After lots of pondering and Nina-style indecision, on Monday we finally got a new bathtub liner to cover up our super gross, used-to-be-reglazed-but-the-glaze-was-peeling-off bathtub.
I really wanted a new reglaze because I think it looks classier and cleaner, but after lots of research we decided that a reglaze would just be way to dainty and impractible with our lifestyle.
After the liner was installed, my mom and Ivan went to check out the new bathtub.
"Nice" was apparently all Ivan said. How adult and uncharacteristic for a two-year old.
Since then, every time we're in the bathroom, Ivan points to the bathtub and says "Fake it." I know he's really trying to say "fix it" and it just sounds like fake it.
But how appropriate, we did kind of fake the new bathtub.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Back Together Again (Or Medic's Big Adventure)
Medic was completely dry, yet really stinky on Monday morning. I put Medic in Ivan's crib. "Osusio," he told me. Medic was dry. Medic was also really stinky. He didn't dry fast enough in the bathroom so that damp, modly smell really clung on. Ivan didn't care. It was as if Medic didn't exist.
It was time for intervention number 2. I decided to give Medic another quick Woolite bath before heading off to work. The day was supposed to be gorgeous. Medic would have the whole day to dry out in the sun in the yard. We squeezed and wrought him well before heading off to work. My mom agreed to squeeze him during the day.
By the evening, he was almost dry, still a bit damp, and again stinky. Not as bad as the first time, but still stinky.
Still I took Medic for Ivan to play with before bedtime. He seemed interested again. He hugged and kissed Medic, like before. Were they going to be best buddies again? I was elated, despite the smell? Did Ivan notice the smell?
Once Ivan went to bed, it was time to continue with the intervention.
"Put him in the dryer," Andy argued. Medic's tag said to air dry, but since he was so stinky I decided to give it a try. He eventually dried. But it was too late. The smell had already permeated him and clung to him.
"Febreeze him," Andy said. "It will take out the smell." So he took Medic to the bathroom, grabbed the Febreeze bottle and sprayed him well. Medic now stank even more. Febreezing would've been a good option, had we actually had the fabric Febreeze. Instead Medic got Febreezed with the air refreshener.
"Oh, it will eventually air out," Andy optimistically commented. The smell was now even worse. Febreeze didn't mask the moldy smell, it just added another nasty layer to it.
But Tuesday morning and evening, Ivan was back to hugging Medic and carrying him around the house. Did he notice the foul stench now surrounding Medic, did he care? I don't know. The smell was overwhelming. I had left Medic overnight with Ivan on Tuesday night; by the morning, Ivan and the crib smelled like stinky Febreeze.
Wednesday morning Ivan and Medic were back together, like before the intervention. Panda who was still around seemed to become oblivious again. But the stench wasn't easing up.
It was time for a third, and hopefully final intervention. Originally, I was going to wait for the weekend so that Medic could air dry in the sun, but then the weekend was too far off. What if Ivan rejects the Medic because of the stench, or something else.
So this evening, Medic was immersed for the third time in a cool gentle Woolite bath. After he soaked for a while to take the stench out, we wrung him really well and put him in the dryer. He's almost dry. And not at stinky. He even faintly smells of Woolite.
And he'll be back in Ivan's crib when he wakes up in the morning.
It was time for intervention number 2. I decided to give Medic another quick Woolite bath before heading off to work. The day was supposed to be gorgeous. Medic would have the whole day to dry out in the sun in the yard. We squeezed and wrought him well before heading off to work. My mom agreed to squeeze him during the day.
By the evening, he was almost dry, still a bit damp, and again stinky. Not as bad as the first time, but still stinky.
Still I took Medic for Ivan to play with before bedtime. He seemed interested again. He hugged and kissed Medic, like before. Were they going to be best buddies again? I was elated, despite the smell? Did Ivan notice the smell?
Once Ivan went to bed, it was time to continue with the intervention.
"Put him in the dryer," Andy argued. Medic's tag said to air dry, but since he was so stinky I decided to give it a try. He eventually dried. But it was too late. The smell had already permeated him and clung to him.
"Febreeze him," Andy said. "It will take out the smell." So he took Medic to the bathroom, grabbed the Febreeze bottle and sprayed him well. Medic now stank even more. Febreezing would've been a good option, had we actually had the fabric Febreeze. Instead Medic got Febreezed with the air refreshener.
"Oh, it will eventually air out," Andy optimistically commented. The smell was now even worse. Febreeze didn't mask the moldy smell, it just added another nasty layer to it.
But Tuesday morning and evening, Ivan was back to hugging Medic and carrying him around the house. Did he notice the foul stench now surrounding Medic, did he care? I don't know. The smell was overwhelming. I had left Medic overnight with Ivan on Tuesday night; by the morning, Ivan and the crib smelled like stinky Febreeze.
Wednesday morning Ivan and Medic were back together, like before the intervention. Panda who was still around seemed to become oblivious again. But the stench wasn't easing up.
It was time for a third, and hopefully final intervention. Originally, I was going to wait for the weekend so that Medic could air dry in the sun, but then the weekend was too far off. What if Ivan rejects the Medic because of the stench, or something else.
So this evening, Medic was immersed for the third time in a cool gentle Woolite bath. After he soaked for a while to take the stench out, we wrung him really well and put him in the dryer. He's almost dry. And not at stinky. He even faintly smells of Woolite.
And he'll be back in Ivan's crib when he wakes up in the morning.
Adjective or Verb + Noun
Ivan's incremental yet daily obvious verbal progress continues.
"Poppy diapers," was the first thing he said when I went to get him this morning. That was new. Until now, he'd just say "poppy."
"Kupit cracker," he said after he finished eating his cracker in the car on the way home from daycare. It used to be just "kupit," as the omnipotent answer to anything I'd say was done, broken, missing or gone out of site. On Monday, after Baka left, he even said "kupit Baka," as a way of bringing Baka back to the house.
"Kupit yogurt," has been his favorite phrase for about a week now. I'm not sure whether he's really fixated on eating yogurt or whether he's been repeating that phrase becase he knows it.
But combining an adjective or a verb with a noun is definitely new.
The speed with which he's been acquiring language, really languages, is really amazing. Every morning he wakes up or every time he wakes up from a nap new words and concepts come out. I wish I could record it all.
"Poppy diapers," was the first thing he said when I went to get him this morning. That was new. Until now, he'd just say "poppy."
