Vanity of Dyer

Warning: this blog contains lots of rambling about myself. Hence, the title. But the title is also in honor of Jack Kerouac, whose "On the Road" celebrated its 50th anniversary this year. Kerouac also wrote a book titled "Vanity of Duluoz". I tried reading it, but couldn't quite finish it before the library said I couldn't renew it anymore. That's what I get for being a pretentious 15-year-old trying to read stuff way above my understanding. Maybe I'll give it another shot now that I'm older and wiser (Ha!).

Yay!

I recently found out a friend of mine is pregnant too and I'm absolutely thrilled. Even though being pregnant is an exciting experience, it can be lonely at times. I'm not sure why, I guess because you're going through these emotions and physical changes that no matter how supportive your loved ones are (and believe me, they are), you still feel like you're kind of on your own to deal with the challenges. But, on the other hand, you're also the only one who gets to feel the baby rolling around in your womb, and nothing compares to that! I'm so glad I have someone special to experience all these sensations with.

Stupid Tube

My esophagus has decided to become a pretty useless organ at night and because of heartburn I've resorted to sleeping in a reclined position to keep the contents of my stomach from backing up into my throat. My back continues to cause the most discomfort, but they ordered me a new chair at work, so hopefully that will improve. My current chair is your standard, four-legged chair someone thought graduate students should be confined to as punishment for some reason or another.

We're Not Fat, Lazy Ladies

I now have a deeper understanding of things like the pregnant waddle and the huffing and puffing of prenant ladies. I used to think that it was just because they were carrying around 30 extra pounds and were not in shape. Now I know that it has more to do with the fact their organs are all squished up and competing for blood and oxygen with an ever-growing parasite. Do pregnant ladies really need their own parking spaces at Goody's? Probably not. Should strangers give up their seats on the bus or their spots in crowded elevators? That would be nice. Though, honestly, I probably needed the designated parking or the bus seats more my first trimester when fatigue hit me like a Mack truck. Now I really need the exercise.

49 Days to Go

My torso seems to think that there is simply no more room in there for baby. My rib cage, pelvis, and associated ligaments and tendons don't care that the baby still has six more weeks of growing to do; they think it's unfair they should be forced to deal with this pressure and they're making their complaints known to me. But as my D-Day (delivery day) approaches, I'm starting to get a little freaked out about the birthing process. I'm really struggling with decisions about epidurals and other "interventions." Before I got pregnant, I always said that I wanted to be totally drugged up, no question about it. But now that I've got this thing inside of me and its health has become my number one priority, I don't know what I want. Any kind of intervention (inducing, breaking the "bag of waters," etc.) increases the likelihood of needing further interventions - and of prolonging labor. All interventions have their inherent risks (certain drugs can cross the placenta, for instance); but so does being stubborn and not allowing the doctor to do what he or she thinks is best. Ideally, I'd like to breastfeed as soon as possible after delivery, but if I get a C-section or am completely doped up, I don't know how that fits in with those plans. I know it's probably silly to stress about these decisions because when the time comes, I'll probably not have a whole lot of control over what happens. But I am my father's daughter and I will stress out over that which I do not know nor have any measure of control over. Damn Frew genes. How come I coundn't outgrow these genes the same way I outgrew my blue jeans?