Month Nine Stats

Fiona's nine month wellbaby appointment took place right smack in the middle of naptime, so she was pretty much pissed the entire time. That's okay, we've got stats to share anyway!

Weight: 20 pounds, 6.6 ounces (down 3.4 ounces from her 6-month checkup). The South Beach Baby Diet we put Fiona on has clearly worked. We were pretty concerned with her excessive girth, and felt that she was going to be unable to compete in today's cutthroat world of thin and sexy babies. How was she ever going to get ahead in life?

Of course, I'm kidding. We love our super-chub baby. The doctor wasn't particularly concerned with her weight, although we're supposed to keep an eye on it. Considering she was previously in the 97th percentile for weight (and also considering the change in her height) this change is not terribly surprising. In any case, she's now in the range of the 50th to 75th percentile in weight.

Height: 29 1/4 inches, a gain of 2 1/2 inches. So while Fiona was more or less static in terms of weight, she was busy shooting up like a chubby-thighed weed. As a result, she moved from the 55th percentile in height to the 90th, and is now officially too big for her infant carseat. We'd switched over to her convertible seat shortly after her 6-month appointment thinking she was going to surpass the 22 pound weight limit. Obviously, she hasn't done that yet, but given that the height limit is 29 inches, we can now safely pack her first seat away.

The rest of the appointment was relatively standard fare with the exception of the occasional, explosive shrieking my poor nap-deprived baby emitted. I actually had to hold her head steady while the doctor looked in her ears and eyes. No shots this time around, but she did have her finger pricked and milked for a few drops of blood, which will be tested for lead and, I think, iron levels. Naturally, she was not a fan; and just like when she gets her shots, I felt terrible holding her down just so someone else could cause her pain. Necessary, yes. But hard to bear, too.

All in all, she remains a very healthy little girl. And by the time we got to the front desk to pay the co-pay and make our 12-month appointment (12 months!!), Fiona was her usual happy little self, sucking contentedly on the sparkly, kid-bandaid on her poor priced finger. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't hold my treasonous behavior against me.

Month Six Stats

Fiona's six-month checkup was nearly two weeks after she actually turned six months. That happened while we were in Fargo, North Dakota. And it's partly to blame for the fact that her turning seven months completely sneaked up on me. Up until a week before then, when I finally took a good look at the calendar, I was still saying she was just over six months old.

At this point, it's all a numbers game. Time continues to go faster and faster, and months are measured in minutes it seems. Her "age" at this point isn't as significant as turning age one, or age two; although, I remember distinctly as a young girl that the six-month "birthday" was highly important, and after that point I was not just "ten" but "ten and-a-half, thank you very much." With Fiona I see every month older she becomes as anchors in time that I can actually grasp, unlike normal time, which is continually getting away from me.

So with a couple (okay, three...plus) weeks under our belts, it's time to review the results of Fiona's six-month doctor visit. Get crazy with the stats!

Weight: 20 pounds, 10 ounces. Just over a four-pound gain, her largest jump in a while. Naturally, she remains in the 97th percentile. She's fat, happy, and looks like the Michelin baby with all those rolls. I'm starting to think my boobs are dispensing lard. In case you're wondering, yes, the creases of the rolls collect all sorts of things: lint, drool, spit-up, and breastmilk. They're typically a main focus of bathtime.

Length: 26 3/4 inches, a gain of an inch and a quarter. Starting to have a body shape more like Mom and Dad's every day. Our little fire hydrant baby dropped from the 90th percentile for weight into the 55th. We're pretty sure she's storing most of it in two places: her massive brain and her meaty ham-hock thighs.

All told, the doctor was pleased with her health. She had a bit of fluid in her right ear that we were told to keep an eye on. The pediatrician asked again about solids, which at the time we had not started. I really hadn't been in much of a hurry to start them for whatever reason. But when the doctor suggested we start supplementing her with vitamins since she probably wasn't getting enough Vitamin D or iron through just breast milk, I made up my mind immediately to get cracking. Fiona had her next round of vaccinations, after which she bawled like the baby she is for a few minutes, and we were on our way.

The next appointment won't be until she's nine months... which, based on how quickly time is passing, will be in approximately 20 minutes by my internal clock. In the meantime, please enjoy this picture taken in mid-February.

