The growth stunt

Charlotte is nearly two and a half months old now. She´s growing fast and she´s still a big girl.

We had to take her to the doctor last night to get her eyes checked because she´s had some green goop coming out of one of them. Apparently she has conjunctivitus which is pretty common in newborns. I didn´t know this and I was relieved because it looked like something out of that Ray Charles movie, really horrid. No problem though we just have to treat it with eye drops.

The doctor also weighed her and was quick to point out she has only gained 250 grams (a half a pound) in the two weeks since her last check-up. The doc seemed really concerned about this because the normal gain is nearer to 500 grams or 1 pound each two weeks. Then we measured her and she had gained a whopping four centimeters! She´s completely off the charts for length at her age. Anyway the doc told me "it´s time to start thinking about bottle feeding because your supply is definitely low and there must be a problem with your milk. You could stunt her growth you know." I got a little angry but said nothing and she reiterated by saying, "not all mothers can breastfeed. " and I said under my breath "but luckily those who can´t have earplugs."

Naturally it bugged me that Charlotte isn´t gaining like she should. I´m pretty sure I have supply but I´m willing to admit it may have dropped because good old AF came back last week. It isn´t unusual because I got AF at the exact same time with Little S. I´m just not lucky enough to keep her at bay a whole year with breastfeeding.

I´m also worried about whether my milk is fatty enough to satisfy her and help her grow. I´m looking into that. I think I read somewhere, like in Penelope Leech´s book though that some babies gain length and not weight each time and not to worry if they are a little under.

I really wish there was a La Léche League here so I could go to a meeting and get some support. This doctor is really starting to bug me. She´s been against breastfeeding from day one. My earplugs keep falling out!

This blog has sort of evolved

I´ve decided to write some more in this blog because I have some things to say about breastfeeding Charlotte and some issues on child care that aren´t really appropriate (ie. may be boring) on my other blog. I´m going to adapt the blog description and apoligize in advance if anyone stumbles here looking for an infertility blog and finds all this baby talk.

This is still an infertility blog if you go digging through the archives, and I am more or less still an infertile. But having two children through IVF has made me a very lucky infertile. I hope everyone trying to conceive has an opportunity to be as lucky and as blessed as we have been.

One month old

One month old and one month of breastfeeding. I feel really blessed to be able to breastfeed a second time. I love seeing that little zen face staring off into space with darting eyes as she feeds.

We have her in our bed for now and although it wasn´t part of a campaign or a philosophy, we are cosleeping again. It just feels right having her in our bed. She has her own bedroom and a bed for naps and we put her in that at night around 7:30, then I take her into our bed at around 10:30. It´s easier for feedings and I like waking up with her next to me.

I´m not sure how long we will breastfeed or how long she´ll stay in our bed. You can´t decide those things ahead of time. I think we´ll just take it as it comes and see what happens.

A mexican birth part 3

Maybe it was the second birth that was easier or maybe it was since the baby was born in the afternoon (as opposed to midnight with Little S) but I felt good after the birth. My only issue was that I was lying in the bed with nothing on. After any birth as you may or may not know there is a deluge of fluids ahem, and even if I felt like getting up I couldn't because for some reason no one wanted to bring me the products necessary to get up and walk around in spite of my asking over and over for them. I found out that I wasn't allowed to get up anyway until I could prove I could pee and the nurse repeatedly brought me a bedpan to try. The whole bedpan thing just really angered me because I couldn't use it. I felt like an invalid and a prisoner. And I had only seen my baby for about three minutes after she was born which served to make me even angrier. I had no idea where she was and no one seemed interested in bringing her to me or telling me when I could see her. Seb assured me that she was sleeping fine in the nursery and I said "then just bring her here" but he said we'd have to wait for her to see the doctor.

My Ob came by a few hours later and congratulated me. In spite of our difference s I genuinely liked him. Well, I thought I did until he announced "Your baby is beautiful. And wow she's eating like a champion every two hours." I sat straight up in bed, "what did you just say!?" I couldn't believe what he was telling me. "She's a breastfed baby. She isn't supposed to have formula! I TOLD you that over and over!" He shrugged with the devil may care nature of someone who didn't understand what breastfeeding those first few days means. "Well, since you have no milk yet we really needed to feed her now." I was livid. He didn't even ask me. I reminded him that we'd actually signed papers to keep her in our room so that she could be breastfed. He said that the hospital director had changed his mind for liability reasons. Then he quickly wrapped up his report and left promising me he'd send in the pediatrician to explain to me why she needed formula because that wasn't actually his specialty and he was just here to check on my physical condition.

When the pediatrician arrived she tried to justify the feedings by saying that the baby was borderline diabetic and risked going in to shock if not fed but I felt she was covering something because I'd been told that they'd done a test just after the birth and I had remembered her saying the baby was fine. When I told her this she grumbled something like "well you can never be too sure." Then she told me rather sarcastically that maybe I should go feed her myself which is when I launched in to my "this hospital is anti-breastfeeding" speech. Seb was livid with me for getting angry. What was even worse was this made the pediatrician go on a tirade about how she had studied in the US and was just as qualified as any US doctor, which made me say "I don't know about having babies in the USA --only France" which was true. Anyway I hadn't questioned her medical skills just her knowledge of breastfeeding. She definitely felt defensive about me considering her qualified. I decided not to get into my colostrum speech or my "babies don't need to eat for the first 24 hours" speech and just leave it at that. She was oblivious to any speeches and stormed out with a curt announcement that she'd be back tomorrow. Seb chased after her and I heard him say "my wife is just being overprotective of her baby..." which made me really feel like I was all alone. He was supposed to be on my side but instead I think he felt embarrassed by my rants.

