I can not believe that I got TWO more phone calls with Socks while she was still pregnant! They will be the last ones, though, because she is in the maternity ward right now…

She told me during our chat last night that the consensus of the medicos was that she, at a week overdue, would need some pharmaceutical assistance. They offered her a chance to come in on Thursday, but the ‘phonecall caught her off-guard and she said no. They had been saying Friday since Monday, after all. She had originally thought Thurs might be okay because it was the solstice, but getting a call first thing in the morning and being asked, ‘Hi! Want to do this early and with medical assistance?’ made her freak a little bit and refuse. I totally get that; 9 entire months (and then some) of expecting labor to start when it was naturally time is fine. An expected surprise. But having it scheduled and then offered an earlier date? An unexpected surprise. Just not ready yet!

So last night, she told me that she was to ring them at 6 am and see if there was a bed available. Maybe there wouldn’t be, if other babies decided they did want to make their big debut today. Apparently the space was indeed to-let, because she’s been at the hospital for over five hours now.

And could be, for daaaays. Things just aren’t moving very fast! She’s not getting ‘ripe.’ A bit of an odd term to use for the mother, isn’t it? I didn’t think she was growing, too. But, her innards still have some work to do in order to let Button out.

So, no real news at the moment. She’s waiting, having contractions sparked by the Pitocin, but they aren’t painful at all. She’s on clear liquids only; ice chips, lollipops, jello, etc. That’s going to get dammed old dammed quick, I fear. Oh! She told me that when they arrived, a single scream echoed through the ward from another woman in full labor. She said the look on Bear’s face was priceless. He told her that he was thinking, “Holy SHIT, am I going to have to listen to that for hours?”

Also, last night I asked how her mom was doing. Socks told me that Button is going to find it really weird, after she’s born, when Gramma talks to her face. Because all this time, Gramma has been talking to her butt. A lot.

Now, if Bear will come back from eating homemade Thai soup letting the dogs out, maybe he can figure out for us why her texts from her phone aren’t getting through to me. Right now we’re limited to iMessage, iPad to iPad. Which is fine for me, really, I’d be replying via free Internet text anyway. And let’s face it, this thing never leaves my side, er, my thigh…

Cheering you on from a distance, my dear one!

Well! We are all still waiting. Still! Button didn’t come on the date I wanted, and didn’t come on the date Socks wanted, and didn’t come on the date the doctors guessed, either. Waiting… I feel as though I’m on hold with the cable company and listening to terrible music. Tom Petty, maybe…

Socks and I (and occasionally MommaSocks and iDJ as they wafted past our respective camera lenses) had a FaceTime session last night! I laughed unmercifully every time Socks stood up and showed me her bellah. It’s HUGE. She’s sticking straight out underneath like a shelf. She’s scaring people when she goes out in public. I really, really, want her to call a cab, just for the fun of it and pretend to go into labor – as long as someone video records the driver. I’m cruel, I know.

She was officially due yesterday – and I predicted she would be early. Pfft, shows what I know. I’d love to be doing a hidden-camera recording over her shoulder right now whenever any one asks, as they all are doing right now, because she is HUGE, ‘Soooo, when are you duuuuue?’

‘Yeeesterdaaay.’

just looks so much better on a human face than in text. She’d have the top rank on YouTube in no time. Can you imagine the looks of terror, especially in the hardware store? ‘Look, lady, I can fix a leaky toilet, but no way I can fix that kinda leak! Let me show you where our garden furniture is, please? Just sit down for a bit and don’t give birth, I mean, strain yourself…’

I won’t go into effacing and dilation here. If you know what I’m on about then it’s kinda seriously intimate; and if you don’t then you really don’t want to know and the numbers won’t mean a thing! Suffice to say things are progressing normally even if it feels a bit slow. OH! I nearly forgot, this is something that sort of annoyed me and Socks both: last checkup, the doctor intentionally did something and then said something along the lines of, ‘That should move things along!’ As Socks related to me later; Um, excuse me? Did I ask you to ‘move things along’? No, no, I did not. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve stated several times I would like nature to take its course and the less interference the better. What the hell?

