Day Four - Such a Big Girl Already!

La Pumpuna
... can pull ever so many little sweet faces, including one that looks like a smirk and enchants mummy and daddy. She can poo proper smelly baby poo and needs changing after every feed. She knows just how much milk she needs, and when she's finished feeding, she pulls off those (poor sore) nipples, pulls a little face and rests her little head on top of the breast for a sleepy cuddle. She's coping ever so well with her many lovely visitors - and so far she only wakes once per night to feed, such a clever girl! Only once did she get confused and insisted on latching on to daddy's nipple through his t-shirt, but she was still a little smaller then.

Papi
... continues being a real star supporting mummy when she feeds our little big girl, hauling all the shopping in, cooking lovely dinners and insisting that mummy eat for two by heaping triple portions on her plate. He's shaved his chest so his little big girl won't be tickled too much when snuggling up for daddy cuddles. He changes her nappy like the real star he is.

The washing machine
... does overtime! On pumpunita's first day at home we went through 4 baby outfits, 3 mummy outfits and one daddy outfit. The baby outfits were lost to various degrees of exposure to meconium (black) and baby milk vomit (yellow), as were the mummy outfits, combined with breat milk stains (whitish transparent). The daddy outfit was lost to the general panicked sweating he breaks into when anything happens to his baby, like hickups that shake her entire body (and don't bother her at all). The good thing: Pumpunita's nanna does the washing and the ironing.

Mummy
... excels at mummy cuddles, kissing her baby and gazing at it. Fails at everything else, from being a proper hostess (sorry everybody), to sleeping (unable to stop cuddling or gazing). Not that it matters, daddy and nanna keep the show swinging.

We are so in love with out little Tara Olivia! There! I've given her name away. (A matter of great dispute, but Andy did finally give us his thumbs-up.)

Here's the picture of the day


And as a special bonus, a little video when she was still very very small and not even two days old, what strong lungs she has!

Jose´s Daughter is a Girl

Born on 27.07.2006 at 9.07pm only 2 1/2 hours after my waters were broken (from 3cm to fully dilated in 1 1/2 hours!), on just 'gas and air' and 'vocalisation', i.e. top-of-my-lungs wailing, weighing 2780g.
Our Pumpunita is perfectly healthy and beautiful. We are eternally grateful, overjoyed and somewhat tired.



She looks like a mini version of her father, but where noses are concerned...



At the moment she is sleeping on daddy's knees, and mummy should be trying to get a minute's rest as well!

Countdown

Did I sleep last night? Of course I didn't. Jose didn't. So I'm too tired to discuss names just now, I'm afraid. 12 hours, 30 minutes. Jose has shaved: "I prepared my face to kiss my baby". I've phoned the hospital: Yes I may have breakfast before we come in. 12 hours 28 minutes. Time for dinner and an attempt to sleep. Will I be counting sheep? I don't think so! I can count nappies! Or little well ironed vests. 12 hours 26 minutes. Oh my God.

Five Days Over, or, A Little Poke

I must not believe everything I read on the internet. I must not believe everything I read on the internet. I must not believe everything I read on the internet.
Whoever claimed that membrane sweeps were painful was exaggerating it a bit. Whoever said whole arms had to be shoved in was overdoing it more than just a bit. Uncomfortable, yes, but hey, worse to come. So, after a bit of poking, pushing and digging my maternity notes read as follows:
"Membrane sweep performed. Cervix soft, 1cm long, 1-2cms dilated, posterior. Ceph (?) presentation Station-2. FHHR following examination. IOL booked for Thurs 27.07.06." Not sure what exactly means what but in summary it is saying: All is well on the Southern front, conditions are favourable, and there should be no problems with the induction on Thursday morning. In other words, all being well this baby is OUT & REAL by Thursday night. It might even do its little dippy dive before, judging from the internal state of things!
For now all feels as stable as ever (which may not mean anything as it could start any minute now) but it looks like we know baby's birthday before we even know his/her gender or name. How weird.

Jose is as convinced as ever that it's a girl. I'm a little confused by his constant talk about 'her' and 'my daughter' but still seem to talk more about 'him', my mother says. So should we call Jose's daughter 'gift to him', if it is a girl; and my son 'mine' if it is a boy? That would be Shilo and Ennis (in Hebrew, resp. Greek). But Brad Pitt's daughter is Shilo, and Andy has helpfully (behind my back) turned Ennis into Anus for me - and there I was, thinking that real danger could lie with Pen(n)is... Could I truly let 'mine' down and not only call him a name that can be turned into Anus or Penis, but on top a name that I've picked up from a 'gay cowboy' film, just because I want him to have a special, meaningful name?


More on names tomorrow. I'm starting to feel slightly spooked and nervous and a little scared and MY GOD!!! SO!!! excited I probably won't sleep between now and when I collapse some time on the weekend - plenty time to muse over names, browse German, English and Spanish hitlists, research meanings and check sound effects with Andy who seems to have a special and useful talent that's gone undetected until now. Then again, maybe he's just English and rude enough?

Jose is telling me off for not posting enough pictures. So this one's for Barbara and everyone else who's been kind enough to praise the growth of my magnificent bump. Thanks for pointing it out continually, from up above here it's always looked the same from that magical moment on when I could no longer see my feet!