"Kupit cracker," he said after he finished eating his cracker in the car on the way home from daycare. It used to be just "kupit," as the omnipotent answer to anything I'd say was done, broken, missing or gone out of site. On Monday, after Baka left, he even said "kupit Baka," as a way of bringing Baka back to the house.
"Kupit yogurt," has been his favorite phrase for about a week now. I'm not sure whether he's really fixated on eating yogurt or whether he's been repeating that phrase becase he knows it.
But combining an adjective or a verb with a noun is definitely new.
The speed with which he's been acquiring language, really languages, is really amazing. Every morning he wakes up or every time he wakes up from a nap new words and concepts come out. I wish I could record it all.
15 Weeks
Today, marked the 15th week of my pregnancy. I'm definitely beginning to show. I've told everyone at work, well, not everyone but enough people that it no longer a secret. The rest can either figure it out by looking at me and asking me, or inquire through the gossip and grapevine, which have been at work for the last few weeks.
Now, that the nausea and food queasiness has ended, I'm in that odd limbo where on most days it's easy to forget that I'm pregnant but just feel fat and bloated. Like trying to suck in my stomach to look lean and tall, and not being able to.
Otherwise, I'm a bit more tired than with Ivan. I don't know whether to attribute that to age, or to the fact that I need to take care of Ivan. (Although, it seems to me that it's really Andy who takes more care of him these days.)
I also sometimes feel like I already can't breath, which is something I got at the every end of the last pregnancy, when I grown so huge that my lungs were totally compressed. But not this early. I also feel like I have no stamina and like I'm completely out of shape, which I am.
Some friends, who have both a boy and a girl, say that if my pregnancy symptoms are different this time that then I'm probably carrying a girl. Just another old wives' tale? Who knows. I can't really decipher if my symptoms are different this time around.
The food quesiness started and ended approximately around the same time, and it would hit me at the same time of the day---4 p.m. to 11 p.m. Although I think that this time it lasted a bit longer. Also, this time I knew I couldn't eat food. Last time, I often wouldn't know whether I could eat something or not until it was served.
Also, last time I went on that two-week around the world trip to Singapore and India, where the jet lag and nausea were beyond horrible. In retrospect, what was I thinking!
So, to sum up, I'm not sure whether these nuances are different enough to qualify as completely different experiences, or just variation on the theme.
Last time, I also recall many more and much more wackier dreams than this time. I've had a few, but not as many as the last time.
Also, I have absolutely no intuition or a hunch whether this is a boy or a girl. Nor am I trying to figure it out. It truly doesn't matter. Last time, I was convinced it was a girl. Also, a girl appeared to me in a dream. A soft fluttering image of a dark haired girl. Well, Ivan's a blond boy. So, so much for my 6th sense.
But whoever it is, s/he is about 4 inches long, or the size of an apple, according to Baby Center. (Moving up on the food size chain.)
I weighed myself earlier in the week and I've gained about 7 pounds.
We really need to start taking photos of each week and then at the end create a Kodak Minibook titled Progress of a Growing Belly.
Now, that the nausea and food queasiness has ended, I'm in that odd limbo where on most days it's easy to forget that I'm pregnant but just feel fat and bloated. Like trying to suck in my stomach to look lean and tall, and not being able to.
Otherwise, I'm a bit more tired than with Ivan. I don't know whether to attribute that to age, or to the fact that I need to take care of Ivan. (Although, it seems to me that it's really Andy who takes more care of him these days.)
I also sometimes feel like I already can't breath, which is something I got at the every end of the last pregnancy, when I grown so huge that my lungs were totally compressed. But not this early. I also feel like I have no stamina and like I'm completely out of shape, which I am.
Some friends, who have both a boy and a girl, say that if my pregnancy symptoms are different this time that then I'm probably carrying a girl. Just another old wives' tale? Who knows. I can't really decipher if my symptoms are different this time around.
The food quesiness started and ended approximately around the same time, and it would hit me at the same time of the day---4 p.m. to 11 p.m. Although I think that this time it lasted a bit longer. Also, this time I knew I couldn't eat food. Last time, I often wouldn't know whether I could eat something or not until it was served.
Also, last time I went on that two-week around the world trip to Singapore and India, where the jet lag and nausea were beyond horrible. In retrospect, what was I thinking!
So, to sum up, I'm not sure whether these nuances are different enough to qualify as completely different experiences, or just variation on the theme.
Last time, I also recall many more and much more wackier dreams than this time. I've had a few, but not as many as the last time.
Also, I have absolutely no intuition or a hunch whether this is a boy or a girl. Nor am I trying to figure it out. It truly doesn't matter. Last time, I was convinced it was a girl. Also, a girl appeared to me in a dream. A soft fluttering image of a dark haired girl. Well, Ivan's a blond boy. So, so much for my 6th sense.
But whoever it is, s/he is about 4 inches long, or the size of an apple, according to Baby Center. (Moving up on the food size chain.)
I weighed myself earlier in the week and I've gained about 7 pounds.
We really need to start taking photos of each week and then at the end create a Kodak Minibook titled Progress of a Growing Belly.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Ivan and Medic, Is It Over?
On Thursday morning, since I stayed home from work because I wasn't feeling well, I jumped at the chance to wash Medic. Over the last two years, Medic has become really dirty and started smelling like rancid milk, thanks to Ivan who spills milk on him. Washing Medic has been my mission for quite some time now, but I knew I needed a full day when Ivan wasn't around so that Medic could be washed and dried in time.
Medic reaked. While we thought he smelled foul, Ivan seemed oblivious to the smell. After all, he and Medic were inseparable.
So as soon, as Ivan and Andy left, I filled a little container with warm water and Woolite and gave Medic a gentle but a thorough bath. While I was washing him and cradling him, Medic felt alive. I kept thinking I was washing a live baby or a live stuffed friend, not a plush toy.
I squeezed out all the water and left him on the drying rack to dry. Unfortunately, since it's been raining the last few days, it was impossible to put him out to dry.
I hoped he'd be dry by the time Ivan returned from daycare. But he wasn't. I was afraid Ivan would freak out seeing Medic wet on the drying rack. I gently explained to him that Medic is "wet, mokar" and that he'll be dry soon, but that he'd have to go to bed without him for one night.
Ivan was unpertrubed. He easily accepted that Medic is wet and that he'll have to go to be without him.