Month Four Stats

I'm a little late with this (what else is new). But better late than never, I suppose. I have to keep track of this stuff somehow anyway. Fiona's four-month wellbaby appointment was the week before Christmas. As with the last visit, the doctor declared that she is very healthy. And while last time she was moderately impressed with Fiona's strength, this time she was legitimately surprised at what a little bodybuilder we have on our hands.

Let's get Stats-tastic!

Weight: 16 pounds, 8.7 ounces. Another three pounds gained since her two-month appointment. Based on the constant ache in my lower back (seriously, I'm considering medical intervention), I was moderately surprised it wasn't more. Anyway, she remains in the 97th percentile.

Length: 25.5 inches, a gain of two whole inches since her two-month checkup! And now she's up into the 90th percentile. She's practically taller than me already.

With all the good news about how fat and tall and healthy the young one is, just like last time, there was some pain. Three more shots and the tasty (read: disgusting) rotavirus (right?) drink. Fiona was no worse off than last time - she screamed diligently. I, on the other hand, did a little better this time. While I felt like crying momentarily, I did manage to keep it in check.

We got the go-ahead to start solids (rice cereal or something similar) and will be watching for her to turn over from back to front (she's already mastered front to back). She'll also likely start raking toys toward her (another thing she's already somewhat doing, much to the doctor's amazement), babbling even more than she already does, and laughing more.

The idea of solids is a bit daunting to me for some reason. Firstly, I'm not positive she cares much about food other than what she's getting out of the boob. And secondly, I finally just stopped being jealous about the whole bottle thing. But, that's a decision for another day.

Month Two Stats

Fiona had her two-month appointment last week. She was amazingly good-natured through nearly the entire visit. This was likely because I smartened up from her one-month appointment and made sure the last thing I did before we left for the doctor's office was feed her so at least she wouldn't be screaming herself silly due to hunger.

As with the previous visit to the pediatrician, Fiona checks out to be very healthy. The doctor says she's right on track with everything and looks great. She was even impressed with Fiona's strength and figures she'll be early to roll over. Not two seconds after she said this Fiona rolled over on the exam table. Little show-off. I was so proud. Granted, she was probably helped out a bit by the incline at the head of the table. But still: for one, her timing couldn't have been better, and two, she really is that strong.

On to the rundown of her stats:

Weight: 13 pounds, 8.2 ounces. That's right. She gained nearly three pounds in the last month. She bumped herself into the 97th percentile for weight. This really came as no surprise to us since M and I both are having more back pain every day. Holding Fiona is fast becoming a weight-training regimen.

Length: 23.5 inches, a gain of an inch and-a-half since her one-month appointment, and reaching the 75th percentile for weight. Our little basketball player could very well outpace both her parents in stature. After all, her height at two months of age is an adequate indicator, right?

The appointment could not end without some trauma, of course. We also had to face the horror of her first round of vaccinations. This experience was nearly as bad for me as it was for Fiona - maybe worse. For her it was momentary pain from three shots. For me, it was having my heart ripped out knowing there wasn't much I could do to prevent the pain. The nurse started with the rotavirus drink, which Fiona accepted like a champ. Then she got one shot in her left thigh and two in her right. These nurses nurses really know what they're doing. She positioned herself just so that I couldn't see the actual injections taking place. All I could see was poor little Fiona's face as that first injection registered.

Thinking about it now, a full week later, and I still want to cry. A surprising amount of emotion was clear on that tiny little face of hers: confusion ("What did I do to deserve this??"), anger ("Goddammit, you bastard, that hurts!", pain ("OWIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!") and overall upset ("Mommy!!! Make it better!") All I could do was comfort her afterwards, and that was no small feat. Thankfully, I have with me at all times Fiona's two favorite things in all the world: Left Boob and Right Boob. Once she'd had a visit with each of them, she was in much better spirits.

The remainder of the day was so peaceful as Fiona slept for most of it. I wasn't surprised. I remember my last round of vaccination shots back when I was 18 and getting ready to leave for college. I slept the entire day afterwards, too. Still, I kept an eagle eye on her all day, watching for bad reactions. But she's such a trooper. She had three tiny bruises at the injection sites, but no fever, no apparent discomfort, and no illness.

Already, I dread her four-month appointment during which she'll have her second round of shots. I'll be back to work by then, but based on how traumatic the first round of shots was I think I'll have to take the day off so I can recover emotionally.

