Doin' Ourselves In!

What do New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Florida, Virginia, and even my beloved Texas have in common?

Yes, I know they're all states, but what else?

They are among 22 states who are in dire need of ob-gyns. Women in states like Virginia are forced to drive over 80 miles just to find someone to deliver their babies, which means:

1) Some are delivering their bundles of joy in the backs of Chevys!
2) The infant mortality rate is increasing (Virginia had its highest rate in nine years).

Why? Because 1 in 7 ob-gyns have stopped delivering babies. Why? Because of high insurance premiums due to medical lawsuits. Insurance companies are jacking up prices, but they aren't the only ones at fault. Brace yourselves:

1) An ob-gyn, on average, is sued THREE times during his/her career.
2) Nearly half of the claims are found to be without merit (read: waste of everyone's time).
3) Although 80% of ob-gyns win cases that actually make it to court, most insurance companies decide to settle beforehand without letting doctors defend themselves.
4) The average insurance premium for ob-gyns is tens of thousands of dollars a year (in South Florida, it's a staggering $300,000).

Who can be surprised that ob-gyns are sneaking out the back door? The average jury award given in childbirth cases is $2.5 million. Are you joking? Even if you factor in funeral costs, medical bills, and a college education, does that even approach $1 million? The fact is, people will sue for anything, even things doctors can't prevent. I'm not saying outright negligence is excusable, but neither is taking someone to court for little reason and expecting exorbitant rewards. The situation is dire, and if you live in in Washington, Oregon, Wyoming, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Georgia, Mississippi, Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, Kentucky, Alabama, West Virginia, Connecticut, or Maryland, don't get too comfortable--you're on the list as well. Fewer doctors mean less one-on-one time and dangerous situations during the delivery. I love my husband, but I'm not letting him deliver our kid in our Camry (the floor mats are new!).

For more info, check out http://www.parents.com/ and search for the "Healthy Family: Ob-Gyn Shortage" article. Warn a pregnant buddy, nag your congressman, or just spread the word.

I've got to stop working out before I blog; the adrenaline makes me want to pick a fight!

Parentnoia

Tim coined a new phrase for me: parentnoia. Over the last several months, fearful thoughts & ideas have crept into my mind at times when I'm most vulnerable (in the car alone, in the shower alone, folding laundry alone). Get the idea? ALONE. So before I can say, "Mommy!" three types of thoughts dig into my melon:

1. Something terrible is happening to the baby.
2. Something terrible is happening to Tim.
3. Something terrible is happening to the baby and Tim.

Examples:
1. Why hasn't the baby started kicking yet? Is this position too uncomfortable for the baby? Am I cutting off circulation? What if I slip and land on my stomach?
2. What if Tim was in a car accident? I'd be left all alone to take care of our baby. What if he got sick and couldn't work anymore, who would watch the baby so I could work? What if being a parent stressed him out so much that we just drifted apart?
3. What if something happened to me, and Tim had to raise the baby alone? What if something happened to both Tim & the baby?? I'd be alone, alone, ALONE!

You know what comes next. I think these thoughts for about thirty seconds before tears are coming down--yikes! At this point, I have 2 choices: I can either find a sad song on the radio (break-up songs work well) and really start wailing, or ...

I tell myself that God will take care of the baby, Tim, and me, and that our kid would never be left alone. I say out loud, "You're only doing this because of the hormones or something, and this is natural." I remind myself how much Tim would laugh at me if he saw me. After a minute, I dry my eyes, sniffle, and I'm good as new. It gets easier to handle each time it happens. So, whether you're pregnant or not, remember: when you think you're alone, you're not. Dry them tears, wash your face, and finish up that laundry!

Taking One for the Team

I have a headache. This happens every few days now. In the past two months, I've had headaches, back pain, and sinus blockage, and you want to know what I did about it?

Nothing. That's right, nothing.

Why? Because if I did go to the doctor, this is all that would've happened:

Me: "Doc, I've been having these headaches and sudden back pain that makes it hard to walk sometimes. Sometimes I'm so tired, I can't even read something six inches from my--"

Doctor: "Sorry, but medicine isn't good for the baby, so ..."

Me: "You can't do anything for me."

Doctor: "Right. And, uh--"

Me: "Don't forget to pay my co-payment at the desk?"

Doctor: "Right."

So, you see, I can save myself a copayment by just sitting at home and whining. Life without Tylenol and Clariton-D is, of course, annoying, but here's a free tip from Grandma Dowdel: make your lips tremble, wrinkle your brow, let your eyes tear up (poke them if you need help), and whimper, "My head hurts, Tim. Will you rub my neck and back? Thanks ... and don't forget the feet." I don't know if saying "Tim" will get you help or not, but it's always worked for Grandma.