By then though I was really angry and I called the nurse to help me get to the bathroom so I could use a real toilet and get out of bed. She still didn't understand that I might need a pad of some kind and I couldn't make her understand this so I just stood up and well, left a trail as I walked to the bathroom. I was finally able to pee by standing in the shower under warm water. For some reason I couldn't do it sitting down. I'm not normally one who pees in the shower but I highly recommend it for an after the birth pee because the warm water is very soothing.

When I got back to the bed I asked for some more cotton and the nurse helped me make a pad which I found very strange and then she asked me where my underwear were. I thought this was odd too. In most of my ivf's and my birth with Little S they'd give you these bandy surgical underwear to wear afterwards. Anyway it was funny trying to stuff this huge roll of cotton in my spandex underwear but I did and then I was ready to see the baby. It was nearly nine o'clock. Where did all the time go?

In the nursery there was this little checkpoint charlie which is funny because we were the only people with a baby in the hospital. It makes you realise what a privileged few get to have their babies in a private hospital in Mexico because in France my hospital had at least 15 babies at a time in the maternity ward and the town is not as large as this one. Anyway the checkpoint has this guard who sits there all day in front of the nursery at a desk with a gun, and a radio. He took our names (duh) and wrote the time in a book. Then we went to a room where we had to put on surgical gowns and wash our hands while a nurse watched us. It was really starting to feel like a prison. I told Seb we'd be checking out the next morning.

We were given our baby and directed to a salon with a tv and benches--the feeding room. I held her close to me and studied her face for the first time since that afternoon. She didn't want to eat of course and her tongue was coated in a white, chalky film from all the formula so I knew why. Finally she sucked a moment but her tongue was in the wrong place, something I remembered with Little S when the French pediatrician had asked me to bottle feed him for a few feedings. She would have to learn to suck. The nurse asked if I'd be getting up for feedings and I said a reluctant "no" because I knew I'd be exhausted and she wouldn't feed and it would all be a giant mess. I asked the nurse if I could give her the morning bath and she said "yes but be here promptly at 7:15am" which seemed strict to me considering there were no other babies in the entire maternity ward.

That night I didn't sleep at all. The nurse station was active with conversation and laughter, a tv blared and the security guard's radio kept blasting communication all night long. I got up briefly and peeked down the hall. The nursery was lit up with fluorescent lights and I wondered how my poor girl was sleeping with all the chaos. Why she couldn't be in my room cuddled next to me was beyond me.

The next day we sat by while the nurse bathed her, cooing and brushing her hair. She slathered her entire body with cream and powdered her while I stood there cringing because we never used products on Little S, just natural oils, diluted baby soaps and water. They took over though. We could not bathe or care for our own baby. It was ridiculous. As we stood there I happened to glance down at the nurses report which said nine bottles. I couldn't believe they'd fed her so much after my huge tirade. Nobody listened. They just agreed to comply and then did what they wanted. I also noticed that she'd gained weight in less than 24 hours. She was 30 grams heavier at a period of time when babies were supposed to lose weight. I had to get my baby home where it was sane.

After the bath we finally kidnapped her and took her to the hospital room in her rolling bassinet under the eagle eye of the head nurse--this woman who could have easily shot darts out of her eyes if she'd been armed with them. Whenever Charlotte cried in our room she was right there to see if we were being good parents. I have never wanted to kick someone in the shins so much in my life. She even came in to supervise my first diaper change. Finally Seb said in broken Spanish, "we do know what were doing you know" She grunted and stood by just in case. In fact we had a parade of nurses in and out of our room. I was really fed up.

Charlotte took some time to learn to latch on but she eventually did and took to the breast like she'd always been there. I was lucky to have another sucky baby. I was pleased when the pediatrician came back that she was feeding well and I could prove to her that mother's milk was not some kind of witchery. "You have no milk so you have to be careful" she told me. I ignored her and smiled, "yes I know" It may be necessary to give her formula for a few days. "Yes I know" I said smiling. It was my new tactic. I knew that the anger wasn't good for the baby or me or my milk production. I knew that there was no changing the Mexican hospital where you pay big money to have a baby that someone else feeds. I supposed that when you went home someone else fed the baby for you, maybe the maid. I wasn't sure how it worked.

I checked out less than 24 hours after having my baby. When we finally left our spaciously decorated hospital suite we were offered a pair of slippers, earrings, pillows, and even the pillows from the baby crib and my bed. When I asked for an extra Tylenol (I was doubled over with cramps) the nurse said no since we were already checked out. I was baffled at how generous the hospital was with creature comforts--tv, dvd, terrace views from each room, but how stingy they were with information, hospital supplies, and opportunities for mother/child bonding.

I'm sorry to say if I were pregnant again I wouldn't have another baby in a Mexican hospital. I really hope attitudes towards natural childbirth and breastfeeding changes here but I'm not sure it will. Is it possible to explain to the doctors and hospitals why these "archaic" methods embraced by much of Europe, the US and Canada like breastfeeding, home births, drug free deliveries and rooming-in are now considered far better than the previous decade's "modern" methods? "Why go backwards?" my doctor's attitude seemed to suggest. Maybe it has to do with the idea that the privileged sector doesn't want to do what most of Mexico's poor already do. After all why would anyone want that when you can pay to have this? Birthing here seems to be more about creating a clear dividing line between "us and them" than about creating a loving safe environment for mother and child.

I certainly hope this doesn't offend anyone who doesn't agree but I think it's bound to stir up controversy. It is my experience and that's all. I had a lot of questions after the birth. "Could this have gone better?" "How?" It was such a frustrating experience that I didn't have the postnatal birth experience I wanted. It may be possible to do this somewhere in Mexico but I have yet to hear of it. Does alternative birthing exist here? If so then where?