Unfortunately, Medic was still wet on Friday and Saturday. Since I wasn't paying attention on Friday morning, Medic, who was almost dry, was placed on a wet towel while we were taking our morning showers. In a rush to get out the door, I left Medic on the towel instead of putting him back on the drying rack. By the time we returned from work, Medic's butt smelled like old, stinky, moldy towel. So I had to wash his butt again.
As a result, Ivan went to bed without Medic on Friday. He still accepted it calmly "menic wet, menic mokar" he explained to me.
On Saturday evening (parts of Medic were still clammy) I asked Ivan whether he wanted Medic. He said no. He wanted his panda bear instead. I was shocked. He's had the panda for a year now and has never really expressed interest in it. So I gave him the panda. It's a really cute panda---a big panda bear with a little panda attached to its back.
This morning as Ivan woke up, I asked him if he wanted Medic. "Pana" he whispered instead. So I gave him the panda bear. He told me that Medic is "mokar."
When I laid him down for a nap, I asked again, if he wanted Medic. "Pana" he said.
So I brought the panda, which he hugged and tucked into the sheets. (For some reason today, he absolutely refused to take a nap in his crib. Instead he tucked himself in in the bed in the spare bedroom. Since there are no curtains in that room, I didn't think he'd fall asleep, but he did.)
But I also brought Medic and laid him on the pillow next to Ivan. He didn't say "no" to me, but he really didn't care for Medic. He didn't care that Medic was there.
As I turned away from him, my eyes filled with tears. What have I done? He was so attached to Medic. How could it be that he no longer cares? That he stopped caring so easily?
In my attempt to clean Medic, have I managed to sever the bond between them? Maybe it's just Ivan growing up. Eventually, he'll outgrow Medic. I know that. But it seems like I did it for him.
People always say not to touch the young of wild animals because if the mother smells a human hand on them that she'll no longer take care of her young.
In a weird way, I feel like I've done exactly that.
Medic reaked. While we thought he smelled foul, Ivan seemed oblivious to the smell. After all, he and Medic were inseparable.
So as soon, as Ivan and Andy left, I filled a little container with warm water and Woolite and gave Medic a gentle but a thorough bath. While I was washing him and cradling him, Medic felt alive. I kept thinking I was washing a live baby or a live stuffed friend, not a plush toy.
I squeezed out all the water and left him on the drying rack to dry. Unfortunately, since it's been raining the last few days, it was impossible to put him out to dry.
I hoped he'd be dry by the time Ivan returned from daycare. But he wasn't. I was afraid Ivan would freak out seeing Medic wet on the drying rack. I gently explained to him that Medic is "wet, mokar" and that he'll be dry soon, but that he'd have to go to bed without him for one night.
Ivan was unpertrubed. He easily accepted that Medic is wet and that he'll have to go to be without him.
Unfortunately, Medic was still wet on Friday and Saturday. Since I wasn't paying attention on Friday morning, Medic, who was almost dry, was placed on a wet towel while we were taking our morning showers. In a rush to get out the door, I left Medic on the towel instead of putting him back on the drying rack. By the time we returned from work, Medic's butt smelled like old, stinky, moldy towel. So I had to wash his butt again.
As a result, Ivan went to bed without Medic on Friday. He still accepted it calmly "menic wet, menic mokar" he explained to me.
On Saturday evening (parts of Medic were still clammy) I asked Ivan whether he wanted Medic. He said no. He wanted his panda bear instead. I was shocked. He's had the panda for a year now and has never really expressed interest in it. So I gave him the panda. It's a really cute panda---a big panda bear with a little panda attached to its back.
This morning as Ivan woke up, I asked him if he wanted Medic. "Pana" he whispered instead. So I gave him the panda bear. He told me that Medic is "mokar."
When I laid him down for a nap, I asked again, if he wanted Medic. "Pana" he said.
So I brought the panda, which he hugged and tucked into the sheets. (For some reason today, he absolutely refused to take a nap in his crib. Instead he tucked himself in in the bed in the spare bedroom. Since there are no curtains in that room, I didn't think he'd fall asleep, but he did.)
But I also brought Medic and laid him on the pillow next to Ivan. He didn't say "no" to me, but he really didn't care for Medic. He didn't care that Medic was there.
As I turned away from him, my eyes filled with tears. What have I done? He was so attached to Medic. How could it be that he no longer cares? That he stopped caring so easily?
In my attempt to clean Medic, have I managed to sever the bond between them? Maybe it's just Ivan growing up. Eventually, he'll outgrow Medic. I know that. But it seems like I did it for him.
People always say not to touch the young of wild animals because if the mother smells a human hand on them that she'll no longer take care of her young.
In a weird way, I feel like I've done exactly that.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Preferred Food Condiment These Days
...is ketchup. Ivan, who really hasn't eaten anything since Mila's birthday party except for "ochine" (oatmeal), seem ocassionally willing to give other foods a try if they're dunk in ketchup. He really wants to eat just ketchup, but since I'm not about to allow him to just spoon ketchup in his mouth--the way he eats cream cheese, yuck--he's willing to have ketchup rest on something.
Today, that something was chicken. I was thrilled. He actually ate half a breast of chicken with ketchup on top, some of it with a baby fork, other with his fingers.
For a few weeks ending with Mila's birthday on May 23, he was eating like a champ. Well, he was eating everything except for fruits and vegetables. At Mila's birthday, he actually ate two sarmas, not the cabbage but the rice and meat inside, and some other things. That same weekend we went to Dave and Xenobia's house for a BBQ (and a swim in the indoor pool, which was so much fun and Ivan loved it and I should've probably written about that as well), where Ivan proceeded to eat two hotdogs. Not the bread, not the ketchup, but just the hotdogs.
And after that he decided that he's just not that interested in eating. He's been eating sandwiches (pbj or cream cheese or cheese/prosciutto) and pizza.
Two weeks later, at Maya's birthday party, which was also a BBQ, he absolutely refused to touch a hotdog or a burger. Instead, he laid the hotdog on the side and proceeded to eat the bun with ketchup.
Last weekend at Beth's football tailgate, he also refused any sort of food (he did nibble on something.) I was actually jealous of Sam, whom I observed eating fruit and a burger.
Apart from ketchup, his eyes light up for pizza. I'm not sure what so magical about pizza suddenly.
He also still seems to be stuck on the yogurt kick. While I've stopped buying yoyobaby yogurt, I did buy some regular yogurts last week, which he ate. Since then he's been telling us "kupit yogurt." My mom will finally acquisce tomorrow and take him yogurt shopping.