Baby Gifts Sans Baby

I'm sure every pregnant woman has had it happen to them: a major holiday or personal celebration (Christmas, wedding anniversary, birthday, etc.) occurs during your pregnancy, and you receive a gift for the baby.

I see the logic and thoughtfulness on the part of the givers, and I personally have no problem with it. I am the over-prepared sort, so getting gifts for my baby makes me feel like I have one less thing to purchase. Plus, this is my first baby, so I'm all about over-indulging.

But woe unto those soon-to-be fathers and expectant relatives who stray from the two rules of mama gift giving:

1. If the mama in question is down about her new round appearance, is disappointed with the rocky relationship with her partner, or tends to be of the, um, 'self-concerned' sort, DO NOT buy her baby gifts! 'Tis salt in the wound!

2. After the baby is born, unless the mama hints otherwise, don't continue to buy her gifts for the baby on occasions which are clearly not for baby (anniversaries and birthdays). I know mamas who feel frustrated at times that the baby seems to have hijacked their identities (all their personal time for hobbies, friends, and work), so buying them gifts for the baby just says, "You are the baby, and the baby is you." That, of course, isn't true, so be mindful of the gifts that come to mama once the baby makes his or her debut.

Note: When in doubt, buy baby and mom a gift, so no one gets left out.

Eating for Two?

Today, on this Christmas morning, I offer a warning, especially for those ladies who have mother/grandmothers like mine (the kind who think all of Life's problems can be solved by eating: "You're stomach hurts? Here, eat this," "Your head is bothering you? Try this," and "Your husband wants a divorce? Oh, honey, that's awful ... snack on this while Mommy gets her gun.") As your waistline expands and your jeans no longer fit, you will hear well-meaning friends and family tell you, "Don't worry, you're eating for two." Yes, you're tummy will grow and that's natural, but eating for two often translates to pregnant women as "eat double what you normally would." The problem with this is, as I learned tragically a few months ago, is that most babies only require about an extra 300 calories a day (more if you were underweight to begin with or exercise regularly). 300! That's like a wheat bagel and some OJ! That's a far cry from 'eating for two.'

Needless to say, most of us don't have personal trainers to whip our rears back into shape after a baby, so I'm trying my best to eat within reason. Today is Christmas, and of all difficult cirumstances, I wil be in the toughest: having lunch AND dinner with my mom and grandma. It doesn't matter how much you've eaten before Grandma sees you, if she asks you to eat something, you WILL eat something. If I refuse too much, there will be a chorus of family saying, "You're starving yourself!" Folks, you could drop me in the African savannah today, and with as much extra padding as I already have on me, I'd be fine until Valentine's.

Good luck to all those who for nine months have to limit those burgers and the like. Remember: who needs juicy, greasy, melted cheese, mustard/ketchup-dripping, and toasted bun goodness anyway?

Yeah, me too.

"Mr. Snoogle, Give Me a Dream ..."

"I don't know much, but I know I love you ..."

"Can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are ..."

"Am I only dreaming, or is this burning an eternal flame?"

Yes, Mr. Snoogle, you do make me sing a sweet lullaby each night (*quit groaning, Tim! You will hear the praises of the Great Snoogle!*). Wasn't it you, after all, who came to my rescue when all I had were sleepless nights?

When the pregnancy books and friends told me that I had to sleep on my left side at night to avoid cutting off circulation, who was it that understood that I had never slept on my side my whole life, and that I was a tummy sleeper? You, Mr. Snoogle! See you tonight, buddy!

Yes, the unfortunate truth is that sleeping on your tummy or back (after the first trimester or so) can make you swell and cut of circulation of the blood. If you've always been a side sleeper, well, cookies for you! But for the rest of us pillow huggers, the habit is hard to break. So, after trying for weeks to sleep on my side (and waking up at all hours panicky when I found myself on my tummy--again), Tim bought me a Snoogle, the simplest and most cuddly pregnancy pillow ever. You can curl it like a cinnamon bun when you want to sit back and watch TV, you can lay it across your waist when you read, and of course, you can curl it under your neck, around your back, and through your legs to put you in the perfect pregnancy sleep position. Hail to the Snoogle!

That's right, I'm doing a product shout-out because, quite frankly, this isn't Wheel of Fortune where I'm obliged to be vague ("My name is Cindy, and I'm a manager for a well-known coffee shop available at every corner in the world"), this is pregnancy, people! When you know about a good product, tell it on the mountain!

