michaelandbetsey.com

By a reasonable standard of “month”, which we’ll take to be 30 days, we’ve now made it. There’s something like a reasonably routine developing around here. The boy’s naps are more predictable, he goes to sleep around 10 or 11 at night, and will sleep for 4 to 5 hours at a go.

We’ve also learned that sometimes nothing will settle him when he’s fussy. Its cliched, but remembering the bit about “grant me the serenity to accept those things that I cannot change” has never been more true than here. There’s something very physiological that his cry induces, and if you’re thinking “I have to fix this”, you’re going to suffer when it can’t be fixed. So now we go through a checklist of sorts when he begins crying. Is he hungry? Is he dirty? Does he have gas? Does swaddling, shushing, side, shake, or suck (from here) calm him? If not to all of the above, then we have to assume that he’s just going to cry for a while, and let him. This procedure is difficult to follow, of course — there’s that physiologic response to that cry, and being physiologic, its not going anywhere — but when we can, it seems to result in shorter, though more intense, periods of fuss, and longer naps afterward.

In other news, we received a nice summary sheet from the clinic telling us about how our baby would be developing for the next 4 weeks. A wonderful bit of information on the sheet was “Don’t leave your baby in the care of other children, OR PETS” (emphasis ours). Once you become disillusioned enough in this world, you realize that advice like this only appears because someone, somewhere, was stupid enough to do the obviously bad thing. Well, just to be sure, we “experimented” with leaving Elliott in Molly’s care. The results speak for themselves.

Its November and Betsey is sick. Really, really sick. Throwing up constantly. Barely managing to eat a few saltines and some chicken soup. Not good chicken soup, mind you. Not homemade chicken soup with fresh vegetables. No. Betsey’s eating Campbell’s Chicken Noodle condensed soup, with a preference for the “Mega Noodle”, which is so chock-full of noodle that gravity is insufficient to remove it from the can. You need a spoon.

Needless to say, she’s missing a lot of work. She shows up one day and Lisa takes one look at her and says, “You’re going home.” Of course, Lisa knows why Betsey’s been missing work. And Laura has figured it out. But supposedly this is supposed to be a secret from the rest of her colleagues, until we’re sure this thing is really going forward or its impossible to keep it secret anymore.

And then there’s November 24, 2005: Thanksgiving. Now, we’re with my family in Atlanta, and if you know family dinners at the Sorensen homestead, you know there’s wine. Usually a goodly amount. Particularly on holidays. And we’re not quite ready to loose the news on the family, so how are we going to cover the fact that Betsey isn’t drinking this year? Well, we let Cara know (who could barely contain herself or the news, a known hazard of the plan), who let Mike know, and between the three of us the following pageant was produced. One of the players would drain their glass to a level just below the one Betsey was holding. Then, surreptisiously, we make the switch of glasses. Betsey occasionally raises the glass to her lips, to make it appear that she’s consuming. And then the next player takes their turn, and so on, so that throughout the evening Grandma and Grandpa-to-be are completely unaware of the situation.

And five days later we have the first picture, and a heartbeat, which is a very good sign. So Betsey continues to suffer through her morning (and afternoon, and evening, and middle of the night) sickness, and Michael continues to make her soup and bring her saltines and sprite. Betsey loses around 10 pounds, while the hormones raging within her cause her breasts to dramatically increase in size; Michael comments that she’s never looked this good.

While shopping with Bobbi in Atlanta, Cara nearly lets the cat out of the bag. Laura accidently reveals the news to other residents (”Some of us can’t go out drinking after volleyball”). So its getting difficult to keep this a secret much longer. Fortunately, my Mom’s birthday is coming up and we have a plan.

So its my Mom’s birthday dinner on December 19, and we’re all having dinner at Sugo in Roswell. And Michael hands a card to his Mom with the above photo contained within. Bobbi begins opening the card, but Tom is engaged in an involved conversation with the waitress about the wine. Cara, knowing what’s coming, hits him repeatedly on the arm trying to get him to pay attention. Bobbi opens the card and sets the photo aside, and then tries to figure out why the card is blank inside. So Cara has to point out the photo that she set aside. She’s confused for a moment, and then realizes what we’re telling her, and she starts crying.

So we get though the holidays with Betsey’s appetite slowly improving, progressing though the various milestones. Michael worries constantly about genetic screening, fixating on Betsey’s description of Trisome 18, “generally not compatible with life”. Fortunately, everything comes through well. On February 17 we find out we’re having an Elliott instead of an Eileen. Good thing we had decided to find out, too, as Betsey recognized the boy’s sex before the ultrasound tech did. From that point the remainder of the second trimester and most of the third progress with little news. Betsey’s feeling good, doing yoga, working on her hypnobirthing exercises with Michael and Jayne. We take a combined trip to Texas, Arizona, and San Francisco. The boy moves around a lot.

Around the beginning of June, Betsey begins getting Braxton-Hicks contractions. And an exam with Lisa in mid-June shows that her cervix is thinning already, and even though our due date isn’t until July 15, we become absolutely convinced that the boy’s appearance is imminent. Really convinced. Excessively cleaning the house and packing a bag for the hospital convinced. And then…

nothing.

And Ryan and Theresa have their baby (who had the same due date), and we’re doing our best to stay occupied, but waiting for this guy makes everything very very boring. There’s plenty to do, just that nothing’s really that interesting because there’s only one thing we care about, and he’s taking his sweet time making his appearance.