Six Things to Do While You Wait to Give Birth in the Final Weeks of Your Pregnancy

So, babies come on their own schedule and this baby seems to have a plan completely different than his/her brother did. You see, this baby has already been in an entire week longer than my son was. Also, this time, my body seems to have learned its lesson on having no pre-labor and just trying to do everything at once and, this time, seems content to do lots of prodromal or pre-labor. (As a matter of fact, for the last three days, my body has decided to work on labor for about an hour or two every night at about the same time and then just decides "that's enough for the night" and quits.) I know that this baby already has a birth date in mind for him/herself, and that it is very important for the health of the baby and the success of my VBAC to allow this baby to come to fruition in his/her own time, but, in the meantime, I'm left with a lot of waiting that I didn't have to do with my first child and I have to come up with ways to spend it that won't (A) overtax me because I could go into labor any day now, (B) won't cause ongoing stress if I were to go into labor any day now (so no "big projects" that would have to lay around messing up the house for months while I have a newborn and no time to finish them), and (C) still allow me to do the things I need to do to keep the house stocked and ready for that moment when the baby does come. All this is in addition to ignoring the well meaning prods from people I know about why I can't just have that baby already and trying to keep my sense of humor intact as the baby grows ever larger, my body grows ever more tired, and I become ever more uncomfortable and feel less and less like doing anything. If you are in this same boat with me, I present this list of things to do while you wait in the final weeks with both sincerity and humor. Just keep reminding yourself that all babies come out . . . eventually!

1. Indulge in Your Favorite Hobbies.
Whether this is your first baby or not, it's sometimes hard to fathom the amount of "me" time that you will no longer have once you are caring for a newborn. An avid reader, pre-first child, I could not fathom that there would be days when the only time I would have available to me to read might be the two minutes in which I brushed my teeth at night while my husband held our son. There are days when a five minute shower is a luxury that must be fought for and must serve as your "alone" time for the entire day. I imagine this must be doubly true when it is not your first child you bring home, but your second (or third, fourth, fifth, etc.). So, spend these unexpected days of waiting indulging yourself a little. I've been embroidering and sewing a lot because it took me nearly a year after the birth of my first baby before I was able to embroider anything again. This time it may take longer. Might as well tackle the little projects that would ordinarily get put off!

2. Let Yourself Be a Little Lazy
This is one I'm really struggling with because I really want to have the house in good shape when the baby comes so that when I have to let it slide, it won't have as far to slide backwards. However, that said, I've been earnestly trying to let myself spend the day sitting if I feel way too tired or I've been trying to limit the amound of crazy cleaning/shopping/etc. I do on days that I have lots of pre-labor going on because I know that I have the marathon of labor in front of me and I want to be in top physical shape for it. So, when I feel I need to sleep/nap/rest I figure that I should because labor will wear me out and the more energy and strength I can bring into it, the better shape I will be in on the other side of it.

3.Eat Your Favorite Foods
I have terrible pregnancy reflux right now and am eating dairy free, so I can only do this within reason, but I've learned to look at every meal as if it is my last. I don't necessarily indulge myself by letting myself always have the fatty, sugary treats I might want, but I do make for myself my favorite protein rich, nutrient rich meals like spinach and sundried tomato omelets or homemade dairy free chicken pot pie, or even let myself eat out once in awhile. Those first few months after I have the baby, I know that we will mostly be eating the meals I have pre-frozen for us, but for now I look at each meal as my possible last meal before I go into labor. Why skimp and eat crap if I know that I could need whatever energy I get from that meal to carry me through who knows how many hours or even days of labor? My last labor I found that after the first ten hours or so, I just found it impossible to make myself eat anything, so in case that happens again, I'm trying to be very kind to myself right now. Besides, if this baby likes to nurse like my last one did (at every meal time), these may be the last warm meals I have for the next year or so!

4.Amuse Yourself by Considering Giving Honest Answers when People Ask "How are you doing?"
Okay, so maybe this is just my private hobby, but I sometimes get some good giggles by considering actually answering the cashier who notices the strange look on my face as I get a strong contraction as I'm checking out at the grocery store with an honest answer. "Ow, my uterus!" or "I'm okay. Just my cervix hurting as it ripens a little at a time." or "Everything's okay. I was just determining if I was really going into labor or not and trying to see if my water was breaking." The internal monologue of a very pregnant, "due" woman is not something that most of the world is ready to hear about, but it makes me laugh to think of telling them anyway just to see their reaction.

