Anytime is good for me

After five months of eager anticipation, last night finally came. It was the culmination of nearly 20 years of hoping, praying, wishing that it would happen... someday, somehow. Last night, I finally got to see The Police, live in concert. And oh, god, was it ever good. I've been a fan of The Police since I was 15 and rediscovered the song "Wrapped Around Your Finger." Later, during the autumn of my sophomore year of high school, my best friend and I would drive around during lunch listening to Every Breath you Take: The Singles over and over. To this day, the song "Roxanne" can conjure a rainy fall day like no other. But I was a little late to The Police party, since they'd broken up when I was still a pre-teen. And no good concerts ever came to Billings, Montana, anyway. Well, except for the extremely awesome REO Speedwagon, whom I saw in 6th grade.

Needless to say, when word came out late in 2006 that a reunion tour was in the works, M - also a longtime fan who missed out on the chance to see them in concert - and I were more than a little interested. Tickets went on sale for fan club members on February 20th (and yes, we purchased a membership specifically for this purpose). We scored 4 tickets with relative ease. Now came five months of waiting. Oh, yeah... and getting more and more pregnant with each passing month. When we bought those tickets, I was barely out of my first trimester. It seemed like no big deal - of course I'd make it to the concert! Why wouldn't I?

As time went by, I could begin to see how being extremely pregnant might be a bit of a hindrance in getting to the concert, but I was not to be deterred. A number of people expressed their doubts about my ability to make it there, but I stood firm. Of course, I would make it. I've waited too long for this! But I couldn't help but wonder at the words of my previously-pregnant friends who obviously had more experience in this department than I. Would I make it? M and I opted in when a November show was announced and tickets went on sale. Just in case. But I was still determined that unless I was in labor or had a 3-day old baby, I would be there.

Now, being nine months pregnant, something like a major rock concert - at Fenway Park, no less - was not to be undertaken lightly. Understanding that I could get very hot, very swollen, and very tired in short order dictated how M and I prepared for the concert. First, I did virtually nothing all day but sit on my fat arse with my feet up (to minimize swelling) and take naps as they came (to minimize exhaustion). And I wore the most comfortable, loose-fitting clothes I had. No small feat these days, given how big I am now. And M, bless his heart, went out early in the day to find me some sort of cushion to sit on.

I could go into all the details and funny little side-stories that made the evening just that much more flavorful: our bemused cabbie who dropped us off at and picked us up from the concert, the sourpuss in our row who was so disinclined to move her lazy fat ass out of the way to let people in and out of our row (to the point that I actually climbed over the row in front of ours in order to get into my own seat at one point), and our precipitous seat change. But they don't really get into the main point of it. We finally got to see The Police. Live. In concert. And it RULED!

Overall, I have to say it wasn't nearly as difficult or uncomfortable as other people tried to prepare me for. Sure, I was hot and had to keep drinking water to keep hydrated. And I missed parts of a few songs due to multiple bathroom trips. And climbing stairs wasn't really much of a picnic. But after all, I am just pregnant, not disabled. I'd guess my enjoyment level at the concert was actually in no way compromised by my advanced state of pregnancy. It may have been enhanced, actually: all those trips to the bathrooms brought numerous kind comments from fellow concert-goers like, "Three weeks to go? God bless you for being here, honey!" and "Good for you!" and "You look fantastic!" Not only was I having a great fricking time, but I had the support of a lot more people than just the ones I came with. Of course, I got a couple of incredulous stares - some admiring, some less so. But from what I could tell, most people were delighted to see a very pregnant woman being normal and having fun.

And of course, The Police themselves were awesome. It wasn't all "Every Breath You Take" and "Don't Stand so Close to Me;" they also did some of their lesser known songs, which suited me just fine. Sting sounds just as good as he did back in the band's heyday, as do Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland. They rocked it good and hard as I would have expected, and it was completely worth it. Best part? We can tell Weeble that we took her to an amazing rock concert just a few weeks before she was born. Granted, she was on the inside. But still, that's pretty cool. She was there. She has the onesie to prove it.

