Highs and Lows

For most of this pregnancy, my stomach was so high that my boobs rested on it if I sat slouchily-- which I have been known to do. A couple of weeks ago my stomach suddenly dropped, much to DH's concern. I look much smaller now. But now the tummy is resting on my lap!

I don't remember such a dramatic change happening in my previous pregnancies. Well, they say that each one is unique and each of mine have definitely been different from each other.

One thing that is consistent from the last pregnancy to this one is that my face has grown fat now towards the end. SORRY-- I mean, I have filled out. Don't want to cause angst to any first time pregolas reading this blog (assuming anyone reads it). Don't worry, it's just water (or chocolate) and it'll go away as soon as the baby is born.

Second Trimester Begins, Sleepiness Continues.

This pregnancy has been way crazier than my last two. I am so worn out by the end of the day-- no matter what my day consisted of-- that I'm fast asleep by 9pm. Then I wrench myself out of my son's bed around 10, shuffle to my bed, put my head on the cool pillow 'just for a few minutes' before opening my eyes at 11 or so when I finally give up my idea of folding the laundry. I change into my PJs and officially go to sleep.
I'm already into the second trimester! I'm worried that this pregnancy is going to be worse than my last one during which I was exhausted for the entire period. I don't know if I ever saw midnight.
I shouldn't complain. My nausea is all but gone. I still don't have much of an appetite for things I used to crave, but at least I am not having to deal with the constant feeling of having to throw up. I did have a third barf in the first semester that I didn't write about -- probably because I was sleeping. But that was over 3 weeks ago and I have felt better ever since.

Slowly Moving Forward and Back and One Barf

I finally made a Dr.'s appointment. It's not for another week but that was all I could get. I have no idea how pregnant I actually am. I'm guessing somewhere around 2 months.

I have been doing ok, all things considered. I remember my first two pregnancies-- me falling asleep as I taught an online class and being woken up by my students wondering what was taking me so long to answer their questions. That was P1. Or P2, me, sitting on the couch, completely unable to move for fear that I will aggravate my nausea and having DH bring me carrot sticks, the only thing I could fathom eating. Those are both first trimester stories.

This time things have been pretty mild. I was hovering around somewhere just below normal-- pretty tired, especially after the kid's bedtime when I pretty much crash. Also mildly nauseous but not enough to stop me from doing most things.

That was all true until a couple of nights ago when, after a slightly long car ride with my DH at the wheel, I had no choice but to leave him with the kids and the bags and retreat into bed. I was so nauseous and tired that I just couldn't function. I fell asleep but that didn't stop the nausea. When I awoke a few hours later I sat up in bed and tried to gauge my status. I didn't have to do much guessing. I got that feeling and made for the bathroom. Barf. Hopefully the first and last one of this pregnancy. It didn't even make the nausea go completely away, and it left me feeling completely wiped out, sitting on my son's pee-pee stool and waiting for some external influence to decide my next move. Because I was still nauseous I was afraid to even rinse out my mouth or take a drink or eat anything. I went back to bed and had DH handle all the crying calls from the kids for the rest of the night. At one point DS came over to our bed as he usually does. Usually it's fine but this time he was bouncing around and kicking me in the stomach. Besides a lack of sleep, I felt like I was on a turbulent flight. This was not the recovery scenario I needed.

Because he'd been up so much during the night, I felt like I should get up with the kids in the morning. That's when I finally had some apple juice to soothe my parched mouth. DH replaced me about an hour later and that's when I finally got some rest. When we went out that day, however, I felt really short of breath and found it very difficult to stand. We were in a big-box store and there was nowhere to sit. I found a rolling set of stairs and perched on there for a while. Finally I realized that the reason I wasn't able to get air into my lungs was because my bra was too tight. I haven't worn one since. Thank God the weather is cool enough to wear a bulky sweater.

The Signs

The signs have been there for a few weeks already. Unexpected bouts of emotion (usually I consider myself rather dry in that department), advancing fatigue, pimple popping and, oh yeah. Remember my last posting? Let's follow that up with Period. Period. Period. No Period. Then there's the thirst. Boy oh boy, pass the water bottle!

As if I needed confirmation, I peed in a cup and DH (he didn't want the news over the phone or in a text message like last time) eyedropped it into the little cassette (that's what it's called in the packaging) and read the results to me with a smile. I took it from him, barely glanced at it, stuck it on a shelf for further examination, and went back to making school lunches. It's still sitting there, actually, but I'll take his word for it. After all... all the signs are there.

