Shepherd Alexander Fanning, born 21 April 2007 at 5:54 AM.

7 lbs., 11 oz., 22 inches, tastes like chicken!

Thank you for all your good wishes. More soon, when I rebuild my reserves…

Led Zeppelin, Thank You

Hi all.

I am so sorry I haven’t written. I wish I could convey to you in one entry how utterly pooped I am. Every morning I read something I want to link to here, or I think of something I want to tell you all. I come up with witty repartee and even take photos that I think you would be interested in. Then, somewhere between dropping Ruby off at daycare (which Shaun and I do in tandem now, since getting in and out of the car is almost physically impossible) and my late morning “lie-down,” I lose my oomph to post. Then, if I get a second wind later, it’s sucked away from me by the dinner/bath/bed routine or just the couch, calling to me.

I am doing well. Read: I am doing as well as a 9+ month pregnant woman with SPD and a toddler can do. I am actually, right now, in the part of pregnancy I have labelled WSA, for Would Suck for Anyone. Any woman who gets to this stage of pregnancy has to be pretty near off her rocker. It’s just plain uncomfortable.

Wednesday night (it’s Friday now), there was a LOT of activity in my uterus. Regular downtown nightclub in there. BFII was doing all kinds of humpty-hump on my pelvis and I was convinced that labor was imminent. At my doc appointment Thursday I practically had my little hospital bag packed, and a gurney on order. Alas, my cervix has other ideas — it’s just not giving up the fight yet. I could induce, but I have said all along that I don’t want to do that for my comfort alone. BFII will have cooked 38 weeks next Monday — and that’s the earliest I would be comfortable yankin’ him out of there. If I can make it to 40, so be it, but that feels unlikely.

Shaun and I made our last pre-BFII sojourn out of town last weekend for a co-worker’s wedding. I was really into it as it was an authentic Indian wedding and I had never been to one. Plus, the gal getting married is one I am very fond of from Shaun’s office. So, here we are, looking all gussied up for the big event:

I look like a Big Red Schoolhouse, no? We kept darting back to the room to put my feet up, so that I could make it to all the different events (according to one guest we chatted with, had we been in India? This wedding would have lasted seven days. Excellent!). Still, I can’t prevent this at the end of the day:

Mmm. Feet.

And no, I am not smuggling a corn dog in the side pocket there, it’s just fluid. Sexy. Let’s dance!

And here, just because I can, is a pic of Ruby and Shaun, because they’re cute squared.

Thank you for all the good thoughts thus far in the pregnancy, I can feel ‘em. I fully anticipate this condition will be gone within a couple weeks of delivery, and for me to be back to my postin’, smiley self. Let’s all send a little word upstairs on that, shall we?

Sweet Lord, Mama’s cooked.

Prince, Alphabet Street

Sort of a bummer day today. More pain, less patience for it.

Have you ever missed a step coming down the stairs? I dropped off an application at a local elementary school for Ruby this morning (everyone has to “apply” for the 3-year-old programs in DC, because there aren’t enough of them), which happens to be right next to the private preschool she currently attends. When I came out, I saw little lines of toddlers being led out of Ruby’s building (turned out it was a fire drill). I located her little flower-dy jacket in the crowd, about the time I should have been locating the step down in front of me. I came down hard on my right foot (luckily it was a stair instead of stairs), and saw stars. (Ha! I saw a star, not the stair). Now it’s just sort of a dull ache (with occasional stabbing!) as I work. I have gotten up several times to mix it up a bit, but I would recommend keeping your eyes peeled if you have this condition and you actually have to go anywhere.

I realized today (which is lending itself to the blues) that I don’t remember not being in pain. I can picture it (see myself leaping around to silly music or getting up and down the stairs quickly, or carrying large items in from Costco), but I can’t feel it. It’s a strange sensation — only knowing what the pain feels like and not being able to place the absence of it.

Must be sort of like reading this blog. Ouch! Do you remember when I talked about anything else?

Then, Shaun sent me this picture:

That would have been helpful information late last summer, I would say.

