Ladies and gentlemen, the baby stomach...

Check out Margaret! The Bean is definitely making his or her presence known in the second photo there. Margaret can feel the Bean moving around inside her, which fascinates me. I can't feel it from the outside yet, but he or she is apparently pretty active. This picture was taken Christmas day at Margaret's mother's house in front of the Christmas tree. We are now right about at the halfway mark. The scare from a couple of weeks ago seems to have been relegated to our rearview mirror, but we remain on the lookout for problems. The doctors don't know for sure why Margaret was bleeding that Saturday afternoon, but the likely suspect was a burst blood vessel, the flow from which was increased when her blood pressure went up when she discovered she was bleeding. After a week in bed Margaret was given the green light yesterday by the doctor to go back to work. She has promised to take it easy.
Christmas was nice and quiet, just the way I like it. I gave Margaret the Wusthof Santoku chef's knife she has long been coveting. Yeah, that's right - I gave a hormonal pregnant woman a big sharp knife. What can I say? I like to live on the edge. Margaret surprised me with Sirius satellite radio. Sweet! After four days of being able to listen to whatever style of music caught my fancy, I have to say that I might not ever listen to "terrestrial" radio again. We're talking three channels of NPR, two channels of Howard Stern, and a music station called "Outlaw Country" that plays all the good old school country music by the likes of folks such as Merle Haggard, Junior Brown and Carl Perkins. The only problem I have with the setup is picking what station to listen to. I find myself channel surfing on the radio like I do on the TV.
We also received lots of gifts for the Bean, including some clothes, an incredibly soft blanket, and, yes, even a popcorn popper. That's yours truly holding said popper in the other picture above. That essential toy came courtesy of Margaret's mother, who surprised me with it Christmas Eve after reading an earlier blog entry. It was pretty funny to watch all of the grownups, all of whom claimed to have had a popper of their own in their youth, take ours for a spin. Seriously, everyone had to try it out. There is something just satisfyng about the way those plastic balls pop around under that clear plastic dome. Hopefully the Bean will be as enthusiastic about the toy as I always have.

I'm not a guy who scares easily...

That title isn't meant to show off my masculinity, but rather to say that after a few years in the army, living in a foreign country, and being in a war zone, I'm just not a guy who startles often. Am I jumpy at times? Absolutely. You can thank the military for that. Do I worry about things? You bet - a lot of things. Things that you would probably find silly. But scared isn't something I've been in awhile. The last time I was scared was last year when my father was diagnosed with cancer. That's something to be scared of, and I certainly was, although thankfully he seems to have come through the treatment with flying colors (knock wood).
So why the drawn out explanation about the fact that I don't spook easily? Well, to be frank, last Saturday is easily the most scared I have ever been in my life. The day began normally enough. I had to work, and about one o'clock that afternoon I got a call from Margaret , which went to voicemail since I was at my station and unable to take the call right then. When I checked my voicemail about ten minutes later, to use a semi-tired cliche, my blood ran cold. "Okay, don't freak out," began the message, which of course immediately began to freak me out. I mean, we all know if you don't want someone to panic, you definitely don't say...anyone?...anyone?...Bueller?...yes, that's right, you don't say, "don't panic." But Margaret could certainly be forgiven in this case. I could tell from her voice that she was crying. One of the things that I love about my wife is that she is even less likely than me to get scared, so if there are tears involved, I know something major is up.
Margaret's message continued. "I'm on my way home, and I'm bleeding. I called the doctor and they told me to go home and lie down and they would call me in a little while to check on me and give further instructions. I'm sorry. Please come home." I immediately called her back, and talked to her as she was on her way home. I told her I was leaving work immediately, and told my supervisor that I had to leave. Once again my place of employment demonstrated incredible understanding and tact, and the supervisor told me to go, that she would take care of it.
I'm not a terribly religious guy anymore. I was raised Catholic, but don't follow that path anymore, but I can tell you that I was having a serious heart to heart with whatever supreme being - god, allah, flying spaghetti monster - watches over us. I arrived home to find my wife in bed, nearly hysterical. As we waited for the doctor to call back, I held her close. "I don't think I realized until now just how much I want this baby," she said. I understood immediately. She wasn't saying that she previously didn't want our unborn child, but rather that now, faced with possibly losing the Bean, a new level of reality was rushing forth. She was still bleeding heavily, and finally (it had actually only been a couple of minutes) the doctor's office called back and told us to go to a hospital in Summerville, about 25-30 minutes away. As I was getting directions the nurse told me to hold on a moment. When she came back on the line, she told me that the doctor would meet us at a the ER of a hospital much closer. We got in the car and began to wade through the Saturday pre-Christmas shopping traffic. Remember me mentioning at the beginning of this entry that I was more scared that day than I had ever been in my life? Well, that terror level was cresting during the drive. I continued to tell Margaret that it was going to be okay.
We finally arrived at the ER, and were seen pretty quickly, all things considered. The nurse attepted to find the heartbeat with a doppler microphone, but wasn't getting anything. The doctor arrived and examined Margaret, advised that everything seemed to be normal (besides the bleeding), and ordered a sonogram just to be safe. Before they carted Margaret off to the sonographer, another nurse tried the doppler again, and almost immediately located a strong heartbeat. It was the single most beautiful sound I have ever heard, even lovelier than the first time I heard it a few weeks back. At that point I basically relaxed a tiny bit, and the anxiety of the last couple of hours hit me like a brick. I lost it and began to sob, although I recovered quickly because Margaret was still pretty freaked out. They wheeled her out, and when she returned about 30 minutes later, she was visibly better. The sonogram had apparently shown that the Bean was alive and kicking (literally). The doctor ordered Margaret to bedrest for the next week, with permission to go out only if necessary.
That's where we currently stand. Margaret is in bed taking it easy, which as anyone who knows her is driving her bonkers, but she's cooperating and recuperating. She is still scared of losing the baby, which I'm sure is a fear shared by every prospective parent. Margaret says she can now feel the Bean moving inside her, which as 18 weeks is normal, according to the books we're reading.
The bleeding? The doctor thinks that the placenta is situated lower than normal, and perhaps a blood vessel burst, the flow from which increased as Margaret's blood pressure went up upon discovering she was bleeding. So while Saturday was full of anxiety and fear, each day since has brought increased relief that all seems to be well. Like I said before, I don't scare easily, but on a scale of 1 to 10 on the terror meter, last Saturday's events scored about a 17. I love you Bean. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe. We can't wait to meet you in a few months.

