Getting ready for baby
I read in some (stupid) article that by the end of the second trimester, I should have selected and purchased all the main baby apparatuses and that by the third trimester I should be putting the finishing touches on the baby room, say stenciling and hanging the mobile. What?? I didn’t feel comfortable even going into a baby store until a couple of weeks ago and when I finally stepped into Buy Buy Baby my head nearly exploded. Wall to wall bottles and pumps and onesies and cradles. Where the heck is it all supposed to go? My sister was with me and deftly led us to the Registry counter. This will be fun, I thought. With the handy checklist, it will all make sense. The first item Stacey told me I had to have was a fifty dollar Braun thermometer. “You’ll need it and you’ll need a quality one.” I recalled having bought one for a friend a few years ago and was sure I hadn’t spent more than ten dollars. I wondered if she’d ever used it, if I had offended her with my choice of low-end medical equipment.
We moved onto the bath area. We zapped the one Stacey had used when she had her first child about fourteen years ago. We were moving along fine until we got to the towels. Since we don’t know the sex, I scanned a cute yellow towel with a hood. And I decided I wanted organic. I didn’t want the scratchy, rough fabric to touch bambino’s skin. I’ve read a little bit about the chemicals and dyes in cotton fabrics and while they don’t do any proven harm, they can irritate and cause rashes. I’m really not a person who insists on organic, but now I want it. I hope this isn’t a preview of the overly protective mother I’ll be. I’m sure all caution will be thrown out the window after a couple sleepless nights and baby drool lining my shirt.
After the bath area, we moved onto bottles. R. and I had talked about glass, but what brand? I scanned in a couple thinking I’d do the research when I got home. Stacey and I then fell into scanning less intimidating items like swaddling blankets and fluffy hats. These I can deal with. By the time we made it downstairs to the heavy duty items (car seats, cribs, bouncy seats), we were exhausted. When we found the row of glider chairs, we sat down (next to a couple nursing mamas) and soothed ourselves with the back and forth motion. I hadn’t thought of getting a glider (a chair that glides back and forth with a matching hammock that does the same), but it sure was comforting. Stacey and I watched the tiny babies being fed. I marveled at the slim stomachs of the mothers only three weeks after birth. We cooed at the babies, who seemed ravenously hungry and dazed after the feedings.
We decided to call it a night and go get some pizza. I need to do more research online, I said, and fully intended to. I thought it would be easier in the store but it just made me want to crawl in a hole. At the registry counter I handed the woman my scanner and she printed out our list. It was nicely broken down into categories like Safety, Feeding, Bathing. We didn’t recognize half the things I had registered for — had we really scanned in so many little toys and fuzzy hats? I felt defeated. It was a random list and not too practical. But it was a start. I swore I would go straight home and correct it — remove the fluff and add some substance.
That was almost two weeks. I haven’t touched the registry, but I have researched items online. I think I’m getting closer to having a clue as to what I need. I still haven’t figured out where it will all go.
A wave of neediness
The other night I felt something I having felt in a while. Needy. Very needy. Almost as needy as an infant. Granted, I was especially tired that day. It was one of those days when I crawled home after work and planted my body on the sofa, feet propped up on a folded body pillow. I found myself wanting R. to get me things — some water, juice, a cracker. Rub my feet. Get me this. Get me that. I was less willing to put myself out, succumbing to my new limitations. I finally stopped pushing myself — I wasn’t going to bend over to get something. I’m certainly less mobile than I have been, but not incapable. But I wanted a hand. Lots of hands. Right away.
Later I went to bed early (couldn’t bear to watch the debates). I kept yelling to R. to come in and tuck me in, hug me, hold me. I’m sure there is a psydchological explanation for this — some new phase I’m entering in the third trimester. In The Expectant Father, which R. happily bought but has not read, the male author warns that as the pregnancy progresses, the mother becomes more dependent on the father. I haven’t felt too dependent to this point. In fact, I’ve been feeling rather empowered as my body continues to do this incredible thing seemingly on its own.
Happily, my neediness subsided the next day. Maybe it was a fleeting phase. Maybe it will come back. Maybe it was meant to give me a window into what bambino will be feeling in a couple short months.
The shoe situation
As soon as I figure out my maternity wardrobe for the summer, fall presents a new challenge. The other week I finally hauled myself into a shoe store to buy a pair of shoes that actually fit. I’d been wearing a pair of stinky flipflops for most of the summer (telling myself I’d change them as soon as I got to work), but when I got to work I could barely wedge my foot into my more presentable leather flats.
At Harry’s shoes (Upper West Side), the sales lady nixed the shoes I wanted to try one. “You’re pregnant?” she asked. “Let me bring you something that will fit and be comfortable. Your feet are only going to get bigger.” Great, thanks. Can’t wait. She did set me up with a very nice pair of MaryJane’s with a tiny soft heel (Privo brand). This bummed me out because last year I bought an almost identical pair and although I can still put my feet in them it hurts to walk. So I happily wore my new shoes for about two weeks before the morning temperature started reading 48 degrees. A perfect day to wear those brown leather zip up boots I bought last year, right? I pulled out my new sweater and skirt, dug out some knee highs (maternity tights are another story) and was sure the boots would fit because, after all, they were a little big last year.
I started with my left foot — the bigger one, and squeezed my foot in. Tight, but doable. Then I wrestled with the zipper until I compressed my calf enough to allow it to close. The left one was a success, although I was sure it would cut off my circulation my noon. On to the right side. Foot in, zipper up. Wait a minute. This is my smaller side. Nope. Wouldn’t go. I stopped when I felt that I might strain the zipper and ruin my chances for next year.
It was a sad morning. I put my cute boots aside and put on my less cut new shoes, the only ones that fit and that I would surely catch a chill in today. But I know this is only temporary. I know that I will resize myself after the birth. But I had no idea that my calves had taken such a hit. I thought about buying a new pair for my chunky legs but I don’t think they make them that big. But I’m okay with it, really. I’m pregnant after all, and am beginning to like this new excuse for everything.
The long haul
At some point during the past few weeks, the random reaction to my pregnancy has shifted. Maybe this always happen when a woman approaches the end of her second trimester. Gone are comments like “Wow, you are already 15/18/20/25 weeks?” and “You don’t look that big!” Now that there is no doubt that I’m expecting (the questionable fat and bloated look has turned into a distinct bulging belly and stiff waddle), people say, “Wow, you still have a long way to go.” Yeah, I’m feeling that way too. Now people look at me with sympathy, as if they know that the last three months are the hardest. What do they all know? I think I can guess.