Remember The Tooth?

I thought that my pregnancy woes would end after I gave birth but no, some things linger on (besides my muffin top.)

Faithful readers will recall that I had more than a wee bit of trouble with my teeth during pregnancy. Well, my post pregnancy teeth weren't fully recovered. The one tooth I had treated was still sensitive until last week when all of a sudden the pain went away. Odd. Then I developed a bump on my gum just above that tooth. Odder. Actually, a bump on your gum is kind of scary. To make a long story short, it turned out to be an abscess-- a bubble of infection above my now necrotic tooth and I had to get a root canal in it. Turns out I'd had an infection there probably the whole time which eventually reached the bone. The tooth then died. Most unpleasant and, worse, expensive. I've become an avid flosser.

Did I already write a post about memory loss and pregnancy?

Just kidding!!!

Grey Hair

Kids. What they do to you. DH has told me several times in the past that I have a grey hair sprouting. I have never believed him. But today I saw one sprouting right up in the middle of my forehead. This even has made me feel 'old' in the way that no other event has. I have friends who've been sprouting grey hairs since they were in middle school-- mostly people with dark hair-- but it was never something I had. So on me grey = aging. Them's the breaks, I guess.

Mommy Brain

When I was pregnant this time I had what they called 'pregnancy brain.' I don't think that's the official medical term but it sure does paint the picture. I called it 'train leaving the station brain' because that's what it felt like. An idea would pop in but it would pull out of my brain before I had time to access it.

Pregnancy brain didn't end so much with the end of my pregnancy. It's only this week that I'm finding myself feeling somewhat organized and getting things done. Some of this might have to do with the fact that DD is now sitting and can entertain herself in this position for longer periods of time so I actually can get things done.

Whatever the reason is, it's a good feeling. DH also likes it. It's the first time our entire apartment has been clean at the same time since we moved in 4 months ago.

Hair Loss Woes Continued

At 5.5 months post partum, I think my hair loss is finally slowing a bit. I think. I brushed it the other day and ended up with significantly less than an enormous clump of hair on my brush.

Pregnant or Not So Pregnant

This doesn't strictly belong in this blog, but I thought it would be interesting to readers who are looking for posts on body image and pregnancy.

I ran into a girl I haven't seen around for a few years. She's always been a heavyish girl. She got really big after she got married and had baby one and two. We talked a little bit about what we've each been up to. She was lookng pretty much the same as last time I saw her. Then she let the bomb drop. Something about "with this baby..." while indicating her stomach. I know she noticed the look of shock that crossed my face. Even though I now knew she was pregnant, she didn't look pregnant to me. Especially the advanced stages that she'd just confessed to. She simply looked like her regular heavy self. She was wearing a winter coat but it was open. Maybe that's what was hiding her maternal shape. I tried to cover it up without starting at her belly. "You look great!" I said (I meant it too). And I tried to change the subject. I think it worked. But it's not the first time that I made a pregnant or just recently birthed mom faux pas. By my count it's the fourth. I've had some real doozies.
But this incident made me wonder-- did she get pregnant five years after her last child because she lost weight? Is her heaviness now all baby or is it just not popping that much? I don't dare ask.

postpartum hair loss

My hair was gorgeous during my pregnancy. I really enjoyed it. Now it is once again all over the house, the baby, my hands, everything. I am shedding like a cat. A sheddy cat. You'd think that at this rate I wouldn't have any hair left at all but it looks pretty much the same as usual, I guess. They say you lose about 100 hairs per day anyway. I'm probably losing about three times that amount, minimum. At leat this time 'round my hair is reasonably trimmed so that it's easy to brush. Last time I had to cut off 10 inches when my baby was 6 months old because it was taking me three-quarters of a hour each time to brush it and the resulting hairballs were as big as my fist. Guess I'll just have to wait for my hormones to rebalance themselves.