Month One Stats

Fiona's one-month doctor visit was yesterday. It was supposed to be the day before, but somehow I managed to put the wrong time on my calendar so when I showed up at 10:15 for it, the receptionist said the appointment was long past since it was scheduled for 9:15. Yeah, as if I'd ever make an appointment for that early in the morning.

All's well in Fiona-world as far as her health goes, though. Here's a quick rundown of her stats:

Weight: 10 pounds, 12.2 ounces. Our little piggie has gained nearly two pounds from her birth weight; nearly three if you account for the pound she lost after being born. This puts her in the 90th percentile for weight. SWEET!

Length: 22 inches. Two and a quarter inches since birth. Not exactly basketball player height, but she's average, landing in the 55th percentile. Hmm... 90th percentile for weight, 55th for height. Already she's taking after her parents' body shapes. Poor thing.

In spite of a lot of congestion - totally normal for a little bean such as herself - Fiona checks out as totally healthy. Her lungs sound clear and strong (especially if you gauge by the ear-splitting screams she was emitting during much of the appointment), her heart sounds great, and everything else is on target. She's growing like a weed, which makes me so happy. After the anxiety of that first week when she lost so much weight and was so unhappy due to hunger, I couldn't be more relieved that she's doing so well now. Plus, I feel a certain sense of pride knowing that her awesome growth is due to the milk I'm making and giving to her. Sure, it's a natural process and I don't have a lot of control over it. But there's something very satisfying about the fact that my boobs have the awesome power to feed and nourish my daughter. This along with the awesome powers I already knew they possessed. Hot damn, the sisters have skills!

Fiona's next appointment next month will likely be less fun as she'll be getting her first round of vaccinations. I'm already dreading it, hating to see her in pain of any kind. Especially legitimate pain. She squawks plenty from silly stuff like being changed when she's really hungry, or being put down when she's feeling needy. But this appointment will produce serious owies, and I am already steeling myself for the trauma my poor daughter will be experiencing. I get upset when my cats and dog get shots. I think seeing my own flesh and blood get pricked will probably drive me a little batty. Sorry, battier.

Introducing...

Our little girl, Fiona Morgan Elizabeth.

Fiona arrived in the world on 8/17 at 12:39 in the afternoon. She weighed 8 pounds, 13 ounces and was 19 3/4 inches long. She was born after only 11 or so hours of active labor, and 1 1/2 hours of pushing. You'd never know she didn't come out by other means given her perfectly round little noggin. She had a lovely head of strawberry blonde hair and a serious set of lungs. I may be biased, but she was also incredibly cute straight out of the gate. She looks unnervingly like her daddy in nearly every way except for her mouth, which she appears to have gotten from me.

We've been calling her Weeble for so long, I thought maybe it would be a challenge for me to switch to her real name. But it is so natural to call her Fiona. The moment we saw her, we knew that of the two names we had in the tank, Fiona was the right one for her.

Each name we gave her has some significance. Well, sort of. Fiona is a name we simply landed on and both loved. It was the first name we test drove, and the name we both always wanted to go back to when other names seemed not to be right. It is a Gaelic name that means "fair and white".

Morgan is a name I've loved for over a decade. It is a variation on the name of the main character in my favorite book (The Mists of Avalon) and means "from the sea". Since I grew up in a land-locked state, I've always been fascinated by the ocean, and its relative nearness is the best thing for me about living near the coast now. Morgan was considered as a first name for her, but M (whose initials are MMM) wanted no more alliteration madness.

Elizabeth is the name of the dear friend who is the reason M and I are together. She had been friends with M before I came, to UMass Amherst for a yearlong exchange and was my accidental roommate. She introduced us, naturally, and served as a liaison for the many years he and I spent trying to figure it all out. Now, she is now more like a sister. So Fiona bears her name.

It's a long name for such a tiny little girl, I suppose. But it seems to suit her so well. Pretty name for pretty girl. And she is pretty.

The first week has been a mixture of pure joy, complete frustration, a mental breakdown or two (or four), utter exhaustion, lingering soreness, and more emotion than I generally know what to do with. But every day gets better and tends more toward the pure joy side than the complete frustration side.