Now that The Police concert is behind us, I'm pretty much good to give birth any old time. And, in a twist of fine timing, Weeble officially reached "full term" status as of today. 37 Weeks. Which means all her parts are basically finished cooking and she'd most likely be fine on the outside. So, really, anytime is good for me. Just give me enough time to pack my hospital bag and get the car seat installed in the car, and we'll be ready to rock and roll, baby.

Showered

Last weekend was my much-anticipated baby shower. Much-anticipated because I love those gatherings where all one's various worlds collide for a brief time. Work people mingling with family mingling with a whole gaggle of different friend groups. And I don't want to brag, but I know some awesome women, not the least of which is my mother who flew in from Montana for the weekend simply to attend the event. What better way to spend a Saturday afternoon?

My mom and I started out by getting a pedicure and manicure (me) and a massage (her). I forget how much I enjoy pedicures. I've always had super sensitive feet - being unnaturally ticklish and having toes too close together that don't do well with being separated. But the woman who did it Saturday was awesome and I left with happy feet, an all-too-rare occurrence these days.

By the time we got to my mother-in-law's house where the shower was hosted, things were already well underway. Several people had come early - namely the two friends who did the bulk of the planning and arranging, as well as some family members who are always inclined to help out. It felt really odd for me to not participate in the preparations. But it did give me the opportunity to greet people as they arrived. Plenty of people attended who haven't seen me at all since I got pregnant, or who hadn't seen me since I started showing, so there was lots of, "Wow! look how pregnant you are!" and other related exclamations. On any other day, that probably would have bothered me or made me paranoid. But not at the shower. I was so happy to see people and to have them all together, nothing could bother me.

Well, maybe except for the heat, made all the worse by 1) my enormous belly resting on my thighs; 2) opening gifts under the eyes of 25+ women (fun, but awkward just the same); and 3) my general inability to fit any of the gifts on my lap in order to facilitate opening them. The 3 inches remaining is wholly insufficient for gift-opening purposes (or much of anything else, for that matter).

There was only one game, per my request. As M and I have neither decided on a name for the Weeble, nor will we be sharing the final choice with anyone until after she's born, I thought it would be a good idea to have people submit their best guesses. That way, M and I get some fresh ideas (although a few options, such as "Fenway Park," are most definitely not in the running - no offense to the fine friend who clearly submitted that name as a serious suggestion). And if anyone guessed the name she ends up with, they'll get a prize of some kind. Nobody guessed any of our top picks as of now, but a few people hit on B-listers. One never knows.

Aside from getting to see all the people who were kind enough to gather for my baby shower, my favorite thing about the day was the customized puffy-paint onesies. For those of you planning a shower for a friend, I highly recommend this activity. Not only can it produce some extremely hilarious and/or inappropriate onesies (and yes, we certainly got at least a few of those), but it's so fun to see what types of slogans your friends and family members would like to see emblazoned on your kid's front.

All in all, we got a lot of great baby goodies, too. As I mentioned before, I know a lot of awesome women, all of whom are among the most generous people I've ever met. There are hardly any gaps that need to be filled at this point. Between the friends who have given me their wonderful hand-me-downs and the friends and family who showered us with new gear, we're more than set for Weeble to arrive.

I have a bunch of great pictures I'll post up here at some point in the near future. In the meantime, all I can do is thank everyone who came and made it such a great day, especially the women who made it happen at all. I don't know how I got so lucky as to have the friends I do.

Update: Here are some of the pictures from the day. Left to right for each row: me on display; my mother and me; my dear friend Becky and me.

Six Weeks to Go

As of today, I completed 34 weeks of pregnancy, leaving me with only six weeks to go. Six weeks. 42 days. One and-a-half months. In other words, not really all that long. On one hand, it's an eternity from now. On the other, it's practically tomorrow. Of course there's plenty to be done before that six weeks passes, and that's if the Weeble even waits that long.

