Nine months

This is one big baby.

A month before the baby was due

We just got back from living in Vietnam for three months and I had less than two months to get ready to have baby. My Mom and Connor came for a quick visit to help.

Grandmama Piller, Connor and Pearce just before we jumped into the Volvo and sped off to the airport. I am wondering why this was the only picture we took for whole visit. Maybe because I was nine months prego.

After a full day of playing with Grandmama and Connor, Pearce passes out in seconds.

Took a picture of myself to prove I was still smiling at nine months!

It was fun to buy little pink onies with my Mom.

I had been so busy getting things ready for the baby, thinking she would be three weeks early like her brothers, unfortunately putting Pearce on a mini vacation from home school. But he still drew and wrote cards for family and friends birthdays.

For Papa Piller.

For Grandmama Piller.

For our neighbor.

Pregnant in Vietnam

Before I left Hawaii I had one last appointment with my OB, Dr. Rudy, who was concerned that I would be out of her care for three months after having a bad case of pre-eclampsia with my past pregnancies. It took a few nudges, but she reluctantly gave copies of all my medical records to give the docs in Vietnam. Thankfully, she sent me out the door with a 90 dollars a month, new-age European prenatal for girls like me. I was skeptical but willing to try anything.

My first appointment in Vietnam was with Dr. Jane at the Health Unit inside the US Consulate. She is American, of course, and went to medical school in New York City. She moved to Vietnam just for an adventure, met her Kiwi (New Zealand) husband, stayed and had kids. Aside from working for the Consulate, she also has her own private practice outside the walls.

The Consulates Health Unit is extremely thorough, showing a 15-minute power point presentation on Health Care in Vietnam. I was given little laminated cards with all cell and work phone numbers and addresses of all the Health Unit Consulate staff and the best doctors in the local Hospitals, and addresses, in case of an emergency. A second card was given to me, the non fluent Vietnamese speaker, that said in Vietnamese, "I am having a baby. I need to get to this hospital, at this address, very fast." Just in case I went into labor and Eric was not with me. My orders were to keep both cards with me at all times. Dr. Jane, also ran thru her plan for me if I delivered early. Details such as, I would be air vacced to Singapore or Thailand, where the medical standards are just about equal to US standards (but a fifth the price). Delivering in Vietnam would be the very last option, or as she put it, not an option at all. I felt confident that if I did go into labor Dr. Jane would have everything under control. The rest of the check up was routine, peed in a cup, measured my belly, listened to the heart beat, checked blood pressure and weight. Everything came back normal. I was 6 months and had gained 12 pounds so far, two pounds over my target weight. The baby is healthy and kicking a lot. My only complaint at six months is that my tailbone gets sore if I sit too long.

The US Consulate is a block away from the Intercontinental. I am taking this picture from our bathroom. Can you see the American Flag?

I haven't had a chance to check out any of the Hospitals here and, well, frankly hope I never have too. But I got some second-hand information from the humanitarian Missionary couple from our church who have done several service projects for the maternity wards. They said, on average, one hospital experiences 90 newborns/day, meaning 40,000 babies per year. But because this year is the year of the tiger, couples are extra "amorous" so the birth average has gone up to 150 babies per day. 150 per hospital per day. Wow! In Hawaii, if they have 10 it's a lot. They described the conditions like this: three women giving birth on two twin mattresses pushed together. Sadly, one tenth of babies born at hospitals are abandoned because the parents are too poor (or scared or selfish or stupid) to take the baby home. That breaks my heart. On the upside, though, just like any other country, money can get you anything...such as a big birthing room all to yourself. So don't feel bad for the foreigners...just the locals.

Pictures of my belly at six months.

Pictures of my belly at seven months.

31 weeks. I feel really large because I am surrounded by the tiniest humans on the earth.

Everywhere we go, the Vietnamese mothers are telling us that it's a boy because of how I carry. Insisting. Swearing. Even after Eric explains that we had an ultrasound and it is undeniably a girl, they argue. I guess I carry my babies all in the front, regardless if it's girl or boy. Or else we're going to be very surprised in October (or our son is going to have a very very small....).

At 29 weeks I had my second and last appointment with Dr. Jane in Vietnam. It was a regular check up plus a glucose test. Everything was great. I gained 19 pounds. Not too bad for eating out every day for the past three months. Dr. Jane also provided letters for each airline confirming that I am able to travel/fly for 15 hours. Most airlines require this if you are over 6 months. Hopefully Dr. Jane wasn't lying.

Random

This morning Pearce woke up and declared, " I had crazy dream in my entire life". He is so darn cute.



A couple days ago, Pearce and I were at Nordstroms cafe eating their Tomato Basil soup. Out of nowhere, a guy comes over to our table and says, "You have the most handsome son." He then pulled a linty carrot stick from his coat pocket and offered it to Pearce, who just looked to me for instruction. Politely, I said, "No thank you." The man quickly replied, "Oh, that's okay, you probable shouldn't take food from a stranger anyway." And with that, the man dipped his linty carrot stick into my soup and ate it. I sat there completely frozen. Shocked. Stunned. His reaction? He decided to whip out another linty carrot stick from his coat pocket, dip it into my soup again, then try to feed it to me. FOR THE LOVE! My first thought was, OK, where's Ashton Kutcher? When I finally realized I wasn't being punk'ed, I stood up and waived over the nearest server, then turned to him and said, "You know, you really shouldn't be dipping your carrots into other peoples' soup." He quickly fled into the Nordstoms. When the server came over, I informed her that there was a man loose in the cafe, dipping his linty carrots into peoples' soup. I was met with a blank expression. I think she thought I was punking her. Eventually, the Manager came over and after a few more times of me telling her about my violated soup, she believed me. The manager's response was to mobilize her two fastest servers into the Nordstroms to hunt the linty carrot dipper down. Unfortunately they came back empty handed. He was nowhere to be found. The manager was so horrified that this happened on her watch. She quickly replaced our tainted coat pocket linty carrot soup with fresh bowls and apologetically gave her business card with valid for one complimentary meal scribbled on the back.

Honestly, I am starting to believe I'm a crazies magnet. Why? Maybe I am too nice, too approachable, or maybe I'm just always in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am really not sure, but I do know I could write a book on 'crazies' who have randomly stumbled into my life. If you can commiserate with me, or you've seen the linty carrot dipper yourself, I would love to hear all about your 'crazies.'