I'm sure that somewhere out there in blog land somebody is wondering what the latest is on my pregnancy. Can I just be honest here though and admit that it is SO much more entertaining posting about my son, who's so busy getting into mischief than to actually think about (dwell on) the fact that I am, indeed, quite pregnant... again.
It's a funny thing actually. Matt and I "decided" that we were going to try for another child while we were here in Monterey when Peter was only something like 6 weeks old. Maybe less. You're probably thinking we're crazy, but he really was that good a baby. (Sometimes, like when Peter is attempting to climb over the fence and hurl himself into our neighbor's yard in order to get to their chocolate lab, I wonder if we're paying for that now! Haha!)
Anyway, my Doc didn't want me trying to conceive until at least 6 months after Peter's birth because of the C-Section. I don't know whether or not it would have been possible anyway, because I was nursing those first 6 months anyway. But let me tell you, by Christmas, I was really feeling the desire to get pregnant again.
Which, is TOTALLY insane really. Being pregnant, well, its neat and all, and definitely something to experience if you will, but it sort of sucks. A lot. The end result is amazing, but the process stinks. Especially the beginning (if you puke a lot- which I didn't the first time but I sure did this time) and the end, because, if nothing else, you're huge.
It wasn't until the very end of March that I discovered we were, in fact, going to have another child, and, it was even going to go "according to plan" and happen before we have to move again. So I did have 9 bliss full "unpregnant" months between my babies, but seriously, at this point it feels like I've just been preggers the whole time. (I blame the nursing.)
Also, take note there people... you judge me if you want, but this is what we wanted. This is what we hoped for and prayed for. In my case, you might even say I begged God for another child-- that is-- sooner, rather than later. I only bring this up because lately I've been getting a lot of comments from women about how close in age my children are going to be. Like, "OMG, heehee, whoops! Right?" or "Haha, I guess God really DID want you to experience the joys of motherhood already!"
Then there's my personal favorite, which is when somebody asks me how far about in age my babies will be and then they proceed to tell me all about how they accidentally had their own kids close together too and, WHOA NELLY was it ever difficult.
*GROAN*
Like I said, psychotic or not, Matt and I chose this. We really really really wanted to have another baby and were thrilled when we found out we were going to be so blessed.
Terrified mind you, but thrilled.
Because, when you're married to the military, you never know when the next deployment is coming to "set back" your chances to conceive again for a good 6, 9 or even 12 months.
And even without the separations to consider, you never really know for sure where you're going to be living and what kind of hospital/potential birthing experience might await you there.
So, since Peter was like, the Angel Baby during those dreaded first 90 days he really really made us long for another one. And this happens to be a very nice place for birthing experiences. Oh, and did I mention Matt is slated to deploy again in the spring?
Right.
Oh, plus, I'm not getting any younger.
Don't get me wrong, before Peter came into my life and brainwashed me, I NEVER would have thought this would be my life. I wasn't even 100% for sure I wanted or was meant to have children so eventually we decided to start with one and see how it went. And, since I was only like 15 months younger than my own older brother, and I always, always had to "swim in his wake" so to speak, I never in my wildest dreams planned on having my own second baby so soon after the first.
But, like I said... Peter brainwashed me. And the military lifestyle did too.
Do I love chasing after the most wildly ambitious not-quite-15 month old on the planet while I am 30 weeks pregnant? NO. Make that a heck no! He barely even fits on my lap right now! But we're sort of hoping he'll get over it when he's no longer an only child. Siblings are supposed to be a good thing right?
And, then again would I love the third trimester of a pregnancy under any circumstances? I'm think the answer to that is also NO.
Forget my first born for a minute....
I'm humongous! UGH! Many women in my life might argue with me on that, because, for some unknown reason I seem to only be carrying pregnancy weight in my belly. Period. I look pretty much like I have a basketball tucked in my shirt. I'm not complaining, mind you, but I've been told by about a zillion people to eat more to ensure that I gain some of the, um, counterweight. You know, in all those useful places, like my thighs and my butt and the back of my arms.