He also likes to eat out. He eats better at a restaurant (beans at a Mexican restaurant, where last time I also managed to give him spinach-filled quesadilla by calling it pizza, and rice and sandwiches at Lebanese Taverna) and will definitely try free samples at Trader Joe's and Costco's.
Last summer and fall, Ivan was crazy about fruit. He went through a pear, blueberry and grape phase. But for the last few months, he's very fruit averse. At least I thought he was eating apple sauce we give him for lunch. It was one container that consistenly wasn't making it back home. Unfortunately, last week, Ms. Yvonne told us not to give it to him anymore because he never eats it. They open it and then have to throw it. (This past week, to prove her point I guess, she repacked the apple sauce so we can see for ourselves that he's not eating it.)
For now, he's still crazy about bananas. I hope that lasts.
And I hope he starts eating fruits and veggies sometime soon.
Today, that something was chicken. I was thrilled. He actually ate half a breast of chicken with ketchup on top, some of it with a baby fork, other with his fingers.
For a few weeks ending with Mila's birthday on May 23, he was eating like a champ. Well, he was eating everything except for fruits and vegetables. At Mila's birthday, he actually ate two sarmas, not the cabbage but the rice and meat inside, and some other things. That same weekend we went to Dave and Xenobia's house for a BBQ (and a swim in the indoor pool, which was so much fun and Ivan loved it and I should've probably written about that as well), where Ivan proceeded to eat two hotdogs. Not the bread, not the ketchup, but just the hotdogs.
And after that he decided that he's just not that interested in eating. He's been eating sandwiches (pbj or cream cheese or cheese/prosciutto) and pizza.
Two weeks later, at Maya's birthday party, which was also a BBQ, he absolutely refused to touch a hotdog or a burger. Instead, he laid the hotdog on the side and proceeded to eat the bun with ketchup.
Last weekend at Beth's football tailgate, he also refused any sort of food (he did nibble on something.) I was actually jealous of Sam, whom I observed eating fruit and a burger.
Apart from ketchup, his eyes light up for pizza. I'm not sure what so magical about pizza suddenly.
He also still seems to be stuck on the yogurt kick. While I've stopped buying yoyobaby yogurt, I did buy some regular yogurts last week, which he ate. Since then he's been telling us "kupit yogurt." My mom will finally acquisce tomorrow and take him yogurt shopping.
He also likes to eat out. He eats better at a restaurant (beans at a Mexican restaurant, where last time I also managed to give him spinach-filled quesadilla by calling it pizza, and rice and sandwiches at Lebanese Taverna) and will definitely try free samples at Trader Joe's and Costco's.
Last summer and fall, Ivan was crazy about fruit. He went through a pear, blueberry and grape phase. But for the last few months, he's very fruit averse. At least I thought he was eating apple sauce we give him for lunch. It was one container that consistenly wasn't making it back home. Unfortunately, last week, Ms. Yvonne told us not to give it to him anymore because he never eats it. They open it and then have to throw it. (This past week, to prove her point I guess, she repacked the apple sauce so we can see for ourselves that he's not eating it.)
For now, he's still crazy about bananas. I hope that lasts.
And I hope he starts eating fruits and veggies sometime soon.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Ultimate Toy
On Saturday, we found the ultimate toy for Ivan.
The $5.99 power strip set from Ikea. Two power strips for the prices of one. He spent the entire weekend and this week playing with this power strips and his wire assortment. The strips and the wires actually had to come to the bathroom with us on Sunday during bath time; otherwise, I couldn't lure him into the bathroom.
The cords just waited for us on the floor. They're obviously not plugged in anywhere. And in the bathtub, his one and only fascination is sometimes with his bath toys, but usually with the faucet and the hand-held shower head.)
We had been joking for over a year that we sshould buy Ivan a power strip cord since he likes to plug and unplug his wires into one another. Well, now we did it. We should've done it sooner. Now he can plug and unplug his wires all day long.
I think his almost two-year long wire and "bup" (e.g. hole) fascination is hysterical, but I really need to be careful how I present it to people.
A mother letting a toddler play with wires. It sounds like a child services case.
But he has absolutely no interest in plugging the wires into actual outlets, which are all covered, and for which he learned early on that they're "hot, hot" and now "no, no, no touch, no touch." He just like to ravel and unravel the wires, plug them into the cell phone or his silver radio, and put them to the left of him, then to the right of him.
I really don't understand what is so fascinating about wires and why they're more fun to play with than actual toys, but then again, I'm not him.
I think it's because he knows they are "real" and have a purpose, unlike toys, which are just toys. And he definitely likes to figure out how things work.
Who knows maybe he becomes some really brilliant engineer or inventor?
The $5.99 power strip set from Ikea. Two power strips for the prices of one. He spent the entire weekend and this week playing with this power strips and his wire assortment. The strips and the wires actually had to come to the bathroom with us on Sunday during bath time; otherwise, I couldn't lure him into the bathroom.
The cords just waited for us on the floor. They're obviously not plugged in anywhere. And in the bathtub, his one and only fascination is sometimes with his bath toys, but usually with the faucet and the hand-held shower head.)
We had been joking for over a year that we sshould buy Ivan a power strip cord since he likes to plug and unplug his wires into one another. Well, now we did it. We should've done it sooner. Now he can plug and unplug his wires all day long.
I think his almost two-year long wire and "bup" (e.g. hole) fascination is hysterical, but I really need to be careful how I present it to people.
A mother letting a toddler play with wires. It sounds like a child services case.
But he has absolutely no interest in plugging the wires into actual outlets, which are all covered, and for which he learned early on that they're "hot, hot" and now "no, no, no touch, no touch." He just like to ravel and unravel the wires, plug them into the cell phone or his silver radio, and put them to the left of him, then to the right of him.
I really don't understand what is so fascinating about wires and why they're more fun to play with than actual toys, but then again, I'm not him.
I think it's because he knows they are "real" and have a purpose, unlike toys, which are just toys. And he definitely likes to figure out how things work.
Who knows maybe he becomes some really brilliant engineer or inventor?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Pregnancy Screen Testing
Since I'm AMG, that is "Advanced Maternal Age," the first time we went to see the obgyn she presented us with options and choices to do various screening tests, standarly offered to pregnant women over 35.