5.Read a Book/Watch a Movie About Climbing a Mountain or Some Other Inspiring Feat
Currently, I am reading a book about George Mallory (the climber who attempted to climb Mt. Everest three times between 1915 and 1924 and whose body was found on Mt. Everest in 1999 who may or may not have been the first to reach the peak, but there's no evidence as to whether or not he actually made it on his last attempt). Why I like doing this right before I know I'm going into labor is two-fold. One, it's entertaining and it reminds me that there is a world outside of whether or not I am going into labor today and two, I get a kick out of thinking about the challenges people put in front of themselves to conquer and the passion and the lengths they will go to in order to reach their goal. (I consider my VBAC my own, personal Everest.) This is especially true for men, in particular. I really wonder if Mallory would have been so intent to climb all those mountains if he had just been born a woman and could realize the challenge and satisfaction to be had in giving birth! Maybe he still would have needed mountains to climb, but maybe not!

6. Spend a Little Extra Time Enjoying Your Life

A new baby is a new beginning for your entire family, but it is also an ending. Something I wasn't really prepared for when I had my first baby was the way I would miss and mourn my former life. As much as I was ready to be a mother and desperately wanted that chapter of our lives to begin, life with my son irrevocably changed our life as a couple. There were growing pains on both sides and sometimes it was quite a struggle to see where "we" had gone. I am better prepared this time to understand that whatever amazingly good that may happen in the next few hours/days/weeks, I will also have to say good-bye to the life I love that consists of just my husband, my son, and me. So, I'm trying to soak up the bittersweet hours where it's easy to find time to wrap both arms around my (currently) only child and spend a little extra time looking at and talking with my husband before there are two little voices to drown him out (temporarily, but still!). I'm trying to enjoy outings that are much simpler without all the paraphenalia a newborn entails and with only one nap a day to plan around. I know that having another child is abosolutely the right thing for us and is everything we want to have happen any day now, but I also want (this time) to recognize, enjoy, and savor the final joyful days of being a family of three. I know that these days will seem like simpler times when our fourth arrives. It's a little like enjoying the last days of summer before moving on to the next grade of school. Sure, you are excited about what the next year will bring and you want to see the challenges you know that you are ready for, but it does feel good to sleep in those final days (or sleep at all in the case of impending newborn motherhood!).

Thanks for Reading!
Shawna

one and done

My husband and I are young. I'm 30 and he's 32. So I say the following with the caveat that there is plenty of time should we change our minds. But I don't think we will.

See, before having kids I was always so sure that two would be our perfect number. Now, now I think that what we have shouldn't be messed with. I can't even fathom adding another person into the mix.

Before Gwen, there was such intense longing for a baby. Now, I feel no need for a second child, no desire to upset our balance, no longing to go through the baby stages again. I feel content with Gwen, complete as our unit.

Sure, in the back of my mind there is a little voice that whispers of the relationship I have with my brother, Ethan, and our amazing bond. A little part of me feels badly "denying" Gwen that relationship. I wonder if I'm forcing her to miss out on a great relationship and a ton of memories? Denying her future kids the pleasure of Aunts and Uncles? Making things harder for her when Trav and I get old and she has to deal with us on her own?

But who is to say that a sibling would be any of those things to her?

If we did have another, I'm positive the love would be there. I'm sure that I would take my first glances at the little one that had grown in my womb and feel nothing but amazement. I would wonder how we ever considered not doing it.

But would we be able to do less of certain things? Less of the traveling we want to do with Gwen? Less one-on-one? And its silly, but I worry what if I don't love the second one as much? Or worse, what if I love it more?

From an AP standpoint, would I be able to parent the way I wanted with a very attached little girl, and a newborn in need of much attention? Would I get touched out that much sooner? Would have have the "gas" to get me through 3 more years of breastfeeding if that's what the babe decided? I would have patience enough for Gwen and a second, when sometimes I feel I don't have enough patience for just my almost 3 year old? Would I be able to find and keep a balance in my life, between being the hands on Mama I love being while still being a wife and sometimes just Meegs? Something I'm really just getting a handle on now?

Recently, I visited with a friend and her newborn baby boy. I adore babies, I really do, and I loved every second of holding and snuggling with the grumpy little old man. But it really hit me at that moment, as much as I loved holding and snuggling this baby... I am happy not to do it again. I don't want sleepless nights and crying that I'm not sure how to fix. I don't want the helplessness. I don't.

