~:W H A T 'S • F O R • D I N N E R:~

Dear placenta. Fuck you. Thanks a whole lot for ruining this pregnancy. And whoever it was who took my first baby, fuck you, too. Fuck you, Nurse Ratchett. Fuck you, nightmares. Fuck you to cavalier doctors who do nothing but smile. Fuck you to my nerves. Fuck you, me. You're pathetic to think that you'll be the only previa patient who won't ever bleed again. I've just talked to a nurse, who I like, who answered more of my questions about bleeding, the c-section, etc. Fuck being brave. I am sick of being brave. I am sick of being polite. Of making the best of this, of being cheery and cracking jokes with the nurses. I am sick of writing funny posts. I am tired of anticipatory dread. I am tired, tired, tired. But I can't sleep. I'm too anxious. I don't ever want to be pregnant again. This is crazy. Hospitals are crazy. Every time I close my eyes, I expect to wake up bleeding again. What do you do with that fear?

Hi! My name is Anne and any second now, I'm going to bleed on you.
Hey sport! Mind if I bleed for a while?
Oops! I'm bleeding!
Did you see that!?? She's bleeding! Gross!

I have no choice. I am sick of not having choices. I am sick of being asked what color my pee is. "And how are we this morning?" Fuck you. That's how I am this morning. I am a 38 year old mother - stop patronizing me. I am not fucking five years old. And if I cry, just leave me the fuck alone. I am sick of trying to be clever. The techs push these little carts down the hallway ALL DAY LONG that make this maddening squeeky noise. They come around to take your pulse and temp - part of their undying customer service, I guess. Something I'm paying for, I guess. Honestly, I just want to go home now.

I am sick of people who pray BADLY. You know, there's a right way to do it. And most people really suck at it. "Dear God, we know we're all sinners and that we deserve to be punished. Thank you so much for giving Anne (the bleeder) these challenges. You are just so big an awesome and cool, God. You're just swell. The shiznit."

I am sick of well wishers. Visitors. The woman (who is just doing her job, I know, but fuck her, too anyway) who comes around from the kitchen to take my meal order for the next 3 meals. This picture is what arrived for lunch yesterday and was the trigger for an evening of nausea. Thanks a bunch. What IS that thing? A breaded organ? A hand? A foot? A nose? Whatever it is, I don't want it on my plate. Not even in my room. This is how helpless I feel. I eat and stay in bed. every hour, there's a knock on my door. I'm a fucking INTROVERT, people! That means I don't wanna see you! Nope. Not even you! Or you! You, neither. And especially not you.

If this is life, I don't want it. If this is what's on my plate, I don't want it. I don't want "whatever's best" because that's just another phrase for, "look at it THIS way, suckkah. You're screwed! Smile anyway! Chin up! Yer fucked!"

After feeling like a rock star in "group" yesterday, (yes, I was in a wheelchair, but I was the smartest dressed person there, the only one wearing lipstick, showing any kind of cleavage and was the farthest along out of all 10 of us) I was on a high. These other women had sad stories like I did - but they were all slightly different. I was just grateful to have survived my own version thus far. And thought very highly of myself for having done so and for still getting to shower every day, walk to the bathroom, shave my legs, dry my hair, put on something cute, and sit up in bed. Noble flash of mature character, I know. Like what really counts makes me happy. NOT.

One of my favorite nurses answered some questions I had today for her. I asked her to be frank: They expect me to bleed. Again and badly. Worse each time. They're getting ready to do this thing called "type and screen" where they take my blood AGAIN and make sure there's enough of its match in their bank here IN CASE I have another bleed that would warrant a transfusion. They expect this. They fucking expect this. The closer I get to term, the bigger bimp grows, the more my uterus stretches, the more likely my placenta will bleed again. And more. Once I get the type and screen, I'll wear a little red arm band that says so and I'll have this lovely looking IV plugged into me that gives them easy access to me for blood, fluids, whatever. The ONLY reason why they removed my initial IV was because I didn't have another big bleed since arriving here and because asked to have it removed. It fucking hurt and ached and they put it on my right fucking hand right at my wrist. Nice huh? Every time I tried to hold something it ached. To think that they want to put in another one "just in case" and have it in me for the next 3 weeks is infuriating. Here's the truth - it makes their job all that easier. Creating an IV tap would be one less thing they'd have to do should I bleed badly again. Fuck them. I am so mad I could scream. I want to fly down the hallway and drive myself home.

