Hidden Costs of Pregnancy for Women

All you read about are the joys of pregnancy - creation of a new life, that pregnancy glow, maternal bond with the baby, blah, blah, blah,. I don't want to be the downer, but I have yet to read anything that talks honestly about the financial issues women, specifically, will face due to pregnancy and childbirth. Much is written about how much you need to spend to outfit a baby and figures about how much it costs to raise a child from infancy through college, but nothing about what I call the woman's hidden costs of pregnancy - those costs that make pregnancy expensive in the unglamorous ways you had never thought about until you're actually living it.

I think about the women I know and their diverse situations - high-paying jobs, low-paying jobs, kids, no kids, thinking about kids, married, in a relationship, living with a partner or not. Some of them talk openly with me about money, not necessarily as it pertains to kids, because so few of my friends have kids yet, but about general budgeting and saving and about how they approach sharing household expenses with a partner. Most split directly down the middle, as Chris and I do, while one couple I know does a give and take - he pays the electric bill, she pays the Internet, he pays for groceries when he goes to store, and she the next time. Another couple calculated that of their combined income, he makes 60%, and she makes 40%, so that's how they split each one's share of the mortgage and other bills. But how will the couples in my social circle handle a circumstance that financially burdens one person more than the other, but is really the financial responsibility of both?

Actually being pregnant has allowed me to see how women can be impacted financially by pregnancy, in small and big ways. If you're married or in a committed relationship, having a baby sparks a new set of budgeting discussions, but the increased costs of pregnancy, and then beyond, (daycare, increased household expenses, schooling, etc.) become absorbed into the family expenditures. For women who are on their own, or are in relationships where finances have remained relatively separate, the hidden costs might be more of a burden.

1. New Wardrobe

If you've noticed patterns in my dress the past few months, it's true, I wear the same few outfits over and over again. The Bella Band gave me a few extra weeks in my pre-pregnancy pants and I was able to wear a few shirts and t-shirts with looser cuts for awhile after I started showing. But by the third trimester, the only pre-pregnancy clothes that still fit are my socks, my soccer shorts (worn so low I look ridiculous) and one skirt that has an elastic band and might have been a tad loose on my anyway when I was at my lowest weight. Everything else has been purchased since then and my old clothes are literally collecting dust and probably going out of style (that is, if I were ever in style to begin with). So I've bought as few clothes as I can get away with in an attempt to save money. And I've gotten away with fewer purchases because most of my growing has taken place during the warmer months, including September, which has been unseasonably warm for Minnesota. But although I've survived on a minimal wardrobe for now, fall will eventually be here and I'm facing having to buy yet another set of clothes to get me through the last few weeks of pregnancy and the first few weeks post partum (where, sorry, I've been informed, I'll still be wearing maternity clothes).

If I weren't pregnant, I wouldn't have gone nine months without buying any new clothes, but it is expensive (and time consuming and overwhelming) to need to replace an entire wardrobe in such a short time span. Imagine, too, if your professional requires formal attire, like a suit. My running shoes would have needed replacing by this point anyway, pregnancy-related feet woes or not, but by the third "upgrade" in intimate apparel, I was swiping the joint debit card at the register, not the one on my personal account.

2. Lost time at work/lost wages

For those who have jobs that aren't salaried, lack adequate paid time off or don't have flexible work hours, attending doctor's appointments or missing work because you're feeling ill or are experiencing complications during your pregnancy can add up to lost wages. It will depend upon what you do for work, whether you need to expend a lot of energy, be on your feet a lot or just be creative - all difficult even with mild nausea. Even if you have a desk job, the healthiest of pregnancies still require monthly and then bi-monthly doctor's appointments. Unlike the dentist, which you can schedule six months out and snag an early-morning appointment and still be to work reasonably on time, most obstetrician's offices I've encountered schedule appointments between 8 a.m. and 4 p.m., and you have little leeway to postpone an appointment by any more than a week or so to accommodate your work schedule. If you don't get paid for the hours you're not at work, or can't make up the hours, your income goes down. The writer of the memoir, Rattled! relied on freelance work to supplement her low editor's salary, but the ability to put in the extra hours was threatened by pregnancy fatigue. Her checking account dipped dangerously low as she scraped by in New York City, while her ex-boyfriend continued to live a life she could no longer afford of nights out with friends, expensive clothes and splurge purchases.


3. Health care costs

Because of all the attention paid to rising out-of-pocket costs for healthcare and the growing prevalence of high-deductible plans, I was surprised and relieved to learn that pregnancy is 100% covered (and not subject to the deductible) on my plan, just as preventative care like your annual physical is. I have never paid a co-pay at an office visit or received a bill in the mail for my prenatal care. But I've also experienced no complications. The routine care is covered, even the first and second trimester screenings, which are optional, but had I gone on medication for high blood pressure, or needed extra care related to gestational diabetes, (examples of common conditions that can pop up in pregnancy) my understanding is that I would have been responsible for some of these costs according to the terms of my health plan. Therefore, I'm waiting to see how much they charge me for those lovely wrists splints I was given (which aren't working by the way).

Then months into my pregnancy, I learned that pregnancy is covered, but that labor and delivery are considered separate from "pregnancy" and that this along with your hospital stay, are treated by your insurance company as would costs incurred if you visited your doctor for an illness, or went to the emergency room for a broken leg. Where I had previously misunderstood that I wouldn't be paying a cent for any medical costs related to pregnancy, I'm facing an undetermined bill that could be in the low thousands once the deductible and out-of-pocket maximum is factored in.

At some point during delivery the creature that's been stirring around inside of you is considered by the insurance company a separate human being in need of its own coverage. So you'll actually get two bills, one for you and one for the baby (who now has its own deductible). You instantly go from single coverage to "employee + dependent," or "employee plus spouse" to "family coverage," complete with increased monthly premiums.

My earlier rant about the costs borne by women for maternity wardrobes may seem superficial, and as for the potential for lost wages, you'll most likely have a healthy pregnancy with little time off needed from work. But unless you give birth at home without professional help, you and your new child could incur thousands of dollars in hospital costs. How will you and your partner split what insurance doesn't cover? If you've each spent years contributing to a health savings account, how much from each account will you tap into? Some people are lucky to have an employer who offers great coverage with a low monthly premium, while others don't have health insurance at all. If you're married, your options open up, but if you are not married and are about to have a baby, the question of how to make sure you and your baby are covered and how you will split those costs is a lot more complicated.

4. Maternity Leave

You will need to take time off after you've given birth, but unfortunately for those of us working in the United States, maternity leave is not paid (and not even guaranteed). It seems the common scenario is that new moms only receive a full salary during maternity leave by using up any vacation time and sick time,(so limited in the States, and again, not even guaranteed) then a partial salary by applying for disability and then when that runs out, they round out maternity leave by taking unpaid time off. Realizing that your household may go weeks without a second paycheck is a financial shocker for many couples, but if paychecks in your relationship are still seen as "her" money and "his" money, where does that leave the woman when her income is non-existent for a few weeks or months?

Full Term!

At 37 weeks as of today, my baby is now considered full term. Although I have three weeks to go based on a 40-week gestation period, the baby's organs are now theoretically mature enough to live outside the womb without complications. Ideally labor will wait another three, four, or even five weeks, to give the baby the opportunity to mature further. Regardless of my due date, if the baby were to decide to arrive today, my doctor would not try to stop labor.

Before I was pregnant, I didn't understand what an emotional milestone reaching 37 weeks is. Chris expressed his emotions by high-fiving me as I stumbled to the bathroom early this morning while he was getting ready for work and exclaimed, "37 weeks!" I've been reassured by stories of friends' kids who were born weeks before term and grew up without health complications and by a friend who's a doctor (and who's own kid was born two weeks before term) who told me when I was at 33 weeks that if our child were born that day, it'd earn itself a few days in the NICU, but that it would be fine. Regardless of my kid's chances in the few weeks leading up to now, the less drama in my pregnancy, the better.

Like the rest of my pregnancy, Chris and I can only sit and wait, but otherwise go on with our lives. If I were to develop complications or were to go too far past my due date, (where the risk of the baby growing too big or the placenta breaking down goes up) my doctor would consider inducing labor or even a c-section. But those scenarios haven't even been discussed yet. I'm enjoying the thrill of knowing the baby and I have made it, even if I'm in a bit of denial that the baby really could theoretically come any day now.

Public Service Announcement: Get Your Flu Shot

In my memories of flu shots from childhood, only the over-protective parents made their kids get them. My parents were diligent about taking my brother and me to yearly check-ups and other health care appointments, but I don't think flu shots were ever recommended by our doctors, because maybe we would have otherwise gotten them. I don't remember walk-in clinics set up smack between the greeting card section and check-out lines of the grocery stores, or recall my parents saying they were offered vaccinations through work.

As a healthy kid whose only missed days from school were due to the chicken pox in second grade, getting sick and staying home from school was a fantasy for me. By grad school, I finally understood that the real flu (and not the, I have a bad cold, I must have the "flu") can leave you bedridden for a week and since I didn't have time for that anymore, I willingly signed myself up for my first flu shot and have been getting them ever since. Because once out in the working world, I also didn't have time to miss a week of work. Now that I'm about to be a mom, I really don't have time to be sick. And since I'm pregnant, I also fall into a high-risk category, something I wouldn't have considered myself in since that label also applies to the elderly and those with chronic medical conditions. But more important than my time is protecting my baby from an illness he or she won't be able to receive an immunization for until flu season has passed.

I've done my part to protect myself against the flu, but protecting my child doesn't stop with me. Once I'd received my flu shot* from a nurse at my prenatal appointment, her eyes immediately turned to Chris, who was informed that he, too, needed to be vaccinated too in order to protect the baby. Ha! And he thought as the male counterpart in this pregnancy, he could get away without any poking or prodding. The nurse was satisfied when he said he'd be getting the shot through work in two weeks. I wonder if I can get a note from his boss.