(Ed. --In the comments Mishap tells the story of her positive birth experiences in Mexico and I am pleasantly surprised that someone could have such a good series of birth experiences. It is interesting that she had her children in public hospitals and yet seemed to have more control of her birth experience. I had my daughter in a private hospital paid for with expensive expat insurance and yet had very little say in what happened to me. Please read her version of the Mexican birth story for an alternate viewpoint of someone who has lived most of her life in Mexico.)

A mexican birth story part 2

When we arrived at the hospital the fear and confusion of being in unfamiliar territory, everyone around me speaking in Spanish, gripped me. Tears started pouring down my face and I couldn't hold them back. I wanted so badly at that moment to be home in France in our local hospital surrounded by midwives, Dr. Stonehenge a phone call away and familiar friends and neighbors waiting nearby to visit. I dashed into the toilet and splashed my face over and over with cold water. The feeling eventually passed, thankfully and I just threw myself into what was about to happen. There really wasn't any other choice.

I was taken to a prelabor room and prepped by a nice nurse who did her best to animate what she was telling me. It was funny considering she was explaining the shaving of my perineal and an enema. I was initially horrified by both but neither was much of a big deal in the end. The enema did send me running to the toilet three times. It was difficult considering by the third time I was wearing several monitors and getting ready to have an epidural.

The nurse inserted a catheter and the drip of Pitocin was started at about 8am. The contractions started immediately but didn't become painful until an hour later. When they started it was with a vengence. Apparently as I discovered later, Pitocin brings on labour hard and fast like this with no letting up. My doctor dropped in around 9am and ordered my epidural to be started. We'd briefly discussed natural labor and he said he'd only ever assisted in two natural labours in his whole career. He scoffed and declared natural labour as "ridiculous" I guess it wasn't really an issue for me. I had no intention of experiencing natural labour because I was afraid of it but I have always been intrigued by it. I have always admired women who have done it. And, I thought of the pediatric heart surgeon I'd sat next to on the plane to Tampa who had discussed natural labor with me. She'd had three kids all naturally. We'd discussed pain management and women's instinct to control it. "It's just safer for the baby" she said without trying to sell me on it. I trusted her advice more than his.

The doctor did impress me in one respect. He was always close by checking on me. The epidural kept losing strength and he'd be right there looking for the nurse and anaesthesiologist, snapping orders at them. He seemed genuinely concerned with my comfort and well being. The nicest part was that he was my personal doctor and knew my case well and could relay this to anyone involved with me that day. That doesn't happen in France at all anymore, your personal ob by your side during labor and delivery. Seb and I were really impressed.

At eleven my water broke with a popping noise and by noon I was ready, dilated to 10 cm. However the Sushi was still too high and refused to drop. We waited another hour and another and still she sat high atop my stomach refusing to move an inch. Finally around 2:30 the doctor seemed frustrated. He'd had me on my right side in an effort to get her to move down but this just kept the right side of me contracting hard without the relief of the epidural. I tried to bear it but the contractions were making me want to vomit, they were so strong and rapid. Finally he gently pushed on my right side and down she went. "It's time to push. She's in her place now!" he said as he scrambled about collecting his little team of nurses and paging his wife, the pediatrician. They pulled the side of the bed up and wheeled me into a very clinical operating room.

The operating room was windowless and this kind of freaked me out. I'd had Little S in France in a room with a panoramic view-- a pink room with yellow trim. The lights were dimmed and Enya was piped through the sound system. I was told to bring candles, incense and perfumed oils. Here though was simply a cavern lit by a large operating room light. Here were clamps and surgical knives laid out in plain view. Here I had to beg the doctor in advance to let me hold my baby right after she was born. I would have never chosen this if there had been a choice.

Sushi only took three or for pushes to come out. I only had a teeny snip of an episiotomy and there she was, the biggest baby they'd seen in a long while in this hospital. I got to hold her for about thirty seconds but at least I had that. They whisked her away and did all the suctioning and snipping and washing they do which I hated but couldn't get them not to do. If she were at home I would have left her covered in vernex for at least the first few hours.

I felt incredibly good after the birth, just tired. I think I understood then what an awful time I'd had with Little S and his birth. I'd pushed for over two hours. He was born face up, ouch. I'd lost a lot of blood. I was severely anemic for weeks and I had a hard time breastfeeding and caring for him. But yet here I was just a few minutes after giving birth to a ten pound baby and feeling pretty good.

The pediatrician declared the sushi not diabetic--she tested fine for that, but she labelled her hypertrophic which meant that they had to keep her monitored and incubated for 24 hours. She was taken to the nursery and I was taken to a recovery room where they gave me some laxatives, pain pills and strapped my stomach with a giant sport bandage. The doctor told me this bandage would help my uterus get back to it's place but all it did was kill me for the next 10 hours. Finally I ripped it off and breathed a sigh of relief.

*next and last installment I'm going to talk about the hospital stay which was the most interesting part.

A mexican birth story part 1

I think it says in the "What to Expect" book that women feel the need to retell their birth stories over and over in order to make sense of the whole event in their own heads. I know I am no exception. After all it isn't every day that you introduce a human being into the world . Seb and I haven't had much contact with the rest of the world since the birth so writing about it has been something I have been wanting to do for two weeks. Especially since it was unique. I gave birth as an expat in Mexico after having my first baby in France.

Right before I got cut off from the internet I was talking about being diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Stepping on the scales at my doctor's office was becoming more and more stressful. Each visit I had gained at least a kilo. The doctor was stressed too and kept asking me over and over "you weighed how much before getting pregnant again?" I swore by my 50 kilos over and over and so did Seb. "She's actually quite small but she gets enormous when she's pregnant" He was right. I was 72.5 kilos at 37 weeks. The doctor ordered me to take a diabetes test.