With Regards To Labor and Delivery

I just wanted to add something or, rather, emphasize something with regards to my labor and delivery story from a few days ago. Laboring at home for as long as possible was the best thing I ever did.
Right up until the moment I got in the car to go to the hospital, I was folding laundry, packing a hospital bag for my DH, playing with my son, checking my e-mail, blogging, and watching videos online that my sister was trying to entertain me with. It was not a panicked, clinical experience with people standing over me and monitoring me. It was almost enjoyable-- except for the pain. I was able to get into whatever positions I wanted to get through contractions. I could move around at will from room to room. I could eat and drink, and I did, knowing that I wouldn't be able to until after I had the baby and then only at the next hospital mealtime.
Maybe I was only able to do this because my contractions did not get really bad until the very end, but I have no point of comparison since I didn't go into labor naturally last time so I don't know what it's like otherwise.
Maybe I said all this already. But it makes me so happy to think about it.

Hair Hair

That great hair feeling I was enjoying throughout my pregnancy? No more. I've already begun finding long, wavy stray hairs on my clothes and on baby, and I don't think it's my new conditioner at fault here. It's those postpartum hormones making my nails crack and my hair fall out. Last time 'round, I had to cut my very very long hair after six months because it was taking me at least forty minutes to brush it every time I washed it and I just couldn't afford the time. The hair would fall out and get tangled in there. I would have to stop several times during the brushing and pull handfulls of hair out of my brush. My hair is very tangled on a regular basis and so I'm used to spending time getting knots out, but this was ridiculous. Cutting it helped because there was simply less to get tangled.
I got my hair styled about six months ago and haven't cut it since. I don't cut my hair very often. It's still in a stage where it's quite easy to get a brush through. Hopefully I won't have to do another drastic cut to get through this period.
Also, my beautiful nails from during pregnancy are starting to lose their strength. Sigh. There are some things about pregnancy that you can't wait to get rid of, and there are some things you wish you could keep.

Fit To All Appearances

Looking good at two and a half weeks postpartum. At least, that's what people are telling me. I went to drop off DS at nursery yesterday morning after going through my closet to figure out what I could now fit into. I think it's good to start phasing out my maternity clothes so that I have a real sense of where I am in terms of getting back to myself. Last time, I allowed myself six weeks to wear maternity clothes and then I put them all away and made myself face my closet.

Anyway, the skirt I wore yesterday was one I was able to wear through my pregnancy although it is just a regular stretchy denim skirt. The shirt is a very simple cotton t-shirt that I don't normally wear at all because it's so shapeless that I usually get lost in it. But now thanks to breastfeeding and my recent pregnancy, I'm a little more curvaceous and so I fit into it nicely.

The teachers and parents who haven't seen me since I gave birth were making all kinds of comments about how good I looked and how they look more pregnant than me.... I kept denying that I'd 'returned to my old body' because I know what lies beneath the facade of clothing.

The truth is, I'm fine with how I am right now. I'm not crazy: I just gave birth under three weeks ago. I don't expect to look like a runway model quite yet. I was somewhat surprised and pleased to find out how little I care about what others think about how I look. What really matters, as they say, is what's inside. In this case, I'll say what matters is what's inside my own head. You have to know in life to take things that other people say with a grain of salt. When it comes to the shape of my body, I guess the other opinion that matters besides my own is my husband's. So I'l keep it in the family.

Baby Bumpless: The After-Birth Belly

I should have done a day-by-day photograph of my belly. I'll have to do it next pregnancy. I'm talking now about my post-pregnancy belly. On the day after birth, it sagged like an enormous misplaced boob over where my waistband would have been had I not been clad in a hospital robe. By day 2 it hadn't changed much. On day three, by the time I came home from the hospital, it had regressed significantly. I still had a soft mushy belly, but it looked like the soft mushy belly of a soft mushy person.

Looking at pictures of myself from a day or two after that, I can see that I still looked a bit pregnant. However, within the fist week, I was already able to feel that I had a waist again. It was a very good feeling. I keep putting my hands there because I can't believe it. What a feeling! A waist.

Now, about two and a half weeks after delivery, my stomach is soft and mushy still but it's not so protruding anymore. I probably look like I could stand to lose a few pounds-- and I probably can. I only weighed myself once, and that was within a week of delivery. My stomach was down but my weight was still about twenty pounds more than my pre-pregnancy starting point.

Another thing is that I normally have very prominent hipbones. I wouldn't say that they are prominent now but I can feel them again. I also feel like my thighs and legs are on their way back to being what they were before I gave birth. I still think my butt looks big, but I've learned that a big butt is not necessarily a bad thing. Fashion models may have nearly nonexistent bottoms, but I think a little bit of roundness on a girl is a nice feature. I am normally quite angular.