And again, it doesn't even stop with Chris. Flu shots are recommended for anyone who will be in contact with a newborn, such as grandparents, aunts and uncles, older siblings of the newborn and any caregivers. I look at receiving a flu shot as not only protecting yourself, (against health complications, loss of school or work, or leisure activities) but also your family and community.

I'm not posting this reminder and request as a paranoid mother-to-be. I worry about enough other things, and fear of contracting the flu or the "swine flu" has barely registered with me. When pictures of Mexico City residents wearing surgical masks appeared in the paper and Chris's company issued an official statement regarding the illness on the company website, we both rolled our eyes. While I understood that swine flu is a special concern for its potential to infect larger segments of the population at a more rapid pace, it seemed like hysteria was building for an illness that we can't combat any differently than we have learned to do for the seasonal flu: wash your hands regularly, stay home if you're sick and get your flu shot every year.


* I received the vaccination to prevent seasonal influenza, and not the novel 2009 H1N1 virus, which requires a separate shot and won't be available until some time in October.

36-Week Appointment

I'm a pregnancy super trooper no more, but my doctor actually seemed delighted to hear some complaints out of me. She says it just means I'm normal.

Since about my 35th week, the soreness in my fingers has grown worse to the point where my lack of a comfortable grip on a chef's knife makes chopping vegetables, well dicey, my feet ache more often, the gas pain and pressures has me wondering whether labor won't be as bad, or whether it will be worse, and I have to wedge my feet into my clogs. I hear so many comments about how awful it is to be pregnant in the summer, but the changing to the autumn chill from sandal weather just adds more anxiety to the question of what I'm going to wear.

And the doctor said it's just going to get worse, (I suspected it would be downhill from now on) so when she offered me braces for my wrists to increase circulation while I'm sleeping, I accepted. My surprisingly quality sleep (for a pregnant woman) hasn't been interrupted the past couple of days by late-night trips to the bathroom, but instead, because any number or combination of limbs has gone numb. Then I'm awake and realize I have to go to the bathroom, again. But the process of getting out of bed, however cumbersome, at least temporarily improves blood circulation.

The good news is that despite my list of complaints, (which really are mild and totally normal for someone who is nearly full term) my body is already preparing itself for labor. Even though Chris's co-workers apparently know some intimate details, I'll spare the rest of you - I am trying to preserve some dignity in this process. But this is where it's going to get really exciting, or move agonizingly slowly. There's enough change happening to warrant appointments every week now, and eventually every couple of days. While it could be easily another five weeks until I deliver, if I went into labor now, my doctor wouldn't intervene anymore and would let nature runs its course.

Breastfeeding Basics

Chris brags that he's willingly gone to breastfeeding class twice. He's just that awesome of a husband, right?. Well, if he admitted what happened the first time around, he'd blow his own cover, and mine too.

We had arrived at the classroom, the same one our prenatal class was held in the week before, but it was empty. A very sympathetic and helpful instructor, who had arrived early to set up for another class later in the evening, made a series of phone calls for us and learned that I had the right date and time for the class, but the wrong hospital. Oy vey. Some light tears later, (Okay, so it did go through my mind, if I get the wrong hospital for a class, what will I mess up when I go into labor?) I was at least was able to snag the last two spots in the class being held two weeks later, and officially rescheduled.

Our second attempt at attendance went off without a hitch. We had the correct location, we were on time, and despite that I've listened to every Pregtastic podcast there is on breastfeeding, I still found the class informative and worthwhile. In fact, I enjoyed it much more than the the prenatal class, which glossed over ever pregnancy and labor topic possible, while this was topic specific.

While Chris admitted it was probably good that he went, we're still not in agreement that the class was absolutely necessary. He reminded me that they teach all of this in the hospital, along with diaper changing and bathing the baby (two other things Chris and I have never done). His friend and his partner didn't bother with the class, even though she knew wanted to breastfeed, and he reported that she's doing fine. However, I don't think you can lump something as personal and emotional as breastfeeding in with diapers and baths. It's true that labor and delivery nurses are trained in basic breastfeeding techniques and most hospitals have a lactation specialist or consultant who can visit you within 24 hours of birth. However, in that time, the baby will have needed to feed multiple times, I will be exhausted and I'm so emotionally committed to breastfeeding, that I want to go in as prepared as possible for my own benefit. Because a lot can go awry.

Breastfeeding, in general, is not complicated, and sure women have been doing it since the beginning of time, but the mechanics is not actually instinctual (or so I've been told). Both babies and mothers can perform a piece of the process incorrectly enough to through the rhythm out of sink. A baby can have trouble latching on correctly. Or the mom might not figure out how to hold the baby in a comfortable position and suddenly question how she'll be able to put up with nursing 8-10 times a day. Breastfeeding has been compared to dancing, where you each may know the steps, but not the style at which your partner moves. Because of formula, no baby will starve, but each unsuccessful day of breastfeeding can lead to health complications for the mom and baby, frustration, and ultimately, giving up breastfeeding.

So I signed us up for a class offered through the hospital called Breastfeeding Basics. In two and a half hours, it covered the benefits of breastfeeding, how to prepare, avoiding and solving problems, and the role of the support person.

The latter is why Chris was there. Actually, the description of the class specifically instructed you to bring your support person and I ended up with some additional authority when we met a woman in our baby class who didn't know her husband was supposed to attend the breastfeeding class with her, and she felt like a loser for being the only one there without a partner. As she recounted the story over lunch in the hospital cafeteria, I interpreted the look on her husband's face as, "Don't be me."

There are two pieces in this becoming a parent adventure Chris is naturally and obviously excused from: labor and breastfeeding. He's attended appointments and a prenatal class and kept up on the stages of pregnancy. It's his kid too, after all. Even though only I can make the decision whether to breastfeed or not, (they are my breasts, after all) I think it's important that he be just as informed. Two minds are better than one, so even though we received more information in those two and a half hours than we could actually process and remember, we've both received the same basic information and can help each other in those first few weeks after birth. I don't think I'll have the patience to explain basic breastfeeding concepts, and he'd be hearing it second-hand, anyway, instead of from the instructor with an advanced degree and 24 years experience. Meanwhile, the nurse or lactation consultant at the hospital won't have to help him play catch-up during the precious time she has to work with the baby and me. Just as I haven't spent any significant time with babies and nursing mothers, Chris had to be introduced to this foreign world of breast pumps, a new vocabulary with terms like engorgement, let down and colostrum and a lifestyle altered to accommodate round-the-clock feedings and pumping and freezing milk. The class helped us transition from breastfeeding as a theory - something we supported, something we knew other people do - to a reality with all the physical, logistical and emotional details.

One belief surrounding breastfeeding that hasn't changed after the class and all the research I've done is that it really is a personal choice. Just as I feel the pull towards doing anything less than a natural, unmedicated birth is considered an injustice to your child, I sense a shame out there among women who don't want to or can't breastfeed. The "Breast is Best" movement has done a lot to encourage women to breastfeed and support those who choose to do so. I do believe breast milk is better than formula, but formula is still good. I remind myself that I was a formula-fed baby. And I'll admit that I want to breastfeed as much for the health benefits for me as for the baby, and the idea of breastfeeding as better for bonding than bottle feeding (oft mentioned in the pro-breastfeeding literature, but one I haven't been able to buy into yet) is less motivating than the thought of the cost savings (less often mentioned). I have the time and support, and hopefully when the baby is born, the patience and lack of complications. Breastfeeding is a logical option for me now, but not for every woman.

34-Week Appointment

At my 34-week appointment right before the Labor Day Weekend I was in and out in a flash. The baby's heart beat is now in the high 130s, right where it should be, and with a measurement of 34 centimeters, I'm following the growth charts with measurements corresponding to the number of weeks I am in my pregnancy. I was chipper and full of energy and the doctor was impressed with how easily I still pop up from a reclining position on the exam table without any assistance. How are you doing? Any discomfort? "Nah, I replied. I'm doing great!"

Three days later, I noticed a mild soreness in my fingers and I couldn't comfortably make a tight fist. Now I know why pregnant women are known for dropping things. I couldn't discern any swelling, but knew it had to be the culprit. While swelling is uncomfortable to look at, and certainly isn't flattering, it never occurred to me that you feel physical side effects to it.

By that night, the baby had completed two straight hours of what felt like somersaults inside me. It was cute when it was smaller and had more room to maneuver, but each movement caused incredible discomfort as it bounced a limb off the uterine wall or took a break directly on what felt like my bladder. Certain sensations I can't put into words, (Other than, am I feeling the baby grab an intestine?) and while they are better described as discomforting rather than painful, they still caught my breath and left me unable to sit still. I finally retreated to the bedroom where I hoped gravity could relieve some discomfort by pulling the baby off my bladder.

My emotional state wasn't admittedly the greatest at this peak of discomfort, but being surrounded by 20-something guys who have never spent such an extended period of time in close contact with a pregnant woman, as was the case when we all spent the weekend together at the cabin Up North, was not providing the emotional comfort I was seeking. They all, my own husband included, barely looked up from their card game. He finally excused himself to see what I was making such a fuss about and reported back that "Kirsten's 'uncomfortable.'" I could picture their eyes rolling. Yes, accurately and succinctly put, I was "uncomfortable." But "uncomfortable" covers a wide range, and I was at the point where I couldn't articulate in what ways I was uncomfortable, because I didn't know precisely what was causing it. (Other than that because there was a baby in there.) And if I had tried to describe it, and prove to them that I had something real to complain about, I would have been accused of providing "too much information."

It's not that I wanted to be done with pregnancy at that point. Really, I had gotten used to being enormously pregnant and awkward. I just didn't want to be in discomfort anymore, and wanted to stop feeling bitter that I was left to feel like a mess while my husband was feeling none of it and couldn't wait to go back to his card game. Distraction and some extra attention were the only remedies I could think of at that point and I wasn't getting it.