I resign myself to telling you something much more interesting tomorrow. M-kay?

Dooley Wilson, As Time Goes By

Maggie over at MightyGirl posted a pregnancy ticker — a cute countdown. I designed my own, and then looked at hers with envy. 8 days left. Add a 0 to that, and you’ve got me!

Ouch.

I am blessed. I am blessed. I am blessed. Limp. Snort. (thud).

Unknown, The Ants Go Marching

It seems a pallor has been cast over the blogosphere. I hit a certain time of the day and I can’t string three words together, much less write something witty and informative on Fannfare. As I click around on the blogs that I read, most folks are tiring of winter, feeling blue, struggling with ennui, malaise, depression.

Schmutzie’s got it. Sweetney is clawing her way through. Leahpeah is ripping all the curtains back to let the sun in. What’s going on? How are you?

This is my second turn around the dance floor with chronic pain, although I have to say that it’s kickin’ me a little harder this time. I am worried about my growing dependence on pain medication to complete a day. I time taking my meds with picking up my daughter from preschool, so that I can share a smile and a laugh with her instead of just winces and groans. She has taken to complaining about her pelvis hurting when she climbs the stairs, or telling me she will take care of my pelvis when we are getting in and out of the car, the bed, the bath. I hate to think that in her little mind, she has ANYthing to do with this hormonal condition, or that it is Baby Fanning II’s fault (although, let’s face it, little trickster is not blameless). I am supposed to be taking care of her, you know? It’s hard to think that she will remember me as being so…handicapped…but then I try to remember back to when I was 2.5 years old and it’s all fuzz. Thank heavens.

The other thing about pain that is so…interesting…is that it really does come with bad feelings. I have a Nurse Practitioner that I love (I am circling the wagons for when I have the baby and I have to get off the meds), and have seen her recently to prepare for battle. I told her I was concerned because one day, my pain was no different, but I was full of despair (why did I get pregnant? What if I completely fall apart when I have this baby? What if Shaun leaves? What if what if what if?) and I took a pill…realizing that’s why I took it. I loved her hard when she said “Amy, percoset treats many levels of pain.” I just felt like she got it. And, we both knew it was good that I didn’t then take 12 more and rip my top off and go racing down the street.

Note: I am so Billy Squier. When I take my meds, the sky blues out like in the video (about 1:22), and man, I just rock. The belly crawls are getting a little more awkward these days, and I just don’t have that many disposable tees, but otherwise…..well, you get the picture. When Shaun gets home from the office (about 4:26)? All bets are off, my friends. Then Tom comes over, and Hollis and Foster, and we all take our shirts off. It’s complete 80s madness over here.

Rock on!

REM, Everybody Hurts

Wow, it’s been six days since I posted here, which I think is the longest I have gone since firing Fannfare up.

I’m not having a good time, people. I think I tend to coccoon a bit when that happens. One would think that writing (blog, journal, letters, emails, whatever your poison) would be therapeutic during tougher times, and while that may be true, it hasn’t been for me. At least not since I was an angst-ridden teenager holed up in my room blasting Angie Baby by Helen Reddy and scribbling dark poetry into the margins of my textbooks. I prefer being funny and clever to cranky and maudlin. Who doesn’t?

My pelvic pain is mind-numbing most days. Add to that the guilt that any mother-to-be would have about taking prescribed narcotics (albeit prescribed) with a little one in the cooker. Heap on there a serving of “wow, a large glass of wine would go nicely with this pill,” and having to stave that off. Spoon over top a healthy dose of “I DON’T WANT YOU!” screamed at the top of toddler lungs when I pick up Ruby (happens to everyone…a kid has a favorite parent or aunt or little friend and it’s different every day, but I am making a Bummer Salad here, okay!?). Scoop of “I need help carrying the [insert really light grocery item] in from the car?” Yes, please.

And, the drizzly dressing on top of all that? Tonight Shaun was bathing Ruby (he has been Great Guy, believe me) and I had to tinkle. I started up the stairs a bit too late, asking him on my way if I could get in there (we have one bathroom). I stopped halfway to sort of squeeeeeze the wee back in, and realized that I have lost the ability to do that (read: OOPS, I [PEED] MY PANTS).