No thank you, I'll pass. My belly is big enough all on its own.
This time around, my weight is actually a lot less, but I attribute that to the fact that I lost so much weight while nursing Peter and that I was much lighter to begin with this time. And that was before I threw up for 2 months with this baby.
No matter what the scale tells you though, I'm a hippo.
Still no stretch marks this time either (*fingers crossed*) but my husband has become mortally TERRIFIED at the sight of my belly button and to make matters worse, my entire baby bump is covered by a nice, blotchy pale pink coating of PUPPS rash. (*itch/scratch/itch/scratch*)
I think I've reached the swelling stage now too. While my shoes all still seem to fit okay, when I lay in bed at night my feet develop a pulse so hard I can almost hear it. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! It's like the blood is pooling there and really really wants me to know it. Throbbing is probably the word for it. I beg Matt to rub them... and sometimes he even does. I also did finally switch over to my "fat" wedding ring (purchased when I was 7 months along with Peter) this week because I kept waking up in the middle of the night with my ring finger going numb. As if my huge man sized hands aren't big enough already.
The baby seems to move all the time. Sometimes it doesn't bother me, other times it drives me insane. Mostly, at night, I think the hokey pokey is going on in there and have you ever tried to sleep through the hokey pokey? Yeah, it doesn't work for me either.
I'm just happy that so far, the punches, kicks and elbow jabs don't "hurt" so much as they just startle me. I have more than enough sciatic type pain down towards my lady bits to make up for it. And yes, if you're wondering, I'm in full on waddle mode most of the time, because of how much it hurts "down there." Matt seems to enjoy making fun of the way I waddle but when he does I just threaten to touch him with my scary belly button and it shuts him right up.
However, I was feeling pretty good, considering all things. After my little "warning-trip" to the hospital I've been eating better and haven't felt nearly so tired. I was actually starting to think I might actually make it all the way to my December scheduled Cesarian.
Then I went to Bible Study on Tuesday and 3, count them 1-2-3, THREE (!!!!)separate ladies asked me how much longer I had to go, and then each of them had the nerve to act SHOCKED when I told them there are still 10 weeks to go.
Grrrrr.
Guess I'm more of a hippo than even I could have imagined,
buck·eye - noun, \ˈbək-ˌī\ 1: any of various shrubs or trees (genus Aesculus) of the horse-chestnut family; also : the large nutlike seed of such a shrub or tree 2: capitalized : a native or resident of Ohio — used as a nickname
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Melon Head
I don't know what we're going to do in a few more weeks when they go out of season....
So anyway, the helmet. A few months ago, it was still a little too big. And, honestly if cost about twice what I was hoping to spend on his first helmet. But it was just sooooo cute.
So then last week was Matt's birthday. Leading up to it he kept taking me to REI to look at this GPS/heart rate monitor runner's watch thing, he wanted for his birthday and each time we were there I kept looking at the helmet. Not that Peter has a bike (or even a tricycle) yet, but we've been wanting to get a seat for him on one of our bikes and he's forever trying to climb on the neighbor kids bikes. Eventually, Matt decided the watch was too much money to spend for now, and decided instead that for his Daddy's birthday, Peter needed the watermelon helmet. :)
That could have something to do with the fact that Peter has been semi-obsessively carrying around and attempting to wear Matt's bike helmet for the past 3 weeks or so.
Or else, I just wore him down.
At any rate, we love his new helmet, and can't wait to put it to good use doing something other than protecting his head while he climbs precariously up the side of his high chair to get onto the kitchen counters.
Oh- have I not mentioned that? Yes, it's very charming, discovering him there and not at all worrisome....
Friday, September 24, 2010
Do you think the Girl Scouts know about this?