Now that I'm nearing my 36th week, I'm grudgingly accepting that some of the physical side effects of pregnancy, those that I thought with good health, lots of hydration and routine exercise would be prevented, are afflicting even me. The soreness in my fingers is still there, except now I notice swelling, especially when I wake up in the morning. It was a badge of honor to still be able to fit my wedding ring on my finger, but I'm glad now that I stopped wearing it a few weeks ago as a precautionary measure. My feet swell and feel sore if I've been standing on them for too long, so I've been telling myself it's okay to actually relax and literally put my feet up. Meanwhile, my sleep is disrupted by extremities that go numb and by the time I wake up for good in the morning, my hips are usually sore, probably because I'm left with just the options of either sleeping on my left side or my right side. And now that my husband has said goodbye to summer after a final weekend at the cabin, I've finally gotten his attention back. Cuddling with him on the couch is very soothing and I feel as if I could fall asleep in his arms. But our mellow time together is interrupted far too quickly by, "Sorry, sweetie, I've got to go the bathroom."

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

Walk a mile in my shoes and your heels will pinch. I've been denying it for awhile now, but my running shoes aren't fitting so well anymore. I thought if I could just drink enough water, maybe my feet wouldn't swell and I could avoid the whole barefoot and pregnant look. While I don't have "cankles," (a really unflattering term I learned during pregnancy to describe the lack of definition between the calves and feet due to swelling) biology says pregnant woman's feet can change shape, mainly by growing (permanently) flatter, and as much as I had hoped that I could just will away certain side effects, something has changed. Now the beds of my shoes feel too narrow at the heels, and I really wasn't expecting changes in my feet there. But, hey stranger things have happened during pregnancy.

I finally started shopping for new shoes and discovered that entering a running shoe store is far more humorous when you're pregnant. Sometimes I feel overly self conscious about looking pregnant, because I'd prefer to blend in with the crowd. There are some Uptown bars (ahem, meat markets) packed with tall, skinny, well-dressed singles on a drunken prowl where as a married pregnant woman who prefers to go to bed at 9:30 p.m., I feel horribly out of place. But as long as I don't draw too much unwanted attention, it can be fun to shock people's assumptions. As for the running shoe store, you don't catch anyone as off guard as you do lifting weights at the gym or carting an (empty) vodka box on each shoulder out of a liquor store, (really, I was looking for storage boxes and those boxes are the perfect size for books) but being in places some would least expect a pregnant woman to be, even as benign a location as a running shoe store, can be surprisingly uplifting.

As I walked in, I wanted to imagine the salespeople and fellow shoppers were in awe in the presence of a pregnant athlete. (An athlete who considers a 5K a long race. Shhhh....) Or at least I let them think I'm still a runner, since knee problems pre-pregnancy sidelined my running regime long ago and I haven't actually tried to run since my 17th or 18th week. Or maybe some of that runner's natural high was rubbing off on me and being around people who like to exercise made me feel like a runner again. Kind of like watching gourmet cooking shows makes you feel like a cook without actually doing any cooking on your own part. Either way, I liked the extra attention from the saleswoman and talking about running as if I weren't actually pregnant. It just made me feel normal again.

Next, I'd like to make a stop at Lowe's and ask to see their jackhammers.

Does Your Baby Care What Color the Diaper Bag Is?

Because of my desire to acquire as little stuff as possible, I had not considered a diaper bag an essential piece of baby gear. (Essential being defined as contributing to the health, safety and welfare of the child.) Well, at least something marketed specifically as a diaper bag. Wouldn't the unused messenger bag sitting on a shelf in the garage suffice? After talking to friends who actually have kids, I reconsidered and decided that a proper diaper bag, with its baby-related features, like pockets for bottles and a built-in changing pad, is worth buying if you've got the money, because it just makes life with a baby that much easier.

Since I was leery about the quality of a bag found at a big box store, (another piece of advice I received: you will carry that thing everywhere and want something that wipes down easily and will last) but hadn't been directed to anything else but high-priced bags you'd find in a boutique, I was surprised to learn that Land's End carries diaper bags. And they got good reviews from the Baby Bargains book for their durability and price.

When I approached the customer service counter to ask if they had any diaper bags in stock for me to look at, I was caught off guard by the first question out of the saleswoman's mouth, "Boy or girl?" The question was not asked out of personal curiosity, but rather, because they did have some in the stock room and she wanted to know which ones to fetch for me.

I wanted to snap, "Does it matter?!" but managed to squeak out a pleasant-sounding, "We don't know." "We're not into the boy/girl 'colors'" came out a little more sarcastically, especially with my use of air quotes. I've grudgingly accepted that many people in this country want to dress their girls in pink-frilly dresses and their boys in blue overalls, and that there's sadly no in-between. But diaper bags? Does the baby really care what color the diaper bag is? The baby will not be carrying it. Mom will. And hopefully dad will. Which lead me to conclude, "I just want something my husband will carry."

That was a recommendation from a dad himself. Go for something gender neutral, he advised, so your husband will want to carry the bag. Gender neutral in the baby world is easier said than done.

Despite the feminine-designed diaper canvas cotton totes modeled after the well-known Land's End totes the saleswoman brought out to me, (the cotton canvas was going to fail the wipe test and the design was going to even more miserably fail the "Will my husband be caught dead with this slung over his shoulder?" test) the rest of the company's diaper bags came in a choice of bold colors mixed with black. They even had one in a backpack style, similar to one we'd seen a dad carrying just a few days before. It's user-friendly and looks tough enough for the task. The final test will be whether it's dad-approved.

32-Week Appointment

Work obligations at Chris's job finally didn't conflict with an appointment at the new clinic and I was looking forward to Chris meeting my new doctor at my 32-week appointment. I thought he'd really like her, and frankly, since I rave about him at every appointment, I kind of want her to meet the guy and prove he exists.

Unfortunately, the doctor wasn't in. She was being held up in emergency surgery. "Maybe she was called because they had to cut someone's leg off," suggested Chris. I laughed, but countered that they could find someone more qualified for that type of surgery than an OB.

With the doctor a no-show, (emergency c-section turns out - should have guessed) we met with the midwife in the practice. Obstetrician offices have two main systems for seeing pregnant women. Under one system, every patient is assigned a primary OB, but at each appointment, she sees a different doctor or midwife from the practice. The advantage with this scenario is that you have an opportunity to meet everyone, (and obtain different opinions on answers to questions) because you really don't know who will deliver your baby. Vacation, illness and the doctor's on-call schedule mean anyone could be in the on-deck circle when you go into labor.

At my current clinic, you see "your" doctor every appointment, and I think I prefer it this way, because I have the opportunity to build a rapport with someone. Any doctor would be able to see my chart, but I don't have to repeat my fears or concerns to her and she would better pick up on changes in mood or physical condition. In the end, I'm not worried about who will actually deliver my baby, but of course I do hope it's my doctor. She laughs easily and has got an attitude that is encouraging and not bossy. She's the type I imagine giving me a high five after delivery.

The midwife was as friendly as she was chill. I've kept my routine appointments routine by just asking whatever questions pop into my head while the nurse is taking my blood pressure or the doctor is measuring my stomach or the baby's heart beat. My time in the waiting room can last longer than the actual appointment itself. But when I pulled out a piece of paper with a long list of questions, the midwife leaned towards the exam table, propped her elbow on it, settled her head into her hand and looked as if she had all day to answer questions. Perhaps my need to now come to my appointments more organized is because I feel as if my due date is starting to loom over me and I don't want to be left unprepared, or that Chris was there with me and it would be an opportunity for him to hear the answers first-hand, rather than second-hand.

My questions ranged from the procedural, like who do I call when I think I'm in labor, to ones that opened a dialogue on what the hospital or clinic's practices are in regards to hot topics like c-sections and inductions. Part of me couldn't help be wonder if I was the only one to ever ask such a question or voice a specific request. She put me at ease when she said that as a midwife, her patients are naturally more "earthy," and it was obvious my questions and concerns didn't faze her. I saw the hint of a wry smile when I asked if it's true if water spritzed with fresh lemon helps reduce water retention, (or it could have been that I lead the question off with, "I read on the Internet...") but it seemed as if it was one of the least random questions she's been asked.

I felt like I finally reached a comfortable middle ground with my opinion towards pregnancy and labor. I had always considered myself "earthy," but surprised myself that I was not interested in a natural birth, reading to my kid in utero, or going on a strict organic-only diet - all those things you think a wanna-be hippie would be into. My sense is that the midwife believed in alternative and spiritual practices, but as a health care professional, was also grounded in science. If something has no proven benefit, but it makes you feel better or more comfortable, go for it. If pain medications have side effects, but are not proven to be unhealthy for you or the baby, or if the benefits of continuing a medication while pregnant outweigh the proven negatives, then either decision one way or another is fine. Even within conventional science, there's still a broad range of choice, and in addition, room for wishes, hunches, or beliefs not yet "proven" by science.

Name That Baby Contest

We have thousands of names to choose from, but just can't seem to decide. Before Chris and I lock ourselves in a room for another name brainstorming session, I thought being able to bring some neutral names to the table could help us out. Instead of hashing out the same names, suggestions from blog readers could provide us with fresh alternatives we hadn't considered.

So let's hear them? What are your favorite names for girls and boys?

Chris is avoiding names so uncommon no one's ever heard of them, while I don't want one that's too common. We're trying to avoid the "trendy" names, all the while, hoping we don't settle on something too weird, or else people will think we made it up. I love foreign names, which might put a lot of them in the "never heard of them column" for Chris, who has had difficulty identifying with some of them. However, I am eliminating any foreign names that would be impossible for an English-speaker to pronounce or spell. Or when my friend's Italian boyfriend listed the most popular names for babies in Italy today, I explained to him that there are a couple of his suggestions that I could never give to an American boy because they're just too stereotypical Italian. He wouldn't be able to say his name in parts of the country with a strong Italian-American heritage without someone launching into a Guido imitation.

