNING: side-boob within).

Ourselves, we've chosen to be what we consider "fairly simple".  We've done our research, consulted with our doctors, and my wife has bravely adopted the attitude of, "I learned a lot, so I know what I want, but in the end, they're the medical professionals and I can listen to their suggestions."  (NOTE: whims of a pregnant woman subject to change at any time.)  I know a few people who have given birth in their homes (by either choice or necessity) and personally, I'm fine with that; it's most likely not for me, though.  For one, I don't have the time or money to replace the carpets.  For another, sometimes we leave takeout containers on the kitchen counter for days because we get too busy (are too lazy) to clean them up; imagine what would happen if we had a pile of soiled, birthed-on linens and pillows.  I suppose if I had to pick an approach to actual birthing methodology, I would most likely align with the perspective of Patton Oswalt:

  

 Click here, mobile readers, for a birth-related chuckle.

Anyway, I digress.  I myself do benefit from some medical training on childbirth, but as I mentioned, I am aware that many others do not.  Fine.  However, these people around me should probably not have been as absolutely, amazingly, life-alteringly shocked as they were when they watched a relatively work-appropriate clinical film discussing the, um, "physics" of childbirth.  ...and I don't mean anything incredibly advanced here: I'm talking {inside baby + hole = outside baby}.  Isn't that the whole point of 7th-grade sex education, to make you understand what's going to happen so you too scared to even look down in the shower until you've hit high school??  

  

Comedian Jeff Foxworthy discussed the childbirth process in part of a bit about becoming a father for the first time and how impressed he was with the physical accomplishment of labor.  When he mentioned that his buddies tried to cajole him into filming the birth, he said that he couldn't imagine who would want to see that tape (he also suggested that any woman whose husband filmed her labor should be allowed to film her husband's hemorrhoid surgery).  He described what he saw as "watching a wet Saint Bernard attempt to come in through the cat door."  As a young boy, when I first heard this, I immediately understood the relationship between actions and consequences, even if I didn't understand yet how someone even got pregnant.

  

My favorite part of the previous session on breastfeeding was when some of the other students came out of their shells and started asking questions.  Guess what?  That was my favorite part of the birthing session, too.  The following few gems were actual queries for which adult humans raised their hands to ask in front of their peers immediately after watching a video explaining, in great detail, the entire birthing process:

  

"So, does this stuff apply to all women?"

No, dear.  You're special; just after your water breaks, Hermione Granger will show up with her textbooks from Potions class, brew up a batch of shrinking potion, and squirt it up into your nether-region.  Your child will shrink down and drop right out.  Don't worry about any of those contractions, dilations, and such; those are only for muggles.

"Do the vaginal birth procedures apply if I'm having a C-Section?"

I mean, on the surface, this may seem like a completely legitimate question, but in reality, she was asking something along the lines of, "If I'm playing basketball at recess, do I still need a baseball glove?"  In the interest of being nice though (as the instructor was), I will answer your question: "No, if you're not having this type of birth, than the procedures for this type of birth don't apply to you.  ...also, remember when you were digging in your purse earlier because you couldn't find your lipstick and makeup mirror?  That's when the video covered C-Sections."  (True story, girlfriend was NOT paying attention at all.)

  

"So, you're saying we won't know our cervix size until we get to the hospital?"

Well, that depends: how good are your powers of estimation?  "Hmm, I'm feeling like I'm about 3 centimeters; guess I'll put that pot roast in the oven after all."  I can appreciate that you may actually be considering not rushing off to the hospital if you think you're going to be in early-labor stage for a long time, I really do.  That's actually quite smart.  But how exactly do you propose checking your cervical dilation outside of the hospital?  Oh, shucks, I should've waited for your follow-up question...

"Is there a way that I can check how dilated I am by myself at home?"

...knock.  yourself.  out.  Beyond the fact that I have only a little faith in America as a whole to understand the metric system, what are the physics behind how she's planning to approach measuring this?  Does she have a crotch-height road cone with measurement rings drawn onto it or something?  The instructor tried to get creative in her answer, but eventually put forth, "A way to measure without going to the hospital??  ...Sure, go to the doctor's office."

In all seriousness though, despite my observations, sidebar comments, and furious transcribing of questions and answers, my wife sat beside me taking it all in.  I stole glances of her during the video and the presentation, and there she sat, strong and stalwart while gingerly caressing her abdomen.  Afterwards I caught her eyes and non-verbally asked her, "are you ok?"  She looked back at me like I was an idiot.  I followed up with her once we had left the building that afternoon, and she said to me, "Hey, baby girl's gotta get out somehow, right?  Might as well just get it done."  My wife, ladies and gentlemen.  She saw it all unfold before her on a film that was made during a decade when disposable razor blades were apparently not readily available to women and still took it all in stride.  Even after hearing the phrase "Ring of Fire" about 15 times, she looked like she was ready to film her own pregame UnderArmour commercial.

Sorry Johnny, but you should've gotten the copyright.

So now, we're playing the waiting game.  As I write this, Jan is resting, although most assuredly uncomfortably, upstairs in bed; ensconced in a pregnancy pillow, she's most likely dreaming of a time when she can once again sleep on her stomach.  She wrote a note to BGA on a whiteboard last week for our 36-week-picture that read, "Mom's sick of carrying you, it's Dad's turn for a while," and man oh man, I can't wait.  The carrier is actually fully adjusted and ready to go.  There's only one person who knows when it's gonna be go-time, though, and that person is currently "underwater".  ...so I guess I had better dig out my snorkel.

Ready fora water birth!!