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                                          About Time, by Kimberly Dow on Etsy

New mothers, busy people and my future self are all going to loathe me and want to throw things in my general direction for what I am about to say, but here goes: I’m bored.

Seriously, it’s too much waiting. I’ve done all of my to-do’s and must-do’s and what remains is a small list of things that I sort of have to leave until Thursday – washing our sheets, giving myself a pedicure, packing and loading our hospital bags, getting Gus set up for our lovely dog sitter etc.

In the meantime, it feels like I’m just….waiting. I’ve been asking around to other moms, google searches etc about what I should be doing with these last childless days of mine. The answers are predictable : “SLEEP!” everyone urges in unison, but really, how many hours in a day can I sleep?

“Go for coffee by yourself” another lady told me, “And just sit there and revel in the silence.”

Yet another woman said that if she could go back, she would spend the week before kids just leaving the house spontaneously – no diaper bag, children to wrangle, pee-breaks, tantrums etc.

“It used to take ten seconds” she mused wistfully.

I know that these suggestions are well-intentioned, and I really appreciate them sharing (especially since I asked), but I also find myself getting frustrated. It’s tough being here, on the other side of that dividing line.

I’ve spent 15 years being that autonomous, independent. I’ve spent decades sleeping and getting up when I wanted, leaving the house as I pleased.

Right now (and I feel like I may be kicking myself for this in a week’s time but nonetheless…) right now I just want to meet my baby. I want to see these feet and hands and that face that will seem so familiar but so new. 

I’m grateful that I have had so much time to wrap my head around this c-section, to plan and prepare and get my life in order. But it’s also a really strange experience, counting down the days to such an absolute like this.

We’re in limbo. Waiting…waiting.

Yesterday a friend of ours, Saren, generously offered to come and take some maternity pictures (NOT the cheesy kind. Swear.) and we spent a few hours traipsing through the woods with Gus.

Between the goofy antics of Gus and Adam, I’ll be surprised if we get three decent pictures from the whole thing – while we were taking one picture, Saren started laughing uncontrollably and as we turned around to see why, we saw what she did: Gus taking a massive poop center stage in the background.

I think we found this year’s Christmas card!

This morning I took the car in to be serviced, I have to drive down to the hospital for pre-surgery bloodwork tomorrow. That takes us to Wednesday at least. 

Help me out – If you were in my shoes, what would you be doing?


This, my friends, is a vision board.

I made it last night to quell my anxiety and steady my nerves. I tried to incorporate as many positive images of pregnancy, cesareans and babies that I could, because I need all the help I can get right now to combat the fuckload of what-if’s trampling through my head every day.

What if the anesthetic doesn’t numb me all the way and I feel them cutting into me?

What if they have to put me under and I miss the birth of my first child?

What if the baby doesn’t breathe, can’t breathe?

What if, what if, what if.

Adam doesn’t understand it, this propensity of mine to dwell and worry, tease apart the infinite myriad of ways a situation could go wrong. I have to admit that I don’t quite understand it myself, I know that time spent worrying is time wasted – and yet it persists, this dark rambling stream.

Last night I got overwhelmed, I realized that I needed something outside of my head to focus on, to fixate on. Something positive.

We went to the store and I bought magazines and I sat there for two hours like a kindergartner with scissors and glue, and after I was done I taped it to the wall where I would see it as I went to sleep and as I woke up. I plan on taking it into the OR with me, and I don’t care if it makes me look like a crazy hippie, I need something bright and colourful, something positive amongst the scrubs and surgical steel.

Whatever it takes, right?


Oh My

I just discovered Pregnant Husband….and I think I love him.


When my pregnant wife wants a snack and I suggest having fruit, she’s like:

Modern Family gif


Our Birth Plan

I can’t believe I’m posting about this, because every time I hear the phrase “Birth Plan”, I am reminded of this fabulous article by McSweeney’s.


Dear Hospital Staff:

Thank you and congratulations for being on shift for the birth of our child. The following sets forth our wishes for our stay. If a medical emergency requires you to deviate from this plan, please refer to “Jamie and Jeff’s Emergency Birth Plan.” (Tab J) Please note: Jamie is RH Negative and BPA-free.


While we do not have a traditional “philosophy” of “childbirth,” we have been heavily influenced by orthodox Wholefoodism and the “(d)well baby/good design” movement. We believe strongly in the power of the female body and a long-term night nurse. We are opposed to torture/gluten. In the event you are ever unsure how to proceed today, please ask yourself, “What Would Gwyneth Do?”

Anyway, the basics of my birth plan are as follows: Have a healthy baby. Period.