Sigh. The search continues.

I noticed the young woman eying me from across the maternity section at Target. I had made it a habit to of perusing the area after I discovered that you can sometimes find deals cheaper than what you would pay for at Goodwill, (and that the limited selection there is mostly size 16s....from Target).

She finally came over to me with a swimsuit in one hand and a dejected look on her face.

"How do you know if this fits?" she asked.

The non-preggers might have looked at her like she was crazy. Just try it on. Does it fit or not? But I knew what she meant. How does she know if it will fit in a few months or even next week? You know your stomach will grow, but you can't wrap your head around your body growing so rapidly out of proportion. You're unsure of where else on your frame your body will deposit its extra spare change.

It turns out the woman was actually shopping for her best friend who was eight weeks along and works at the pool at the Y. The friend was already complaining about not being able to find anything cute to wear and since they were the same size, she offered to kick-start the venture into the world of maternity fashion, starting with bathing suits. Ouch. My loyal readers know how much fun I had swimsuit shopping.

I was happy to be there to help. I was thrilled to offer my veteran advice as a 31-weeker to a newbie eight-weeker. I was finally on the other end of pregnancy sisterhood. But then I said something I hate when people say to me. (Okay, one of many things I hate when people say to me.) One can be honest about a negative experience while not trying to scare the other person. Instead, I said something along the lines of, "Sure, I'd love to help, because the next couple of months are going to suck for your friend."

I definitely used the work "suck." My grandmother is probably cringing at my eloquent use of the English language.

The woman's face fell instantly and she dropped her the hand holding the swimsuit to her side. For a moment, I thought it was maybe she who was really pregnant, not her "friend," but I decided she didn't look overwhelmed enough to be the one who was actually pregnant.

I quickly tried to soften my opening piece of advice and told her that I simply understood what it's like to have to find a whole new wardrobe and how it can be frustrating to try to figure out what you look good in. I tried to give some practical tips about clothes shopping and what to expect, hoping it would at least ease the anxiety and give her something to work with, even if it wouldn't completely cheer up her friend. Although I didn't have any good suggestions for bathing suits, I enthusiastically led her over to rack with the Bella Bands. I could become an official spokeswoman for this piece of miracle fabric - the tube-top like band that fits around your waist and holds up your unbuttoned pre-maternity jeans or the maternity pants you haven't yet grown into. The woman started to look hopeful. She seemed like she genuinely wanted to help her friend out, even if she had no clue herself where to start. But I had never even thought about maternity clothes until I was pregnant myself, so I thought it was great this woman was helping her friend figure it out.

I wished I had the website of my blog written on a business card so she could pass it along to her friend, who would read it and hopefully learn that worrying about things like clothes when everyone else is extolling the joys of pregnancy doesn't mean you're crazy or superficial. But instead of recapping the 26 weeks since I found out I was pregnant, I threw some more clothing advice at her and moved on so I wouldn't take up any more of her time. I'm sure she'd already gotten too much to completely make sense of.

Registering

Back at my 16-week appointment, the nurse at the front desk tried to give advice on the need for a registry. She was the latest, and not the last since, who was surprised or confused, and in her case, chided us for being naive enough not to think we didn't "need" to have a baby register.

For people who know that Chris and I didn't register for our wedding last year, I ask, does it surprise you we're not suddenly changing our opinion on the issue now that we have a baby on the way? It's unbelievable what kind of drama weddings stir up, so I was relieved, yet still shocked, that the lack of a registry was all that sent the in-law side of the family into a tizzy. (My dad, wisely, he thinks, stayed out of the debate at the first voicing of dismay.)

The pressure to register for a baby, I discovered, is more intense than for a wedding. The registry then was still supposedly about making it convenient for friends and family to know what you want, but traditional wedding gifts seem now like they were more about wants, like spoiling yourself and your partner with china, luxurious sheet and towel sets and kitchen ware you might or not might really ever use. Despite the lack of a registry, we received wonderful gifts and married life has progressed without missing what we didn't receive. However, when it came to having a baby, the tone changed from "How could you not want....?!" to "But you need...!" If I was made to feel weird or like an inconvenience to everyone who "loves you and just wants to be able to shower you with gifts in honor of your special day," to not register for a baby is to be made to feel like an unprepared, naive, bad mother who's not going to have the necessities for her kid. My interpretation of the reaction, dramatic yes, but judging mothers, or mothers-to-be, is also an age-old pastime, so it's easy to assume I'm being judged. (To be fair, while I felt that, as the bride, I received a disproportionate share of lack-of-registry grumblings, the disbelief at our lack of a registry for the baby seems to be directed equally at both Chris and me.)

After my wedding, my reasons for not wanting to register haven't changed, but only grown. Mainly, what would we put on it? As newbies, researching what would be needed and then deciding among the zillions of options was not something either of us was interested in. Like wedding planners, there is such a thing as a baby planner and one of this consultant's most requested tasks is to research and set up a baby registry. I think paying someone else to make a list to tell other people how they should spend their money on you is a ridiculous waste of money. Not gonna happen. And neither did the registry.

Having a baby has forced both Chris and me to reevaluate our lifestyle, our priorities, our budgets and how we want to raise our child. We concluded we don't want a lot of "stuff" and our lives feel less stressed with fewer possessions. Our home isn't large and we don't have a yard or a basement for storage, so I was actually feeling anxious about where we would fit all the new stuff for the baby. Imagining my small living room with its "open concept" plan (meaning you can see the mess from everywhere) littered with bouncy seats, activity stations, activity walkers, tummy time pillows and play mats with toys, mirrors, lights and music speakers dangling from plastic arches above-head, I panic and think, this isn't what I signed up for.

Chris and I haven't sworn off all material possessions, but the good thing about human pregnancies lasting so long is that it gives us time to process new information. In the early months, we stressed about what we would need and how much it would cost. A lot of research and talking with new parents later, we realized that there is actually a small list of things a baby "needs." Or to quote from a book written for expectant fathers,(which I read before Chris did - just wanted to see what he was being told about pregnant and crazy women) "Do you know what you really need for your newborn? Diapers, clothes, blankets and a pair of breasts to suck on. That's it! The rest are just extras....The rest will come later....For now, do as God intended."

Not exactly as I would have put it, but I was starting to see his point. Shortly afterwards, I was out for my daily walk and listening to a Pregtastic segment on baby gear and a mother of a newborn admitted that, gasp, she and her husband hadn't bothered to buy a stroller. For some reason, realizing that having a stroller isn't essential to buy before the baby is born, or even in the first few months, was like an epiphany. What other stuff did we not have to have? The feeling that we needed to have all the "essential" baby gear figured out, purchased and set up before the baby arrived had been a months-long burden and suddenly it was gone. It is one thing to prepare for something I have experience with, like a camping trip, because I already own some of the gear, I know what I need that I don't have, I know where to get it, and when I go to the store, I can talk the talk with the salesperson and not feel like an idiot. The baby world was (and still is) completely foreign to me and I don't know where to begin and my inexperience leaves me sometimes without even the right vocabulary or insight to ask the right questions. (If you haven't shopped for a car seat in the last decade, could you have thrown around phrases like "five-point harness," "EPS foam" or "LATCH system" and told me what they mean?) I vacillated between being weary with every purchase of being ripped off and the place where the baby industry wants you to be - so freaking scared you're going to be unprepared for the baby's arrival that you buy everything you think you'll possibly ever need - and then doubles of it.

After my baby gear epiphany, Chris and I did add some extra items to the bare-bones baby preparation list. The author of Baby Bargains , who was a guest on Pregtastic, and is one of the few sources I've encountered who encourages new parents not to spend a fortune on their future kids, did add that you need to think about where your baby will sleep, where you will change diapers and, how you will transport your baby safely in a vehicle,(whether it's your own, a taxi, or a friend or family member's car). We already have a crib and a dresser that will double as a changing table, but not even these are necessary to have before before the baby is born. Since we won't be able to drive home from the hospital without a car seat, we are in the process of getting one. As for the other truly necessary items, we have already acquired enough to feel like we've got a good start and for the rest, there's always Target.

Now that we actually feel like we have a handle on the needs, we have time and energy to focus on some of the wants that are fun to shop for or make life with a baby just a bit easier, like a cute coming home outfit for the baby or a baby monitor to satisfy the gadget-loving Chris.

As for the lack of registry, time and research to create one aside, Chris and I feel that as parents, we're responsible for the needs of our baby. That's not to say we don't love gifts and aren't touched by people's thoughtfulness. Receiving gifts that fall into the want category are still fun and in a way a relief, because they're often things we didn't know about, hadn't considered, or wouldn't have splurged on given other baby necessities. We've already received cool gifts for the baby from a toddler-sized Phillies t-shirt and a baby cap from Iceland to a Black Lab stuffed dog that I hope becomes our baby's favorite stuffed animal. (Until s/he starts asking, When are we going to get a real dog?) These are things that, of course, never would have been on our registry if we had one, but which we knew the baby will enjoy.

Dancing Partners

We didn't have dancing at our wedding for a reason - neither of us likes to dance. And I don't think our parents like to dance either. So we decided, the heck with it, it's our wedding and we want to enjoy it, not feel awkward.

Sometimes I can like dancing though. I'm mesmerized by people who have talent and as long as there's no pressure, I have even found myself enjoying trying to salsa or swing dance. And when I first saw Jill and Kevin dancing down the aisle to the altar at their wedding on YouTube, I thought it was awesome. And then I wondered why I hadn't thought of that. In reality, though, I don't know if Chris and I would have pulled that off, either due to lack of rhythm or slipping on the muddy aisle.

