Postpartum post

Postpartum class was quite helpful last night. I got a little woozy near the beginning, as I have during every class, but it wasn’t too bad. I really appreciated how detailed it was, including the ever-popular visual aids.

One such visual aid was a mini-Jacuzzi the hospital sends home with each patient. That’s not what they called it, but I like “mini-Jacuzzi” better. Thanks, Blue Cross! I told Gunter I would make it into a footbath for pedicures as soon as I can reach my feet again.

The nurse didn’t say anything about massages curing baby blues, but I think she assumed we already knew that.

I’m slightly concerned about not getting to eat when I’m in labor – me, the girl who eats every 2-3 hours. (Of all the things to dread, right?) Maybe the majority of my labor won’t happen from 5 a.m.-noon. That’s when I’m the hungriest. I think they don’t let you eat because they’re afraid you’ll get sick, but they don’t know that the opposite is true with me. Even worse, if you have a C section, you apparently don’t get to eat for days!

Gunter’s just going to have to find a drive-through on the way to the hospital. I’ll be sipping the last of my milkshake as we sign in.

34 weeks and now counting backwards

I am 34 weeks now, and I guess it’s about time for another pregnancy picture. My belly looks a lot bigger than this when I’m standing up.



Here’s Bailey and me in a place where I predict we’ll be spending a lot of time soon – a rocking chair from some sweet friends in Opp in Bailey’s not-quite-finished nursery. I’ll try to show more pictures when we’ve got a few things hung on the walls and one more piece of furniture in place. Gunter is working on it like crazy, but the 5,724 layers of old paint he’s scraping off are about to get the best of him.

I redeemed a birthday gift certificate yesterday and got a pregnancy massage. I was wary of the table at first because, even with an indention for my belly, I wondered if I was putting any pressure on Bailey. When I told my mom about the table made for pregnant bellies she asked, “Did yours fit?” A valid question, since mine does stick way on out there.

After I got comfortable with the table, I really enjoyed the massage. Getting up was quite an endeavor, but when I left the spa, I didn’t even feel pregnant. I felt lighter, and nothing was strained or achy. The only trouble I had was the massage oil lingering on my hippo-like feet. No matter what I did, I couldn’t keep them from slipping in my shoes. No Walmart trip for me (pun not intended). Gunter picked up groceries on his own.

In other news, I’ve not been as active with the youth this summer. We had water day a few Saturdays ago, and I did go out there, but I had a great time in the shade playing with my “twin’s” little ones in a kiddie pool instead of slip-and-slide baseball. After it was all over, Gunter tried to pull me down the slip-and-slide on my back, but I don’t think he took into account that the extra weight would not allow him to go very fast. It wasn’t a very dignified experience.

The youth went tubing on Saturday, and we decided it would not be best for me to try that, either. I couldn’t imagine how I might get into an inner tube and still breathe, though I could easily see me falling on a stump or something. Gunter made a good point about going into labor on the river and having no cell phone service. Besides that, any time over 5 minutes in the sun would have cooked me. Mom and I went shopping instead, and then I took a nap and cleaned house. Much safer, except for the cleaning the house part.

Tonight, we’re going to a postpartum class at the hospital so Gunter will know what to do with me when I turn into an all-out basketcase. I hope to find out that shoulder rubs are key in battling baby blues.

You know you're "ripe" when...

...people replace "How far along are you?" with "How much longer do you have?"

Favorite Thing #323: Sweet Tea in a Mason Jar/Southernisms

This post will double as a "favorite thing" because there is nothing better than sweet iced tea in a cold mason jar with a little lemon. Nothing! Goodness gracious.

I yanked the part below from an e-mail forward, but it totally spoke to me. I was proud to identify with every one. If you don't, well bless your heart!

Only a Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit, and that you don't "HAVE" them, you "PITCH" them.
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Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess."
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Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of "yonder."
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Only a Southerner knows exactly how long "directly" is, as in: "Going to town, be back directly."
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Even Southern babies know that "Gimme some sugar" is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table.
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All Southerners know exactly when "by and by" is. They might not use the term, but they know the concept well.
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Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin!
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Only Southerners grow up knowing that "just down the road" can be 1 mile or 20.
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Only a Southerner both knows and understands the difference between a redneck, a good ol' boy, and po' white trash.
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No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.
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A Southerner knows that "fixin" can be used as a noun, a verb or an adverb.
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Only Southerners make friends while standing in lines, and when we're "in line," we talk to everybody!
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Put 100 Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they're related, even if only by marriage.
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Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.
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Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.
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When you hear someone say, "Well, I caught myself lookin'," you know you are in the presence of a genuine Southerner!
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Only true Southerners say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it -- we do not like our tea unsweetened. "Sweet milk" means you don't want buttermilk.
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And a true Southerner knows you don't scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say, "Bless her heart" and go your own way.
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To those of you who are still a little embarrassed by your Southerness: Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart!
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And for those who are not from the South but have lived here for a long time, all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls' front porch that reads "I ain't from the South, but I got here as fast as I could."

By all appearances...

I’ve started thinking... I have no idea what my child will look like. Really, her appearance might come as a big surprise. My features differ from Gunter’s quite a bit. I hope Bailey is gorgeous like her daddy, but I secretly want her to look at lot like me, at least enough to recognize her as mine.

Allow me to demonstrate…

Will she inherit Gunter’s sometimes blue/sometimes green eyes, or my brown ones?





Will she have a head full of dark, curly hair from the beginning…

…or will she be bald until about the age of 4, when she finally starts to grow fine, straight hair like Mama?

Bailey might even start out blonde like Uncle Benjamin or red-headed like Great-Granny Dye.

Will that trace of Cherokee skin be passed down, or will she look more like vanilla pudding with chocolate sprinkles?

Note the arms.

Will she inherit the athleticism and competitive spirit of grandparents, aunts and uncles, or will she be more interested in books and music?

We look forward to finding out!

Baby Banter #7, 8 and 9

From a woman at a local church after a Jimmy DeYoung lecture:
Are you having TRIPLETS?!

Yes. Yes, I am. Very small triplets. If you add all their sizes together, they add up to be about the size of one normal 32-week baby (at the present, about 4 pounds and 19 inches long).


Beloved pastor after the Jimmy DeYoung lecture:
She’s pregnant!

Don't even play. You knew that already!


From Jimmy DeYoung after the Jimmy DeYoung lecture:
Hey, Mama!

Suddenly, I’ve become everybody’s mama, even Jimmy DeYoung’s! Funny, we don’t resemble each other at all. I’m missing the receding fro and the great broadcast voice.

Baby Banter #6

From my dear husband after I made a joke about unloading a watermelon from his vehicle (something I knew I would not be allowed to lift):

"You can't do that! You already have one!"

It might not have looked it, I'm pretty sure that watermelon was bigger than my watermelon! And it was very tasty.