I was at the maternal fetal medicine/ultrasound unit at Lenox Hill yesterday for a weekly deep scan. Since week 35, when I come here, I feel a little on edge because I never know what they will find (or nitpick at). The maternal fetal medicine doctor who has been evaluating the baby’s growth and heart rate is also one of the directors of obstetrics at Lenox Hill, so the practice tends to take his recommendations very seriously. He’s also apparently extremely conservative and cautious as evidenced by not only my recent hospitalization, but the original insistence I stay at least TWO nights, and so I was bracing myself for more fetal monitoring today.

Well, the sonographer told me that the ultrasound all looked good; baby looks healthy and the blood/oxygen flow through the umbilical cord looks perfect. When she walked me to the waiting area to discuss with the doctor, I was surprised to see a new maternal fetal medicine specialist come over to greet me who I’d never met before. They said that they didn’t need to do fetal monitoring today since the last several weeks, everything looked good.

“The baby looks perfect,” she said, “No concerns at all!”

I asked her about the previous specialist’s suggestion of potential induction given the baby’s size, and she looked at me quizzically and reviewed some previous notes on my chart.

“Well, you’re Asian, and Asian babies tend to be smaller on average than Caucasian babies,” she said. “I’m assuming your husband is also of Asian descent, as well? Based on what I can see, I see no concerns as the baby looks very healthy. I see zero reason for inducing.”

Wow, some common sense for once. It was such a relief to hear this and to hear another specialist’s perspective. I hate all the interventions that are unnecessary, and I just want Pookie Bear and me to get out of this alive, healthy, and without endless, non-medically necessary procedures.

I finally ordered the little syringes that Chris’s cousin’s wife told me about to attempt to capture hand expressed colostrum before Pookie Bear arrives. So today, I sterilized the little syringes and attempted to express colostrum. I took a warm shower and thus heated my breasts, massaged them, and then tried to do the “C” shape around them to express colostrum… and well, nothing happened. It was a failure. Later in the evening, I tried again, this time warming my breasts up with a hot hand towel and massaging them, and still nothing. I was dismayed, but there’s no way I’m going to stop trying. I really want this to work. While I’ve read that even if you cannot do this successfully before the baby comes that this has zero bearing on whether you will be successful at breastfeeding, I still am determined to do this. I just need to focus on getting the technique right and continuing to try, as I’ve read that many other women struggled for the first several days of attempting a few times a day, and then miraculously as though out of nowhere, a few drops actually came out. And a few drops are all you really need each expressing session. The breast stimulation, if nothing else, is still supposed to help with future milk production, and so I’m hoping all this effort will be worth it.

I’m in week 38 of pregnancy, and I’m indulging in what will likely be my last prenatal massage before the baby comes. All my friends and Chris have thought I’ve been cheap about indulging in experiences like this, but hey, at least I booked a second massage given my piriformis muscle has been giving me issues in the last couple of weeks. It has not been as debilitating as the sciatica, but it’s definitely slowed me down and made simple things like squatting down to pick up items or even sitting down and getting out of a chair momentarily painful.

Yesterday, I went to get another prenatal massage with the same masseuse I saw in October, and I told her about my piriformis muscle pains in my butt. While she did spend more time on it for me, she said that unfortunately, the only “solution” for this was the baby coming out. As my hips continue to widen in preparation for labor and birth, this would cause more stress on my lower back and butt muscles and nerves, which is inevitably what is causing the pains in my butt. She said she was pretty sure the pain was manifesting itself in my piriformis, but it’s likely that the piriformis wasn’t just it when it came to the nerve compression; it was just my right butt cheek entirely.

It’s okay, though. All these little nuisances are worth it as long as my little Pookie Bear comes out healthy and happy.

I was walking back to our apartment this afternoon when I ran into one of the leasing agents for our building management. The last time we had spoken, I had shared that I was pregnant, so she asked me how I was feeling and how much longer I had to go.

“Okay, let me guess! You’re having a BOY!” she exclaimed excitedly, her eyes wide open and her smile even wider.

“No,” I said, laughing. “I’m having a girl. What makes you think that I’m having a boy?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re carrying very low, and I’ve been told that girls tend to sit very high while boys are very low,” she started. “And you are absolutely vibrant and glowing, and I’d heard that when you are carrying a girl, the girl will suck all the beauty out of you and you’ll have no color in your face and look tired all the time!”

“Wendy, you realize that’s all sexist bs, right?” I said to her, chuckling. “There’s no way to tell whether someone is carrying a boy or a girl just from how good their skin looks!! And not only that, I better be carrying low now and have the baby drop further down because we’re already at 37 weeks!”