Santa Baby

Man, Christmas just snuck (yes, "snuck" is an actual word - look it up) up on me this year. We did some shopping tonight, but it seems as if just last week we were avoiding trick or treaters. As we were wandering through the North Charleston Target (wow, didn't this whole blog's reason for being come from a trip to Tar-jae?) it occurred to me that we would now get to do the whole Christmas thing. Man, I can't wait. The fetus is still forming (we're up to week 17) and Margaret is already having to hold me back from buying stuff for the Bean. I'm talking about the basics, like a red Radio Flyer wagon, Fisher-Price stuff, and, most importantly, one of those little popcorn popper push-around thingys. Man, I can't wait to see the Bean's eye when he or she gets a new bike from Santa! Obviously that's a long ways off, but it'll be cool nonetheless.
Margaret is really beginning to show now. She's beginning to feel the effects of pregnancy. Just tonight she felt like the Bean was dancing the Macarena on her bladder - and it's early yet.
We went to see Alison Krauss and Union Station last Sunday night. Outstanding show. Krauss (that'd be her in the photo, taken by yours truly) sings like an angel, and is yet another artist I can't wait to show the Bean. This kid is going to be one hip music listener. None of this prepackaged pop crap you hear oozing out of the radio today. We'll start with a safe, steady diet of Beatles albums, followed by car trips where the Bean will be exposed to Bob Marley, Wilco, The Stones, The Who, Stevie Wonder, DeLa Soul, Elvis Costello, and whatever other cool music I can come up with.
Oh my god! I'm sitting here watching Saturday Night Live while I'm writing this. Lately the show has absolutely stunk. The new cast, with a few exceptions, are listless. Alec Baldwin is the host, and the show had been pretty lame - the highlight being musical guest Shakira's magic dislocated hips (holy schneikes!). But then damn if the last skit doesn't hit a home run. It was Baldwin recreating his famous monologue from Glengarry Glen Ross where he comes in and tears the lowly salesmen new ones. The difference on SNL was that Baldwin and his targets were all elves at the North Pole. "First prize is a shiny new toboggan, second prize is a set of candy canes, third place is you're fired!" If you haven't seen Glengarry Glenn Ross yet, go out and rent it immediately - but keep it away from the kiddies. That's one we won't be sharing with the Bean until he or she is considerably older.