My face has thinned out. DH observed that women who are about to give birth tend to bulk up around the face. I noticed this in a friend of mine as well who's about 37 weeks right now. She's a thin girl with a tiny bloop of a belly but her face looks swollen. Mine was like that towards the end, but it's thinned out now.

All this is without exercise or any special dieting. In fact, I just finished consuming an ice cream pop. I was all ready to start going shopping and wandering about town after the baby was born but then she got sick with fever at one week and landed in the hospital for three days. Of course, I went with her. We were all but quarrantined in our room. You don't want to wander around a germy children's ward with a newborn. I was totally paranoid about germs that whole time and also totally sedintery. I had DH bring me my yarn and I sat and crocheted the whole time. Ever since then, DH doesn't want me to take her out until she's at least a month and even when he's home, which isn't so often lately, it's hard for me to leave her b/c I'm breastfeeding. Pumping is an option but it's hard to find the opportunity.

Anyway, the point is that my body does seem to want to get back to its normal self. Now if only I could help out by getting some exercise.

I Love My Feet

I keep looking at my feet. They are so... gorgeous and shapely. Not at all like hot water bottles. I can't believe they're mine. And just think-- they were hidden under all that swelling all this time.

They didn't shrink back to size straightaway. They went down significantly immediately but they felt bruised and sore, which I guess they were. It didn't help that DS liked to step on them while they were huge.

It's only in the last couple of days that I've noticed the sinews showing through the skin again. I have very long, thin feet normally, so seeing sinew is normal for me.

Well, I'm glad to have them back. Now I can wear my crocs again! Can you believe I grew out of those too?

I'm Back With A Baby - My Labor and Delivery Story

For those of you who have been waiting with baited breath since my last blog posting, I apologize for nearly two week's delay. I could blame it on new motherhood, but that would be stretching the truth by about three days and I have about twelve days to account for. I have a very good excuse for the last four days which I'll share in another post.

When you last saw me, I was having contractions at home. They started in the morning after I noticed bloody show overnight. They were light and not really painful. DH had an exam in the afternoon and I took at walk and picked up DS from nursery, after which I went out for a falaffel and then stopped by the flower shop on the way home to pick up a thank-you gift for our friends who helped us out when I had that fever the week before. I even ran into them at the top of the street and they didn't notice anything. I didn't say anything.

Contractions started coming harder later in the afternoon. I would have to pause between blogging or cleaning or whatever I was doing, let it pass, and then go on. DS woke up and was climbing all over me. My sister arrived eventually and still I didn't want to go to the hospital, even though I knew (though I wasn't reporting to the waiting parties) that according to the five-minute rule, I should have gone already.

Laboring at home was the best thing I could have done. I wasn't being monitored or checked constantly. Nobody was holding me down or watching me or sticking needles in my arm. Nothing was strapped to me. I found a position or two that was ideal for waiting out contractions (on my hands and knees on the couch with my head on the armrest.) It was all very calm and, though I wouldn't quite call it pleasant, I can say that it was ideal conditions.

The contractions started getting bad and sweetly and without pressure, DH inquired when we would be leaving for the hospital. He was nervous that he'd have to do the job himself. I finally allowed him to convince me to leave the house when my water broke.

And then came the hardest part-- emotionally-- of the whole experience. I had to say goodbye to DS who I was seeing for the last time as an only child. Even thinking about it now is difficult. Fortunately, he had fallen fast asleep and didn't know that I spent more than a few moments lying beside him, stroking his hair, and apologizing. I know, I know, giving him a sibling is the best gift of all etc etc but it was still really tough on me. I knew that things were about to change forever. I'm not so good with change.

We ended up going to a different hospital than I had planned on since it was easier to walk to from our house and we wanted access. It's the same hospital where I gave birth to my son (after torturous procedures and interventions) nearly two years ago. It's not that the staff was bad. It's just that I had a bit of an emergency situation that time and it resulted in a very difficult birth.

I had awful contractions after that, and being in the car was pure torture. It's hard to relax into a contraction when you're strapped in to a bucket seat. Still, I was cautioning DH all the while to drive more carefully. The hospital is only 5 minutes away and though I could feel that the time to start pushing was near, I kept the news from him because he was already really nervous. He parked the car while an attendant helped me into a wheelchair and took a few details from me. I was going to refuse the chair but then I realized I had to get upstairs fast because the baby was on its way. DH arrived and we took off at a madcap down the hallway and up the elevator.