I

AM

NEVER

HAVING

SEX

AGAIN.

~:B R O U G H T • T O • Y O U • B Y • T H E • M A K E R S • O F • A M B I E N:~

A: Your hands look like a bunch of castles.

D: Really.

A: Yes. It's like a puppett show.
One man Is grey and the other is pink.

D: (chuckles)

A: Listen here, Mr. Six Mouths.

(pause)

Mr., Mr. Twelve Eyes.


Check out the latest of our Northside Hospital HRP stay photos and what Bimp sounds like when riding a horse!

~:I • B L A M E • H I M:~

January, 2006. A new year. After a two years of trying to create, let alone maintain a pregnancy, we are successful on a cold January morning. Doug's on his way out da doh for his day, having just ran and showered. I've just come upstairs from a peaceful morning of knitting with Bjorn and the cats. I'm due to meet Marlis and Molly for our weekly coffee gig at Java Monkey. The sun is out and pouring into the bedroom. It's a little chilly. It's Friday and am relishing in the joy of working for myself, rather than the big man. Life is good.

So you wanna try real quick? I had been charting my temps for a while and thought this moment was perfect.
Sure. I gotta be at work soon though.
Yeah, and I'm meeting the girls for brunch.
OK .
Hold on a sec.
And poof, we laugh, get dressed and go on about our day.

My advice to infertile couples? Do it on a sunny Friday morning before you go to work. Don't even think about it. And make sure you do a lot of laughing.

Next thing I know, I'm peeing on a stick on a mid-morning Saturday thinking, "This is stupid that I'm even looking at this thing." Yeah right. Like I could actually BE pregnant.

I see 2 faint lines.
Two this time.
And I know.
And I put my hand over my open mouth. And I am happy.
And petrified.

I stand up and walk over to the window where I will find Doug in his work clothes setting up a ladder in the driveway right below our bedroom window. I crack open the window wide open and shout out to him, " Catch!" And throw him the stick. He catches it, looks down, covers his mouth, looks up at me again and falls to the ground, clutching his heart. Within 10 seconds he's back in the house we are crying in each other's arms. And the saga of a second pregnancy begins. It's a miracle.

Bimp is here. We hang on this time and decide to wait until after the 1st trimester to share our news. Nausea has the best of me for 2.5 months. But I am beaming inside. I even have a couple of students ask what's up with me? How come you're glowing? And friends who could just "tell" whose response to the eventual news was, "I KNEW it." or "You were pregnant in my dream last night."

Now we come to the present.
And I have just returned from a group meeting on this floor where I met other HRP mothers in much the same situation as I. It was touching to hear other stories and feel strength from other people. It felt really good to cry and to watch other women struggle with the same emotions. Many, many of them had had previous miscarriages. I wish I had known them 2 years ago when we had ours. I would have felt less alone. And there's nothing like the support you get from common experiences.

Tonight there were 2 other women lying on their sides on stretchers. Everyone else was in a wheelchair like me. Nearly everyone mentioned some kind of faith based strength, which I thought was nice. Half of us couldn't make it through the whole meeting without leaving to pee at least once. We laughed and we cried. Mostly, I listened. There was a lot of love in that room. And a whole lot of patience.

I am amazed at the process of motherhood. I am humbled by it. My dear friend Gray came to visit me yesterday and he actually complimented my hormones for doing their job. Hormones not only effect you emotionally - preparing you for a lifetime of sacrifice and work and joy, but they're the things that tell your uterus to get ready, your brain to start thinking differently, your ligaments to loosen up. It's all connected. This involuntary network of things that need to be done to create a life - a new person.