Four Days Over, or, Pick Your Birth Day

I've observed three interesting psychological phenomenons today. First, I'm now on best friends' terms with scan-man. I seem to have surrendered scepticism and simply trust him and feel protected. We've met 13 times now, he's got this nice way of putting his arm around my shoulder, and I find it very reassuring to know that he's on duty tonight as well as Wednesday night (Alex to Alex's subconscious: TONIGHT!). Never mind the talk about induction. Never mind the 7.45am appointment he's booked for Thursday. We'll ignore that for the time being, I'm too tired to contemplate it just now, I think, and there's still Tuesday and Wednesday, including Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday NIGHT. Such a generous supply of opportunities!
Then there is the phenomenon of group criticism. Go out with my mum and Jose-daddy-to-be and they gang up on me! Crossing the street where the bad red man is on display (There was no car! There so was no car that there probably still isn't now!), boo! Standing too close to the street when actually waiting at traffic lights? Very naughty! Placing a cup of café latte on my tummy? Bad girl! (How hot can milk foam be, through a cup and saucer! Do I have to hit you with it to prove my point?!) I'll be reeducated at 32, and it's so hot and I'm so tired I'll probably give in! Though I have to say it's quite endearing how they herd me in and make me walk on the safe side of side walks, or how they refuse to share the cakes and biscuits I offer them when supplies are limited.
Then there is the phenomenon of surrogate shopping. My mother has taken on the remaining sales, overshops on shoes, and suddenly I no longer feel the urge to buy anything myself (other than peaches that I normally end up having to bin because I buy so many I'm quite unable to keep up with the mold, but peaches are rather affordable). Quite a relief actually.

Back to the subject of choosing birthdays. We now have an induction pending for Thursday. I actually didn't do much choosing there (I trust my friend scan-man now, you see), and, like I said, we still have 2 days and 3 nights before 'the great day', and then there's no guarantee the induction will work on the spot. It can actually still drag on for up to 2 days before the actual birth starts, which then may still take, as i'm told, quite a while. All in all still a time frame of up to potentially six (6) days - any time between now and the end of the month, in short. No news really, then.

Tomorrow (if my subconscious doesn't work and I don't go into labour tonight) I have an appointment with the midwife. She's already promised me, in case that infamous induction was impending, some sort of 'internal examination' that often helps getting things moving. A bit of prodding and poking. My good friend scan-man and my other good friend The Internet filled me in on the details: A membrane sweep consists of sweeping fingers (not mine, I'm afraid) over my cervix, which I fear is not necessarily within easy reach. I'm not sure I'm enthusiastic. Generally I thought the concept of giving birth was that of small family members coming down my, erm, birth canal, not that of large semi-random strangers shoving fingers, hands and/or arms up it?
Natural home birth? A very distant memory...

PS.: That mug stood very still - until baby decided to give it a good old healthy kick, at which point we'd luckily stopped posing for posterity.

Three Day Overdue, or, BORED

Things I did not do today:
I did not practise any of the 40 steps of how to tie a baby sling.
I did not write my address 35 times on the envelopes of the birth announcements that will want sending out some time in the not all too distant future.
I did not do any ironing.
I did not discuss baby names in writing but I'm told by Jose that 'Romy' is not acceptable as, in Spanish, it is the cupboard you put under the sink in the bathroom. 'Antonia', too, is inacceptable as Spanish Antonias are ugly, cross-eyed, and at least 80 years old, I am informed by daddy Jose Antonio.
I did not make the baby's bed.
I did not give birth.

Things I did do today, in that order:
I got really really badly bored and frustrated.
I grew more stretch marks centre-tummy. Then I got a little depressed.
I got my act together, marched into town, had a coffee and got to bump into my boss Janet as a reward. That was NICE. As a result, I cheered up immediately and remembered that there are other lives out there that are less pleasant than mine at present - lives in which people have to go to offices and work, not grow babies and stretch marks! (We will revisit the subject of the relative pleasure of my present life during labour.)
I ate all that Jose put on my plate, including the third helping.
I watched 'Whale Rider' and decided that maybe 'Paikea' is a nice strong name to put on The List. (To be discussed with daddy J.A. He has opinions.)
I got my paperwork out for another visit to scan-man tomorrow at noon (statistically this should be a scary bad news visit since the one a fortnight ago had been reassuring).

But tomorrow is another day, and we still have 13 hours and 11 minutes to that appointment. Who knows, the baby may be (on its way) out by then.

All Quiet on the Southern Front

After an exciting (and painful!) cramp in the middle of the night we've settled back into waiting - all quiet on the southern front. It might be a sign of imminent labour that I didn't feel like going out today... but it might simply have to do with the rain, thunder and lightning that were going on outside. Not quite sure.
I was a little luckier on the showing-off front yesterday. Turns out the exchange of
'So, when's the baby due' - 'Yesterday, actually' is just as enjoyable as the familiar variety 'Tomorrow, actually', if a grammatical oddity. But the novelty is wearing off already. And it's a little uncomfortable speaking to anyone at all when you've left the house not fully realising that your choice of clothing is quite fetching but equally revealing, and your left breast is essentially on full display to anyone who looks a little higher than the bump (which is where you look when you communicate). Dear me. The comment about going out naked was a joke! Trust my subconscious to make it a reality... Is it only on the labour front where my subconscious is failing me? Or am I subconsciously hoping for another few days before my life is transformed?
If I don't go into labour tonight we'll discuss potential names tomorrow. As for today, I'll just spend the rest of the day as bored as the beginning and the middle of it. And don't anyone suggest that washing and ironing were a good remedy against boredom.

PS.: That pain last night HURT. Did I really tick the 'absolutely no drugs' option on every official form?!
PPS.: Boah, wat is dat laaangweilisch.
PPPS.: Accidentally ate an entire bar of choccolate. Boah, wat war dat eeeklisch... Dat is ja soo laangweilisch.