Looking back, there have been a couple other times where "six weeks" has been significant. I was six weeks pregnant around Christmastime, when we told my family in North Dakota that we were expecting. Earlier than we would have liked to make that news public, but since it was the only opportunity we'd have to share the good news in person, we took it.

Six weeks after that, I was in Germany for a business trip, and gearing up for my first ultrasound and the opportunity to start telling other people in our life about the baby. It took another six weeks to let everyone know.

So here we are, getting near the end of things. My feet and ankles aren't too swollen for the most part, but I can't wear my wedding ring anymore - something that I said from the beginning I hoped would never happen. Up until this point, my pregnancy showed almost exclusively up front. But now my butt, hips, and thighs have gotten in on the action. My glorious stretch marks (or "love branches" as I don't actually call them, but that strikes me as an amusingly sarcastic thing to say) continue their march up and around my belly. Speaking of the belly, I don't know how it can get any bigger - or how I'll stay upright when it does. Because all signs point to I am not yet as big as I will be. Which is scary, considering that when strangers ask me when I'm due and I tell them August 19th, they look shocked and make some comment that usually results in me being pissed and/or paranoid for the rest of the day. Some strangers don't bother to ask, and simply say, "Wow, you must be ready to go, huh?" Urge to kill, RISING.

But there's no way around it. I'm getting close. Weeble is big, active, and ready, as her soon-to-be father believes, "to mess stuff up" (he uses a few alternate words I'll let you fill in on your own). So let the countdown begin. It is ON.

Childbirth Learnin'

We are so totally ready to have this kid. Oh, yeah. We know exactly what to expect, where to go, who will be there, why, and what comes next. All this thanks to the joy of childbirth education classes, of which we had four over the course of the last month. We just finished our last one this week, and we couldn't possibly be more prepared.

Let's recap what we learned. I know you'd all like to share in our extensive knowledge.

Week one: Getting to know you
Our educator spent a good 45 minutes blathering on about her pregnancies (some 30+ years ago) and a couple of her daughter's pregnancies. One class participant, who was serving as labor coach to her daughter, also felt the need to chime in every five minutes with details of her own experiences with her four kids. The latter half of the class was spent watching a video about what happens when sperm enters the vagina and fertilizes an egg. Holy shit, so that's what happened?? I had been wondering how I got into this condition! There was also some discussion about how to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth, as well as how to give hand massages (as a potential relaxation technique for the laboring mother - lucky M!).

Week two: Video Mayhem
I can't tell you a damn thing about our second class beyond the instructor repeating half of what she'd said in the first class, another breathing technique (the "sniff huff"), more "insights" from annoying coach-mother. And The Video. I knew it was going to be rough going the second our instructor started it and everyone in it had that vague ugliness that everyone in the 70s had (hey, I'm not knocking it - I was an ugly child by virtue of my birth in 1974). Everyone in the class giggled their way through several parts - especially us. Then M started getting a little out of control. The laboring 70s woman, with her feathered hair and horse-like teeth, was simply too much. Her geometry teacher husband made it even worse. When he asked her if she wanted anything, she said she'd like juice. His response: "Yeah? Juice?... Yeah." M nearly passed out from trying not to laugh out loud. Then all hell broke loose when ugly 70s lady let out a big grunt and geometry-teacher man responded with, "That was a BIG ONE!" Note to self: don't try to stop yourself from laughing by simply listening to the video instead of watching it. It won't work.

Week Three: Not Your Typical Labor
M and I were quite trepidatious about returning to class, thinking perhaps we would not be able to control our amusement. This was the class where we learned about good stuff like cesarean sections and epidurals. We got another video, too, which showed a "normal" labor along with a few women having non-"normal" labors. Thankfully, M and I were far more mature than usual and hysterical laughing was kept to a minimum. There was also a repeat of just about everything our instructor had shared in the first two classes, and possibly another breathing technique. But frankly, I can't remember at this point. Hooray, annoying mother-coach was not there - presumably because her daughter was busy requiring coaching for her birth.