As I manage to find the time, I'll be recording as much as I can about this awesome experience. Of course, there's no describing it. There's no way to really relay just how utterly awesome it is to look in Fiona's face and know that we made her, and she is ours. I'm pretty sure nobody can really anticipate how it feels - and to be honest, it's not all good. Some of it is so, so hard, for whatever reason. But it's all worth it. That's the weird part that can't be explained. The exhaustion, the pain, the mental and emotional roller coaster. It is ALL worth it.

Stats - 32 Weeks

I had my final 4-week appointment the other day. From here on out, I'll go in every two weeks. My doctor wasn't there (nor was she when I went in after the accident). But I did get to meet another doctor in the practice, and since there's a chance someone other than my usual doctor will deliver me when the time comes, I'm happy to meet the extra players.

Good news all around. I'd gained only three pounds since my previous appointment. My belly, while seemingly huge to everyone else (to the point that comments have begun to make me a little paranoid about my size), measures completely normally in terms of size.

We also had a bonus ultrasound to size Weeble up and make sure she was on track. Oh, she's on track alright. She's so on track she's passed the station and is cruising on up the mountain. What I mean by this complete nonsense is that, while my belly is measuring "normal," Weeble is a big girl as of right now. The ultrasound puts her at five pounds and some odd ounces. More than a pound plus a few ounces over what a 32-week baby would "normally" be. But my favorite nurse said that puts her in the 65th percentile for size, which sounds a lot less scary. Still, if she keeps on this particular track, she's going be out of newborn size clothing before she's even born.

All around, she looks good and healthy. Fluids - check; placenta - check; 2 arms, 2 legs, check. We got a lovely view of her face, too (second picture). It's fairly clear from this that she's already taking after me, what with the lips. Of course, the first thing that came to my mind was "Baby fish mouth!" No offense to her whatsoever, but those are some big lips she's got.

Looking at these ultrasound pictures compared to the previous two sets (at around 14 weeks and again at about 21 weeks) is unreal. She was scarcely a blip before. Then the "baby" in there became apparent. And now she's too big to fit on the screen. If there was ever a kick in the pants I needed to convince me that, oh, yeah, this is happening and she is real, this is it.

My stretch marks, as predicted, have in no way abated. They've all but taken over. I look at them as a hedge across my lower belly, since they do look very tree-like with all their spidery branches. People try to console me with the usual, "They'll go away eventually," clearly forgetting that stretch marks don't go away if you're not a celebrity with endless funds to get laser treatments or whatever it is the beautiful people do. They simply fade to become silvery branches instead of the angry red-purple ones they are today. But I suppose I'll embrace them eventually. I'm sure it's worth it. That's what they keep telling me anyway.

Numbers To Date

I haven't done a stats post yet, and I figure since this is comprising my entire journaling experience while pregnant, I should at least record a milestone or two.

As of right now, I'm 25 weeks pregnant. For all you civilians, that translates to around six months along. So far, I've gained about 15 pounds, and it's split evenly between my giant belly and my enormous ass. I'd rather not discuss my boobs, which have exploded out of control. No, seriously.

I've given up very little, really. I don't drink alcoholic beverages (save the negligible amount in fake beer and wine), and I generally steer clear of deli meats. Not that this was difficult since I'm not a big sandwich eater anyway. Otherwise, I still drink caffeine, although not much (today did not count - I was exhausted, I needed that second cup just to stay alive, I swear!). Soft cheeses are definitely still on my menu, and I'll be damned if I give up hot dogs.

Physically, I feel pretty good. Well, except for the sciatic nerve pain (more fun than hanging out on a fire ant mound!). And being winded by walking more than five yards. Not in love with the round ligament pain, either. Especially when it wakes me up in the middle of the night as I turn over to get in a more comfortable position. And I'm pretty awkward by now, with this large protrusion on my front, also known as "the baby". I feel like no matter which way I turn, it's always in the way. Said protrusion also itches like crazy, so it's a good thing I like to scratch like crazy.

Mentally, I'm a complete moron. I can't concentrate worth a damn, I forget stuff (literally) 2.7 seconds after it is told to me. One time I got out of my car and left it running. I fall asleep at my desk at work multiple times a day (not usually for more than a minute). I drive M thoroughly crazy with my nonsensical rambling.

But it's worth it. The stupidity, the occasional discomfort, the getting fat, and the panic at all that remains to be done before she arrives. All it takes is one little kick from her and a feeling of calm purpose takes over. This is just damn good fun.