12:55pm (by sis)

9 lb, 6 oz.

12:20 pm (by sis)

Born at 11:59am - Welcome Finn Michael!
No official weight yet but he's huge! Big sister and grandma are in the room. He's screaming his head off. Dad and Mel won the baby bet with their predictions of noon.

11:30 am (by sis)

No epidural. Pushing!

11:20 am (by sis)

Really rough, nearly constant contractions. Far worse than last time, according to the mom-to-be. 3 cm, 90% effaced. Asked for epidural.

11:00 am (by sis)

About 2 minutes apart. Seriously heavy breathing going on. "The last one was really tough," she says. J's dutifully handling the backrubs.

10:35 am (by sis)

Contractions getting worse... about 2.5 minutes apart. Mel is asking for everyone but those of us attending to head out to the waiting room. Dianne's paper family added on an outhouse and bought a car.

10:25 am (by sis)

Getting uncomfortable now.

9:55 am

The doc just broke her water hoping that it will help things speed up. She's chilling out in bed now.

9:45 am (by sis)

La lala la.. still waiting. Another checkup by a nurse - no change. The contractions are getting strong and closer but apparently not helping much. Bets taken earlier are slowly getting marked off as each person's time comes and goes.

8:55 am (by sis)

Doc stopped by. Not much change. 2.5 cm, 60% effaced. He suggested taking a walk so off she goes to roam the halls. Check out that profile!

7:55 am (by sis)

When you get *really* bored in an L&D room, you can always find something to do. A little paper and tape, a few crayons, and the next thing you know you've got a whole city built. McKenna made? Nope. Dianne a.k.a. Grandma built this lovely little home.

7:45 am (by sis)

Still hanging in there. We're killing time by doing the same thing we do every time this crew gets together - swap random family stories and laugh our butts off. Half the crew left to go in search of breakfast. Her doctor is in surgery right now and will stop by for the first visit of the day when he's done. The new shift nurse has come in and introduced herself and upped the pitocin. Come on, Finn! We're all ready!
Here's our new nurse checking things out.

6:30 am (by sis)

Not much happening. McKenna has set up a baby doll tea party on Melanie's lap. We're all enjoying our coffee. Contractions are about 3-4 minutes apart but not very uncomfortable yet. Back soon!

6:00 am (by sis)

Party in the house!
The crowd has grown. J's sitting at her side. McKenna has arrived and is curled up in the bed with Mel. Still chatty. Mom, Tom, & Deb have joined us, too. The sun is starting to peek in the window, and the crew is placing and order to send Tom down to the coffee shop.

5:30 am (by sis)

Welcome to the baby zone!
First update: Melanie is settled in, drip flowing, feeling fine. Contractions began almost immediately but she's still in a chipper, chatty mood. We're fiddling with electronics - setting up computers, checking cameras. Dad has arrived. All's well.
More to come.

TGIF

It's official. There is an end to this tunnel, and we'll arrive there Friday morning at 4 a.m., ready to be strapped in and drugged up. If Master Finn has not arrived by then, we will shove him out of this nest, hopefully sometime early Friday. I think 8 a.m. sounds like a good time for a birth. That'll give me plenty of time to order eggs, grits, and a giant plate of bacon from the hospital cafeteria before they start cooking lunch. What do you think?

Time for an intervention.

People keep bugging me to update my blog, so here I am. Your humble servant. Doing your bidding. As if gestating isn't enough. What do you people want from me?!

Truth be told, I'm not updating because nothing is going on. We were hoping the Doctor would be able to provide more visual representations of my cervix on his blog, but that would require some change in the state of my cervical dilation, and unfortunately, there has been virtually none. At my last lady parts appointment, my OB stripped my membranes for the second time (I'd explain what this means, but that's what Google is for). We also discussed the possibility of induction if I make it to my due date with no baby. That's only eight days from now. If nothing happens by then, we'll schedule a date for me to have a completely unnatural birth, full of medical interventions, IVs, beeping monitors, and bossy nurses. I was hoping for some kind of labor and birth karma this time. Thing 1 was huge and nine days overdue; surely this one could spare me and be a normal size and nine days early. But alas. My buns may be mush, but I have a cervix of steel.

Today I have been spending most of my time in the recliner, nesting in my imagination since I can't seem to do the things I want in reality. The dirt and dust in this house are appalling, and it's driving me crazy. I keep finding myself inspecting the baseboards or yearning to scrub the kitchen floor by hand. The problem is getting to the baseboards and kitchen floor without either killing myself or feeling like my pelvis is on fire. I am an invalid, and I do not make a very good one, just so you know. I am at least thankful Thing 2 won't be able to see any dirt more than two feet away for a few months, much less be able to crawl around or eat any of it for a while.