I failed the first gestational diabetes test miserably. I did with Little S too so I didn't expect to slide by in this pregnancy. The worst part of failing the first gd test is that you have to go back and take a three hour version of the horrible one hour test. My biggest fear during the test was that I'd pass out. When I did the test in France a few years ago I was given a comfy reclining chair and lots of magazines to read. I was told to rest, encouraged to sleep and ordered not to budge. In the Mexican hospital's lab they didn't invite me to stand by. They just wanted me to come back and get blood drawn each hour. What happened to a dizzy, severely obese pregnant woman with a wiley toddler in hand was no concern of theirs. I bided my time in the hospital restaurant since the waiting room and its seven chairs were always full. I continued to feel faint and I had such a huge fear that I'd pass out and lose track of Little S, or worse harm the baby that I thought about calling Seb and telling him to come and rescue me. I was relieved when the whole thing was over and I was in the taxi for home. I just couldn't stay focused. I was sure I had failed but I actually passed the three hour test by one point. I was pre diabetic.

On Friday the ninth I had my weekly appointment. The week before I had been nearly three cms dialated and zero percent effaced. I felt like my stomach was dragging on the floor so I was sure I'd be having her soon. The doctor did another internal exam, probed and then asked me to scoot up higher. "You'll have her this weekend, okay." he announced. I laughed, "yes probably likely" He probed deeper "ouch!" I screamed. He kept poking and prodding and I kept screaming. It was such a painful exam that I asked him to stop. "Why did that hurt so much?" I asked. That's when he casually announced. "I just stripped the membranes. So do you want to check in the hospital tomorrow or Sunday." I still wasn't sure if he was kidding. He didn't even warn me. I couldn't believe he'd tried to induce labor without warning me.

Evidently such bedside behavior is very Mexican as I have discovered over the course of all of this. The doctor knows best and the patient isn't always asked if she wants this or that. In fact she's lucky if she's told anything. It's an authority thing. No one questions authority. I also think it's a macho thing. I noticed that the doctor explained all the procedures to Seb and not me. Seb who isn't used to going to any ob appointments with me. The least knowledgeable one in the room about pregnancy.

I piped in, "I suppose I'd like to have her on Monday" I said, running through the list of all the thing I needed to prepare. "You might not make it to Monday (thanks to his probing!) but we can try for that" he said handing us a small stack of paperwork to take to the hospital across the street. Seb and I kind of looked at each other baffled. I guess we'd have a baby on Monday, maybe Sunday...maybe tonight. How weird--we'd be four on Monday for sure.

The thing about scheduling an induction is that odd phenomenon of knowing when the baby is coming. In our case it was a weekend and we spent the entire time up to the birth completely freaked out.I think that somehow natural labor prepares you gradually. It must be something hormonal. It doesn't occur to you to be afraid. I didn't sleep for three nights. I was just lying there in bed wide eyed and wondering. Mostly though it was fear for the baby. I knew that the birth would be hard for her. I remembered Little S and his tiny dented head--the forceps left red marks that stayed on his face for two months. I remembered the incessant crying and the visits to the osteopath. What would be her fate? Would she be traumatised in some other way? I stayed awake each night rubbing my stomach. The suspense was unbearable.

On Monday morning Seb shook me awake. "Did you sleep well?" I was already awake. "Are you ready?" I didn't feel ready at all. I took a short shower and as the water ran I stared down at my stomach. The last pregnancy? It was all a little sad. There is something in infertilty that makes you love that shape--that feeling of a baby inside you. Even the bad parts--morning sickness and headaches, shortness of breath seem strangely pleasant. The entire nine months are sweet and blissful. Suddenly I felt sad to see the end of the pregnancy. At the same time I knew I'd meet my baby soon. This wonderful little girl that represented the toil of two years of wanting and waiting. It was going to be an emotional day I thought as tears mingled with the water in the shower.

Seb started a video of me that morning. One of those videos where you follow your wife with the camera and ask how she feels about 100 times before the baby comes. Rewatching the video I noticed that in the morning as we walk to the car I look panicked. My face is pale and my eyes are huge. You can visibly see the lump in my throat. I look scared.



*I have to tell the story in a few parts because I can't write everything in one sitting.

Sugar and spice anyone?

She's not a sushi she's a whopper! We think she's gorgeous though and the spitting image of her brother give or take a few kilos.

Charlotte Alejandre

Born November 12th at 3pm

10 lbs (4.5 kilos) 53cm

(full birth story coming soon!)

Survival

I'm alive and I survived the cursed plague of earlier in the week...thank you God!

I saw the doctor today. Sushi is measuring way ahead in many areas and a whopping three weeks ahead in her abdomen of allplaces. She has enormous cheeks which the doctor noted is very common in oversized babies. Tomorrow I have to get a diabetes test. He suspects she might be the product of something like this. Damn, if it ain't one thing! I'm so tired of being poked and prodded. I hope I don't have to deal with something like that.

The new doctor is really nice and I simply love him (thanks to Aly for her doctor's reference). He is really patient and answers questions, taking time to explain every detail and every scenario. The one problem is his ultrasounds. They take forever. I am very uncomfortable on my back and I feel like I'll pass out, but there he is rolling around the wand across my belly, typing and discussing. I thought I'd die tonight at the appointment floundering on my back like a whale woman. That dreaded dip in the back is unsupportable lately.

I hate to think I will have to sign off but we are checking out of the hotel tomorrow and moving in to our house. Internet may take a while to set up. I hope to be blogging regularly soon but since Mexico is slow on most things, well...

I really like keeping these blogs and it's such a habit that any interruptions to it are annoying. I hope I can pop in regularly up until the birth. I'm going to have to discover the internet cafe I guess.

All I wanted was a cheeseburger

Seb was making fun of me, "a tortilla cheeseburger? You're really going to eat all that?" "It looks really good!" I said defensively. It was one of those pregnancy cravings. I don't normally eat cheeseburgers but I was starving and it was me who had chosen the new restaurant. It was Applebees, the American chain which had just opened 5 minutes from our house.