It doesn’t seem to matter how recent or far back in time you go, or what culture you are referring to. So many sexist, misogynistic old wives’ tales are always being shared about girls… pretty much from the moment of conception. I am not a fan of perpetuating any of these terrible, outdated stereotypes and will call out the bullshit whenever and wherever I can to try to get people to stop repeating such garbage.

We’re about 36 weeks into this pregnancy, so really any day now, Pookie Bear could try to break out of jail and cause me a lot of mess to clean up. While others who have no clue tell me that I still have time, colleagues and friends who are moms tell me that I really should be wrapping up everything I need and want to get done… NOW. “I thought I had a lot of time,” a colleague told me today. “I was 36 weeks and 4 days and was at my OB’s office, and she told me there were no signs the baby was coming soon, so I should just keep working. That night, I woke up at 3am to my bed totally soaked. My water had broken!” Her baby was born about 20 hours later.

I think we have everything we absolutely need; if there’s anything else, the hospital will give it to us, or it’ll be a quick CVS trip or Amazon delivery. I know I need to sort through all of Pookie Bear’s gifts and wash her clothes. I actually don’t think we even have enough newborn onesies and sleepers for her that will fit. I still want to add more food to the freezer that is ready to eat. I was really looking forward to making lactation cookie dough balls for the freezer, as well as padsicles, even though that sounds very not-exciting.

I keep telling Pookie Bear every day that I want her to be a December baby, so keep baking in there and take her time. We have a short pep talk every day. Don’t do anything rash, Pookie Bear! Your mummy has a bunch of things she wants to do before your arrival.

I came into my OB’s office this morning for more fetal heart rate monitoring as well as an ultrasound. I originally had an appointment scheduled for this Friday, but we just moved it up to today given what happened this past weekend. Everything still looks good, according to the doctor, but the doctors all seem to be saying that Pookie Bear is measuring a bit small. As of today, her weight estimate according to the ultrasound is 5 lb. 2 oz. Ultrasounds are known to be off, and it’s usually plus or minus 10-15 percent, but the doctor said on average, babies at this stage could be around six pounds. So we don’t know what’s causing her slow down or if she’s just plateauing early. At all my appointments since about 24 weeks, I’ve been keeping track of Pookie Bear’s growth. Since week 28, she’s basically gained about one pound every two weeks, which is normal and healthy. At my week 34 appointment, my doctor said she was about 5 pounds, so to hear that in the last week and a half she has grown only about 2 ounces just didn’t seem right to me. And I couldn’t help but be concerned. But her heart rate is good, her breathing is good, and she’s super active, so what else could we possibly be doing to help her?

“When you become pregnant, that’s the moment you become a mom,” my therapist said. Pretty much every woman and every article or podcast you read/listen to says that. People who have never been pregnant or haven’t had kids think that a mom is born on the day the baby is born. But, frankly, that’s not really the case. The reason for that is that the moment you know you are pergnant, that’s really when your worries begin: are you eating enough? Is the baby growing enough? Is she going to be okay during this scan? Are your prenatal tests all going to come back normal? Am I exerting myself too much and harming my baby? If I get stressed, will it affect my baby negatively? Worrying seems to be part of being a mom; they are almost synonymous. I just have to keep hoping and praying my baby will be healthy and okay… and keep gaining weight.

Obviously, getting hospitalized unexpectedly threw a wrench into my weekend plans. I wasn’t able to see Ronny Chieng at the NY Comedy Festival as planned on Friday night, so I made Chris go without me. We were supposed to have my friend and her husband come over on Saturday for lunch, and they were also supposed to bring over hand-me-down baby items, so that got derailed. But luckily their schedule was flexible enough so that they came today instead. I had to shorten my menu of things I wanted to make and we supplemented with some takeout, but I still made the banh xeo I wanted with all its usual accompaniments, plus the alfajores (already made earlier in the week and just needed to be filled) and the passion fruit, raspberry, almond, and coconut cake I was eager to make.

Chris said that most people, after having been hospitalized unexpectedly, would likely return home from the hospital and lie down, lounge around the house and likely watch TV or do something mindless. Me, on the other hand? I went right into the kitchen and started cooking for several hours into the evening. Cooking and baking are therapeutic for me, and I wanted to make all these things anyway; I don’t really see it as “work” even if it can be perceived that way to most people. It’s what makes me happy. And I love feeding people and seeing their reactions to my food, especially when it’s either new to them or they just really like it. It felt so nice to have my next full day back home with my friends at our place. It actually felt like we weren’t in a pandemic during the afternoon we all spent together here. I miss hosting friends for meals. It’s sad to not have as many people to cook for and other people to have as my taste testing guinea pigs. Chris and I just can’t eat as much food.