This afternoon we were at the commissary. Matt was charging around getting items off his list and I was sort of waddling behind with Peter in the cart. About halfway down the cookies and cereal aisle I ran into a friend from Bible Study and we started to chat a bit. Then I was a little shocked when Matt interrupted our conversation to say "JEN, oh my goodness look at that!!"
My gosh was he excited and it seemed insane to me that he'd interrupt and butt in over something in the grocery store. What on earth could be that interesting?
Then I spotted it:
Keebler, has created a knock off of my favorite Girl Scout cookie.
I guess maybe I shouldn't be surprised. It was bound to happen eventually. I mean, anybody, that is like, anybody, that like, knows anything about, well, anything can tell you that the very bestest cookie in the entire universe is the Girl Scout's Samoa (AKA, the Caramel deLite... depending oddly enough, upon what part of the country you come from.)
I LOVE THEM.
I mean, seriously, I love them.
Once a long time ago, waaaaaay back when we were in college I sort of threw a humongous hissy fit at Matt in the middle of his ROTC building when he told me he'd ordered Girl Scout cookies from one of the Marine's daughters but that he hadn't gotten any Samoas.
Subsequently, that Marine happened to overhear my hissy fit and took it upon himself to add to Matt's order an additional 6 boxes of the Carmely, chocolately, coconuty dream-treats.
Matt, I am happy to report, took the hit to his wallet like a man weeks later when "his" order came in, paid up, and gave me my cookies, even though, technically speaking he hadn't ordered them.
Anyway, so I haven't opened the Keeble knockoffs yet. I'm almost scared too. It feels sacrilegious or something. Girl Scout cookies don't come until spring. I'm afraid I might go into shock enjoying my favorite cookies in the wrong season.
Or, an even worse thought, how can these even compare???
A fake designer handbag is almost always EASY to spot and rarely even deserves a comparison. So how can these Keeblers even hope to measure up? What if these are just, sad and terrible?
My mouth is already watering for the deliciousness, will my heart be able to take the disappointment if they don't measure up?
I'll have to let you know.
A Morning at the Playground
Matt was off from classes this past week and we've been enjoying some lovely weather, so we took one morning and spent it together as a family at the park.
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| Peter was very excited to check things out! |
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| Daddy did a great job helping Peter safely climb and explore everything. |
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| He refused to go into the tunnel for some reason |
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| Preparing for his first solo ride down a tunnel slide... |
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| ...because of course he's an expert at the regular kind of slide |
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| Pretending to ride on the zip line thingy with Daddy's help |
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| This slide was way to steep to go alone! |
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| "What should we do next Mommy?" |
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| "Who says I'm not old enough to climb ladders? I'll show them!" |
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| Let's make sure we never think we're too busy having fun to share some loves |
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| Touchdown!!!! |
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| Love those swings |
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| "I bet I can go higher than Daddy!!" |
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| Sweet and happy boy |
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Sickness, part 2... and the hospital
By Monday afternoon, finally, I'd say I was officially feeling much better and recovering from that head cold nicely. The constantly watering eyes and dripping nose had evolved into a stuffy nose with a horrendous rasping, wheezy cough, but thankfully, even that was starting to go away by the end of Monday.
However, around midnight that evening I started to feel awful again. I can't really describe it other than to just say I was miserable. My stomach hurt a LOT and I visited the bathroom multiple times to empty my bladder (should pressure be causing discomfort) and I tried to, um, empty other stuff as well, but with no success.
I felt like crap, I got up, I tried the bathroom, I went to bed again and felt like crap some more. My entire abdomen just hurt. I felt hot and sweaty, then I felt the chills. The cycle repeated repeatedly.
About 2 am I decided to try a hot bath. I probably soaked in the scalding water for about 45 minutes, during which I'll admit to feeling much better, however once I was back under the covers the yuckiness returned.
I wished very much that I could just throw up. Or else have a nasty round of the southern alternative.
But no luck.
Somewhere in there, probably around 3, I heard the dog get up and carry on awhile to Matt since he apparently needed to go out. A while later they both came back. I just laid there and wished I was asleep.