As I lay dying on the bathroom floor at 4am I thought how ironic. It was the first time I'd chosen an American restaurant in Mexico. It was my curse--Montezuma's joke. La Tourista had hit me when I would have least expected it and hard. I ran from the bed to the bathroom every hour for 12 hours. As I held the garbage can in my lap and sat on the toilet, shivering all the while I wondered what on earth we were doing here in Mexico. The next morning my body was wracked by pain and muscle spasms. I couldn't even walk.

Seb stayed home from work and called the doctor. The baby was eerily quiet and I was scared. The doctor arrived with the hotel manager as translator and listened to the sushi's heartbeat, "she's okay" he said "just tired like her mother." I laughed to myself because I can only imagine what it must have sounded like to her from inside. At one point I was on all fours leaning over the garbage can and I could feel her shifting. I prayed, "please God don't let me go in to labor now...I could never do it."

The doctor gave me a shot in the butt, something for immediate relief and a list of medications that would do any French doctor proud. He claimed everything was safe for the baby. I asked Seb to run by my OB's office just to be sure and he said this particular brand of antibiotics is okay for pregnant or breastfeeding women. I just hate taking anything during pregnancy but I feeling like the Dawn of the Dead, or one of the Thriller corpses dancing in Michael's video so I don't think I had the choice.

The doctor said it would take nearly three days to feel normal. It's been nearly 48 hours and I'm still feeling completely exhausted. I think tomorrow will be better. I see my OB tomorrow evening and we'll hopefully get a peek at the Sushi to see how she is. I also have to tell him about the anemia. He's going to label my file hypochondriac.

I'm not sure why this trimester has been cursed by so much illness.

Pancakes!

Well it's official. At 34 weeks 6 days I can no longer see down yonder, not even when I shift into various positions and balancing my leg up on the shower ledge (dangerous I know and only attempted out of desperation). So it's no longer possible to shave my bikini line and in one week things are bound to get out of control down there. It's not like I was doing a great job before but now it's just headed towards a huge mess. The only way to get the job done will be to stand in front of a large mirror and do it all backwards, trying to keep Little S from barrelling down the door all the while. I'll do what I have to. I refuse to suffer the indignity of being fully pelted while complete strangers discuss my hoo-ha in a languge I don't yet understand.

My belly is definitely larger than last week and definitely larger this pregnancy. I had to pull out my salopettes (overalls), something I really don't wear until the last few months of pregnancy because they make me look like a paunchy farmer. They are really comfortable though and I wore them right up to the end with Little S.

When I went to attach them the other day the straps were about one inch too short. They are complex little suckers to adjust so I know they were still in the same position as three years ago. I tugged and pulled at the fabric and then I realized that this could only mean one thing --that my belly was much bigger. At one month before due date I am much larger than I was at term with Little S. That really surprised me because I felt huge with Little S and somehow I imagined that this sweet little girl would stay small and tightly wrapped like the petit sushi she is. Nope-- she's a heffer.

Maybe it's my fault. Seb has been teasing me endlessly about my pancake addiction. Little S and I eat at 10:30 each morning at the hotel. We eat a long, leisurely brunch and no lunch. Then we eat dinner at 7pm with Seb. We eat a lot of food at brunch to make up for the lunch we will miss. I always eat two pancakes and Seb has been telling me that my pancake addiction is going to cost me 10 minutes extra labor for each pancake. For two days I stopped eating them but now I am back to eating them. I figure that if he's right I'll be in labor for about 24 hours and it should be okay because heck I've already done that.

*the photo is from last week but I can only just now post it because blogger has been giving me problems.

My mask and the dream

I hope this mask of pregnancy disappears after the birth. I don't think I mentioned having it but it's become pretty awful. I really have been staying out of the sun. My mask is not The Lone Ranger version but more of a lack of pigment on my cheeks in fairly large circles. Seb claims I had it last time I was pregnant but I don't remember. If I did I don't think it was this bad.

I had a dream last night that my water broke. It was typical dream stuff being that I was in a hot air balloon travelling to France with Seb. We had this weird sort of trap door open in the bottom of the basket so that there was no room to sit or stand. I was sitting down, knees pulled up over the hole in the basket and whoosh all this water & blood came out and fell in to the sky. I didn't get concerned at all and told Seb "we have time... don't worry." We ended up in Normandy with the in-laws and I was casual as could be walking around and talking with the family until sister in law looked at my sandals stained with blood, "You better get to the hospital!" she said screaming. This was one of the more realistic elements of the dream because sil is very bossy and always speaks to people by telling them what they should do. I very casually told her "relax geez there's plenty of time!" I had an overwhelming fear in the dream that I'd have the baby in France and get stuck living with mother in law for six weeks which is why I think I was acting like it was nothing. I think I was hoping we'd get back in the hot air balloon as soon as possible! Anyway, Seb was driving a riverboat down the middle of a French shopping mall in this dream, tearing off the ceiling tiles as he cruised because it was such a big boat. I don't think I'd take much stock in what it all means. It was just a weird pregancy dream.

I just hope my water doesn't break before the birth starts. I live in dread of walking down the street and having all this liquid in my shoes or on the carseat. My water broke at the hospital with Little S and I think they even broke it for me late in the day. It was all very neatly managed with towels and me wearing a hospital gown. Very dignified.

Apologies for the complaining

The Sushi is putting more and more pressure on my cervix and it feels like she is inches away from popping out and flopping around on the floor. I think of the six weeks that remain and just shake my head in disbelief, chuckle and say “there is absolutely no way.” This isn’t because I am so miserable I can’t handle six more weeks (I am pretty miserable) but because I think I’d have to be suspended upside-down the better part of the day to prevent her from coming before her due date. I’m guessing she’ll come in early November.