After some thought, Andy and I decided to do the nuchal translucency screen testing, which tests for Down Syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. It's the earliest test available, at 10-12 weeks, and the least invasive one, I thought. It basically consists of a finger prick for blood and a sonogram. It's a screening test, not a diagnostic test like CVS (not the drug store) or the amnio. So the test can give you the odds but not tell for sure.
We went in for testing two Fridays ago. I went it very confident and nonchalant about it. (Just like I did for Ivan's first sonogram.)
Before the sonogram, the doctor walked us through everything, including the chart that hung on the wall, which basically spelled out the odds of a woman carrying a child with those defects solely based on her age.
I was aghast. At 36 my odds of having a child with Down Syndrome were 1/295. I found those odds dismally low. At 33, the odds were 1/650 (or something along those numbers). So in three years, the odds doubled. Scary. While I obviously know that fertility takes a dive at 35 and then a serious nosedive at 39, I really wasn't well aware of these health stats. I knew the risks increase with age, but I never knew exactly what that meant. And since at 33, the medical establishment doesn't recommend or really suggests these tests, I was blissfully ignorant.
Now, I know more than a half of dozen of women who had their first and second child late into their 30s or early 40s. All the children have been born healthy. (If there were some pregnancies in between where the testing didn't show positive results and other measures were taken, that's obviously a private matter that I wouldn't be aware of).
I started thinking about all these healthy professional colleagues and friends who had relatively healthy pregnancies, gave birth easily and now have beautiful children. So natural and normal. But sitting in that sonogram room, my confidence and views slowly started to unravel. The odds just aren't good. Is it possible that all these women I know just simply beat the odds? Will I beat the odds as well?
The sonogram went fine. The nuchal thickness, which the doctor was measuring for, measured at 1.7 mm (I think), which is well within the normal range. (2.5mm is cause for concern).
All that was left was to wait for the blood test. I didn't think about it at first, until I came home a few days later and the genetic counselor left a message to call her. Anxiety set it. What it things aren't good?
I called her first thing in the morning. Everything is fine, she said. Based on the testing, the Down Syndrome odds decreased to 1/1195, which is well within the normal range. To refer back to the chart, I asked her how do those odds compare to a woman's age. Like a woman in her early 20s, she said.
(The Trisomy odds decreased by alot too. They went down from 1/1000 to 1/7000, or something. Since that risk is so much smaller, I didn't catch the precise numbers.)
Right around this time--after the sonogram and before the blood test results--I had lunch with a colleague, who's a year older and who had a baby a year after I had Ivan. Turns out she's also pregnant. She's due three days before I am. But she wasn't telling anyone yet. She did the nuchal translucency, but at a different hospital. Her results were also good. I guess instead of giving her exact numbers, she just got a very general statement about the test being positive or negative. I don't recall the precise wording.
When we spoke, she was up in arms and torn with anxiety whether to do the amnio or not. Just to be sure. She wasn't sure what she'd do if she found out that the result wasn't good. On the other hand, since there is a risk of miscarriage with amnio, she couldn't forgive herself if amnio were to trigger the miscarriage. She was really torn about what to do.
While initially I had made up my mind not to do anything else if the nuchal test comes out OK, talking to her shook me up a bit. While I really hadn't give these issues post-nuchal test any thought---I was going to wait for the nuchal results and then take it one day at the time--she had overthought the issue.
We parted without any clear resolution. I don't now what she's decided to do. She's away now. I'll ask her when she returns.
After some thought, Andy and I decided to do the nuchal translucency screen testing, which tests for Down Syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. It's the earliest test available, at 10-12 weeks, and the least invasive one, I thought. It basically consists of a finger prick for blood and a sonogram. It's a screening test, not a diagnostic test like CVS (not the drug store) or the amnio. So the test can give you the odds but not tell for sure.
We went in for testing two Fridays ago. I went it very confident and nonchalant about it. (Just like I did for Ivan's first sonogram.)
Before the sonogram, the doctor walked us through everything, including the chart that hung on the wall, which basically spelled out the odds of a woman carrying a child with those defects solely based on her age.
I was aghast. At 36 my odds of having a child with Down Syndrome were 1/295. I found those odds dismally low. At 33, the odds were 1/650 (or something along those numbers). So in three years, the odds doubled. Scary. While I obviously know that fertility takes a dive at 35 and then a serious nosedive at 39, I really wasn't well aware of these health stats. I knew the risks increase with age, but I never knew exactly what that meant. And since at 33, the medical establishment doesn't recommend or really suggests these tests, I was blissfully ignorant.
Now, I know more than a half of dozen of women who had their first and second child late into their 30s or early 40s. All the children have been born healthy. (If there were some pregnancies in between where the testing didn't show positive results and other measures were taken, that's obviously a private matter that I wouldn't be aware of).
I started thinking about all these healthy professional colleagues and friends who had relatively healthy pregnancies, gave birth easily and now have beautiful children. So natural and normal. But sitting in that sonogram room, my confidence and views slowly started to unravel. The odds just aren't good. Is it possible that all these women I know just simply beat the odds? Will I beat the odds as well?
The sonogram went fine. The nuchal thickness, which the doctor was measuring for, measured at 1.7 mm (I think), which is well within the normal range. (2.5mm is cause for concern).
All that was left was to wait for the blood test. I didn't think about it at first, until I came home a few days later and the genetic counselor left a message to call her. Anxiety set it. What it things aren't good?
I called her first thing in the morning. Everything is fine, she said. Based on the testing, the Down Syndrome odds decreased to 1/1195, which is well within the normal range. To refer back to the chart, I asked her how do those odds compare to a woman's age. Like a woman in her early 20s, she said.
(The Trisomy odds decreased by alot too. They went down from 1/1000 to 1/7000, or something. Since that risk is so much smaller, I didn't catch the precise numbers.)
Right around this time--after the sonogram and before the blood test results--I had lunch with a colleague, who's a year older and who had a baby a year after I had Ivan. Turns out she's also pregnant. She's due three days before I am. But she wasn't telling anyone yet. She did the nuchal translucency, but at a different hospital. Her results were also good. I guess instead of giving her exact numbers, she just got a very general statement about the test being positive or negative. I don't recall the precise wording.
When we spoke, she was up in arms and torn with anxiety whether to do the amnio or not. Just to be sure. She wasn't sure what she'd do if she found out that the result wasn't good. On the other hand, since there is a risk of miscarriage with amnio, she couldn't forgive herself if amnio were to trigger the miscarriage. She was really torn about what to do.