We remind ourselves that decisions at this point don't have to be infinitely binding. That my brother and I are close as can be at 7 years apart. But at this point we've given away all the baby clothes. We've started giving away all the gear. And eventually, "not deciding" will be a decision.


How many kids do you have? If you have one, will you have more? Why or why not? If you have more then one, how did you know having number two (etc) was what was right for you? 

Accepting the Mother I Am

Here's something that I don’t readily admit: I make a lot of mistakes with my children. I lose my cool, I bribe, I second-guess myself, and I clean my house while they watch TV.

I know my children well. I know when either of them needs a cuddle. I know that they don't like to be hassled and asked questions right when they wake up. I know my daughter will cry if the lights are too bright first thing in the morning; I know my son will be upset if we are out of his favorite granola bars. With nearly seven years of mothering under my belt, I know what my kids want without words; I understand their idiosyncrasies and habits like no one else. I know which cry means what, and I empathize with and I feel their pain. But with other things, I sometimes feel like I’m still groping in the dark.

I’m a perfectionist, and I tend to expect a lot of my kids. I expect that my son won’t forget his eyeglasses at school yet again. I expect that he’ll stop doing something after I’ve asked him to stop ten times. I expect my daughter’s appetite will be the same every day, and worry when it isn’t. I expect that this time, she will eat her yogurt without spilling it on the table, without getting up at least a dozen times.

I expect even more of myself. I expect that, as it often does, life will remind me that my kids are just kids. I expect that I will find a balance between child rearing, housework, and marriage (some days I do, some days I don’t). I expect I will stop wasting time, hiding in silly tasks to avoid thinking about the big things.

I expect I will learn to control my temper.

The one thing I have the most trouble with on a regular basis is my temper. It’s awful and it’s the hardest thing for me to admit or talk about. My anger comes on in a flash, goes on like a switch, and is gone just as quickly. Unfortunately, what’s transpired in the interim is harder to get rid of. It goes against everything I try to do with my children in terms of parenting and disciplining them gently.

I wish so much that I could learn to breathe, refocus, and not be angry, for good. My anger is hard to let go of because it makes me feel strong and in control (the irony is not lost on me here—when I’m angry, I am absolutely not in control—my anger is). It’s my security blanket, the one thing I know I can go back to at any time and feel like myself. I grapple with it every single day of my life and am working so hard to let it go.

Most days are great. But some days are bad, and as many excuses as I make for allowing myself to react in anger (I’m pregnant, I’m sick, I didn’t get any sleep, my kids are being difficult, etc), the only person that can make this better is me. I don’t run from it. I talk to my kids about it and I don’t hide my struggle with it. I’m lucky and grateful that my family is loving and forgiving.

Time and time again, my children teach me invaluable lessons. They trust me, and so they believe whatever I tell them. My son knows that I will always be at school to pick him up; my daughter knows I will always be outside the bedroom door whenever she calls out “Mommy.” I have been “one of those mothers,” with “one of those children,” everywhere—the supermarket, the doctor’s office, the playground. No matter how dirty the floor is, no matter how loudly I’ve yelled at them, my babies hug me, and kiss me, and say, “I love you.” They are always happy to see me, and always want more of me.

At night, before I settle in, I go into my kids’ room. If my son’s head is off the pillow, I move it back; if my daughter’s leg is hanging off the side of the bed, I ease it onto the mattress. I fix his blankets, tuck her in, and whisper sweet words into their ears. I stroke their soft hair and little hands, still so much smaller than my own. I marvel at their even breathing, their peaceful, warm, sleeping little bodies.

I have to accept the mother I am: imperfect, sometimes impatient, a yeller. Even though those negatives are what stick out in my mind during my worst moments of self-evaluation and criticism, I mother with so much more than that. I love, I cherish, and I agonize. I worry, I nurture, and I appreciate. I give thanks for and am in awe of my children every day. Late at night in the dark I think of all the things I could have done differently and all the things I did that I wish I hadn’t.

I’ve realized something: like life, parenting is a journey, and a work in progress. I’m going to make mistakes—many of them. I will feel a tremendous amount of guilt every time—there is no doubt about that. I feel a sense of hope that I’ll know better with each kid.

Then one of my kids looks at me, looks into my eyes as intently as I look into hers, and I know that she adores me, just the way I am. You could say it’s because she has no choice, but I say that maybe she loves me with my flaws. Maybe my imperfections are teaching my kids more than perfection ever could. Maybe watching me make mistakes and learning from them will teach my children tolerance and acceptance, and maybe they will allow themselves to make mistakes, and learn from them too.