I was greeted at the labor ward by a midwife who made me get on a bed and strapped a monitor across my belly despite my protests. "We have to know how the baby is doing" she said. I hate that. The baby was on its way out one way or the other. In the meantime I was expected to lie obediently in whatever positions they commanded of me? There was no way. Honestly, there are times in life it's okay to not be cooperative. Oh, and then they did that awful thing where they check how dilated you are. I HATE IT. There were only two times I screamed during the entire process, and checking my cervix was one of them. It hurts and also just plain bothers me more than any other thing they do. Apparently I have a very very long canal and they need to dig right in there to get at it. I refused it all through the other checks in my pregnancy. It also bothers me even now-- just thinking about it makes me cringe.

I was four centimetres. FOUR? FOUR? No way I was only four.

When they finally got me into the delivery room, I did what I never intended to do: I climbed up on the bed and lay on my back. And by the way, I was fully dialated. Ten beautiful centimetres. I don't remember them checking me at that point. Maybe they just had a glance and could see... I don't know. Anyway, by that point there was no holding back.

Oh yes, that was after they insisted on replacing my clothes with a hospital gown, which I suppose I should be grateful for in terms of laundry, but I had no interest in at the time. The reason I was on my back is that it's just the position I ended up in and I was in too much pain to change it at that moment. Also, I was comfortable. Also, I knew the baby was on it's way out. I could feel it. It was all very intense.

At some point, and I didn't realize this until later on, the pain turned to tension. Every muscle in my body was coiled up. Whenever the midwife wanted me to change position even a little bit-- shift up, shift down, move my legs, hold my knees, whatever, it's not that I couldn't do it, but it took enormous effort to realign any muscle in my body at all. It's like they were melted in position. Even when DH or the midwife tried shifting me just a little, I protested. The biggest movement I made was some shifting and once I flipped over on my side, which is apparently a preferred position over the supine one. Talking was also really hard. I mostly used hand motions or whispered to DH who then translated to the midwife. The only motion I was happy to consent to was pushing.

This tension had been building with every contraction to the point that I couldn't relax in between contractions. I needed more time than I had. But that was somehow okay. Because like I said, what I was feeling wasn't exactly pain. I wasn't feeling comfortable, but it was way better to be like this than having regular contractions. The only problem was that it was very difficult for me to tell when it was time to push. So I just guessed.

The mood in the room, if I remember correctly, was pretty relaxed. I had chosen what they call the 'natural birthing room,' which is basically called that because it contains a radio, a shower stall, and a hippie-style floor lamp. This is in contrast with the 'natural birthing room' in the hospital I originally inteded to go to, which contained a jacuzzi, a neat-looking purple bed, wood panelling, and who knows what else.
I guess I guessed well, because the midwife kept telling me that things were progressing. I can see the top of the head. I can see the top of the head. It's coming, just a few more pushes... I believed her and also my husband when they said these things, but I was getting really tired. I just wanted to wrap it up for the evening and come back the next day to try some more. I pushed for twice as long in my last birth. I guess that God gives you strength for what you need when you need it.

I had my husband on one side and the midwife on the other (and yest, a monitor on my belly but that stopped bothering me after a little while) And when they kept telling me it was just one or two more pushes away and then I heaved one or two more pushes and it didn't come out, I started to get really tired. But then I decided that I really could be working a little harder-- not that it was any picnic up until that point, but I hadn't given it my abesolute all until then. Not the of medal-winning, baby delivering all that maybe was required.

So I geared up, got ready to give it everything I had, and screamed. The stupid midwife had her fingers in there and was massaging oil around. Now, I know that the midwife is supposed to do that, and it's supposed to help ease the baby out and prevent tearing, but I'll say something here that might shock and appal you: I would prefer the pain of tearing over having her fingers in there. Really and truly. Okay, really and truly as long as it's not a third degree tear. But she could have warned me. Or at least asked me. You don't just stick your fingers up someone's hoo-hoo without warning. I don't care what the circumstances are. I HATE HATE HATE that feeling. It makes me crazy. I screamed for her to stop but she said something about her having to do it so I had DH (DEAR, DEAR Husband) explain to her that I really meant it. Also, all the rubbing and the horrible disturbance it caused me (again, I shudder to think of it) distracted me from the business of birthing. I couldn't push while she was doing that. I couldn't at all. It was very counter productive. I was ready to kick her in the face. But I couldn't move my legs on my own and I don't think she would have happily helped me to do it. If any readers feel the same way about this, I would be happy to know that I'm not alone here.