My next obgyn appointment is on the 19th of October, in ten days. I wonder if he’ll do an internal exam. I’m really curious what’s going on in there. I could be six cm dilated for all I know and it certainly feels like it. I’m not sure how it all works here in Mexico. In France at around six weeks before the due date the doctor begins weekly appointments and he usually does internal exams at those appointments. Dr. Stonehenge does internal exams about every other month leading up to the last month.

The curve in my lower back is now grossly exaggerated and my butt sticks way out--standard for the last few weeks of pregnancy. I’m no different than anyone else. It’s one of those little things you forget about in pregnancy. Naturally I have to waddle now. I walk at about half the speed as I did a month ago, longing to stop each 50 paces to rest but not wanting to draw attention to myself. I arrive everywhere breathless. Again more glamorous stuff you completely forget. It doesn’t help that we’re staying in a huge hotel and I have to walk everywhere!

Sushi ’s main characteristic so far is that she is constantly moving. She’s quite the little dancer, boxing and kicking much more than I ever remember Little S doing. She often wakes me up from a deep sleep with her late night shenanigans and then who can get back to sleep while someone is playing footsie in your loins. Sometimes it’s downright embarrassing because while standing chatting small talk with someone people will look down shocked and say “wow your baby is moving a lot!” It’s weird because it’s such a private thing Seb and I should be sharing, his hand on my stomach, not a remark to be made in the checkout line at the grocery store. It ‘s happened at least three times like this in public. Sushi isn’t shy. She seems to want to be noticed.

I am feeling better. The anemia is still plaguing me a little and probably accounts for my breathlessness and low energy. I know it takes time to get my levels elevated. My sinus infection took a miraculous turn for the better! I won’t get too far into the details but for two days I blew tons of blood from my nose. Then the third day it was all better. Thank god because there is nothing worse than that pain (well, except maybe…nevermind) and I didn’t want to have to suffer through it again without antibiotics. One less thing to worry about.

This weekend I’m going to finish my hospital supply list and start packing mine and the Sushi’s bag. I’ll post my list because someone may have something to add or may find it useful. I’m leaving no stone unturned. I’m bringing more than I’ll ever need. I got a hospital list from my Mexican doctor last visit that had me laughing. It had three things on it for the mother--robe, slippers, toiletries (duh) and about four things for the baby --two outfits, sweaters, booties, hat. I felt like getting them a copy of a French hospital list. It’s often about two pages long. When I had Little S there were even more things added on by my doctor and the midwives in my birthing class. It just kept getting longer and longer. Even with all that I had to send Seb out for things. It’s definitely a time when you want all the comforts of home and over the counter medicine at your fingertips.

33 weeks and 5 days

I'm back in Mexico with Seb and Little S and we're back to the hotel, ugh. I have such a huge desire to settle and get the baby things that I am almost crazy like a pacing animal. It must be awful for anyone homeless in this predicament. At least we may be soon settled in and I may make it to getting a few things unpacked before my due date. At least I have a good prospect on getting a bed set up and getting a few baby things washed.

I once read where two babies were born on the Mayflower's crossing. I can really sympathize with these women. Coming to a new country, not being settled, having all your things in boxes--they must have felt crazed like me. I can only say that at least they knew where their boxes of things were. I think our things are sitting on a dock in Veracruz being held captive until our papers are perfect.

I'm still feeling tired and still combatting sinus problems. I can only chew food on one side of my mouth. My face is always sore on the left side and I feel like I have a constant headache in my left eye. I need to find a family doctor who speaks English but the thought of tracking down a doctor and tusting the medicine he gives me will not harm the sushi has my head hurting worse than the sinus infection.

I'm trying to get my webcam to work so I can do a video. This new computer has a built in webcam and it doesn't work with much of anything except MSN. I am getting frustrated with it. Anyway I am large enough that people now ask "are you due this month?" and when I say "no" they are shocked. It does feel like she may fall out at any minute.

Minding my own business...32 weeks

One more week in Florida. I 've been bored. We leave on Saturday.

My anemia is better but the crash brought back my dreaded sinus infection that my French doctor said I need antibiotics to get rid of. I've had it three times this year. I can't take antibiotics until Sushi is here and then of course I have the breastfeeding to consider so it will be quite a while before I can do that. I just have blooooooow and blooooooow and take lots of vitamins (my new friends). It will eventually die off again and then come back the moment opportunity rears it's ugly head. This is such an unhealthy trimester and I'm very fed up with this infection and being so tired.

Taking antibiotics reminds me of the fact that I can't drink for awhile either, no big deal except that we are in Mexico and one of my favorite drinks is margaritas! I've taught the hotel barman to make me a wonderful virgin faux margarita--so delicious with real lime juice and of course no alcohol. It's funny because we are in a hotel full of American tourists and businessmen, particularly the bar. Since being an expat and travelling back home with Little S I have discovered that an unfortunate thing my fellow Americans like to do is meddle and give opinions about things. I get so many "whispered judgements" from these tourists in the bar in Mexico--the 7 month pregnant lady downing her tequila, aggh. They are dying to say something. It's so funny and I can feel the eyes on me. It isn't just the prenatal drinking *gasp*. You wouldn't believe how many times people have struck up conversations with me in the last few months based on my bad parenting --my son shouldn't be eating peanuts, he's not wearing his seatbelt on the plane, he's not wearing a hat in the sun, not wearing the right sunscreen etc. It's like they are always watching mothers here, observing and waiting to dish out advice. The worst was one night in the hotel bar a very drunk Texan grandfather started warning us about the dangers of giving birth in 'dirty Mexico' (not to mention the fact that I'd being denying Sushi her American citizenship! Oh dear!!) He just wouldn't shut up. Of course as we know Sushi is going to have three nationalities but we didn't bother explaining how it all works to the guy because it seemed to really bug him that I was so misinformed and so stubborn. After all I was downing margaritas and I was going to deliver a Mexican baby!