I have twenty weeks to go and I’ve already wet my drawers.

What else you wanna know?

Note: My sister sent this video which cracked me up (put a little serotonin in it!) — AND, if you’ve had enough of my dribble drivel, Vote for Schmutzie’s Milkmoney Or Not, Here I Come as the 2006 Weblog Awards Best Canadian Blog.

Jane’s Addiction, Standing in the Shower…Thinking

Wow, what a show of support! Thank you internet, and thanks to family and friends who reached out today to collectively awwwww in support of my pretzel pelvis. And of Baby Fanning II.

I also posted to MoTH, my local Moms’ listserv, and got back some amazing advice about SPD. An osteopath? I’m on the lookout! If you stop by here and want to comment or email more about it — with 20-some weeks left I’ll take whatever wisdom you’ve got!

Tim Curry, Sloe Gin

Note: Sloe Gin is the ultimate teenage angst song, for one who has just seen Rocky Horror and wants to drink in everything-Tim-Curry. I don’t feel this way (Lord, remember when I did?) — I really picked the lyric because my SP didn’t hurt as bad with each line of each email. Funny how that works…

It’s time to share, because I don’t think of much else these days.

Shaun and I have started building a house in Colorado, and a baby in my belly. Bricks and cells, bricks and cells.

Baby Fanning II is due in April of 2007, about the time we do our walk-through in Denver.

I have tried to tell as many people as I could in person — if I haven’t seen you and you are reading this for the first time here, I’m sorry you are getting the internet treatment. I have to post every day in November, and it’s been hard not talking about this for weeks! Old wives say that one should wait until after 12 weeks to announce such things, and I have done that. I’m about 16-17 weeks in. Luckily I am past the mind-numbing fatigue that comes along with the first trimester (be ready to revisit that after delivery!), and have a little more of my energy back.

Sadly, I am also experiencing SPD again. S-P-fucking-D. Sorry. Ahem. Symphysis Pubis Disfunction, which is a hormonal anomaly that essentially translates to pain. P-A-I-N. You can read about it here and here, and probably about 40 more times on Fannfare between now and April. It sucks, but I knew I had a pretty good chance of getting it again. I was diagnosed with it when I was 18 weeks pregnant with Ruby — this time it has arrived a bit earlier. When most women are 8.5+ months pregnant, they start producing a hormone called relaxin that softens the pelvic area (SP) so that the baby can get out without breaking Mom in two. My body starts producing relaxin as soon as I get pregnant. Or so it appears. So, my pelvic area is already weakened/soft, and hurts when I…move.

I finally figured out a way to describe it. Did you ever fall forward on your bicycle onto the bar in the front? Most gals I have spoken to have experienced that. Remember that pain and then add pound after pound on top of it, and there you go.

Enough about that for now, though — I get a baby at the end of the struggle (the condition naturally goes away once you deliver, within 4-6 weeks, because your body stops producing the hormone) and for that I am very thankful. So, if you see me lumbering by in the next 22-or-so weeks, just try not to run into me. I assure you I would topple like Jenga blocks and stay down making baby seal noises until you felt really bad about yourself.

I have to say that I have read many blogs during NaBloPoMo, trying to keep up with and learn about new folks. I keep coming back, though, to a gal who is now a favorite…Schmutzie at Milkmoney. She posted a poem that spoke to me (to many, I am sure)…you should read it two or three times at least. I am sure that she wasn’t talking about my baby-to-be when she spoke of “the body inside your body,” but isn’t that the beauty of writing? If the reader is taken where you want them to go, or somewhere entirely intimate — either destination speaks to the gifts of the writer. I guess you could call me a Schmutz-ee now — she is a real treat. You go ahead and take a bite out of her too — there’s plenty of insightful, wicked and beautiful writing to go around. Every day in November!

Now, if you would, just think positive thoughts about my pelvis for a moment. It’s soft, like a pretzel! Hold the salt.

Kate Bush, This Woman’s Work