To give her credit, this is a perfectly normal procedure for midwife to be doing and I'm probably the first person ever ever to tell her to stop. In fact, I was probably the first person in the hospital ever to be uncooperative during labor, so it stands to reason that she was doing what she was doing without any guilty feelings at all. She was actually pretty nice and respectful and definitely knew what she was doing. But at that moment, I hated her.

With that crisis over, I geared up once again for the Big Push. I pushed once, I pushed twice, I though to myself, 'push harder, let's get this over with!' and I gave it another huge push-- then I heard 'stop pushing!' I cant! I couldn't stop pushing remember, my body wasn't entirely in my controll. But it was all okay. A couple of seconds later I heard a cry and saw the midwife pulling the baby out and placing her on my chest.

I didn't have this pleasure with the birth of DS. His cominng-out was a lot more hectic and they took him straight to get weighed and measured and wrapped. I did get to hold him and feed him before they took him off to the nursery, but it wasn't immediate contact.

The first thing I noticed was how huge and heavy she felt, all curled up on my chest. To tell the truth, at that moment I was so weak that I don't think I would have been able to support a cup of coffee with my bare hands but I had a bed underneath me and holding me up so I was able to handle this little baby girl. I put my arm on her. She felt nice. I liked her. I got to hold her that way for a little bit and then they took her to clean and wrap her up. The midwife asked if I wanted to hold her again, but I told her that I didn't think I could.

It was time to deliver the placenta. I said no way. I can not push one more single thing out of me today. Let's do it tomorrow. But the midwife gave a big heave on my stomach (again, I wanted to slap her. Doesn't she know what I've just been through?) and with a few gentle pushes, I was able to get the thing out of me. They spread it out on the cart to get a look at it. It didn't look to me like you could tell anything from it, but what do I know?

At that point, I was shaking so hard I felt like I was riding a lawnmower. I was assured by various personel wandering through my room at that point that it was completely normal and not to worry. So I didn't worry but I did continue to shake. I also asked to be covered with a sheet. Just because I finished giving birth doesn't mean I want to sit around with my legs open for all the world to see. I don't care if they're doctors.

I can't remember if cutting the cord came before or after delivering the placenta. DH wanted to do it but I think he was also a bit weak and couldn't get a good grip on it with the scissors so he declined.

And then came the stitching up. I had a second degree tear. Whatever. It was superficial she said. Whatever. It was over. I consulted my watch. The whole thing, from the time of my arrival at the hospital, had taken under two hours. Under and hour forty-five. The baby had done her part, I had done mine, DH and midwife had done theirs. We had done well. We have a new daughter.

I guess I should go to the hospital soon...

The contractions are quite frequent. Maybe even under five minutes. Obviously, they're not that intense or else I guess I wouldn't be blogging my progress. DH, thank Gshesod, is home. Our dear neighbor came over to see if there's anything he can do. We're waiting for my sister to get here. She's on the train. Otherwise if we have to go we'll leave DS with our neighbor.
she;s here.
going soon....
not too soon....

Contractions?

I don't know about this whole contraction business. I mean, I seem to be able to actually set them off by standing up from a seated position or straightening up from a bent position. But they feel like contractions, allright. I just didn't think I would be able to manipulate them like this.

They're currently very random in frequency and they're only a few seconds long each. Say, 10-15.

Baby Names Part 2 (I think)

Considering that I'm feeling contractions, I should probably be doing something other than blogging and twitting... like making arrangements for my son for the weekend. But here I am. Thinking about baby names some more. I had one in mind. I grew to like it. I began thinking of the baby in those terms, with that name. Then we consulted with someone about it and what they said made DH nix it. Like I said before, I'm giving him more control over this name since I had so much influence over the last. But he keeps insisting on these junk food names. In fact, the one he's set on is #1 NUMBER ONE in the list of baby names locally. It's a nice name, yes, and it's got some nice connotations to it, but gosh... I really don't want my kid to have a name equivalent to the Jessica or a Stephanie of my generation. Nothing personal against any particular Jessicas or Stephanies. Or Jennifers. It's just that today those names sound kitchy and dated. I did find out that the name he wants is actually biblical in origin, which makes me feel a little better-- and the person whose name it was in the bible is someone who I could live with. So althogh DH has a higher bid here, I don't think I'll submit my veto quite yet.