While initially I had made up my mind not to do anything else if the nuchal test comes out OK, talking to her shook me up a bit. While I really hadn't give these issues post-nuchal test any thought---I was going to wait for the nuchal results and then take it one day at the time--she had overthought the issue.
We parted without any clear resolution. I don't now what she's decided to do. She's away now. I'll ask her when she returns.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Toddler Logic
When there is no more yogurt (because I either took it away or if we're really out) or any other food for that matter, Ivan responds with a concerned "nema" and then tells me "kupit."
"Bus, bus," Ivan yells when he sees a bus on the street. When the bus then takes off disappearing from his view, while we're still waiting at the light, he tells us "nema," meaning there is no more bus. "Kupit," is his answer to bus's disappearance.
"Broken, broken," is one of his favorite words to yell out loud. Most things are broken, according to him, even those that we try to assure him still work fine.
If "fake it, fake it," which stands for "fix it, fix it" won't work--as I often try to explain to him that not all things that get broken can be fix-- "kupit" becomes his answer.
("Yes, it's broken, but who broke it?" I like to ask. "Ee, ee," he responds, proud of himself for having been the one who broke it.)
So what's "kupit"? It's Croatian for "to buy."
In other words, as Ivan has started to acquire language (both Croatian and English) and started to communicate, he's also started to reason things out.
Right now, that coherent view basically consists of him deducing that if something gets taken away, goes away or gets broken, the only answer is that that thing is "kupit" (is bought).
He's also starting to pretend play, which is good. One of the things he likes to do, which I assume is pretend play, is to do something, like throw Medic, whom he calls "menic" down the stairs and then ask in a very, very concerned voice "What happened? Fell down." As in Medic fell down.
We try to explain cause and effect---Medic didn't fall down. Ivan threw him down the stairs and that's what happened. I don't think he gets it. Or maybe just doesn't care to get it.
"Look at this," is another recent favorite phrase of his. He doesn't say it as if "oh mamma, look, isn't this cool?" His intonation is rather one of annoyance and disbelief and is accompanied by him pointing his hand at the offending sight, as if he's looking at someone's mess that he'll need to clean up.
It cracks us up. An annoyed toddler.
He must have learned all these phrases at daycare because I'm not aware that either Andy or myself say "what happened or look at this."
I really need to tape it but, alas, the camera is never ready to capture these fleeting moments.
"Bus, bus," Ivan yells when he sees a bus on the street. When the bus then takes off disappearing from his view, while we're still waiting at the light, he tells us "nema," meaning there is no more bus. "Kupit," is his answer to bus's disappearance.
"Broken, broken," is one of his favorite words to yell out loud. Most things are broken, according to him, even those that we try to assure him still work fine.
If "fake it, fake it," which stands for "fix it, fix it" won't work--as I often try to explain to him that not all things that get broken can be fix-- "kupit" becomes his answer.
("Yes, it's broken, but who broke it?" I like to ask. "Ee, ee," he responds, proud of himself for having been the one who broke it.)
So what's "kupit"? It's Croatian for "to buy."
In other words, as Ivan has started to acquire language (both Croatian and English) and started to communicate, he's also started to reason things out.
Right now, that coherent view basically consists of him deducing that if something gets taken away, goes away or gets broken, the only answer is that that thing is "kupit" (is bought).
He's also starting to pretend play, which is good. One of the things he likes to do, which I assume is pretend play, is to do something, like throw Medic, whom he calls "menic" down the stairs and then ask in a very, very concerned voice "What happened? Fell down." As in Medic fell down.
We try to explain cause and effect---Medic didn't fall down. Ivan threw him down the stairs and that's what happened. I don't think he gets it. Or maybe just doesn't care to get it.
"Look at this," is another recent favorite phrase of his. He doesn't say it as if "oh mamma, look, isn't this cool?" His intonation is rather one of annoyance and disbelief and is accompanied by him pointing his hand at the offending sight, as if he's looking at someone's mess that he'll need to clean up.
It cracks us up. An annoyed toddler.
He must have learned all these phrases at daycare because I'm not aware that either Andy or myself say "what happened or look at this."
I really need to tape it but, alas, the camera is never ready to capture these fleeting moments.
Primordial Glee
Like all toddlers, Ivan wears his emotions on his sleeve. That internal filter really hasn't been set up yet. As some BabyCenter post I saw a while ago said, "toddlers live large and love large" or something to that extent.
So when he's cranky, he's cranky. And eventually, lays down on the floor in protest.
When we say he can't have something, he, of course, throws a temper tantum. (And, amazingly, they tend to be effective most of the time, except when we're absolutely adamant about him not having or doing something.)
When he doesn't want to do something (like take a bath, take off his pajama, or put on his pajamas, or diapers, or clothes), there is no way to get him to do it. The best strategy is to wait a while, have him get distracted by something else, and then try again, and again, and again. Eventually, half an hour, or one hour later, he acquiesces and I achieve my goal, what ever it may be.
But also, when he's happy and excited about something, his exuberance can only be described as primordial glee.
Like, in a store, when he runs yelling, "I find it," heading for the milk or the yo-yo aisle. Or when he exclaims "yeeeeaaahh" for something that pleases him or something he's accomplished. Or simply when he cracks up laughing those belly laughes because it's "fun" "funny," whatever it may be.
So when he's cranky, he's cranky. And eventually, lays down on the floor in protest.
When we say he can't have something, he, of course, throws a temper tantum. (And, amazingly, they tend to be effective most of the time, except when we're absolutely adamant about him not having or doing something.)
When he doesn't want to do something (like take a bath, take off his pajama, or put on his pajamas, or diapers, or clothes), there is no way to get him to do it. The best strategy is to wait a while, have him get distracted by something else, and then try again, and again, and again. Eventually, half an hour, or one hour later, he acquiesces and I achieve my goal, what ever it may be.
But also, when he's happy and excited about something, his exuberance can only be described as primordial glee.
Like, in a store, when he runs yelling, "I find it," heading for the milk or the yo-yo aisle. Or when he exclaims "yeeeeaaahh" for something that pleases him or something he's accomplished. Or simply when he cracks up laughing those belly laughes because it's "fun" "funny," whatever it may be.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Ivan and Mariposa Conversing
"No, no, no, no. No touch, no touch. Mama, Dadda. No, no touch."