Even when I discover small inspirations to dance, I have yet to convince Chris to even slow dance with me. Not even when I begged him for one song at the last wedding we went to. And then we found ourselves at "birth class." The nurse leading the class was walking us through positioning and movement techniques for relieving pain and tension during labor. Apparently, wrapping your arms around your partner and swaying side to side - mimicking slow dancing - feels very comfortable when you're in the early stages of labor. Alongside 20 or so other expecting couples, I embraced the opportunity to finally get Chris to dance with me.

Officially named "Preparing for Birth" by the hospital hosting the class, Chris and I had been calling it "Baby Class," "Birth Class" or "Birth 101." Typically offered as a five-week course one night a week, or as the condensed version over a Friday evening and Saturday (we opted for the 8.5-hour so-called "weekender"), this basic prenatal course becomes a crash course in everything you need to know about labor and your hospital stay. An instructor, usually a delivery room nurse, flies through topics such as signs of labor, stages of labor, what you need to bring to the hospital, how to pre-register, breastfeeding, pain relief, and of course, the breathing exercises everyone knows from the movies. Contrary to how most others who aren't expecting referred to our class, this was not a Lamaze class, which is a lot more specific than what we took. Lamaze is a childbirth method that focuses on childbirth coping strategies, including, but not limited to, breathing rhythms. During the dancing stint in the class we took, we also learned other relaxation techniques, such as massage (liked that) and a variety of breathing techniques (not as into).

As much as I enjoyed the class overall, I'll admit it's not absolutely necessary. Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time without a prior childbirth class. Chris's aunt successfully gave birth to her two children without any formal childbirth education, because both kids were born premature and before the classes she registered for took place. But most expecting parents find themselves signed up for a class, because it seems to be what's expected of you these days. All your expecting friends are taking them and then, in our case, our clinic advised us to be signed up before my 20th week. How could I have told my doctor no?

So there we were last Friday night putting in our time at Baby Class. Chris was less enthusiastic about attending, (the only class that ranked lower on his "wow, I can't believe I'm giving up a weekend for this" is the one a co-worker attended prior to his wedding on how to be a good Catholic husband), but I found myself looking forward to the class and a chance to hang out with other pregnant women. I saw the benefit in being as informed as possible and believed in the "knowledge is power" mantra that if you know what to expect during labor, it'll be less scary and stressful. So although I predicted not all the information would be new, I knew there had to be something Chris and I would take from the class. But a bit of anxiety set in when we sauntered into class and noticed every other couple had come armed with two pillows, a blanket, bags of snacks and water bottles, all dutifully carted in by the fathers-to-be. Chris and I were empty-handed and I suddenly felt wholly unprepared.

I started to wonder if ignorance really is bliss when the class began and my stress level immediately rose. At least I knew I wasn't imagining things when the instructor acknowledged that many of us will feel more anxious in the days following the class. She assured us those feelings will subside. I'm still waiting for that to happen. Much of the technical discussion made me not squeamish, just antsy to that point that I couldn't comfortably sit still. Within the first hour, I had already excused myself, but luckily, no one probably thought anything of a pregnant woman who leaves to presumably go to the bathroom. The birth videos weren't gory, but rather the women featured were calm. But that only proceeded to make me feel like I won't be so brave. I'll never live up to the women in the video.

There were some light-hearted parts of baby class. In the middle of describing early labor and your time in the delivery room, the instructor asked the class who controls the TV remote.

"Mom!" she answered cheerfully.

I shot a mischievous smile at Chris. I had already declared to Chris, unapologetically, that in the delivery room, things were going to happen my way, and now a medical authority figure was backing me up. I didn't realize that the topics of television, remotes and watching sports were hot-button issues until they were specifically addressed in the class.

Not even if your favorite sports team is playing, she stressed. Don't even think about "just checking the score."

I get a guaranteed respite from sports talk radio and football! The delivery room as total sports-free media haven! Woohoo!

There wasn't a single groan, not even from that one guy who seemed to challenge everything else the instructor said, and who you would have expected to ask, "But what if it's a REALLY big game?"

Despite the debate on exactly how necessary a childbirth class is, I'm still happy I had the opportunity to take the class. Much of the information fell into the "good to know" or "interesting to know" categories, as opposed to "your labor will be more disastrous if you don't pay attention now," but there was still much food for thought. When the instructor asked whether we had finished packing our suitcases for the hospital, Chris and I exchanged nervous glances, because we haven't even started, (granted, my due date is much later than anyone else in the class) let alone even considered what to pack. She also discussed birth plans, which inspired me to actually make a draft of mine. She had us consider the realities post labor, such as how we will take care of every day tasks like housecleaning, laundry and care of pets (if you have them) when you're exhausted and devoting every waking minute to a newborn.

30-Week Appointment

I shouldn't look at each appointment as a moment of "passing" or "failing," but when your doctor jubilantly tells you what an easy patient you are and the nurse uses the phrase "absolutely perfect" when reviewing each stat, it's easy to feel overly proud of yourself like you had anything to do with a favorable roll of the genetic dice and just plain old luck.

Today was another routine, and quick, appointment. The results of my glucose screening are within range, which means I'm not at risk for gestational diabetes, my blood pressure is still low and the baby's heart is still beating at a healthy 142 beats a minute. Blood drawn for the glucose screening was also used to measure my hemoglobin level, which was measured at my first appointment as well. My hemoglobin levels were and are where they should be, which means I'm not anemic. All good news. While it feels like I'm getting bigger by the day, I was surprised to learn that my stomach has only grown three centimeters. That sounded accurate at first, until I reminded myself that they're talking centimeters, not inches.

Thirty weeks is not considered a milestone, but for me, it has been, at least physiologically. Since a baby is considered full term at 37 weeks, just knowing I'm now in the 30s puts me more at ease that I'm in the homestretch (even if I could easily be pregnant for another four weeks after going full term). Each week from here on out will be more momentous for me, as it means the chance of survival, should I go into labor early, goes up, and the chances of complications for the baby go down.

Adorable as Always

Chris and I spent last weekend with a bunch of his relatives at his parent's cabin in northern Minnesota. I hadn't seen one uncle since our wedding and he clearly noticed the difference in my shape. The one and only time he had met me, I was wearing a form-fitting dress that hugged my compact figure in all the right places. I felt light and still had muscle tone in my arms. By last weekend, I was rounder all over and wearing ill-fitting maternity jeans, which, because I'd neglected to wear my trusted Bella Band that helps hold up my pants in absence of being able to wear a belt (the must-have fashion accessory for pregnant women I've decided) became dangerously inappropriate every time I bent over.

Yet his reaction was not what I had braced myself for. He started with "You're so little" (which I did not find offensive, because it was not followed by the untactful "How tall are you?") and ended with...."Adorable as always." I just about hugged him with joy. I assumed he'd read my blog, but he hadn't, so he had produced the "beautiful as always" variation completely unprompted.

Chris was never a Boy Scout or went to summer camp. Instead, he had summers at the cabin, where he fished, water skied, roasted s'mores and even raced turtles in downtown Longville. He loves being on the water and his favorite sports involve anything where you're towed by a very fast boat. I understand that the love of these activities is tied to his memories of and attachment to the cabin. However, I still do not want to get a boat. Despite my very logical concerns of where we'd put it, how we'd pay for and the time spent to maintain it, I find Chris peering at Craig's Lists ads, slowing the car down as we drive past boat sales, and reporting on who at work just bought a bigger, faster boat. (And his co-worker is still trying to sell the old one, so we could get a good deal, he adds!)

Now we were at the cabin and Chris had revived his dream in front of his uncles and cousins who were clearly enjoying this rehashed debate. They egged him on - maybe out of family loyalty or maybe because one of their partners had also put the kibosh on a big toy they'd fantasized about. The discussion went around and around with Chris no closer to convincing me that now, or within his projected time line of six years, we should or will own a boat. At a standstill in the debate, when Chris's uncles had run out of witty comments, one of Chris's cousins, as if on cue, pipes up with, "Beautiful as always." It was either a sign of reconciliation or a last-ditch attempt to win me over.

Yes, someone has been paying attention, (even if it took the lone female cousin to learn first) and ah, I did find it flattering, even when the timing of her delivery was meant for a good laugh. But for all the flattering those three words can bestow, it still won't convince your wife you need to buy a boat.

Name Impasse

Dating back to elementary school, I have tossed prospective baby names around in my head. Favorite names went in cycles, so nothing in particular stands out. It was just a fun subconscious game my mind played as it daydreamed, as if it were tucking names away in a special file. I thought finally being able to name my own child would be one of the best parts, maybe even the best part, about having a baby. Of course in my own little fantasy world, my partner wanting to have a say in the matter, was never an issue. And I could get away with being indecisive. I didn't worry about picking a name that was too old-fashioned or too fashionable, or would someday be tarnished by sharing a name with a devastating hurricane, a criminal or with someone who had engaged in illicit relations with a high-ranking political figure. Maybe it's good that I never had my heart set on a certain name, because theoretically it suggests I'm being open-minded, but now that Chris and I are discussing names and the permanency of our decision looms over me, I can't even decide one what my favorite names are - just that they're not what Chris is suggesting.

The spreadsheet of names Chris and I started very soon after I found out I was pregnant, has been growing. From that mental list of names I had mulled over for years, I was able to compile a huge list from the start and as I queried people on their favorite names or came across one from a random source, a few more were added. Then weeks went by when neither of us even looked at it. Every so often, one of us would randomly ask the other what the top contenders were. But the question was never really about the other's opinion - it was just a desperate attempt to see if one had read the other's mind and this whole naming process could thus be decided and done.