I’d never been more grateful to be back in my own kitchen cooking or in my own bed sleeping as last night. And it’s almost as if Pookie Bear knew we were back home because she wasn’t squirming around quite as much as she was in the hospital. I just hope she’s okay. We went back to the hospital this morning for more fetal heart rate monitoring and an ultrasound, and the doctors said she still looks good. I want her to be a full-term baby so she can be as grown as possible. While premie babies will eventually be fine, it still kind of worries me because premies are more likely to have jaundice or to have difficulties latching and breast feeding. They’re also more likely to need assistance breathing, but luckily from what we can see on the ultrasound, Pookie Bear is doing a great job practicing breathing already.

When the resident doctor had mentioned the absolute worst case scenario of potentially having to get induced, I also felt saddened because that was like jabbing at my idealized birth story, where I’d go into labor and have a long early labor in the comfort of my own home, eventually make it to the hospital with Chris and my doula and have a vaginal birth. Instead, if I got induced, I’d be at the hospital the whole time, which would really annoy me. And being there, more interventions would likely be pressured upon me, including a c-section. While I cannot prevent what random circumstances arise during labor, I’ve been mentally very resistant to the idea of a c-section; the idea of surgery terrifies me, and the recovery is arguably even more terrifying from what friends and family have told me. I hate the idea of being dependent on other people for everything, which is likely what would happen if I had to have a c-section. A friend recently gave birth, and she could barely get out of bed without pain, so her husband literally had to do everything. For the first month, she wasn’t even able to change her baby’s diapers, and she felt guilty because of it. But I realize that I need to be a little bit more open minded to prevent myself from getting too traumatized. Birth is unpredictable, and I can’t be too rigid because that will just result in a lot of disappointment and resentment.

After an annoying night being hospitalized, I had only a few hours of sleep. A nurse came in every few hours to check on my vitals and to ensure that the fetal heart rate monitor was still in the right place. Pookie Bear clearly knew what was up, as she was far more active during the time we were in the hospital than before; it’s like she knew we were in some foreign place and was constantly squirming and kicking around to signal her distaste for the current situation. Because she wouldn’t be still, that also caused the nurses to check up on me more to adjust the fetal heart monitor on my belly.

Early in the morning, the doctor from my OB practice came to check in on me, and she shared that the good news was that not only did the bloodwork come back normal, but overnight there were no heart rate drops detected. So if all continued through this afternoon, I’d be able to be discharged. I was happy to hear this, though I wasn’t sure what they’d actually tell me at a check-in later. Chris eventually came, and he was also there when the doctor came back to tell me that after consulting with the maternal fetal medicine specialist who originally had me come to triage, he insisted that I stay ANOTHER night for monitoring to ensure the baby was really okay. This was despite the fact that no heart rate drops were detected in this entire 24-hour period. This is NOT what we agreed to and discussed yesterday. And that’s when Chris really lost it. I didn’t even have a chance to react until he went nuts on the doctor.

“This is too much!” he insisted. “Why don’t you just monitor her and have her hooked up until she delivers in a few weeks then? The American healthcare system is known for over testing and doing too many interventions, and yet despite all of this, the outcomes are not better here; they are WORSE!”

The doctor asked if he was an OB-GYN; Chris got even more crazy and retorted back, “Don’t patronize me!” I could barely keep a straight face. My eyes were wide open. This was all happening so quickly and I barely even had time to process what was being exchanged and could not even react. I’m too slow.

Eventually, we agreed to a compromise: I would be discharged, but I would need to come into the triage unit again tomorrow morning for about an hour of fetal monitoring. Then on Monday, I’d come in for more fetal monitoring and an ultrasound at the OB’s office. On Wednesday, I’d come back to maternal fetal medicine for monitoring and another ultrasound to ensure the placenta was delivering enough oxygen and blood to the baby. Did this sound like a lot? Yes, but it was a compromise, and I obviously also wanted peace of mind that Pookie Bear was going to be okay and healthy.

It felt really good to finally go home, though. I felt annoyed and anxious at the hospital, and now I don’t even know if my baby is growing enough. So there are so many unknowns now that I’m concerned about, and only time will tell if we will all be okay. The doctor insisted the baby would be fine regardless of what path we took and her life wasn’t in danger, but I can’t help but have that fear in the back of my mind that something else may go wrong.