Another thing I talked with Gray about was the new kind of love and admiration I have for Doug. It's like falling in love all over again. This love is NOTHING compared to the initial infatuation I felt when we first met and were dating. This love is something altogether different. I want to see him as a father more than anything else. Seriously - more than my need for motherhood. Just to be a part of providing him with the fatherhood role is really amazing. I feel incredible blessed. It's more of a turn on than anything else I can think of. I've always known I wanted to have children, but never in my life did I think it would be this much fun to give a child to a man. Makes me wonder if children should come first before marriage. I know it sounds crazy. I feel crazy saying it. But oh my God, the wedding, the meeting, the dating - all that feels so trivial compared to this baby. This is where the real fun begins. And I can't believe I'm saying FUN while here in the hospital.

Dougie Fresh - just LOOK at the mess you got me into. Knocked up in the hospital - my freedom, my job, my home, my pets - all taken away from me and replaced with an army of nurses whose job it is to ask you the most embarrassing personal questions, ALL DAY LONG. All dignity lost. I cry in front of everyone.

Yes. I blame this man.

And I thank this man.

For sticking with me.

For making me a mother.

~:33 • W E E K S:~

Latest update: Bimp scored 8 out of 8 again on his ultrasound this morning. He's doing very well. I took a shower and am wearing a new pink bathrobe and nightgown Mom bought for me. Bonnie is coming for a visit today. Sharon is coming tonight. I fixed my hair today. Doug bought me some fancy Aveda bar soap for my shower. The ultra wax Minus Five bought me is kicking major ass here in room 220. That shit don't play. I love it! I have my fave nurse today named Kristin. Bimp has turned once again. I still have contractions now and again - they stop them if they get too much. I pooped twice this morning. Peed a million times since then, too. You should all be proud of me. :-)

~A L L • A B O U T • A M B I E N:~

Conversations with Doug under the influence of Ambien.

A: Can I give you a kiss?

{Doug bends to kiss me}

A: Now you're pink and red and close.

D: Whose the President of the United States?

A: G. W. Bush

D: Whose the Vice President?

A: Dick Cheney

D: Good. Very good.

A: Now you're an "eye face", you have one nose, four eyes and two mouths.

{Pressing this control panel of buttons on my bed that adjust angles, call nurses, control lighting and sound in the room - all at the end of my fingertips.} I wonder if I'm hurting anyone when I press these buttons? This looks like an alien abduction mothership control panel. This button above the figure like beams him up. This one below him is like the one for the anal probes.

{Doug smiles as he records my observations.}

A: Your hair looks like a heavy duty stapler - the top part. You should be punishing me like a principal. With a switch or a birch or a paddle.

{Doug raises an eyebrow.}

A: Now you're black and pale peach,

Doug: Now whose the prez?

A: George Wuuuu... George Bush

D: You're spacey.

A: I'm not spacey. You're LOOKING very spacey.

A: You know, my uterus is pretty mad.
{By the time I begin to express anger and sarcasm, Doug keeps an eye on the monitor they're using to measure Bimp's heartbeat any my contractions - which are effected by the intensity of whatever emotions I'm feeling. A nurse the other day told me that the uterus is the most finicky and sensitive muscle in a woman's body. It reacted instantly to whatever I said. Amazing. Now we know why relaxation is so important - why patient care really makes a difference. }

Uterus: What's so bad about contractions? All you fuckers are taking my job away from me! I'm supposed to have 9 months to practice and build muscle strength.

A: Wull, yeah. It'd be nice, huh? You're not the only one whose natural born job and bodily functions have been monitored and then taken away. Talk to the placenta.

Talking to the placenta: You, my friend, have fucked up. Thanks for ruining this whole experience for me.

Uterus: I gotta fight this bitch who owns this body. She's going to fight against what I'm trying to do. Maybe I'll get lucky and be able to get everyone down and out like I'm supposed to. I MIGHT could do my job if it weren't for those two motherfuckers - the placenta and um, YOU, Anne.