I’m not the mother than always speaks softly. I’m not the mother that doesn’t get angry, get moody, get disappointed. I’m not the mother whose children don’t scream, whose children eat all their vegetables, whose children always listen. But I am the mother who is loved by a precious little boy and girl. And that is the best mother I can hope to be. 

A Little Patience on a Friday Evening

On a Friday early evening, after a rainy morning spent at a museum, a lunch with his dad and me, and an afternoon spent with his uncle, aunt, their dog, and me, my son played outside in the backyard. I put our teatime dishes in the sink, and then I sat down with the baby to nurse her to sleep for her late afternoon nap. With the baby sleeping on my chest, I read the news on my iPhone and listened to my son’s tractor and truck noises from the backyard as well as the phases of quiet when he was just digging. I read an article on patience from National Public Radio; I read a post from Lisa Belkin about how money is actually the thing that makes the difference in parenting, the thing that strengthens a parent’s emotional reserve for children. I looked around the house that someone else had cleaned that morning and agreed that this was true; that I could enjoy this moment of my baby napping while my son entertained himself outside rather than try to pick up the house and wash the floors did indeed do a world of good for my emotional reserve. My husband sent word that he was on his way home. I thought about getting up to heat up some soup. I got up instead because I realized the phase of quiet coming from the back yard had extended a little longer than long.

When I had last looked outside the kitchen window, my son had been crouched down and digging and filling his bucket with dirt. When I walked into the kitchen next, I saw what he had been working on. In the same way that the splintered off broomsticks haul bucket of water after bucket of water eventually flooding the house of the sorcerer in Fantasia, my son had filled a good portion of our kitchen with dirt from the backyard. It turns out the hauling capabilities of a few hundred magical broomsticks could be beat by my son and his bucket in a matter of minutes.

Looking at my backyard of dirt that was now residing on my kitchen floor, I instantly thought of how much my husband looks forward to coming home to a cleaned house on the days that the cleaning lady comes. I thought if I was the one who had washed that floor, I would have probably instantly gotten frustrated. I would have thought of the lost hours, the logistical planning it requires to wash a floor when navigating the moods, naps and activities of an 8-month old and a 3 ½ year old. Then I thought how the person who washed the floor would be back Monday to wash it again.

When my son next appeared in the doorway with another bucket, we had one of those moments that feels like it occurs in slow motion. He saw me and stopped. His face dropped and froze, as if he knew I would instantly get frustrated at him. I realized I didn’t want my son to have the experience of doing something and being scared of getting in trouble for it. I had never actually made it a rule that he should not bring buckets of dirt into the kitchen. I remembered in my own childhood, I hated it when I did something that I didn’t know was against a rule until I did it and a rule suddenly appeared. I remembered those instants of happiness and contentment disappearing the moment I realized I was in trouble because a rule I didn’t know existed suddenly appeared.

I didn’t want that for him.

I thought of the article on patience I had just read, that if I developed enough patience I could intervene with initial reactions to prevent doing or saying something I would regret.

I looked back at my son and smiled. He smiled his delightful smile.

I said in my calmest-most-even-keel-way, “When Daddy comes home, he will hold baby and I will help you clean up the dirt.”

“Okay,” my son said. “I’m digging inside, now that it’s night outside.”

Of course. He wanted to keep digging now that it was night. I had to admit, given he was only working with one small bucket, there was an impressive amount of dirt on my kitchen floor. I couldn’t help but admire his vision, his engineering, and his persistence.

I even admired his reasoning: The sun is going down and it is getting chilly outside but I want to keep digging ergo I will just bring the backyard indoors and I can keep digging.

When my husband walked in the door, I said, “You should walk only into the living room and stop before you get to the kitchen. I will help him clean it up.”

And with multiple brooms and dustpans and eventually the vacuum, we did it clean it up together (Okay, I did do a greater chunk, but still he did a good portion.)

Before dinner, the backyard was restored to its rightful location. My son learned that we can make messes and we can clean them up. I learned a little patience goes a long way, and that clean floors can simply be washed again and that, in hindsight, offering to help my son put the backyard back where he found it was far less traumatic for all of us than any of the alternatives. My husband learned that while it is nice to come home to a clean home, it is far more entertaining and enlightening to come home to find your children recreating the landscape to meet their personal specifications, that to some extent it is gratifying to note that your children feel comfortable and safe exploring their world and their capabilities rather than staying within the lines of a clean house.