Week Four: Hospital Tour and Swaddling Your Hideously Ugly Baby
This was easily our most interesting class. After only 10 minutes of repeated information and anecdotes heard in the first three classes, we got to take a stroll through the labor and delivery floor to see where all the "magic" happens. At least places where babies are born have a little more personality than other parts of hospitals, which as a general rule, I dislike immensely. After the tour (during which a few anecdotes were repeated again), we returned to our usual classroom to learn how to bathe and swaddle our babies. When it came to the swaddling, each couple was given its own practice baby. Ours was the ugliest thing you've ever seen. Made out of material similar to that of a Cabbage Patch Kid, it had a pair of painted-on crossed blue eyes, a disgusting tuft of brown hair, a suspicious stain on the back of its head, body-builder shoulders, and a face about a quarter the size of its head. This is the opposite of what I hope comes out of me next month. But hey, we learned how to swaddle our little thing-baby, and what's not good about that?

So, four childbirth education classes, three breathing techniques, countless repetitions of previously discussed pieces of information and anecdotes, and one out-of-control laughing fit, and we graduated with flying colors. Oh, yeah. We're ready for what comes next. No problem.

The Name Game

As any pregnant woman will tell you, the first question she always gets when someone learns she is pregnant (or the protruding belly is so obvious there's no way it's simple weight gain) is "When are you due?" The next two questions will inevitably follow, and almost always in this order:

"Do you know what the gender is?"
and, my favorite,
"Do you have a name picked out?"

In our case, we don't. We're testing out a list of four A-list names and four B-list names (ones we're not entirely sold on). We're taking each name and using it for a full week whenever we are referring to Weeble. We probably won't make our final decision on what it is until she's born and we've all been properly introduced. But it's nice to be able to try names out, even if we don't do it in public. We're one of those annoying couples who refuse to share the names, or even the potential list, with anyone else. It's our one last secret.

Thankfully, this policy didn't prevent one of my dear friends from providing a list of "suggestions." She's more or less settled on her favorite (Metallica - perfect for a girl or boy!), but I thought there were some other gems in there that are worth our consideration:

Aphrodesiac - Lovely, but this is how we got into this mess in the first place. I think no.
Bedonkadonk - Also what got us into this mess (as in, my awesome bedonkadonk that M simply couldn't resist).
Diamonique - Now this one has merit. Not only do I love diamonique jewelry, it's just so pretty as a name!
Filistina - Fine, but she'll inevitably end up with the very pedestrian "Tina."
Gayna - Isn't this the woman who sang that song, "I Will Survive"? Sure, Gloria Gayna.
Hambonia - Isn't this a region in Germany?
Iphagania - Pretty sure this is an itchy condition of the nether regions. No thanks.
Jean-Bobby - The 50s called - they want their crappy hyphenated, gender-neutral name back.
Lambycakes - I can totally see our kid going through life with this name being totally respected by men and non-strip club-oriented employers.
Rusty - I think not. I had a boyfriend in 9th grade for about 10 minutes named Rusty. His mother called the cops on me when two friends and I were breaking and entering a school. That bitch. How could she? Of course, this was on Mother's Day. Yep, I got brought home by the cops for breaking and entering on Mother's Day. This is not a memory I cherish (although I'm certain my mother does).
Shaniqua - As if every other baby girl being born these days isn't named Shaniqua already.
Tamborino - Built-in circus stage name! "The Great Tamborina will now thrill you with her daredevil antics high above the rings!!!"
Uvula - Mulva?
Xyla - Well, at least it's unique.
Yummy - No, I'd rather not tempt anyone inclined to snack on children.

OK, so they're not all winners. But I think, in the end, we'll end up with something a bit more on the traditional side. Like Thelma or Myrtle. Either way, we'll all know for sure when she's born. And that's only 7 weeks from now (give or take).