Uterus talking to the doctors: Oh, you gonna cut me? Look here you ass wipe. Make sure you take your time stitching her up. You think twice before you cut me and fuck it up and do a c-section.

{Using Tony Soprano's toughest voice after an unpleasant conversation with nurse Marva, who tricked me by waiting for me to swallow the 2 Ambien before telling me she wanted to give me a shot of fucking morphine, to stop my contractions, the majority of which were caused by her own nervousness and patronizing bedside manner}.

Placenta: Now you wanna give me morphine to emasculate me?

FUCK you PEOPLE.

This is when we fired Nurse Marva.

~:H E R E • T O • S T A Y:~

Well.

I'll be here for a while. I actually (can't believe I'm saying this) am a little relieved. After having been an unwilling participant in recreating the set of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in our bedroom Monday night (I shit you not), I am a bit relieved to be in an environment of trained professionals poised for such an emergency. In short, I am in good hands here at the Hospital.

So no more classes until well after Bimp is born and I am back at school. I'll be taking the rest of this quarter off (but please continue to e-mail me work if you need a second opinion on your pieces or um, if you just miss me). I already miss you guys. Hmmmph. We had a ladies brunch shower for Bimp planned later in September that will have to be postponed until after Sir Bimp's arrived.

But Bimp is fine. He's REALLY fine in fact. Scores very well on all his tests. I'm fine, too. Just kind of walking on eggshells. This dern placenta is such a pain in the ass. I"m not in any pain, I'm just nervous. The thing about previas is that they're so unpredictable. The best we can do is be prepared for another bleed. Which is why I'm here. They are not necessarily linked to bleeding because of a direct response to my movement. But in general, the less I move, the better. Walking and stair stepping irritate the cervix, which is this thing that thins out and stretches in preparation for birth. Normally, the placenta is well behaved. It implants up high in the wall of your uterus and provides food and oxygen from your body to the baby. When it decides to implant lower, it can be completely covering the cervix or even if it's next to it, it can cause problems. The very edge of mine is covering the cervix. So it's a problem. It bleeds unpredictably, which can cause contractions that lead to premature delivery or I could bleed to death. Not pretty.

So I am here on this bed. The doc told me this morning he'd feel safer if I were here. I should be supervised 24 hours a day. He said we could schedule a c-section delivery as soon as 26/27 weeks. That's the end of September! That's so close! But so far away. Since I'll be here for a while, they have put me on the list for a larger room. This is an exciting development.

A bit about my scehdule: Every Friday, Happy Tails comes for a visit (well-behaved therapy doggies with their owners. Every Thursday, I have the option of being wheeled to a support group somewhere on this floor and would get to meet the other patients here. I am really looking forward to that. Adult visiting hours are from the morning til around 9PM. I would welcome any visits from any of you. I'm in room 133, when that changes, I'll let you know. The room phone is 404.459.1133. Just call and let me know when you're coming. And if you can - do what sweet Tania says and bring chocolate, cheetos, milkshakes (fresh cut fruit and veggies are great, too) - whatever! I have a mini fridge in my room. :-)

Today I was visited by two dogs and their owners from Happy Tails. A nice diversion. Mom and Dad came by, too. I got a shot of steroids. That was fun. I've had more fun with Ambien. Expect a list of interesting phrases Doug recorded during one of my hallucinations soon. I get to have two every night. Boy, do I sleep well. I can also have this stuff called Ativan. That one's fun, too. Not as strong but really takes the edge off reality. So very handy.

Another thing I am learning to do is to be more assertive about my well being. There's something about being in a bed that inhibits my ability to look out for myself. I just assume that everyone around me knows more than I do and that I am not to question anything. Makes me feel like a child. In my last post, I mentioned a nurse from hell. Her name is Marva. Feel free to send a condescending curse or two her way. I got up the guts to complain about her and as it turns out, I am not the only patient who was upset by her. She got me SO upset, that when she monitored me, I had contractions which were exaggerated by her tom foolery - a bad idea. I'll post the whole story for you guys soon. It will be a fun one to tell. Long story short is that I was able to request not to be seen by her ever again. I am very happy about that.

