So this is what I have to look forward to this fall:
My due date with Eleanor was March 31st, which I was pretty certain was incorrect, but whatever, it’s what the midwife’s little circular cardboard calendar told us, so she marked it on my chart as March 31st. I think I would have preferred April Fool’s Day, which, given the size of her, would have been far more appropriate. My due date came and went; I’d been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for months, so there was nothing going on that indicated Bun was ready to make his appearance. (I say “his” because I was convinced I was having a boy.)
I had a sonogram on April 4th, because my midwives wanted to make sure that Bun was still doing okay, and to give us an estimate as to how big s/he was, since my belly was measuring like 46 cm or something ridiculously close to that. I think I just about fell off the examination table when the technician said that based on her measurements, my baby could weigh approximately eleven pounds, five ounces. Give or take a pound or so, she added. Afterwards, with the older two kids safely oblivious at school, Daniel and I went for a leisurely waddle along the Amherst bike path to discuss our imminent future, which probably involved a huge baby. The next day, I was scheduled for my weekly midwife visit, and beforehand we went to Chipotle for lunch, where I happily noshed on lots of guacamole and an enormous burrito and some chips. (My appetite during pregnancy has rarely wavered, except during the first trimester, where I basically have to eat all day long to stave off nausea.) Off we went to the midwives’ office for my appointment, where I was told I would need to be induced, since they were reluctant to let Bun have the opportunity to grow any larger.
“What?!” I exclaimed. “If I had known that, I would never have eaten Chipotle for lunch!” I had visions of the worst kind of labor-induced vomiting in just a few hours, and thought I’d never be able to eat Tex-Mex again.
I’ll spare you all of the gory details; no one really needs to hear yet another birth story, but Eleanor Kathryn Fischer came barreling out after about an hour and a half of the worst Pitocin-induced contractions I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing, weighing in at a solid 9 pounds, 15 ounces. The nurse who weighed and measured her after she was born said she’d never measured a bigger head circumference on a baby.
Go Beth. And I can still happily eat an order of nachos (sans meat and cheese nowadays).
Anyway, my intention with this blog post was not to reflect upon my most recent pregnancy and labor experiences, but to talk about photography. The funny thing is, looking at photographs conjures up such powerful memories of the time and place where they were captured, I couldn’t help but be launched firmly back into early spring of 2012. Maybe the fact that I heard Frankenstein’s powerful heartbeat lub-dub-dubbing away this morning for the first time made me super-excited that I’m doing all of this again. Definitely still nervous (FOUR KIDS! AHHHHHH!!!), but mostly excited.
Pregnancy is a time for creation, and I often find myself tackling creative projects in which I wouldn’t normally have the time or energy to invest. There’s something about incubating a tiny human that gets my brain muscles flexing. During my pregnancy with Eleanor, I prepared for a DMA audition at the Eastman School of Music. This time, I’m relaunching a photography business. I know absolutely nothing about running a business, but with lots of time to spend resting (oh hello again, couch), I’m going to learn all about it. Be on the lookout for the debut of Fischer Photography, complete with a fancy new website, opportunities for family portraits and professional headshots, wedding and engagement packages, and more. Until that time, I leave you with two of my favorite landscape images taken by Daniel.