Toot & Puddle

One of my favorite children's book series is Toot & Puddle by author Holly Hobbie. The series follows the adventures of two piggies who are best buds (I have a thing for pigs), but that's not important for today's lesson: the perils of proper pregnancy. See, I'm the kind of proper gal who thinks that all bodily functions should remain personal. Burping and the like I just don't do in front of others, even my husband. I never had the talent to burp my ABCs or pick my nose and fling snot five feet away like my brothers did (do? Is that a talent you can lose?). So, you can see how distressed I was when I realized that pregnancy means a great deal more of Toot & Puddle, and I don't mean the pigs.

Not only am I in the bathroom 8-10 times a day (too much pressure on the bladder, I think is the cause) makin' puddles, but well, the rest of the time I feel like I'm always ... always ... (can't ... squeeze ... out ... the word ...) ... always TOOTING. At first I would apologize whenever it happened and get all uncomfortable, but now, well, it happens so much I end up just shrugging my shoulders without excuse. Am I just letting myself go? Is the next stage a muu-muu and soap operas?

Who can say? So if any of you have been pregnant and you're thinking, "Ha! She doesn't know the half of what's coming to her down the road!", just keep that good stuff to yourself. Ignorance is bliss.

That's a Little Personal, Don't You Think?

I let people ask me just about anything with little hesitation in my response. Sure you could "Think before you speak," but why, when you can just be tactless and reckless? No, really, I rarely ever say, "I don't want to talk about that" or "I can't answer that," because it just seems so ... unfriendly.

Anyway, I've noticed in the last few months I've been asked several questions, that frankly, seem a bit frank. The kind of questions I would feel uncomfortable asking someone else.

"Was this a planned pregnancy?"

"Had you been trying for a while?"

"Are you planning on breastfeeding?"

95% of the time, I tell myself these questions are of a polite, curious nature, but every once in a while (I guess 5% of the time, for those counting), perhaps when the hormones are going, I get a bit pink in the cheeks answering these questions. This especially applies to that last one. If I say, "No way, man, I'm nobody's drink dispenser!", people will think I'm a jerk. If I say, "Of course I'll breastfeed! Excuse me, I have to return to my knitting now", do they take that to mean I'm part of the ultra-traditional club of mothers (and believe me, it's there) who look down on the bottle-feeding mamas?

Then there are questions that seem to have more than one answer, but actually, do not.

Example: "Do you care if you have a boy or girl?"

"In fact, I do. If we have a daughter, I'll move to China, so everyone will sympathize with my situation when I dump her at the orphanage. Who's got money for a dowry, nowadays?!?"

Chances of this answer going over well are slim (unless you are, in fact, in China ... or India). There is only one right answer ("I would love either!" *gush*), so I'm starting to wonder why people ask the question. Perhaps, in some odd way, they would like to hear a barbaric answer; at least then things could get interesting.

Grandma Dowdel

If you've ever read Richard Peck's humorous novel A Year Down Yonder, you will immediately recognize the name Grandma Dowdel. Grandma Dowdel is the kind of (grand)motherly figure I picture myself to be: qualified for the job, but only technically. Read the novel (don't worry, it's short), and check out Peck's other fantastic novel The Teacher's Funeral (unrelated to mothers, but still funny).

Onesies Ain't Japanese

If I could summarize all my motherly instincts and knowledge pre-pregnancy, it would be this:

I was invited to a baby shower once (*collective groan from women everywhere who've had to sit through more than their fair share of these*), and I decided not to take any risks and just get something off the baby registry. I went shopping (Tim in tow), and it didn't take long for both of us to turn country: "What the hee-haw is a 'Nuk'?" and "'Boppy' ain't a word!" We could find the sections in the store listed on the registry easily enough ('Feeding,' etc.), but we couldn't find the actual items because, and here's the truth, all baby stores use code to keep non-parents on the outs. At the height of my frustration, I said, "We're just going to buy some clothes! The first thing on the list, I don't care how much it is, we're going to buy!" I checked the list.

Onesies (3-pk).

"What is a ONE-eh-size?" I looked at Tim, who must have concluded what I did: 'twas a Japanese product, which had no business being on the list.

Humbled, we found a sales associate and asked her to locate any two items on the list which we would gratefully buy. This, I believe, will be the essence of the rest of this blog, help us all!

Thanks, Lauren!

Today I received a lovely Christmas card from Ms. Lauren. She suggested that I do a blog soley about my pregnancy, and I don't know why, but the idea just got me all kinds of giddy! "Yes," I thought, "let us (I do use the imperial 'we' often now) tell the truth about this matter, and in so doing, warn--enlighten--people everywhere." So, as Bugs would sing, "Overture, curtain, lights! This is it! We'll hit the heights! And, oh, what heights we'll hit! On with the show, this is it!"