However, our midwife suggested that I might want to be a little more specific, so (hopefully) without heading into McSweeney’s territory, here is our birth plan for little Baby G:

  • I would like Adam to be present during the cesarean section surgery
  • I would like the surgical drape dropped so that I can see my baby being born
  • I would prefer for Adam to announce the sex of our baby
  • I would like Adam to go with the baby for any checks, tests, or baths given by any medical staff
  • If all is well with the baby, I would like skin-to-skin contact as soon as possible after birth
  • We would like the baby to recieve antibiotic eye ointment and Vitamin K shots
  • Please delay heel-prick testing until we are in recovery
  • No formula/supplementation/bottle feeding without our consent please.
  • (Adam’s addendum: We would like “Eye of the Tiger” playing as the baby is brought into the world. Please hold the baby aloft like Simba in the Lion King for the duration of the song.)

36 Weeks


I am so happy to be writing this post, so grateful that we have gotten here- Internets, we are NINE days away! Single digits!

Wow! Wow. Not going to lie, I’m freaking out just a tiny bit over here. I thought I had all of this time left and somehow it has just dissolved and left me here with this small handful of days, this giant list of things to do, and a heart that keeps thudding like it’s going to rip out of my chest and run far, far away. 

In the face of this, Adam has become even more laid back and optimistic. It’s like we are morphing into extreme versions of ourselves. I am ratcheting up the OCD and the anxiety to never before seen levels, while Adam is becoming less and less worried the closer we get – it’s as though he literally does not have a care in the world, he keeps talking about how excited he is to have a baby, to become a dad.

It’s adorable, and endearing, and heartwarming – or would be if I wasn’t too busy suffocating under the weight of my own neuroses to notice.

“I don’t think we’re ready for this” I whispered last night as we lay in bed, listening to music and feeling the baby squirm around inside my belly. Adam turned to me and grinned, “Of course we are!” he exclaimed, “It’s going to be great! Aren’t you excited?”

And I mean yes- yes! Of course I’m excited. But excitement is just one of about fifty-seven other complex emotions that I’m feeling- emotions that also include fear, stress, incomprehension, hope, terror, gas, etc.

I’m glad I have him here, without his naive optimism I think I would be reduced to a shivering puddle, compulsively folding and re-folding baby blankets with only the rodents for company (oh yeah, p.s. the rodents are back. I don’t want to talk about it)


Physically, I think that 36 weeks was the week I became ginormous. Upon seeing me yesterday, my midwife exclaimed, “Woah Madeleine! Your belly has arrived!”. Walking past a man in the parking lot the other day, he did a triple take and the look on his face can only be summed up as abject terror.

For my baby shower I searched for three days to find a dress, finally at the last minute stumbling upon a simple sheath with a pattern that looked like water. It was down to the wire, it fit and the decision was made. In retrospect however, I think it was one of those things where it looked great when I found it (possibly because my only other option was to wear the same long tank top/leggings combination I’ve been rocking daily these past few weeks), on the day of, however, I just wasn’t feeling it.

My hair wasn’t cooperating, my makeup was wonky, and when I looked in the mirror, suddenly the water pattern seemed to woefully echo the way I felt – like a large ocean mammal. A whale perhaps – or more in keeping with my skin tone, a manatee.

I know it’s not just me that is noticing the, ahem, largesse. At the shower we played a game where everyone cut a piece of string estimating the circumference of my belly, and my god, MY GOD, barring two or three kind souls, every. single. guess. came out about two feet too long.


                                               Me: Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

It makes sense though, the tech at my ultrasound on Friday said that she’d estimate the baby’s weight at 8lbs. Eight pounds at 36 weeks! (According to my friend google, the norm is about 6.5lbs. Yeah.)

I’m starting to think that perhaps this c-section is a good thing for my delicate ladybits.

Of course Adam was as proud as punch when he heard that our “little” demon was measuring in the 90th percentile for weight and height, but the tech was obviously not as impressed with my ability to gestate humongous human beings. She kept shaking her head and muttering in a thick Hungarian accent, “Oh dear, ohhhhh dear. Iss gonna be a beeeeeeg baby.”

Well big baby or no, we’ll find out in nine days!

I currently weigh 139lbs, and everything is going swimmingly for being 9 months pregnant. I’m sleeping well (and lots), eating well, generally feeling great (aside from the over-thinking and the generalized anxiety)

And, now a special gift to commemorate reaching the nine month mark. In case you think (as some have alleged recently) that this whole pregnancy has been a hoax – a desperate attempt to get more page views, or attention, or goat cheese, and I am not in fact pregnant but instead, smuggling a mixing bowl or a basketball or even a pumpkin- BEHOLD!


Yes. This shit is fo REAL. That is my belly. In all of its strangely flushed glory.

I have been fortunate enough to avoid stretch marks for now, but I’m still sort of confused about where exactly all of this extra skin came from? And, perhaps more pressingly, where it will go after all is said and done.

It’s bewildering, but I’ll keep you posted.

In closing Internets, just to drive home how we are NINE DAYS away, this is my second-last weekly update, my second last belly picture. I only have to don this long-suffering dress one more time, tape up those numbers once more. And then we’re done.

And what’s inside of the that ginormous mound of belly, will be outside. And I think despite my anxiety, I have to agree with Adam after all- it IS exciting, it WILL be great!