Oh! One more thing is that I am seen by a handful of doctors (depends on whose on call, etc) but they're all from the same group. My head doc is named Dr. Feng. He's cool. AND a MAC user. He advised me this morning that Apple put out a recall of batteries (there were a few that have overheated)- mine qualifies. "Just don't rest it on your belly" he said.

I'm quite moody these days. I guess that's natural. My toilet backed up this morning and I just about jumped out the window when they said, "Don't worry - we'll bring you a bed pan if you need it." FUCK THEM. I kept calling until someone came to fix it (within an hour). That was great. But it took another hour for them to get out here to mop the floor. Hmmph.

I CAN say that the majority of nurses and staff have been tremendously supportive. But because I am so limited, even the tiniest inconvenience is very upsetting. Sometimes I feel like listening to me must be like watching an episode of Deadwood. COCKSUCKKURS!

Above is a new picture of Bimp. I get to hear him twice a day. So far have had 3 ultrasounds since we arrived Monday night.

I think that's about it for now. I miss everyone. I can't wait to be a Mommy. I can't believe I'll be out and about in 2 months with a baby in my arms, a cooler breeze in the air, maybe a sweater over my shoulders, a husband by my side, Bjorn at the end of a leash, ON my feet and not walking on eggshells. Glorious, glorious vision, I must say.

Promise and Price:

More contractions last night. They're keeping me for another 24 hours. Shoot me now because I so want to be left alone and am sick of this hospital - tired of being a patient. Tired of being asked to be patient. Had a troublesome nurse last night that I wanted to strangle. We had her replaced with someone who actually spoke english. Isn't that nice? A nurse who speaks english.

I am learning how to be pushy. Good practice for motherhood, I think.

I am anxious. If one more person tries to comfort me once more with the promise of all being well soon - that I'm doing all this for my baby, that it'll all be worth it and to not worry because of the promising future, I will scream. The promise and the price of achieving my goal are 2 completely different simultaneous experiences. One does not negate the feeling of the other, or relieve the pain.

I feel trapped and I trust no one.

Say a prayer for me? I'll keep you posted.

~:C H I L L I N G • A T • N O R T H S I D E:~

Dear All,

Doug, Bimp and I have had quite a few dramatic days of late. Everything's fine now, but we had quite a scare. Doug drove me to Northside Hospital again in the early hours of Tuesday morning after that wonderful thunderstorm we all feel asleep to. I am fine now.

Once we arrived, they hooked me up to hear Bimp's heart rate, which was fine. I however, was having mild contractions, which are normal this late in the 3rd trimester, but due to my condition, they decided to stop them. So they gave me an injection of something to make them stop. Doug called this drug, "NoContracto". I was then given an IV for fluids for all the blood I had lost. Ooftah. It was really scary. I've had IV's before, given blood, taken allergy shots for years, but nothing prepared me for this IV. This late in my pregnancy, there is 50% more blood in my body to keep me AND Bimp going at once. So when she pricked me to find a vein, I looked down (stupid idea) and then had a vision of that scene from Carrie where she's soaked in pig's blood at the prom in her pretty silk dress. I freaked. Almost fainted, then threw up and then immediately felt better. The nurse I had was very sweet, but why, in God's name did she put a fucking IV at my WRIST on my RIGHT hand? I haven't been able to knit or write or type or anything. So they removed this for me this morning. Thank god, I can make stuff again. I kept whining to the nurses, "Is this really necessary? I can't KNIT, TYPE or finish my sudukos." And in the back of my head I'm thinking, "shut UP Anne. Your baby's fine and you are, too so just be grateful and deal."

They will continue to monitor Bimp and me throughout the day, this evening and part of tomorrow, during which they will let me go home again if things continue to go well. This is good news. If, however, I have any more problems, they'll put me right back here and this time it will be to stay until my pregnancy ends.