Ivan was giving Mariposa the lay of the land, otherwise known as our bedroom, last night during the after-bath-before-bedtime, while Andy and I were chilling in the second bedroom, waiting for Ivan to come back so we can put diapers and pajamma on him (otherwise prounounced "jamma").
We were cracking up. He must have been pointing to our stuff---what belongs to mama and what belongs to dadda.
He's also learned the word quiet, so he now tells Mariposa "quyat" every time she barks. He also shakes his finger at her to scold her, because he sees me doing the same thing.
Ivan was giving Mariposa the lay of the land, otherwise known as our bedroom, last night during the after-bath-before-bedtime, while Andy and I were chilling in the second bedroom, waiting for Ivan to come back so we can put diapers and pajamma on him (otherwise prounounced "jamma").
We were cracking up. He must have been pointing to our stuff---what belongs to mama and what belongs to dadda.
He's also learned the word quiet, so he now tells Mariposa "quyat" every time she barks. He also shakes his finger at her to scold her, because he sees me doing the same thing.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Facial Cream
A few weeks ago, while we were all getting ready in the morning, I found Ivan quietly sitting on the floor in the spare bedroom with his back turned to me.
I had thought that he was with Andy while I was in the bathroom. But then I heard Andy moving around downstairs...and realized Ivan wasn't with him.
Since he was quiet, I figured something must be up. When I found him in the room, he turned to me with the biggest and proudest smile on his face.
I turned pale. His face was white covered with a thick layer of cream. His lips had a thick layer of cream. His hands were also covered in cream, as was most of his shirt, the shirt we had just managed to dress him in for daycare.
Ivan had smeared diaper cream all over himself. "I hope he didn't eat any of it," was all I could think of.
I reasoned he did it because he seem Mommy put lotion on her face and her body.
I wiped the cream off his face with a tissue, because it's obviously not water soluble. I hoped he didn't eat of it. He refused to let me change his previously clean shirt.
So he was off to daycare, greasy, ghastly and pastly pale, with big white smudges on the navy blue polo shirt.
I should've taken a photo of him because in retrospect it was really funny. I just couldn't find humor in it at that very moment, as we were running behind.
I had thought that he was with Andy while I was in the bathroom. But then I heard Andy moving around downstairs...and realized Ivan wasn't with him.
Since he was quiet, I figured something must be up. When I found him in the room, he turned to me with the biggest and proudest smile on his face.
I turned pale. His face was white covered with a thick layer of cream. His lips had a thick layer of cream. His hands were also covered in cream, as was most of his shirt, the shirt we had just managed to dress him in for daycare.
Ivan had smeared diaper cream all over himself. "I hope he didn't eat any of it," was all I could think of.
I reasoned he did it because he seem Mommy put lotion on her face and her body.
I wiped the cream off his face with a tissue, because it's obviously not water soluble. I hoped he didn't eat of it. He refused to let me change his previously clean shirt.
So he was off to daycare, greasy, ghastly and pastly pale, with big white smudges on the navy blue polo shirt.
I should've taken a photo of him because in retrospect it was really funny. I just couldn't find humor in it at that very moment, as we were running behind.
Josh Groban's Music
Ivan spent the Sunday night at my parents' house. We spent the entire day there and then decided to leave Ivan overnight since it was too late to transport him home.
As usual, after my mom and I gave Ivan a bath, he refused to go to bed but had to chill out and linger around and run all over the place.
But then he noticed the TV. MPT was showing a Josh Groban concert.
Ivan made himself comfortable in one of the Ikea Boliden chairs (My parents used to have two, but since Ivan likes to relax in one, they bought a third one, just for him) and watched.
He was mesmerized by the concert. I've never seen him focus on TV for such a long period of time. He was intently listening to the music and observing the close up shots of instruments they showed--piano, guitar and violin. He was fully engrossed in the music.
Then during the commercial break (really one of those "call now and support the TV station breaks"), he went downstairs, sat at the electric piano and started "playing," e.g. banging on the keys.
Now I wonder whether he has a natural inclination for music. Should I sign him up for piano lessons?
Of course, I intend to sign him up for piano classes within the next two years. I've known this before Ivan was even born. Although I suffered through a tone-deaf childhood of years of piano classes, now as an adult, I'm really pleased that I had that experience. Of the numerous extracurricular sporty, dancy and artistic activities I tried as a kid, that was the one my parents (and grandparents) insisted I keep up (although I truly sucked at it. I was actually told during a solfeggio class to lower my voice as I was throwing other kids off. So much for building a 6 year-olds self esteem). I only wish now that my parents insisted I kept up with some other activities I started and dropped. Who knows I might have been more successful at them.
So with that hindsight, I think it will be perfectly acceptable for Ivan (and whoever this other baby is) to suffer through childhood of piano lessons and other sporty and artsy activities they will be enrolled in due time
As usual, after my mom and I gave Ivan a bath, he refused to go to bed but had to chill out and linger around and run all over the place.
But then he noticed the TV. MPT was showing a Josh Groban concert.
Ivan made himself comfortable in one of the Ikea Boliden chairs (My parents used to have two, but since Ivan likes to relax in one, they bought a third one, just for him) and watched.
He was mesmerized by the concert. I've never seen him focus on TV for such a long period of time. He was intently listening to the music and observing the close up shots of instruments they showed--piano, guitar and violin. He was fully engrossed in the music.
Then during the commercial break (really one of those "call now and support the TV station breaks"), he went downstairs, sat at the electric piano and started "playing," e.g. banging on the keys.
Now I wonder whether he has a natural inclination for music. Should I sign him up for piano lessons?
Of course, I intend to sign him up for piano classes within the next two years. I've known this before Ivan was even born. Although I suffered through a tone-deaf childhood of years of piano classes, now as an adult, I'm really pleased that I had that experience. Of the numerous extracurricular sporty, dancy and artistic activities I tried as a kid, that was the one my parents (and grandparents) insisted I keep up (although I truly sucked at it. I was actually told during a solfeggio class to lower my voice as I was throwing other kids off. So much for building a 6 year-olds self esteem). I only wish now that my parents insisted I kept up with some other activities I started and dropped. Who knows I might have been more successful at them.
So with that hindsight, I think it will be perfectly acceptable for Ivan (and whoever this other baby is) to suffer through childhood of piano lessons and other sporty and artsy activities they will be enrolled in due time
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Director
As he's becoming more eloquent, Ee Ee is turning into quite a little director, ordering all of us us what to do
For example, we get ordered to: "sit," "maki" (which stand more makni or move in Croatian), "nos" (nosi or carry in Croatian), and many other commands which I can't remember right now.