I must have dozed off eventually, because the next thing I remember Matt was gone from bed. It was something between 5 and 6 am I think. I laid in bed and felt ill for awhile and contemplated to myself what I'd been trying very hard not to consider all night... was I having contractions?
After a few rounds of the "maybe contractions" I got up and stumbled downstairs to find my husband. Matt, who was laying on the couch watching a DVRed episode of Glenn Beck, looked VERY surprised to see me awake. I told him I felt yucky and laid down with him for a few minutes before Glen started to get on my nerves and I went back upstairs. (So much for seeking comfort in the arms of my husband!)
Once back in bed I pulled out my laptop again. It was still on a web page I'd visited some time in the night about symptoms of preterm labor. It mentioned cramping and backaches (I had both of those) and spotting (which thankfully I did not) and then of course it mentioned frequently occurring contractions. The trouble there for me being is my first born was breech. While I "think" I remember having some contractions before he was born I was pretty much spared the main event, so I couldn't honestly remember what one felt like. I decided to try to time the surges of umcomfortableness I was feeling. I also decided to actually use my hands on my tummy to try to feel if there was indeed a tightening occurring along with the pain.
After an hour it seemed to me that the pain and maybe-contractions were coming every 9-12 minutes. That seemed regular enough to me so I finally looked up the number for the Family Birthing center at the hospital. Before I called I went back downstairs and procrastinated a bit. Denying the way I was feeling felt so much easier to me than the possible reality that I might be in any stage of preterm labor at only 28 weeks.
I checked with Matt about his schedule. Since it is finals week he only had class from 8-10 am that morning, but as per usual, he "HAD" to be there. Duh, there's alwyas something important going on. I laid on the floor for awhile. Matt mostly just looked at me wondering what on earth was wrong with me. He might have patted me on the head a few times comfortingly.
Eventually, I went back upstairs and contemplated how much I felt like dying a little while longer. Then I called a few neighbors hoping someone might be able to look after Peter for me. Of course nobody answered, it wasn't even 7 am yet.
Then I finally called the hospital and spoke to a few nurses, describing my symptoms, etc....
long story short... better safe than sorry, they wanted me to come on in.
I went back downstairs and told Matt I was going to the hospital. He thought for a moment and said alright he'd email his professor and go take a shower. Confused, I wondered what he was planning, and he said he would get Peter up and together we'd all go in. I guess I sort of assumed I'd have to take myself in and figure out something to do with our son, at least while he was in class. Surprise! I guess he does love me after all (even if expressing that is strangely difficult for him right now.)
Anyway, skip ahead to right around 7:30 when we get to the hospital...
No wait, hold that thought, because I almost forgot, something else happened. After I got dressed I was sitting on the edge of our bed waiting for Matt and feeling worse then ever and thoroughly horrified at the possible things they might tell me at the hospital (the worst of course being that I was crazy, and that I was perfectly fine and that I'd wasted everybody's time.) Then I went and threw up. A lot. I mean, I whole lot. Like, more throw up then I ever thought could be possible from one person and definitely not at 7 o'clock in the morning from what should have been an empty stomach.
After that I actually felt much better.
And I contemplated just calling the whole thing off and going back to bed.
But I didn't.
Now, back to the hospital:
Since I'd called ahead they were expecting me. We had to wait about 5 minutes or something before they put me (us) in a room. It wasn't one of the birthing suites, it was a smaller one, back by the operating rooms and the nursery that still had all of the medical equipment but none of the "luxurious" bells and whistles. A lovely nurse helped me into a gown, took my vitals and got me hooked up to a fetal heart rate monitor and contraction detector. (That can't possibly be what that thing is called, can it?)
Peter squirmed in Matt's arms and ran around and tried to destroy stuff. Eventually the nurse "encouraged" them both to go check out the fish pond in the lobby.