With a mild-mannered temperament, few things agitate Chris, and he's been pretty chill throughout my pregnancy. Sometimes, he's a bit too chill though. If I hadn't scheduled my doctor's appointments, signed us up for classes, (just last night he learned that he will be spending next Thursday evening in a two-and-a-half hour class on breastfeeding) and scouted garage sales and consignment shops for supplies for the baby, I wonder how much would have been accomplished to date. Then again, with my indecisiveness, this baby might have been left to come into this world without a name. Despite how much planning and work I've done in anticipation of the baby's arrival, deciding on names has suddenly become an issue I'm treating as if I just keep putting off, it will take care of itself. However, this important item on our to-do list has clearly been bothering Chris, because one night he suddenly declared that we were going to decide on names. He actually seemed distressed.

Picking a name randomly from our list, agreeing to let one of us name the first kid and the other the second, or letting Chris name it if it's a boy and me if it's a girl - all suggestions I've read about - were nothing I was ever going to agree to, because it amounted to giving up control. I'm admittedly too stubborn for that. Rather, raised in the Quaker tradition of consensus, I was determined to reach a compromise, and a compromise both of us could get excited about. So I suggested that we each write down our five favorite names for each sex, and then we traded our pieces of paper. Although I had hoped there would be some matches, it was not surprising in hindsight that this plan backfired. All my favorites were names I had added to the master list, while the names on Chris's piece of paper were names he had originally typed in. I was lacking a good Plan B suggestion. We finally resorted to picking our next five favorite names, but this tactic quickly lost steam. What's the point of giving our kid a 10th pick name, Chris asked? Then Chris suggested that he could try to stall until I have given birth, at which point I'll be too exhausted to care and he'll get his top pick. This is really not turning out to be as fun as I thought it would be.

Despite how difficult we are finding it to decide on names, we should be thankful we have the liberty of even making our own decision with no pressure from family members or a naming tradition to follow. (I once dated an Orville IV whose family assumed the name would be passed on. He liked the idea. We broke up, but not over naming rights, really.)

My grandmother's parents didn't have the option of choosing her name. When her paternal grandmother was told her daughter-in-law had given birth to a girl, she informed the doctor of what the baby's first and middle names would be. The first name happened to be something my poor great-grandmother despised (and my grandmother would grow up to hate) and my grandmother has gone by her middle name ever since. I still can't get over the injustice of not being able to name your own child. My grandmother says that is just how things were done in those days. But hadn't my great-grandmother earned the right to name what would be her only child after the pain and suffering of carrying a baby and delivering it without pain medication?

Pediatrician Meet and Greet

Planning for the arrival of the baby has matched the planning patterns of my wedding. Chris and I went into a flurry of planning within 24 hours of what would be, coincidentally, a nine-month engagement, but experienced a burnout once we had most of the important details decided upon or even secured. With less than three months to go until my due date, I'm still in a planning lull and haven't felt the urgency to even make a list of "remaining things we should do before the baby is born," let alone tackle any more baby-related projects. However, because the hospital's Pre-Admission Registration form asks who will be the baby's doctor, and I'm supposed to turn in the form at my 30-week appointment next Friday, I found some motivation in my lack of urgency.

Picking a pediatrician was one of the few instances where I haven't picked a care provider out of the in-network list of my insurance provider - I luckily had a reference from a local friend who gave birth a few months ago. She raved about this woman, whose office is around the corner from our house. When I called to explain that we're looking for a pediatrician for a baby due in October and to confirm she's taking new patients, the nurse offered to schedule a "meet and greet" with the doctor. Although I later researched what you might want to ask a potential doctor (admittedly a half an hour before the appointment), Chris and I didn't have specific questions or even felt the need to interview her, per say - I really just want to be able to recognize my baby's doctor when she walks through the door of the maternity ward.

If all I was basing my assessment on was intuition, my short meeting with the doctor was enough to confirm that I would feel comfortable with her caring for my baby. Like my obstetrician, she's friendly and upbeat and seems passionate about her work. She explained that if there are no complications during delivery and the baby is healthy, she'll be at the hospital within 24 hours to do the first exam. (If there are problems, the pediatrician will be there for the birth and will work alongside the obstetrician.) I said I was sorry Chris wasn't able to make the meeting because of work, but joked that when she comes to the hospital, she should look for the dazed and tired-looking guy. She laughed, but reminded me that most dads, especially the first-timers, looked like what she described as "shell shocked."

The funniest part of our conversation, though, had nothing to do with my pregnancy. She was giddy about the recent arrival of a co-worker's "surprise" baby girl. Huh? Well, after the 20-week ultrasound, they were told they were having a boy. Oops.

28-week appointment

I'm on the homestretch! At 28 weeks, I've officially started the third trimester.

My second semester finished on a positive note with an East Coast tour of Haddonfield, Washington D.C. and New York City. Since I was convinced at certain points that the bliss of the second trimester (supposedly not nauseous, full of energy and still nimble) was just a myth, I was surprised by how great I finally felt. There were times I actually felt like my pre-pregnancy self (with the exception of the growing stomach and being uncomfortably full after eating anything larger than a sandwich). Clocking 15,000+ steps a day taking my dad's black Labrador Retriever, Bess, for walks, I even wore the dog out! I'm sure the excitement of seeing old friends from college and Minneapolis kept my energy level artificially high, but I was able to keep up with everyone while traipsing around New York and D.C. But I've also learned to quit while I'm ahead. I arrived back in Minneapolis on the last day of my 27th week and satisfied with my last hurrah, told myself I'm okay with sticking close to home the next three months and trying to relax.

I was home in time for my 28-week appointment and a routine glucose screening (typically administered between 24 and 28 weeks). While I'm not a diabetic, gestational diabetes can occur during pregnancy and the condition rarely includes symptoms and can cause health problems for the baby. Like many conditions or symptoms that pop up during pregnancy, the main cure, funny enough, is giving birth. Imagine that.

I'd heard stories relating varying degrees of the unpleasantness of the glucose test and was lead to believe it should be something to be dreaded. But like everything else related to pregnancy, I decided it had been blown out of proportion. The unnatural orange color of the glucose mixture I was given was a bit off-putting, but it tasted, well, like sugar and just reminded me of drinking a melted orange-flavored ice pop. An hour later, a nurse drew my blood and the sugar level in my blood will be measured to determine how well my body processes sugar. However, since the test is only a screening, a positive result means I would have to undergo a glucose tolerance test where I drink 100 grams of glucose (double the amount the first time around) and then wait three hours.

During my hour wait, I met with my doctor, who was her usual chipper, positive and reassuring self. She measured my stomach (24 centimeters), listened to the baby's heart beat (145 beats a minute - well within the healthy range of 120-170) and then went over concerns or questions I had. Despite how nervous and paranoid I was at the beginning of my pregnancy, I've morphed into somewhat of a pregnancy Myth Buster (borrowing the term from a Discovery Channel TV show Chris loves). Chris and I are talking about doing away with the faux painting job in our dining room, hallway and guest bathroom, but I assumed painting would be off limits. Not so said the doctor. Pregnant or not, she advised only painting in a well-ventilated room (meaning windows open) and said I'd be fine. Although she joked that I didn't have to tell my husband that she'd given me the go-ahead to paint. ;)

Beautiful as Always

Years ago in Berlin, I had a small group of friends who spent a considerable amount of time together. Berlin winters nights were long and dismal, where it rarely snowed, but "chilled to the bone" was still a reality, and the continually overcast skies made you understand that seasonal depression was more than just hype. Until the trees started budding in mid-May and outdoor cafes sprung to life amid 10 p.m. sunsets, we were drawn to the cozy confines of our small tenement house apartment kitchens for long candlelight dinners or to one of the many bars or pubs that dotted our neighborhood, which had become the desired neighborhood for young people of any nationality ever since the wall came down.

Conversations were always lively, highly intellectual (so we liked to think) and often political. My friend Mimi and I had landed in Germany eager for a year of teaching German school students English on September 11, 2001. We quickly realized that this where-were-you-when-Kennedy-was-shot-like day in history would define our entire time in a country whose citizens are politically astute and have the typical love-hate relationship with Americans - love the people, hate the politics.

Of course I don't remember all that we talked about during those long nights, but a few things stand out in my memory. Mimi and I passionately talked with our hands and this became somewhat dangerous with wine glasses in hand. And defying logic, the wine only seemed to increase Mimi's appetite for an intellectual conversation. Any time my brother or I told a story about our mother, we always imitated the dialogue with one voice - a squawk - because that's how her voice (or yelling at us for misbehaving in one way or another) sounded in our heads, even if we would admit that's not what she actually sounded like. Everyone thought this was hilarious, until Peter pointed out that Barbara also had a one-size-fits all voice for characters in her stories - a deep, kind of dumb-sounding voice she used to imitate any male she was talking about, whether it was her dad or "some dumb jock." A triple major in college and a PhD candidate, Peter pleaded with her not to inadvertently cast men all in the same light with her "accent."

The conversations could go on for hours, and many were, probably, alcohol infused. So I have funny and warm memories of how we talked, but really only one conversation of any memorable content actually stands out.

I don't remember what precipitated the wisest piece of advice I've ever heard a man give about women, (and most of the advice I've heard over the years has been misinformed, inaccurate or just plain absurd) but late one night in an Irish pub, Peter turned to my brother, Scott, the only other male in our group, and told a story about one of his sisters.

Both were quite a few years old than he, and one of them, a high schooler at the time, was getting ready for a date, while Peter, only a middle schooler who still didn't understand yet what the big deal was about dating, was thrust into the role of wardrobe critiquer. The sister would reappear from her room in a series of dresses and Peter did as he was instructed and told her what he thought. As I remember, he thought she looked fine in everything she tried on, but tried to offer some constructive criticism (mind you, constructive, most likely, in the mind of a middle-schooler) and in her nervousness over her date and frustration in not finding an appropriately flattering outfit, tears ensued.