To make matters worse, the Doctor is taking over the nesting for me. He's spent the last couple of days' free time stripping, sanding, painting, and rehanging our bedroom door. He also installs new ceilings and lights, replaces molding, mows the lawn, and makes compost bins and garden plots in the back yard. I waddle out to the garden, my ass and belly hanging out of my clothes like a three hundred pound plumber's, and groan as I struggle to shove a few tomato plants in the ground. I expend more energy chewing my food these days than doing housework. Every now and then, I shuffle from the bedroom to the kitchen with a load of laundry and give the Doctor evil looks. This is completely unfair, and it is my job to punish him for his physical well-being. I haven't quite figured out how to go about doing that, so for now, I'm just pouting and eating lots of cookies. I'm still good at that.

And yet, with all that said, part of me still enjoys being pregnant. Okay, maybe I'm sick or a glutton for punishment, but it's true. The mudbug gets hiccups at least once every day. He's scared of the food processor and jumps every time I turn it on. At night, he has to sleep with his back facing the bed and rolls around to get comfortable again every time I move from one side to the other. He kicks and wiggles like crazy each time I sing to Thing One, and "Baby Mine" is still his favorite song, by far. Sometimes she talks to him when he's going wild, and he stops suddenly when he hears her voice, as if he's already trying to listen to her, learn from her. I can't wait to meet him, for him to be a part of this little family. And of course, I can't wait for the aches and pains to stop and to get back to my normal semi-functional self. I can't wait for the next phase, but I'm going to miss this time, despite all of my whining complaints. Maybe not quite as much as I miss being able to bend over or get up from sitting on the floor, but I'll miss it, nonetheless. And you can all remind me of that in two months when I'm complaining about sore nipples and sleep deprivation.

Round, round, baby

I have a long list of things I'd like to accomplish before Thing 2 arrives, but somehow, I have a feeling quite a few of them will be left undone. It would be wonderful if I could just manage to paint the remaining hot pink doors in the house before Finnegan arrives, but who knows. I'll probably be lucky to get my hospital bag packed at the rate I'm going. Things are moving pretty slowly around here these days. This might have something to do with the extra thirty pounds (yes, thirty) I'm hauling around.

I had my first weekly appointment with my OB yesterday -- the fun ones where they start giving you practice using the stirrups. I thought about giving you all a long, drawn-out update on the state of my cervix, but the Doctor beat me to the punch and even included visuals on his blog. I could top that, but I don't think many of you would appreciate the visuals to which I have access.

Today we stared at the hundreds of books on our shelves, trying to decide on some reading material for the upcoming hospital stay, and instead decided that we have far too little in the way of bound entertainment. I need suggestions for something light (but not too light) and romantic and wonderful. I'm thinking along the lines of Austen here, who I adore because I can read her and feel literary and educated, yet romantic and sentimental, all at the same time. Give me suggestions. If you're lucky, I might send you a picture of my cervix.

Melly Belly

I've been meaning to show off this picture, which my sister took at Easter. She had it framed and gave it to me at my shower. Now that I'm officially unemployed, I have the time to post it. I don't have the time for a real post, however. That will have to come later.


And I'm even bigger now.

Idiot Savant

That's me.

Thing 1 came home today with her remaining front tooth dangling out of her head. It's been like this for some time, but today, the thing was defying gravity. I couldn't even see how the damned thing was attached. Every time she spoke, it wiggled around in her head, and I vacillated between being repulsed and fascinated by the way it looked.

When dinner rolled around, I quickly realized that even though we were having soup, there was no way she was actually going to consume anything. She was too preoccupied (i.e. paranoid) about her tooth falling out and whether it was going to hurt or not. She could manage a sip or two of water (through a straw), but not much nourishment actually crossed her lips. After about fifteen minutes, the thing was so nasty looking, I had to send her into the bathroom to deal with it. I just couldn't stand to look at her anymore. She came back about two minutes later, and the damned tooth was back in place. Instead of pulling it, she'd shoved it back into her head. At this point, I decided it was time for an intervention, so off to the bathroom we went.

Within about two minutes, the tooth was out with no tears, thanks to my wonderful mother's touch. She actually smiled in disbelief when I showed it to her. We both inspected it -- she rather proudly, I rather anxiously. The whole thing was brown. Luckily, she'd informed us that this discoloration wasn't a cavity. It was the chocolate she'd had as part of her afternoon snack. The stuff was imbedded in the root of the tooth and made the whole thing look pretty nasty. I'm sorry, but if I were the Tooth Fairy, I would have charged a buck to haul this thing off.

So I get the brilliant idea to brush the tooth, and over to the sink we go. (You see where this is going, don't you?) A couple of weeks ago, she'd lost her other front tooth, and I'd brushed it, as well. Only that time, I was smart enough to block the drain of the sink with a little plastic cup, since the drain is the type without a stopper. This time, as the tooth was slipping out of my hand and disappearing down the drain, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I should do the same thing. Yeah. Great idea, Mom.

