The Christmas decorations are still up in our house. Nick and I are hosting our circuit's Epiphany party (late, of course) next Friday, and I figured that was as good an excuse as any to leave everything where it is. Especially because I know taking the tree down will leave a gaping hole in our living room feng shui and the goddess of inspiration is not my best friend at the moment. She thinks I took her for granted when I made a mobile for the baby's room. Anyway, I was all set to leave the decorations up until after the party, but I'm starting to get sick of them. Never thought that would happen. I love Christmas decorations. And Nick wouldn't let me put them up until well into December, so it's not like they've been around since Halloween. But they come down today. Or maybe Sunday. We'll see how it goes. But once they come down, WHAT WILL WE DO FOR AMBIANCE? We have three lamps in the entire house. We are not stylish people. We have recessed lighting on a dimmer switch in the living room, so I suppose that will help, and the only other dim-able lighting is in the baby's room. Great for midnight diaper changes, sure, but when trying to be elegant hosts? "Come! Enjoy your dessert in the nursery! The lighting is perfect!"
Perhaps I need to stop reading interior decorating magazines. Then all will be well.
In other news, The Belly Grows. I thought I was brilliant a couple weeks ago when I purchased a pack of men's "beaters" from Walmart. Maternity camis are easily $15 each, which is a ridiculous price to pay for an UNDERSHIRT. Men's beaters are $12 for a pack of five or six, and they're long and stretchy enough to cover the ever-expanding middle that is my month eight figure. (Seven months done, in the eighth month, for those of you playing along at home and completely bamboozled by the insanity that is pregnancy math.) What I didn't count on, however, was the ribbing. It helps make them super stretchy and comfy, of course, but it also kind of clings to the shirt on top of it, so unless the beater is tucked into the pants, everything still follows the path of least resistance and winds up around the belly button. Still not popped out, btw. Now mostly just flat. Nick is adjusting.
I have three pairs of maternity pants that I wear regularly. They are rotated with the three pairs of sweatpants that are the uniform of a soon-to-be Stay At Home Mom. A pair of high-banded gray corduroys (my favorite), a pair of flare-legged, high-banded but a little snug jeans, and a pair of tapered jeans with a low, thick elastic waist. The last pair of jeans is the most versatile, since they're a) denim (in the loosest sense; stretchy maternity "denim," which is probably mostly spandex or lycra or some synthetic blend) and b) not prone to falling down. The problem is that this baby has never liked things pressing on him. He tries to get away from the doctor every time she tries to find his heartbeat. He pouts whenever my stomach gets too full or I become selfish enough to take a deep breath, only assuring me that he is, in fact, alive when I've digested enough to make his little acrobatics possible again. He's kind of territorial, it seems. Anyway, when I wear said jeans, he spends most of his day kicking at the waist band. I enjoy feeling his movements more regularly, but he has found one specific spot, and those of you who have been pregnant might know which spot this is, that actually hurts when pummeled. Not fun, little one.
Finally, Nick and I were discussing our dreams over breakfast this morning. I've been having vivid pregnancy dreams for months now, none of which are appropriate for this blog. Last night Nick had what I would call a sympathetic pregnancy dream. Vivid. Weird. But totally blog-appropriate. He said he came into the living room and was apparently not surprised to find two of me watching tv. One of me was in a nest of pillows on the floor and the other was on the couch. The big dilemma in this dream was deciding which of me to cuddle. He picked one and as soon as we touched, the two of me became one of me. Psychologically speaking, I surmise that this dream had something to do with the whole me-having-another-person-growing-inside thing, but Nick insists it was just a "more of you to love" thing.
That's all from our neck of the woods! Have a lovely weekend (almost)!
Showing posts with label belly button. Show all posts
Showing posts with label belly button. Show all posts
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Baby worries
As we enter into the final few weeks of the second trimester, it has become clear to me that my darling husband and I are not always on the same page where our offspring is concerned. He has browsed the pregnancy book and oooh'd and awwww'd over the tiny clothes and new color of the nursery, and he has comforted me when I randomly burst into tears and cooked and cleaned when I have had no desire to get off the couch. We are virtually identical in beliefs, values, and family goals. But while I'm fretting over preterm labor, gestational diabetes, and the intervals between and intensity of Jr.'s movements, my husband is primarily concerned with... my belly button.
When Nick was a little boy, his older brother told him that if you pushed your belly button hard enough, your legs would fall off. This led the dear man to become extremely unsettled by the idea of "outie" navels. After all, most of us are protected from the horror of watching our legs fall off by our innies, which would have to be actively sought out and pressed. An outie could initiate a self-destruct sequence just by leaning up against a counter. Therefore, in his mind, innie = safe, outie = sudden loss of legs.
Fast forward 23 years to about a month ago, when I, having heard the legend of the belly button many times but never having realized the terror with which my husband has lived, showed him my much shallower navel and informed him that it might pop out before the baby arrives. My pregnancy so far has been pretty easy. Maybe three total days of nausea, a few minor backaches, some fatigue in the first trimester. Nick has handled the food aversions, complaints of dry, itchy skin, unspeakable bathroom-related issues, and general physical expansion like a pro. He has valiantly stood by my side in the Target baby section, holding the scan gun while I dithered over bedding colors and travel systems not once, but at least three times. But, at the prospect of my innie being outed, the poor guy went ashen.