Peter finished his story with one line of advice, "Scott, I learned, the answer is ALWAYS 'Beautiful as always.'"

The line was the most neutral catch-all ever and after years of use, had yet to land him in trouble. He evolved from bratty little brother to being adored by his sisters, and in later years found that the line worked equally well with female friends, as well as love interests. He could be a charmer without being slimy, or a flirt without being a flirt. He knew the difference between "honesty is the best policy" and when someone really isn't looking for your honest opinion. Meanwhile, the line dodges any landmine questions guys hate being asked and still delivers an acceptable response. It can even be a filler during awkward greetings when most men end up putting their feet in their mouths for lack of anything else to say.

What do you think of me in this outfit? Beautiful as always!

Did you notice my new haircut? Beautiful as always!

If you haven't seen someone in awhile and you think that she looks different, but you can't guess what it is, or aren't even sure how you feel about the new look, don't offer a guess or even a lukewarm opinion. Keep it simple. If you think, "Hi, how are you? You look great!" is overused, then "Beautiful as always" should be the only other line out of your mouth. If you're lucky, she may even provide the answer for you. "Thank you. Finally someone noticed that I lost a few pounds! All that time at the gym has paid off."

A fine line exists between patronization and flattery, but when delivered with a tone of sincerity, you can't go wrong.

Back when I knew Peter, pregnancy was far from my mind and I hadn't considered how well the line also works with pregnant women. In a friendly, non-sexualized way, it acknowledges the physical beauty of a person who, oddly enough, has become de-sexualized.

I'm convinced even the most self-confident of women become self-conscious about their bodies during pregnancy. The first few months are especially difficult because you're gaining weight and don't look pregnant, and early on, you probably haven't even announced your pregnancy yet, so you may be more paranoid that friends or co-workers think you're "letting yourself go." Even when you start to show, which becomes a blessing, you're still gaining weight elsewhere, and if you're particularly unlucky, your face, hands and feet start to swell. Maintaining a healthy physique, growing belly aside, is an uphill battle against hormones that wreak havoc on your appetite and zap you of any remaining will power to exercise.

Even at 27 weeks and supposedly past the phase nausea, few foods are actually satisfying and what I do eat ends up making me feel uncomfortably full, and that fullness just makes me feel heavy and fat. Sure, great clothes can make you feel better about yourself. Thus, one friend's only piece of advice upon learning I'm pregnant was to tell me to buy one pair of really awesome jeans. Peter's sister's date could have been a disaster, but if she had found a dress she thought she looked awesome in, her attitude would probably have been, "His loss," and not "Why does no guy like me?" Even I, who is admittedly not fashion savvy and dislikes shopping, believes that clothes can be comforting. I take consolation in the fact that I've found some maternity clothes that are comfortable and more or less fit, (if just there'd be a larger line of petite size maternity clothes) but nothing I own makes me feel awesome or even sexy. I did find a pair of ultra hip jeans at a Grand Avenue boutique called Hot Mama, but at $218, I wasn't going to pay that much for awesome.

I'm aching to hear beautiful as always.

With my self esteem only being buoyed by an incredibly supportive husband and an eager anticipation of becoming a mother no matter what the sacrifices, imagine how you would react to being greeted with "Hello, fat girl," or an order to "Move over chubby" when you're pregnant. The well-meaning jokster thinks, hee hee, how funny, she's not chubby, she's hardly showing. Meanwhile, even though I know it's a joke and the person doesn't really think I look fat - just pregnant - my heart still sinks because I really am feeling chubby and if I'm feeling chubby at 18 weeks, how do you think I'm going to feel at 39 weeks? Behind the exuberant pregnancy facade there's my husband who knows how nerve-wracking being weighted at the doctor's office is, because I'm concerned I've gained too much weight, or the friend who stood patiently outside the changing room at the Gap while I tried on multiple pairs of pants (two sizes larger than my normal size) and nearly cried because I couldn't find anything flattering and I was bitter for having to spend the time and money on bigger clothes.

Ask me all you want about pregnancy and I'll happily talk your ear off for hours. But keep the unflattering commentary on my body to yourself. I know it's just a line, but "beautiful as always" will flatter me every time.

Tokens from 30 years ago

As I prepare for the arrival of my first child, I've stumbled upon mementos from my own birth over 30 years ago. First there was the light blue newborn shirt emblazoned with "Life Begins at Lower Bucks Hospital" I found in a box of my Grandma Harbach's things.

When I was born, she lived in a four-bedroom house, but later moved to a two-bedroom unit in a retirement community and finally to a room at the Nursing and Rehab Center. I had the task of coaxing her into significantly paring down her possessions and trying to help her prioritize what she really needed, which was quite difficult for someone who had dementia and a lot of stuff. With only a few days to help her make the move into the nursing home, it was easy to get distracted among the other pressing tasks, such as weeding through drawers full of documents for not just important things like retirement and bank accounts, but also for utility bills for a house she didn't own any more and vaccination records for a dog decades long dead. While simultaneously shredding papers, I convinced her to part with her cookbooks and piles of recipes clipped from magazines and newspapers (while wondering whether or not this would be me in 60 years) since she wouldn't be doing any cooking for herself anymore, but not with the fur coat with a rip in the side. I made sure she had clothing for a variety of seasons and managed to give the rest away. Some framed photographs and albums came with her, while the rest went into storage. I had boxed everything up for her and put tags on the few pieces of furniture that were to be moved to her new room and I thought I had laid eyes on every item that she was keeping, down to her socks and underwear.

But this past May, my brother and I went over after the funeral to the storage bay of the maintenance garage where the retirement home staff had stored her things they had so thoughtfully boxed up for us, and there was the tiny blue shirt "Life Begins at Lower Bucks Hospital." Scott and I laughed in disbelief. Why she had kept something like that all those years? And how did this one item make it through all the moves to a room in a nursing home?

Now I'm helping my dad downsize the contents of my childhood home and the trip down memory lane is interrupted by the need to let go for the sake of saving our own sanity and our dad's at whatever point he decides to move. In the bottom drawer of a dresser my brother and I are going to sell on Craig's List, we found a copy of an article that appeared in the newspaper my mom wrote for at the time of my birth:

An Editorial Opinion:

Welcome Kirsten!

In this age when we're plagued with problems in Iran, turmoil over China and rising inflation, it is a pleasure to announce the arrival of someone we think who may well be able to meet these challenges in the future.

She's Kirsten Susannah Harbach Partenheimer.

It's a very big name for such a little person, but her parents, Louise Harbach, editorial writer, traveler and murder mystery connoisseur, and Wayne Partenheimer, prosecutor and former journalist, feel she will grow into it.

Kirsten arrived on January 6 at 8:38 a.m., which, to her mother's delight, was before deadline, and just like her mother and father, she had some immediate comments about the state of affairs in this world.

Kirsten had not yet made her career choice know, but her parents feel she may well follow in their footsteps. The family Labrador Retriever, Comfort, hopes Kirsten will follow in his footsteps -- all four of them.

Even if she doesn't select a career in journalism or the legal profession, as proud parents we feel she'll select a worthwhile endeavor that will not only enrich her life but make things a bit nicer for all of us.

Upon reading the first line, I decided that, sadly, not much as changed in the world the past three decades. But I am heartened by the idea that despite the turmoil in the world, the arrival of a new baby is positive news and something which we can celebrate. I won't have a column of space in the editorial section of the local paper to craft some witty announcement of Baby P.C.'s arrival, but perhaps with this blog I'm following in the writer footsteps of my parents - 21st century style.

24-week visit

Another monthly appointment passed with flying colors. My blood pressure is normal and the baby's heart is beating at a healthy 152 beats a minute. All that made this routine appointment more interesting is that I started at a new clinic and met my new doctor, who I think is great. Vibrant and spunky are the two words that come to mind and she's got an energy level that matches my own. I imagine she's the type to leave a party with the famous "Minnesota goodbye," (see definition from urbandictionary.com below). She also came across as having the kind of bedside manner I think would counteract my stress level while in the throws of labor.

As someone who's always been very healthy and rarely needs to see a doctor outside of a yearly check-up, it feels out of the ordinary to be seeing a doctor every month. Yet then I surprised myself that more wasn't happening at most of the appointments, because I thought that with all the advances in medicine, surely being pregnant in 2009 would come with some heavily monitored program from the get-go. Aside from some standard tests or procedures, (such as a blood test at the first appointment, the ultrasound at 20 weeks and a glucose test at 28 weeks) most of the early appointments in the first seven months are what I describe as "meet and greets." The doctor asks you how you're doing, he or she checks the baby's heart beat and then you're on your way. But I've realized, just because you're pregnant, you're not sick. As long as you and your baby are healthy, as fortunately has been the case for me, these prenatal appointments are not all that much more different than that annual check-up.

I've also learned that while modern medicine can detect or fix many problems that can occur in pregnancy, ultimately, how healthy your pregnancy will be is actually determined before you become pregnant. Whether or not you're blessed with good genes aside, the health of you and your baby is mainly contingent upon whether you ate well, exercised regularly, maintained a healthy body weight, didn't do drugs, didn't smoke and drank moderately - nothing we haven't heard whether we plan to procreate or not. Even though salad doesn't look as exciting to me these days and I can't even envision myself having the energy to play 90 minutes of soccer like I sometimes did pre-pregnancy when no subs showed up, I try to remind myself that my (former) healthy habits are what really counted. I thought I'd have to completely revamp my lifestyle and purge myself of anything remotely unhealthy - go completely organic, kick that sweet tooth, pump myself full of extra vitamins and anti-oxidants. But really, all the advice has amounted to is, keep doing what you're doing and see you in four weeks. It was possibly crazy to think I'd have to make major changes in my lifestyle just because I'm pregnant. Such drastic changes would set anyone else up for failure, like the person who suddenly cuts out carbs or only drink Slim Fast in a quest to lose weight. It's too difficult to make too many changes to one's lifestyle overnight and it's not sustainable, even over nine months.