I don't know what started that tangent. I've just been in constant culture shock lately. I'm so used to quiet mind-your-own-business Europe. It sometimes has caused me headaches in the past being in blase' France but now I think I've sort of become like that. I'd still get involved in helping people out who are in trouble** but I've come to believe that I don't think you should tell people what you think they're doing wrong if you aren't related to them. You shouldn't interfere. Even if you are a relative interfereing seems pushy to me. Mother and mother-in-law would be out of jobs if they couldn't give advice about childraising so I tolerate it with them but not so much with anyone else.*

These last few days have been calm and I sleep a lot which explains why I am so restless. I am nesting and my nest is far away. I have to put my nesting in to shopping. I've been buying birthing gear like breast pads, laxatives and witch hazel pads. I spent thirty minutes looking for a nursing bra. The cup sizes seem so much larger than in Europe. I shopped for a C cup, you know one size bigger and it looked like a D! I was wearing a D cup at the time, a French D cup and the C was like one cup size bigger than the one I was wearing. The American C had so much room it was so loose on me that the material and the lace was crumpled under my t-shirt. It looked ridiculous. So I shopped for a B cup but couldn't find anything problems because the strapping was always too small. I'm not even sure they make my size. I hate shopping for nursing bras. It's such a guessing game.

My list still isn't complete. The other things on my list are a new robe and some button down shirts for breastfeeding. I know these shirts will get ruined (breastmilk stains are hopeless) so I won't care enough to spend much on them.

Finally I want to get a bassinette for the baby. It will make me feel much better to know that I have a bed for the baby. I will have to cart it back with me on the airplane because I haven't seen any bassinettes in Mexico yet. It may not even be necessary. Little S slept in our bed for 7 months and he never even used his bassinette. It made a good storage place for folded laundry. I think it's all in my head that I need to set up a bed for her. After all I don't want to be a "bad mother" and not be prepared!

*My mom once told a woman on an airplane that her baby was crying because it was cold and needed socks. She wonders to this day why the woman was so rude to her. I told her if it was me I would have told her where to stick her sock advice.

**I got mugged in Paris and tackled to the sidewalk right in front of a little cafe where the people amazingly continued to sip their coffee while I lay there trying to regain my composure.

A turn for the better

Everything is going well and I'm in the States visiting family while Seb is off in France on business. I didn't want to be alone in Mexico for two weeks pregnant so I decided to come visiting the parents again. It's a good thing because I've been completely shut down with my anemia for two days. I talked about all this on my other blog so for all the details, if you're interested, you can catch up over there.

In other news I found a doctor I really like in Mexico who has officially replaced Dr. Fuddy Duddy. He's really nice and seems to have a much stronger notion of what modern birth and childcare are all about. Of course you can't tell everything by just one meeting but I already sensed that he and I were on the same wavelength just by an hour meeting. I'm happy about that.

The other good news is that the Sushi baby is no longer breech. Yay!! She finally turned and we are all okay for a natural birth. What a relief. I know she turned a few days before my appointment because it woke me up. My restlessness awoke Seb and I told him "I think she turned because I felt her moving so much. She was moving in a way that it just wasn't normal." I was right. She had turned head down. It took her up to the 31st week to turn. I know that's not uncommon but it made me nervous.

Things are definitely done differently in Mexico. The doctor claimed that they don't screen for toxplasmosis in Mexico because it's not a problem. I told him I did not have the immunity and I would be worried if I wasn't routinely screened as I had been in France. He didn't seem too concerned but gave me a lab order anyway. I also have yet to get my diabetes test done and the doctor did seem worried about that. I've gained 20 pounds already with this pregnancy and he thinks that's a lot. I actually think I'm much smaller this time around. I don't tend to stay petite while gestating my kids. It seems to be a family problem. My petite mother always got enormous during all of her pregnancies.

In one week we return to Mexico for a final settling in. Hopefully our furniture and the baby clothes will arrive soon. I am so eager to have things set up. Mexico doesn't have a very large selection of baby things at all as it seems almost all of the Mexican and expat moms told me that they make trips to the US for their baby things a few times before the baby comes. I'll be really stuck if those boxes don't get here. The Mexican stores are equipped with the bare minimum.

30 week check up

Okay so here we are in Mexico choosing doctors. I had a list of five doctors and in the end chose the one reccommended by the woman who did our cultural seminar in Paris, a chic Mexican lady who looked like she knew her doctors. Well actually he was just the first on my long confusing list, voila.

I met the doctor today at what was my 7 month appointment, a sixty something year old man with shaky english. I probably wouldn't choose to stay with him if it weren't for the fact that I am running out of time. He was nice and helpful enough and between Seb's Spanish and his English we got throught the appointment okay. My big complaint is he just seemed a little on the fuddy-duddy side. He really irked me when he said that forcep births are usually repeated in the second birth and then asked me which type were used on Little S's birth, as if I'd thought to ask during the time I had over 3 kilos of human being stuck in my loins. I told him I had no plans to ever hear the word forceps again if possible. I felt like he was asking so he could order them ahead of time!

The doctor was overall much more attentive than Dr. Stonehenge, poking me and asking how I felt and whether my back hurt or if I had headaches. He even gave me a helpful lift off the table after my ultrasound and wiped the gooey gel off my stomach, something Stonehenge had never even thought to do in all my visits. He gave me his cell phone number, home number and another emergency paging number. He encouraged me to call at whatever time of the day or night and whatever day I needed him.