Of course, the tears that she'd be planning to shed for the actual event of the tooth falling out of her head were easy enough to recall, and I thought she'd have a heart attack right there in the bathroom. I managed to calm her down by passing the buck on to her knight in shining armor, the Doctor, who has been her hero in various other crises.

Uh, dear? Could you grab a wrench and take apart the bathroom plumbing? I seem to be an idiot.

Of course, he obliged and spent the next half hour staring into the cruddy water he emptied from the trap into the bathroom's white waste basket, looking for a tiny white tooth. Alas, the tooth was gone, and I began to psych myself up for a long, drawn out, diva-worthy crying jag (hers, not mine). Then it occurred to me. My sickness saved me.

Rewind two weeks, back to the previous lost front tooth. After the Tooth Fairy gig was over, I stood there in the bedroom staring at this little piece of my daughter, wondering what to do with it. Do I throw it away? Keep it? Bronze the damned thing? I wasn't sure what the expected parental behavior was. What did all the other moms do? It seemed rather barbaric and disgusting to put it away somewhere for safe keeping. After all, it's a bone. It's a body part. But then again, it seemed almost sacreligious to just throw it away. For a few moments, I contemplated burying it in the backyard, but it was late and I was pretty tired, so I stuck it in a Ziploc baggie and hid it in the top of my closet.

Thank God.

You'd be amazed at how much one front tooth looks like another. You'd also be amazed at how gullible little kids can be. Okay, well, maybe you wouldn't be amazed at that last part. But damned, am I good. I'm also a big fat liar. Sitting there at the dinner table, I remembered the body part in the closet. I told Thing 1 to finish her dinner (much more easily accomplished without the tooth) while I went to the bathroom. I snuck into our bedroom, pulled the tooth from it's hiding place, and walked back into the kitchen to show her what I'd "just found in the garbage can." Apparently the Doctor's eyesight is going, since he didn't see the tooth when he searched for it.

She wrote a note for the Fairy that read (punctuation hers):

Dear, Tooth Fairy,
My tooth may be a little dirty because it fell down the sink. And we had to dig it out.
Love, McKenna

She's sound asleep with two dollars, some $.88 bracelets, and a gaudy bottle of nail polish under her snaggle-tooth little head. And the Doctor and I are heroes.

Pelvis Shmelvis

Despite some really funky morning sickness in the first trimester, this pregnancy was progressing pretty smoothly. Much more so, in fact, than my last, in which I had the really funky morning sickness, plus some early bleeding, low progesterone which led to hormone therapy, chronic anemia, terrible backaches, and carpal tunnel syndrome. Not long ago, I was congratulating myself, since I'd fully expected this pregnancy to be at least as difficult, given that I'm seven years older this time around. Apparently, I just wasn't patient enough.

About a week and a half ago, my pelvis started feeling like it was falling apart. Not only did my back hurt, but my hips hurt, my sciatic nerve sent spasms of pain down my right leg whenever I stepped a certain way, and my pubic bone felt like it was cracking in half. Fun, fun, fun. So off I went to the doctor, where he diagnosed me almost immediately. It seems that my pubic bone is, in fact, cracking in half.


Symphisis Pubis Dysfunction. Yep. That's what I have. In my pregnancy with Thing 1, I had such low levels of progesterone, the doctor was afraid I'd miscarry. In this pregnancy, I apparently have such wonderful hormone levels that my joints are already loosening up in preparation for the birth -- so much so that the cartilage between the bones in my pelvis is turning to goo and the bones themselves are grinding together, causing prolonged intense pain. Yay!

Last night, I rolled from one side to the other, heard a "pop" somewhere in my nether regions, and proceeded to exercise every ounce of willpower I had not to wake up the whole house with a string of furious curses. Today I've been in bed except to get Thing 1 ready for school, take a shower (now THAT was an ordeal), and brush my teeth (which I didn't get around to doing until noon).

I'd planned on some major baby shopping trips to Babies R Us. I'd planned on reorganizing the closets to make room for another person. I'd planned on working up until my due date. Now, I'm not so sure of my ability to do any of these things. Now, a wheelchair looks inviting, and those handicapped go-cart things at Super Wal-Mart make me drool. On the advice of my doctor, I ordered a Prenatal Cradle and am anxiously awaiting its arrival, despite the fact that the doc seemed unconvinced that it would help this particular disorder. He's already offered to send the necessary "modified bed rest" paperwork to my boss and send me home. After last night, I'm beginning to wonder if he's onto something. All I know for sure is that I can not wait for this baby to get here, for a million reasons. A functioning pelvis being somewhere towards the top of the list at the moment.