So despite her enjoying being pregnant for the most part, and having a pretty easy time of it, and now being quite damn ready to no longer be pregnant, thankyouverymuch, she still would rather not have outside encouragement unless medically necessary. A great example of what kind of parent she will be! Even if the idea of using the snot-sucking bulb grosses her the fuck out. It’s clear on the end that goes in baby’s nose, so you can see how much oook comes out. *gag*

Waiting… At this point, at my house, no phones or iPads or anything resembling a communication device is turned off, or put in ‘airplane mode,’ or uncharged, or out of hearing range. I can’t do anything else, really – the waiting, currently, really is the hardest part!

Damn you, Tom Petty.

Bwah-haw-haw! A PUMPKIN!!!! She’s got another living being, inside of her own living being, that’s the size of a gawd-damn pumpkin! Hahahahahhaa!

Okay, she understands why I think this shit is so funny, and doesn’t hate me for it – even though I did feel the need to explain to her yesterday on the phone why I did nothing but laugh last Thursday when we got a rare Skype moment. You see, to me, being so far away, she’s the exact same person she’s always been. I just cannot mentally picture my best friend being any different. She is who she is, and I love her to bits for it. I can hear about water weight gain, and swollen ankles and foots, but I just don’t see it. Not in my head. My mental image of Socks is probably not much like her actual physical being, though – being so far away for so many years, my head-image of her is a composite of the facial expressions I see in photos, memories, and her overwhelmingly awesome personality. Whatever an intelligent, no-nonsense, hardworking, logical, thoughtful, funny, irreverent, responsible, sarcastic, confident and just plain sexy (my personal definition of sexy; I totally think my BF is hot) woman looks like to you, that’s what Socks looks like in my head.

So… seeing her, in a tight, black and white, horizontally-striped tank top just set me off into paroxysms of laughter. She’s hyoooge! And I know she’ll snap right back afterward, back to someone I can see on Skype and not be giggling my hole off at. And I don’t mean physically – not exactly – I mean… I’ll know when she feels different, when she can move properly and help with the new house renovations and just… be Socks again.

Which might be a problem, in all fairness. Who amongst you moms found that you were almost a different person after becoming a mom? Did you notice? Did you think it was a change for the better? Could you go back to who you were, and would you want to? I’m wondering for a few reasons: one because I know damn well I’d be a shit parent of a human. Two, because this is something Socks used to worry over but now she doesn’t. I am someone who likes to observe and is fascinated by human nature, and I really, really, am interested by this change in my best friend.

I’d love your input – the people I’ve met via this blog are so very insightful and willing to give hard questions a proper mulling-over.

Okay just had a totally freaky thing where condensation from my beer-glass (previous post) dripped on the bottom right corner of my iPad and it went nutso for a bit – kept changing case randomly. Might be a temperature-difference thing?

Anyhoo – Socks has a Pumpkin. Last week was a ‘winter melon’ whatever that is. Neither she nor I can be bothered to figure it out. But last week, on Friday, she had her last ultrasound and everything is good. She’s got two weeks left, but if Button comes now she’ll be fine and at least 7lbs. Doc said there’s nothing to do but wait, and stop taking the baby-aspirin.

There’s no sign of Button coming now, though! Socks is just starting to have Braxton-Hicks contractions, which she says are usually over before she’s realised they have started. Her terrible swelling has gone down – 4lbs in the last week! – which startled her doctor until she explained just how bad it had gotten. Her cure? Loads of water intake, and watery fruit as a snack – grapes, watermelon, etc. Yum.

She’s also staved off stretch marks with sweet almond oil, and no sign of varicose veins either. Doing well, and lucky – not to say by any means these things are bad, it’s just sort of the last thing you need when even the Internet is saying you’ve got something the size of a pumpkin in your abdomen – and in only 9 short months, I’m amazed anyone’s skin and legs could keep up with that!

Yesterday, Socks and Bear drove to Ikea to buy a dresser for Button. Mostly because the shipping was $200 and I don’t care what you drive, a 3hr round trip won’t cost you that much. It was interesting to hear that Bear kept pointing out that everyone was staring. As Socks said, ‘I was in a bright pink tank top. I’d be hard to miss! But how often does anyone see a nearly full-term pregnant lady out in public? They don’t go out. They hide.’

Socks: ‘We worked hard for this belly, why hide it?’
Bear: ‘You couldn’t if you tried.’

Poor Bear, though. As the end draws nigh he is getting really upset about the idea that he has to see his beloved wife in real pain. He’s a big strong manly man, but this is one thing he knows he isn’t strong enough to handle. Or thinks he isn’t – Socks and I know he’ll make it, even if he does faint. Neither of us will think that’s a sign of weakness – it’s totally a sign of true love.