He also tries to correct Mariposa by waving his finger at her because that's what I do to him.
He also walks around saying "no, no, no touch, no touch" shaking his head and waving his hand at the thing (whatever it may be) that he's not allow to touch or do. It's really cute.
Also, for the last week or so he's been using this word "nunes." We have absolutely no clue what that means. He uses it in such a broad context that we haven't been able to attach it to anything specific. Not to mention that it sounds Spanish.
So I've started referring to us, the family, as The Nunez.
I wish I could someone attach a mike to him and tape him the entire day. I guess that's how they got Boo's voiceover for Monster's Inc. Following him around the whole day with a camcorder wouldn't work because he'd be too interested in the camera and couldn't ignore it.
I better look into some mike technology before it gets too late.
For example, we get ordered to: "sit," "maki" (which stand more makni or move in Croatian), "nos" (nosi or carry in Croatian), and many other commands which I can't remember right now.
He also tries to correct Mariposa by waving his finger at her because that's what I do to him.
He also walks around saying "no, no, no touch, no touch" shaking his head and waving his hand at the thing (whatever it may be) that he's not allow to touch or do. It's really cute.
Also, for the last week or so he's been using this word "nunes." We have absolutely no clue what that means. He uses it in such a broad context that we haven't been able to attach it to anything specific. Not to mention that it sounds Spanish.
So I've started referring to us, the family, as The Nunez.
I wish I could someone attach a mike to him and tape him the entire day. I guess that's how they got Boo's voiceover for Monster's Inc. Following him around the whole day with a camcorder wouldn't work because he'd be too interested in the camera and couldn't ignore it.
I better look into some mike technology before it gets too late.
Ivan Learns the Possessive
pronoun "maa." As of this weekend, Ivan, who has become a serious chatterbox, has decided that he'll announce to the world, meaning us who are around him, what is his.
He woke up on Saturday and proclaimed "maa house." He kept repeating it all day. When we got into the car, he announced "maa car." When he went to bed that night, he told us "maa house," "maa crib."
Yesterday when we pulled up to my parents' house, he announced "maa house." This morning when he woke up at my parents' house where he spent the night, my mom said the first thing she heard him say in his crib was "maa cars," pointing to the toy cars in the room.
At least he knows what's his.
I wonder what he does in daycare.
He woke up on Saturday and proclaimed "maa house." He kept repeating it all day. When we got into the car, he announced "maa car." When he went to bed that night, he told us "maa house," "maa crib."
Yesterday when we pulled up to my parents' house, he announced "maa house." This morning when he woke up at my parents' house where he spent the night, my mom said the first thing she heard him say in his crib was "maa cars," pointing to the toy cars in the room.
At least he knows what's his.
I wonder what he does in daycare.
Poop #2
Since that inaugural poopy in the potty weekend of two weekends ago, Ivan refused to use the potty until this weekend.
On Sunday morning as we were milling "outside, outside" on the porch at 6:30 a.m. he told me he had to poopy. Once again, I asked do you want to use the potty? Since I didn't get a resolute "nesche" or "no want to," I wisked him upstairs into the bathroom and took his pants and diaper off. We sat on and off on the potty but with no avail at first. He then lost focus and wanted me to stand him on the sink so he can explore the medicine cabinet... This went on for a good 20 minutes.
I had almost forgotten why we were hanging out in the bathroom, when he said poopy, sat on the potty and pooped a nice big hearty poop.
I was thrilled.
He watched me clean out the potty and drop the poop into the toilet.
"Bye poppy," he waved as we flushed the toilet.
So far, this poopy training has really been painless and totally initiated by Ivan.
On Sunday morning as we were milling "outside, outside" on the porch at 6:30 a.m. he told me he had to poopy. Once again, I asked do you want to use the potty? Since I didn't get a resolute "nesche" or "no want to," I wisked him upstairs into the bathroom and took his pants and diaper off. We sat on and off on the potty but with no avail at first. He then lost focus and wanted me to stand him on the sink so he can explore the medicine cabinet... This went on for a good 20 minutes.
I had almost forgotten why we were hanging out in the bathroom, when he said poopy, sat on the potty and pooped a nice big hearty poop.
I was thrilled.
He watched me clean out the potty and drop the poop into the toilet.
"Bye poppy," he waved as we flushed the toilet.
So far, this poopy training has really been painless and totally initiated by Ivan.
11 and a Half Weeks
I'm two days short of being 12 weeks pregnant. On one hand it's going so fast, on the other hand so slow. The slow part is getting over the nauseous pregnancy part. I've been living off cheese sandwiches for weeks now. It seems that the nausea/food quesiness issues have finally lifted today. I was hungry for lunch and ate dinner without a problem. I even peeled some potatoes to make mashed potatoes. Quite an improvement.
According to Baby Center, my 11 week-old baby is the size of a fig. Before it becames a human being, the site compares the fetus to various different sized fruits. Works for me. I know how big a fig is.
Some more info about the fig-sized 11-week old from Baby Center.
"See the big pictureHow your baby's growing:
Your baby, just over 1 1/2 inches long and about the size of a fig, is now almost fully formed. Her hands will soon open and close into fists, tiny tooth buds are beginning to appear under her gums, and some of her bones are beginning to harden.
She's already busy kicking and stretching, and her tiny movements are so effortless they look like water ballet. These movements will become more frequent as her body grows and becomes more developed and functional. You won't feel your baby's acrobatics for another month or two — nor will you notice the hiccupping that may be happening now that her diaphragm is forming."
According to Baby Center, my 11 week-old baby is the size of a fig. Before it becames a human being, the site compares the fetus to various different sized fruits. Works for me. I know how big a fig is.
Some more info about the fig-sized 11-week old from Baby Center.
"See the big pictureHow your baby's growing:
Your baby, just over 1 1/2 inches long and about the size of a fig, is now almost fully formed. Her hands will soon open and close into fists, tiny tooth buds are beginning to appear under her gums, and some of her bones are beginning to harden.
She's already busy kicking and stretching, and her tiny movements are so effortless they look like water ballet. These movements will become more frequent as her body grows and becomes more developed and functional. You won't feel your baby's acrobatics for another month or two — nor will you notice the hiccupping that may be happening now that her diaphragm is forming."
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