Some time went by. Matt and Peter came and went a few times. I just laid there and tried to relax and felt horrible some more and wondered to myself whether those uncomfortable tummy pains I was feeling periodically were contractions or not. I wished desperately the the room was laid out differently so that I could have seen the numbers on the monitor.
My nurse came back. She said my doc was in and was getting ready to do a C-Section and that probably by the time he was done they'd have enough information from the monitors to figure out what was going on. I asked if the monitor showed any contractions and she said no... but that I was having something like uterine "spasms" every few minutes, probably caused by whatever discomfort was going on in my digestive tract, but that was just a guess.
Then she went away again and 2 other nurses came in. (One of them I remembered clearly from last year when Peter was born as some one I didn't care for very much.) They said another lady was coming in and that she was 24 weeks along and going to deliver so they wanted her in that room so she'd be as close to the nursery as possible. This meant I needed to go elsewhere with my big bad wasting everybody's time self.
(Okay, well she didn't say that last bit, but that's how I was feeling.)
They gathered my stuff and rolled me off down the hall to another room. This time it was an actual birthing suite, albeit a much smaller one then I'd been in last year when I actually WAS going to have a baby.
Once there I was rehooked up to all the machines (it took the nurse about 20 minutes to catch the baby on the heart monitor) and told to rest, relax, etc, awhile longer. Eventually another nurse came in and told me Doc was pretty sure that I had some sort of flu bug and it had me all dehydrated so they were going to start an IV to put some fluids in me and then give me some anti-nausea meds as well.
I was left to wait awhile longer, to (you guessed it) rest, relax and be monitored. Somewhere in there I had a monster contraction. The monitor showed it. Matt saw the numbers jump and everything. And I felt it. Boy did I feel it. And, well, aside from the fact that I had just had a contraction 12 weeks early, and, um, ouch, I was actually a little tiny bit happy to have one, and you know, prove to the nurses that I wasn't crazy and maybe I actually had been having some all night and maybe there really was a good reason for me to be there.
And alright, let me continue to be honest, it probably wasn't a monster, either, but it felt pretty big... you know, for someone who's never delivered the old fashioned way.
Not long after that a nurse came in, I got my IV, some blood was drawn for tests and I was hooked up to a bag of fluids, which I sort of soaked right up.
A new nurse came next (she was my pre-op nurse last year, and she had helped Dr. R deliver Peter and to be honest I absolutely love her!!) She wanted to adjust my monitors to ensure they were on all right because they kept showing I was having contractions and also to adjust my IV. I assured her that whatever contractions the monitor was picking up I was feeling too. While she was there the Doc came in. He teased me and reminded me that there are better ways for mothers of toddlers to get some rest and relaxation besides checking into the hospital. He talked to the nurse and they looked at the monitor's print out of my contractions. He ordered the nurse be ready to start a second IV of fluids and apparently decided they needed a urine sample as well.
More time went by. I kept having random contractions and I kept right on feeling crappy. Eventually around noon, I sent Matt home with Peter so both could eat lunch, one could study and the other could take a nap.
Lab results came back to show that I was in fact dehydrated and the Doc decided that was what was causing the sporadic contractions. He ordered a shot of something to stop the contractions and I was put on a different IV containing some sugars and also more importantly potassium, which apparently I was low on. More frustrating was that the IV was going to take a good 4-5 hours so that meant I was going to be there at leastuntil the early evening.
The anti-contraction shot made me feel more crappy because it made my heart race a bit and it made the baby jittery and both of us felt all hyper, which didn't help either. The contractions mostly seemed to stop but then of course my stomach just kept right on hurting. Doc said he figured I'd gotten one of those 24 hour stomach bugs and that, by his guess I was only about half way through its course. He asked if I'd had any more vomiting (no) and if any "loose stool" had made an appearance yet (also no) because he suspected that as these things usually run their course, mine was on the way.
Great.....
"Loose stool' is always something you want to have when you're hooked to an IV and about 45 fetal monitors and you have to call a nurse to unhook you every time you "feel the urge."