So many people have assured me of the fact that placenta previa cases are so unpredictable. Yes, the best thing I can do is sit still, but that's still not a guarantee that I'll not have further complications, even if I do all the right things. The uterus needs to stretch and grow as they baby does. How and when it does that really isn't up to me. But the fact that my placenta is so low-lying makes the stretching and growing a dangerous, iffy thing.

By the way, for those of you students who are reading this, be glad that once I described my in-home teaching situation on bed rest to my Doctor, his face lit up at the mere idea of it. He has for a long time doubted the efficacy of strict bed rest for high risk pregnancies. I am still able to be productive, which relaxes me and knowing I can make even a small contribution gives me more peace than you can imagine.

So I sit here today, after having taken a nice shower this morning and brightened up my face for the day, I am feeling very close to Bimp and the reality that he is really coming. One nurse described the OR situation during a c-section and she said it takes only about 45 minutes and that if all is well, I'll get to see my little boy right away. After I turned a little pale at the description of the prep for surgery and the surgery itself, once she told me Doug will get to hold Bimp and walk him right over to me and hold him close to my face, all the fear I had in that moment melted away and I was fine. Picturing my husband as a parent is the warmest thought I can imagine right now. Giving him that moment and many more like it just seems so incredibly satisfying - there are no words.

Right now, Bimp is curled up inside my body, listening to the encouraging whispers of all our parents and siblings who have passed on - who we cannot see any longer. Bimp is separated from my world of air and trees and things to do and rules to follow, by less than an inch of tissue. Just enough to see the sun shining through. Just enough to know that there are others who will let him go when it is time. He will be handed from from community of love to another.

Even in my most fearful panic on that stormy Tuesday morning as I stood paralyzed in our darkened bedroom, one arm on either side of the bedroom door frame, I clutched my Bimp. I may not be able to control my body, but I can my heart and I can my mind. In a moment of utter peace and clarity, I breathed deeply and told him we were going to be fine. And I knew it. I still do.

~:3 2 • W E E K S:~

So I am feeling pretty proud of myself, having reached 32 weeks. I can't really take much credit though, for carrying Bimp safley thus far - it is through of the generosity of friends and family that Bimp and I are safe. The Dykes and the gang (Jeff & Bonnie, Mom & Dad, Jim & Anita, Catherine & Bob, Gray & Jean) threw us a lovely shower last night and we're all still reeling from it. Thank you to everyone who helped pull this together and who came to celebrate with us. We love you all and are grateful for your friendship.

Doug and I sat in the nursey for most of the day, sorting through Bimp's new baby booty (as Doug calls it) putting things in drawers, talking about how much fun last night was. Bonnie's the master of all things entertaining - we were lavishly fed and her sangria kept everyone cool and comfortable. I was able to enjoy a bit of it, too. Oh, what a luxury that was. Better than the Ambien!

Take a look at the fun pictures we took at the shower. And thank you again to everyone there.

Much love,

~ Doug, Anne and Bimp

~:P I T • P A R T Y:~

Yep! Minus Five Enterprises came to town for a visit and on her way out, stopped by to meet Bimpie and me, escorted by the lovely Tania. Kinda cool to have been in the same room with these 2 troublemakers after bravely attacking the blogosphere for so many months together. They even got to see the BjornMouse in recovery, who was happy to greet them, although not looking his prettiest.

Minus came bearing a most generous assortment of fun gifts for Bimp and me. Thank you THANk you! Shoes from that fab NY store, infant wear and some badly needed product. Oh, I cannot wait to try everything!

Doug took several flattering pictures of the three of us to choose from - this was by far the favorite pose - chosen in honor of Mary. :-)

Here we have a lovely picture of Bjorn and one of the TWELVE (I had the count wrong yesterday), not six bladder stones. This was the largest one they removed. We brought him home today after having lunch with Mom and Dad. Our morning was spent at the OBGYN for another ultrasound. The darn previa is still there. I'll blog (complain) about that later this weekend.