His brother's myth, while no longer believed, is still "a contributing factor" in my husband's belly button psyche. While he does not believe my legs are in any danger, he is afraid that if my belly button pops out, it might get accidentally sheared off, which would unravel my whole internal arrangement and result in all my internal organs spilling out onto the floor. He realizes this is at least highly unlikely and probably impossible. Until the Mythbusters test it, however, he will remain concerned.
Right now, directly behind my navel is a placenta and a sealed-up uterus. But what if my belly button pops out and doesn't go back in after the baby comes? Will my weakened abdominal muscles herniate out, the leaders in a charge soon to be followed by my spleen and whatever else is lurking in there? I read the section in What to Expect that assures the worried parents-to-be that "your belly button should revert back to its regular position a few months after delivery". The book even suggests Band-Aid-ing it down if its outward appearance truly bothers you. Nick was relieved; he had been thinking tape and I caught him eyeing the stapler the other day. But then... "Should? Should revert?" He has two questions for the doctor at my appointment today: 1. Will it go back after the baby comes? and 2. If it doesn't, is surgery an option?
I, on the other hand, am fascinated by this pregnancy symptom, as it is one of the few that is not painful, scary, or gas-inducing. I discovered last night that if I press lightly above and below my navel, it pops out like those googly-eyed stress balls and then immediately shoots back in. I was thoroughly enjoying this new toy, and, forgetting Nick's phobia, went to show him my new trick, as he usually is enraptured by such things. He shrieked and hid under a pillow, yelling, "No! No! Put it back!" He looked rather sheepish when he came back out of his pillow fort and insisted on checking that things were back to normal before he would go to sleep.
In short, I have a wonderfully supportive husband with whom I am greatly anticipating parenthood. I'm just not sure he's going to go near the baby until the cord dries up and falls off. And in the meantime, we pray the baby has an innie, or his father will be sheathing it in bubble wrap every day of the poor kid's life.
When Nick was a little boy, his older brother told him that if you pushed your belly button hard enough, your legs would fall off. This led the dear man to become extremely unsettled by the idea of "outie" navels. After all, most of us are protected from the horror of watching our legs fall off by our innies, which would have to be actively sought out and pressed. An outie could initiate a self-destruct sequence just by leaning up against a counter. Therefore, in his mind, innie = safe, outie = sudden loss of legs.
Fast forward 23 years to about a month ago, when I, having heard the legend of the belly button many times but never having realized the terror with which my husband has lived, showed him my much shallower navel and informed him that it might pop out before the baby arrives. My pregnancy so far has been pretty easy. Maybe three total days of nausea, a few minor backaches, some fatigue in the first trimester. Nick has handled the food aversions, complaints of dry, itchy skin, unspeakable bathroom-related issues, and general physical expansion like a pro. He has valiantly stood by my side in the Target baby section, holding the scan gun while I dithered over bedding colors and travel systems not once, but at least three times. But, at the prospect of my innie being outed, the poor guy went ashen.
His brother's myth, while no longer believed, is still "a contributing factor" in my husband's belly button psyche. While he does not believe my legs are in any danger, he is afraid that if my belly button pops out, it might get accidentally sheared off, which would unravel my whole internal arrangement and result in all my internal organs spilling out onto the floor. He realizes this is at least highly unlikely and probably impossible. Until the Mythbusters test it, however, he will remain concerned.
Right now, directly behind my navel is a placenta and a sealed-up uterus. But what if my belly button pops out and doesn't go back in after the baby comes? Will my weakened abdominal muscles herniate out, the leaders in a charge soon to be followed by my spleen and whatever else is lurking in there? I read the section in What to Expect that assures the worried parents-to-be that "your belly button should revert back to its regular position a few months after delivery". The book even suggests Band-Aid-ing it down if its outward appearance truly bothers you. Nick was relieved; he had been thinking tape and I caught him eyeing the stapler the other day. But then... "Should? Should revert?" He has two questions for the doctor at my appointment today: 1. Will it go back after the baby comes? and 2. If it doesn't, is surgery an option?
I, on the other hand, am fascinated by this pregnancy symptom, as it is one of the few that is not painful, scary, or gas-inducing. I discovered last night that if I press lightly above and below my navel, it pops out like those googly-eyed stress balls and then immediately shoots back in. I was thoroughly enjoying this new toy, and, forgetting Nick's phobia, went to show him my new trick, as he usually is enraptured by such things. He shrieked and hid under a pillow, yelling, "No! No! Put it back!" He looked rather sheepish when he came back out of his pillow fort and insisted on checking that things were back to normal before he would go to sleep.
In short, I have a wonderfully supportive husband with whom I am greatly anticipating parenthood. I'm just not sure he's going to go near the baby until the cord dries up and falls off. And in the meantime, we pray the baby has an innie, or his father will be sheathing it in bubble wrap every day of the poor kid's life.
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