He also did a fuzzy ultrasound, you know the kind that only the doctor can read. Little Sushi is measuring fine, right on target and looking healthy. Unfortunately she's still breach and as much as I had hoped she would turn by now, she hasn't yet. I guess there's still time but I had really hoped she'd do it and be done with it but she's being stubborn. Don't they run out of room around this time? I just don't want her to get all tangled in her cord trying to turn. The doctor thought we still had lots of time.

Strangely enough the doctor didn't do an internal exam. I do have lots of cervix pressure so I would have liked him to have a peek but it didn't seem like something he does until later.

Otherwise we're living in a hotel and waiting on the truck to bring our things from France, including all the baby things. We'll move in to our house once the things arrive. I sort of thought I might get a few newborn things just in case she shows up early and the truck doesn't. I'm just hoping that the timing will work out and we'll get the room set up with no problems and a week or two to spare, even though we have to paint the crib and finish sewing the bedding and curtains and lots of other things.

My next appointment is in early October.

Don't mention France when making an American ob appointment

I'm on vacation in Florida right now relaxing with my family at my parent's home. Little Sushi is growing quite large, kicking like a little wild woman and I'm around 26 weeks and some odd days...at least I think. I'd have to look it up to be sure and I'm far too lazy to do that right now. Other than a little iron deficiency problem that Dr. Stonehenge e-mailed me about everything is okay. My estrogen induced sun poisoning seems to be cleared up and like Jemma mentioned she experienced in her pregnancy I just have the instant tan feature when I'm out in the sun which isn't too bad and makes me look all Club Med and glam. Otherwise It's just a matter of chasing a toddler around without running out of breath. I often can't catch up with him, and the fact that we're on vacation and he's usually wanting to swim a lot in the deep water of swimming pools and the sea has me paranoid. Could I really dive down there and get him if he sunk? I don't think my belly would let me. I think I'd pop right back up!

I've been researching while I'm here too. Having the baby in my homeland seemed like a good idea at first but since I've been here I've phoned several doctors offices and clinics. They have all pretty much said the same thing; "no dice lady--go have your kid in the backyard pond if you don't have one of these top three insurance companies" and they won't even see me without dropping the name of a major carrier. They don't seem to like the international insurance provided by hubby's company which excuse me pays 100 percent of all costs. The mere mention of France's healthcare system got me put on hold for a long, long time. Even my mom's own ob has refused to see me for a check up, and that's even after I said I'd pay the 350 dollars fee out of pocket. The secretary told me rather vaguely that it was due to "liability issues" whatever that is. I guess that means if I slip on the pavement in front of the building or spill hot coffee on myself in the waiting room they won't want to be held responsible. I think they're a wee bit paranoid. Be careful people because you know the sky might fall and you wouldn't want to be in the way!

Suddenly I miss the French system a lot and I am jolted into realizing how cold and heartless it can be here when it comes to caring for actual people. Okay maybe heartless is a strong word but it sure feels that way from my end. I think I understood why a lot of women in the States are interested in home birth.

I do have a midwife's phone number for a possible check-up and I have the phone number of a local walk-in clinic which has general Md's on staff, not necessarily any obgyn's. It costs a whopping 70 dollars a visit for what I imagine is going to be the basic blood pressure check and tongue compressor routine. I doubt they'd do an internal exam because of liability issues and I doubt I'd want them to do an internal exam anyway. I think I'll be calling the midwife instead and see if she'll fit me in for a little check before I leave. I wouldn't worry but the airlines asks for one for those pregnant ladies suspiciously beyond the 6 month mark.

So babywise I'm thinking now that it's off to Mexico. I have the name of a few good doctors. Seb already called one who gave me an appointment for a few weeks from now. I'm pleased to have someone, ..anyone and I'm actually beginning to relax about the whole birth in Mexico thing. I certainly feel a lot more welcome there than I do here in the States.

*I have to laugh because it looks like my milk is leaking in that photo but it's actually just a wet swimsuit under my shirt...ahh leaky boobs --one of the less glamorous things of the post partum period that I'd almost forgotten about--I can't wait...

And a 22 week belly shot

Here is my growing profile in a short video.

Twenty two weeks and a video update!

The real thing...

At my 19 week check up last week we had another amazing scan with Dr. Stonehenge. Sushi is beautiful and we even got a full face profile of her in 4d that has her looking like a real person and not an alien baby with a funny flat head and squashed up features. She looked real.

It's all starting to hit me (you mean it hasn't already you say?) We are going to have a baby. This actually worked. I got lucky somehow. There is a little person in all of this and whereas last year there was just this wish for something abstract, intangible as it was and definitely out of my grasp, now here it is growing and pulsing and feeding off of my last meal and depending entirely on me.

It just hit me this ultrasound. I think it was the profile and seeing that face. It was suddenly this little person.

I told Stonehenge about the move to Mexico and he didn't seem phased at all. He just smirked a little and said "You'll probably have a cesarean you know." And I said "yes I read the statistics on the internet" I had read that over 40 percent of hospital births in Mexico are by cesarean. He said "well, I think it's actually higher than that. And not to scare you but they'll throw you in the high risk category right away because of your age and you'll probably end up getting one." I didn't want to think about it. I had other things on my mind like my sanity in all this moving business. Somehow my brain has just recently decided that it will only handle information pertaining to the next two weeks: --my son's preschool farewell picnic, cancelling my cell phone, taking care of bank papers. There is no longer room for anything months off in the future like giving birth and breastfeeding and conquering new languages.

Last but not least I found out I have a yeast infection. Well I actually knew it. It's hard not to know. It's caused by an overproduction of estrogen and is apparently really common in pregnant women. It's pretty much on the mend already but dear me is this estrogen wave I'm riding ever going to hit the shore? I'm tired of all the side effects from it. What's next I have to ask? No wait I don't even want to know. I'll probably start growing talons and my voice will turn baritone. Then I'll google it and it will say "too much estrogen."