It's been medical week here at the Elser household. Poor Bjorn's been put through the wringer. So has our bank account. I don't even want to tell you how much money we've spent on this little monkey since we first got him. We've got to keep him still (no stairs, no jumping on furniture) for the next 10 days until his staples come out. He's not very happy right now, but is glad to be home, rather than at the vet.

His recovery makes my own bedrest more complicated. He can't use his little doggie door anymore. You should see his belly - all red and shaved and stapled up. It's scary looking. They shaved his arms, too. Looks like he's wearing socks now, which is kinda cute. So I am now reliant on someone coming over to let him out to pee. This means our poor neighbor Tom will be summoned every few hours. So I am once again more dependent. Anything for the Bimpster, though. I just hate asking.

If you're interested in a few more pictures of the Mouse in recovery, go here.

~:S U R G E R Y • F O R • B J O R N:~ Little Bjorn just got out of bladder surgery this afternoon. Poor little guy had 8 bladder stones removed! One really big one and the rest were smaller. I feel so badly for him. But the surgery went off well without any complications. He's fine now and will rest there for the night. We'll go pick him up tomorrow with instructions for a new diet. Apparently, bladder stones can be more common in small breeds. He should be feeling much better pretty soon, though, which relieves me.

All this time we were thinking he was peeing more often and in strange places to show off, to mark his territory or to just be naughty. Last night Doug noticed his urine was darker and I saw him crying at the the door we made him to let himself out. Poor baby! It must have really hurt to pee. A warning to all you pet owners out there - if your pet does anything different, even if you think it's just behavioral, consider that there may be a medical explanation out there.

One funny thing I should tell you is that before they wheeled him into surgery, he was laying there on the cot with the little blue paper hat on and little Totes footies on all 4 paws, looked up at me and the nurse and then asked if while they were down there, could they give him an enlarged peenie. Oh, we all laughed. That Bjorn. Always joking.

A shout out to da BjornMouse - we love you and are tinkin' about you!

~Anne

~:Y U M M Y • C H O C O L A T E • G O O D N E S S:~

Some of what I've been busily up to these past few days. White ink on yummy chocolate envelopes for a friend's wedding. Mmmmmnnn. I'll post the invites after they're mailed. They are equally delicious, I might add.

~:T H I R T Y • O N E • W E E K S:~

This was taken after we had breakfast. Think I ate too much maybe? Bimp loved every bite and kicked to tell me so, the little taster.

So I am fine. Sorry to have worried a few of you after not blogging for a number of days. I had just had enough of everything this week and really took it easy. The computer can be depressing after a while - as can tv, my couch, clutter, dust bunnies, Bjorn bunnies, bjorn turds... stacks of books, paper, ink nibs. Oh, I could go on and on about all the little things I want to straighten up and can't. Patience, Anne. Patience.

But things are fine. So far this weeks gone by without any hitches - that means no alarming calls to the doctor's office. Maybe I was just walking on eggshells, I dunno. We are all fine.

Took our first childbirthing class together last Monday. Had a god time. I was the only previa case there. Hmmph. But our teacher said that around week 3 of the class, many of the previa cases she has have been cleared up by then. So we'll see! We'll go to the specialists next week on Friday for another ultrasound. THIS time we're bringing a VCR tape and will have it transferred digitally so you guys can see the Bimpster moving! Kewell!

I had my first intense experience with Braxton Hicks contractions the other night - a good time to practice breathing. Whoa - they were painful. But went away after an hour when I went to bed.  Felt like really bad cramps and this incredibly tight feeling all across my tummy. Breathe, breathe, breathe, Anne. They say these are designed to give your uterus a practice go for the real thing. They can vary in intensity. If you've been more active or have not had enough water for the day - that can trigger one. So I've been drinking like a fish ever since.

Mom took me to have lunch with my grandmother Nonie on Friday. Being wheeled into an assisted living center was a bit strange. There's my 80-year-0ld grandmother zipping around with her walker busily chatting with her friends and here I am, a 38-year-old lame duck in a fucking wheelchair. Very ironic.