Anyway, he was right. Mine did come eventually, with a vengeance, but that's all I'm going to say about that. The only good part about it, as the Doctor said, was it meant the "bug" was nearly finished running its course with me.
Let's see, what else happened?
At some point the nurse took a swab sample to do some sort of "preterm labor prediction test." Basically if it had come back positive I would have had a 90% chance or greater of going into preterm labor in the next two weeks. (Can you say "extended hospital stay" much?") Even thinking about getting back those test results terrified me. Honestly up until that point, there wasn't ever a moment during any of the long sick night or the long day in the hospital that I had ever, EVER, let my mind even consider the idea that my baby was going to be born. I was there to confirm IF I was even having contractions and then make them stop. PERIOD. No baby. Not yet.
But thanks to the test, there for an hour or so, images of micro-preemie babies in warmers that I'd seen on TV and various Mommy blogs kept drifting in and out of my brain scaring the SHIT out of me.
Praise the Lord, my test back negative and I breathed a TREMENDOUS sigh of relief.
Doc and nurses alike, assured me, there was never any danger to my child. I was sort of a sick, dehydrated mess, probably because I'd contracted this stomach thing right at the tale end of a wicked head cold, but the baby was always doing fine. The heartbeat was always strong as were the kicks and judging by the number of times they had to adjust the fetal monitor, so was the baby's activity level.
Still, scary to even consider.
By mid afternoon my IV of potassium, etc was about half drained. I had one random contraction after a few hours of nothing, so I was given a couple of pills designed to stop contractions, more as a precaution then anything else. I was also given some mylanta (for my stomach) and some immodium (for the lower end) and told to get some rest.
Seriously?
Has anyone ever tried to sleep in an L and D room? You know, without all the exhaustion of an actual L and D? The beds are rock hard and designed so that that bottom half breaks off to reveal the dreaded stirrups I'm presuming and are, as uncomfortable as anything I can imagine even deserves to be called a bed. Plus I had a heart monitor for me on my left index finger and an IV in my right hand, plus the 2 monitors on my tummy for the baby and the drippy drippy clicky noise of the IV machine and the noise of the monitor paper piling up and all that's only AFTER they turned down the fetal microphone thing so I couldn't hear the baby's heartbeat and every movement.
So then, after tossing and turning and detangling all the wires about 47 times I f-i-n-a-l-l-y start to drift off and an alarm goes off because my blood pressure is a bit low or the paper is running out or the IV's battery is dying. Then the nurse just comes in to check on you, all bright and cheerful and bubbling with energy.
Oh those lovely nurses, the same ones who thankfully came running within 45 seconds when I had to "GO" to the bathroom, in the way the Doc warned me that I might, but then would take what felt like an hour and a hald unhooking everything and getting the toilet all ready so I could give a urine sample and all I really, really wanted to do is, well... poop.
A lot.
Anyways.
I never did get much sleep.
They also kept bringing me food, which really was sort of amusing. Let me just say that it's a more than a full 24 hours later and I still don't feel much like eating. Bleh.
To sum up, this very long and probably very boring story, after dinner (which I barely touched) around 5:45 pm Doc came in from another C-section and told me I'd successfully drained the IV. I was going to get another shot of anti-nausea stuff as well as some more immodium before I left and that he'd called in a prescription for some more of both for me to pick up on the way home. He told me in 12-24 hours I should start to feel back to 100% again as the bug worked its way out of my system, but to try to take it easy for awhile so as not to redehydrate myself and start this whole thing over again. Finally, the nurse gave me a list of probably 500 symptoms why I should, legitamitely, come back in, should I experience any of them, between now and our December scheduled birth.
We went home, got Peter to bed, I took a very hot shower and crashed out myself for a good 12 hours. Let me just tell you how much I love my own pajamas and my own bed. Seriously.
Today aside from feeling exceptionally tired and not-hungry I feel much better.