Socks, on the other hand, isn’t afraid of the imminent pain. She’s just excited. I hope I can relate this properly – she said that all of this time, Button has just been a concept, an idea. Not to her – once the terror of another miscarriage had passed – but to us. To everyone else, on the outside of her body, Button is still an idea, a theory. Socks is thrilled with the idea that she will soon get to share with others the person she’s been interacting with through pokes, kicks, hiccups, random movements, sharp pains, and those long, slow nights when she just listens to what is happening inside of her and plans for the future.

Time for another Socks update! I’m probably four weeks behind now, but two of those are because what with house moves and baby showers, we didn’t have our OirishTirsday phone call for two weeks. The other two weeks’ delay is just me being my usual slacker self. I need to be more diligent, because I only have four weeks left of baby-cooking blogging left. That’s right, four short weeks – and that was as of last Thursday.

I won’t be continuing on talking about Socks and Button after Button makes her big debut. I will probably relate a funny story or two along the way forward, but that’s because Socks makes me laugh more than anyone else, and I just know she’s going to have me puking laughter as she learns how to be a mom.

Because she doesn’t have a clue. She’s not a baby person. She doesn’t go all gooey and giggly and want to hold them when she sees one. Remember way back when, she said she wasn’t having kids because they are oooky? Aha hahahah. So, not a lot of hands on experience. Her mom asked her if she had enough diapers – her response was an honest, “How the hell should I know? I don’t know how many I need. I don’t know how many a baby uses!” Mom asked for the count on hand and said it would do.

So, despite being a complete neophyte at taking care of a baby, she seems to have things well in hand and all sorted out. Socks is a planner, a reader, and a listener – and she’s especially skilled at listening to her own body. She’s met her paediatrician, and likes her, and will take a tour of the hospital this Thursday. She’s sorted the supplies, equipment, and fun stuff from her baby shower and has actually – finally – started buying things for Button! I’m not joking, she didn’t buy anything until now. Shopped, researched, planned – but no purchases. But even now that the crib is bought, the baby carrier is bought, and the diaper bag still being sought (hey, it’s a hard decision: it has got to be pretty cool, she’ll be carrying the damn thing everywhere for the next…forever…) she says it still doesn’t feel quite real.

It doesn’t really matter, though, not knowing how everything is going to be, because there is no way, ever, any new mom can know how it’s going to be. All the preparation in the world won’t make a difference, so why stress about it? Being parents isn’t going to feel real for a while, I suspect. At first, the incessant changes will come so hard and fast that there won’t be time to realise a routine is being created. And babies grow so fast, the changes never stop.

I think maybe, just maybe, that by the time Button is old enough to go to school it might feel real.

In the meantime, Button is nearly as physically mature as she can get inside there. Her lungs have a bit more developing to do, but she’s already practicing breathing. She probably will gain another pound in this last month – and Socks is wondering just where that’s going to fit as she is chock full o’ baby already. I have an example from last week, which is something that has probably only gotten worse… Socks can’t get off the couch by herself any more. It takes forever to get comfortable in a position where she can breathe because Button has her butt right up under Socks’ ribs, squashing her lungs and stomach. Once she’s down on the couch, there’s no way back up without a helping hand from Bear. I guess if he’s not home, she doesn’t nap on the couch…

Bear, of course, is even farther back on the ‘feel real’ scale. He’s hoping he can help with the birth via text.

Oh, and is it wrong of me to laugh my ass off at her description of what her swollen feet look like after wearing flip-flops? I’m picturing perfectly manicured toenails on the Pillsbury Dough-Girl’s feet.

(yes, there was a Dough-Girl in the early 70’s. My sister had this very set, and I’m sorry I stole this photo from the net but if I had them still, I’d take my own photo, I promise. Maybe is sis still has them she’ll offer me a non-nicked shot).

Finally, I’d like to offer my prediction that Socks isn’t going to go all the way to her projected due date. That baby is huge and I think she’s at least a week further along: not only because Button is more like a bowling ball than a nice polite mother-of-pearl ornament, but because Socks had one scan early on that indicated she was farther than her obstetrician thought. For some reason, I really believed those people.

Then again, I’ve been known to be wrong. I ever so much wanted Button to be twins so I could really laugh my ass off.