Afterwards, Mom took me to look at silver porringers, baby cups and spoons. I fell apart and broke into tears when I saw them. Really fun to choose patterns and to picture feeding applesauce to Bimp. I think that's what made me cry.

Something I've learned about fear: that it can hinder the progress of your labor. I think that's true in any situation. Fear is designed to bring you to a crossroads. It forces you to make a choice, which is a good thing. My mother told me she became the pain - she rode the pain of labor. When you tighten up and fight it - it hurts more. So I will try to remember that.

I've been working on other knitting and needlework projects this week, so will post some other photos of my progress for you to see soon.

XO,

~Anne

~:W E E K • T H I R T Y:~

So we are at week 30 now. Another milestone. Yay! Tomorrow night we begin the wonders of child birth classes. I will be escorted by Doug and 2 firm pillows to class tomorrow, during which we'll get to meet other soon-to-be mothers and fathers. I'm REALLY looking forward to it.

I can feel bimp move even more now. The larger he gets, the stronger his movements. During our last visit on Thursday, the midwife showed me how to tell where he was positioned. Most of the large movements are happening on the lower right side of my belly - it's wonderfully creepy. I can nudge him gently now and get him to nudge me right back.


I spent a little bit of the day yesterday downloading lyrics of some very old and beautiful Scottish folk songs I fell in love with a long time ago. Anyone heard of the King's Singers? They've been around forever. One tune has been a favorite of mine for a long time - the Skye Boat Song, witten in 1884. Check out a snippet of the Skye Boat Song on this page. I never understood the historical background of the lyrics until yesterday.

Charles Edward Stewart, the Young Pretender (Bonnie Prince Charlie), lost a battle on Culloden Moor in 1745, trying to claim his right to the English throne. He managed to escape to the Island of Skye with the help of a Jacobite heroine named Flora MacDonald. He was exiled in Rome, where he died. So he never did manage to get back, in fact he died a miserable drunk. Oh well. I shant sing that part to Bimp.

Skye Boat Song
(Sir Harold Boulton, 1884)

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to skye

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunder clouds rend the air;
Baffled our foe's stand by the shore
Follow they will not dare

chorus

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep
Ocean's a royal bed
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head

chorus

Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield
When the night came, silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field

chorus

Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men
Yet, e'er the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to skye
Over the sea to skye
Over the sea to skye

This is the only tune I've been humming to him so far. Anyway - interesting that most of the songs I love, are already considered lullabies. Now that I've got the lyrics, I've got some memorizing to do.

godhelpme i am so fuckingbored right now

oh godhelpme

~:S U M M E R • Q U A R T E R • E M O T I V E • T Y P E:~

This first quarter group is doing very well and we are all enjoying ourselves out here in Dunwoody. I've taken more photos of their progress and experiments here.

Also made a little movie of ink in action as they warmed up to the Dirty Word Book assignment. I did not have to do any coaxing to get them into this idea. Everyone jumped right in. Check out da little film here.

Cheers!

Peter sent me this little movie today. I had forgotten about it. He made it for Doug and me as part of an invite for a couples wedding shower back in 2002 he and Mary threw for us. Peter wrote and performed the song and um, searched for the photos. We found most of them under Mom and Dad's bed, actually. And today I'm sharing it with you. All comments and questions welcomed. It was a great party, by the way. :-)

~Anne

This one goes out to Mary.

Thanks for the encouragement, chicas.

XOXOXO

~Anne

What Baby Center says about Bimp at 28 weeks: By this week, your baby weighs a little over 2 pounds and measures about 14.8 inches from the top of his head to his heels. He can open his eyes — which now sport lashes — and he'll turn his head toward a continuous, bright light from the outside. His fat layers are beginning to form, too, as he gets ready for life outside the womb. If you are a new mother over 35 and on bed rest, try putting a hibiscus bloom in your hair to visually distract from the fact that you now weigh a startling one hundred and fifty freaking pounds.