Now I also see why first-time moms are a breed of their own. By my second pregnancy, I predict I'll have that "been there, done that" mentality and be much more relaxed with the responsibility of having a new life growing inside of me.

The only advice the doctor has for me is that she suggested I take an omega-3 supplement, in addition to the prenatal vitamin I've been taking. Because I'm a vegetarian, I'd done my own research on whether I needed to take a supplement, but couldn't really find any helpful information (even in the baby books), and my old clinic didn't think it was an issue, and only recommended the prenatal vitamin, mainly because of its folic acid, which helps prevent birth defects. And every woman, regardless of diet, is advised to take a prenatal vitamin starting before she even tries to become pregnant. Despite how much I pressed, no one was concerned about any vitamin deficiencies because of my vegetarian diet and basically told me to stick to the bedrock of good nutrition - the well-balanced diet. (Easier said than done when you're pregnant though!) The omega-3 supplement was admittedly less based on hard science, but rather on my doctor's opinion, which was that supplementing that flaxseed meal I sprinkle on my oatmeal each morning doesn't hurt. Easy enough. I obliged by stopping by Target and bought an economy-size bottle. When Chris notices that the capsules are made with fish oil, (there are omega-3 capsules made with flaxseed and other vegetarian-friendly ingredients) I hope he doesn't get excited and think the omega-3 capsules are a "gateway meat." I won't be coming home with a big bucket of KFC any time soon.

--

Minnesota Goodbye - noun
The act applying to most Minnesotans while visiting others in which, when one person has to leave, they proceed to talk for another hour, then the departing party is walked to the front door, where they talk for another hour, then the departing party gets walked to their car while the host family talks to them through the car window for an hour, and finally the departing couple SLOWLY departs down the drive, yelling back & forth with the host family.

The Happiest Baby on the Block

I had resolved to throw away the baby books, but I loosened my stance when I learned about a book that wouldn't make me feel guilty, but rather might actually help reduce the stress of caring for a newborn. Can't lose there, I decided.

Pregtastic produced a show on the topic of the "Fourth Trimester," a term I had never heard before. The guest was Dr. Harvey Karp, a Los Angeles-based pediatrician who wrote the book The Happiest Baby on the Block. The book teaches parents and caregivers methods for how to calm a crying baby. "Colic" is the most often cited blame for fussy or inconsolable babies, but Dr. Karp's research points to a different cause. It wasn't just the promise of being able to calm my baby in minutes, and with practice, even seconds, that intrigued me, but also his explanation of why newborns cry.

The term the "Fourth Trimester" is based in the theory that babies are actually born three months too early. Many animals can walk and even run within hours of birth, because their survival depends upon it. Although this is not the case for human babies, they have bigger brains than their animal counterparts, and Dr. Karp theorizes that big-brained babies can only be born safely if they are born early...say three months early. This new world, where the baby isn't held, fed and inundated with noise (the womb it turns out is a noisy place) 24 hours a day can be unsettling to some babies. Thus, Dr. Karp's techniques for calming a crying baby are rooted in replicating the experience in the womb and turning on the baby's calming reflexes. He has nicknamed the five techniques the "5 S's," and practically promises that when used together and correctly, all but the fussiest of babies (who may then truly have colic or an underlying health problem) can be calmed quickly.

1. Tightly swaddling a baby mimmicks the womb's compactness.
2. Using side or stomach positions to mimic the position the baby was used to being in, since a baby was never flat on his or her back in the uterus (not to be used when putting a baby to sleep, of course, just for calming).
3. "Shhhing" the baby to mimic the wooshing sounds of the womb.
4. Swinging or jiggling the baby to mimic all the motion if felt before it was born. (Reading about this technique makes me think every time I go for a walk or run up or down a set of stairs that fetuses really are getting bounced around a lot.)
5. Finally, sucking also acts as a calming reflex.

Dr. Karp's book is an easy read, even if it is a bit repetitive as he tries to drive home some very simple points. However, he goes into much more detail about the fourth trimester, calming reflexes and how the techniques work, than I could even begin to do in this entry.

Since I have spent so little time around newborns, (and was able to hand them back to their parents the second they started to fuss) I have no idea how well these techniques work and whether I'll be successful with them. I have really bought into Dr. Karp's theory though, because I haven't heard about anything else that is as effective. While I wonder why such supposedly simple and effective techniques haven't caught on like wildfire, I'm willing to give them a try. I've read the book cover-to-cover and Chris has been warned that the accompanying instructional DVD is on its way through inter-library loan.

The only occupants of the Teen Section at the Stillwater Public Library looked to be about ten years old, and I assumed actual teenagers most likely thought of themselves as too cool for the area, which is strategically located next to the watchful eyes of the circulation desk staff. As I waited to check out my books, (despite my vow to listen to my doctor and "throw out the baby books," I'm now reading The Happiest Baby on the Block - more on that later) the snippet of conversation I overheard from the two girls seated at the computers threw me 10 years into a future I probably won't recognize a decade from now. The one girl was asking her friend if she had a Facebook account, as if she had just discovered something no one else knew about. (Would she have thought it was cool if she knew her parents made up the fastest growing demographic on the site?) The girl answered no and seemed genuinely disinterested, while her friend reacted as if she was so much cooler because she was on Facebook and the other girl barely knew what it was.

I've already relayed this story to my dad, who just narrowly escaped raising children coming of age in the Internet era, but who, as a soccer coach until recently, has mentored a generation of kids growing up in a much different world than my teenage years. The first e-mail I sent was in 1995 and was considered a novelty, but it wasn't until I entered college in 1997 that I became a regular user (or addict). However, even as e-mail use exploded, my cohort's utilization of the easy communication tool was still innocent. In one instance, a charming, good-looking and outgoing floormate was left in a rare state of embarrassment upon the discovery of a cheesy e-mail he supposedly wrote to the whole school to publicly express his love for our RA. In fact, the e-mail was sent by the computer science boyfriend of our RA (who was in on the prank) to just our floor (but was made to look like it had gone out to the whole student body). Then there was the time my roommate didn't log out of her e-mail and went to take a nap and two guys from the floor below who were hanging out in our suite decided to write an e-mail from her account and send it to the whole dorm. It was so over-the-top that anyone reading it should have realized it was just a gag, but that didn't stop about ten people showing up at my door within minutes of the e-mail going out to say with a combined genuine disbelief and glee over the latest gossip that they never knew Julie felt that way about John. Julie woke up from the commotion and John and Dwight immediately issued a clarifying e-mail - from one of their own accounts - and the incident was quickly filed away as a happy memory from our "wild and crazy" college days. The most mischievous our e-mail pranking became was when my other roommate was dumped by her boyfriend, who thought he was God's gift to women. She either knew his password, or just got lucky by stumbling upon a computer he'd failed to log himself out of in the main library of our very small school, and changed the sender from his name to "I think I'm God's gift to women." Ah, those innocent days. Now teenagers are being arrested for "sexting," spring break pictures (or even just an image of a beer in an underage kid's hand) are disqualifying students from graduation ceremonies or even jobs, and people are spending years trying to erase vicious rumors from websites devoted solely to "outing" guys who are considered bad dates or women on campus who are supposedly "sluts."

Bullying, spreading rumors, cliques - this all existed in my day. But camera phones, text messaging, the ability to send videos or digital photos over e-mail, You Tube and social networking sites - these weren't around to make poor adolescent judgement (and not that only adolescents are guilty of poor judgement in the use of technology) that much more damaging. So when I overheard the conversation between the two girls about Facebook, my immediate reaction was "Uh oh, do their parents have a clue what's going on?" I don't think a ten-year-old has the maturity to understand the implications of her use of a site like Facebook. I'm actually a lot less worried about the stranger danger we hear about so often on the news and more about her posting a picture she shouldn't have, opening herself up to bullying (whether as a victim or perpetrator) or even just hurting a friend's feelings. As a 30-year-old, I've been hurt by discovering via Facebook that I wasn't invited out with a group of friends. To a 10-year-old, seeing pictures of the sleepover party she wasn't invited to is devastating.

So on the phone with my dad, I was insisting that the computer in our house will be in a public place and that when my kids are older, any computer they use in their rooms to do homework won't have Internet access. They won't have private e-mail accounts until a certain age and those options on cell phones to block texting during certain hours (such as during the school day!) or to limit calling to specific people will be taken advantage of.

But then I wonder why I'm worrying about this now. I can't predict what the technology will be in ten years and what issues my children will face. I thought I was cool when we got a second line in the house and I could talk to my friends whenever I wanted to on "my line" without tying up the main number. I don't know if my parents gave much concern to their decision, because the implications weren't that dire. But they probably never predicted that one day kids would have their own phones - tiny ones they could hide from their parents, take pictures with or text at all hours of the night (when they should be studying or sleeping) to who knows who. Gone seem to be the days when parents knew more or less who their kids were talking with, because those friends had to call the house and actually identify themselves to whomever picked up the phone. And they were forced to call at a decent hour too, or risk an angry parent answering the phone.

I also know I can limit technology, but not ban it. As much as I wish something like cell phones (or whatever we're going to be using in ten years) existed only for my convenience, but would be of no interest to my kids until of an age I consider appropriate, I'm guessing there's going to be a power struggle. I can only hope that Chris and I will stay on top of new technologies and what kids are into and be able to set appropriate limits and expectations. I won't let their be free reign. I've witnessed a number of instances where a parent is trying to talk to a kid who's too tuned into his or her iPod and cell phone to bother even looking up. "That won't be my kid," I practically scream when I get on a rant.

In essence, no matter what the world looks like in ten years, or what rules I say now that I'm going to have, in essence what I'm promising to do is actually parent. But God still help me.