I'm very thankful for all the kind nurses and my amazing doctor who took care of me yesterday and that none of them laughed at me or called me a big baby for being there in the first place (even though that's pretty much how I felt.)
I'm also very thankful to now know, for sure, what a contraction feels like so I can know if I start to have them again (although preferably NOT.)
I'm very very very thankful that the medicine worked so well and that the contractions I was having, sporadically or otherwise, stopped. :)
I'm thankful that my baby is healthy and seems largely, unfazed by the entire incident.
And finally, I'm thankful that Matt was able miss class to take me in to the hospital and to be there to give me funny, uncomfortable looks in between chasing Peter while I was treated. I'm thankful that he is such a good and patient father to our son and that I didn't need to worry that they would be okay together without me all day. I'm also, thankful that when I told Matt he should take Peter home for a nap he asked me whether or not I was sure. He (who is still adamant that he does NOT want to be in the OR for the arrival of number 2) really wanted to know that I would be okay there in the hospital without him, by myself. That might seem dumb, or silly, but it was probably the sweetest and most kind thing he could have said to me at that moment.
Anyway, here's to another 11 weeks of healthy, uneventful pregnancy.
However, around midnight that evening I started to feel awful again. I can't really describe it other than to just say I was miserable. My stomach hurt a LOT and I visited the bathroom multiple times to empty my bladder (should pressure be causing discomfort) and I tried to, um, empty other stuff as well, but with no success.
I felt like crap, I got up, I tried the bathroom, I went to bed again and felt like crap some more. My entire abdomen just hurt. I felt hot and sweaty, then I felt the chills. The cycle repeated repeatedly.
About 2 am I decided to try a hot bath. I probably soaked in the scalding water for about 45 minutes, during which I'll admit to feeling much better, however once I was back under the covers the yuckiness returned.
I wished very much that I could just throw up. Or else have a nasty round of the southern alternative.
But no luck.
Somewhere in there, probably around 3, I heard the dog get up and carry on awhile to Matt since he apparently needed to go out. A while later they both came back. I just laid there and wished I was asleep.
I must have dozed off eventually, because the next thing I remember Matt was gone from bed. It was something between 5 and 6 am I think. I laid in bed and felt ill for awhile and contemplated to myself what I'd been trying very hard not to consider all night... was I having contractions?
After a few rounds of the "maybe contractions" I got up and stumbled downstairs to find my husband. Matt, who was laying on the couch watching a DVRed episode of Glenn Beck, looked VERY surprised to see me awake. I told him I felt yucky and laid down with him for a few minutes before Glen started to get on my nerves and I went back upstairs. (So much for seeking comfort in the arms of my husband!)
Once back in bed I pulled out my laptop again. It was still on a web page I'd visited some time in the night about symptoms of preterm labor. It mentioned cramping and backaches (I had both of those) and spotting (which thankfully I did not) and then of course it mentioned frequently occurring contractions. The trouble there for me being is my first born was breech. While I "think" I remember having some contractions before he was born I was pretty much spared the main event, so I couldn't honestly remember what one felt like. I decided to try to time the surges of umcomfortableness I was feeling. I also decided to actually use my hands on my tummy to try to feel if there was indeed a tightening occurring along with the pain.
After an hour it seemed to me that the pain and maybe-contractions were coming every 9-12 minutes. That seemed regular enough to me so I finally looked up the number for the Family Birthing center at the hospital. Before I called I went back downstairs and procrastinated a bit. Denying the way I was feeling felt so much easier to me than the possible reality that I might be in any stage of preterm labor at only 28 weeks.
I checked with Matt about his schedule. Since it is finals week he only had class from 8-10 am that morning, but as per usual, he "HAD" to be there. Duh, there's alwyas something important going on. I laid on the floor for awhile. Matt mostly just looked at me wondering what on earth was wrong with me. He might have patted me on the head a few times comfortingly.
Eventually, I went back upstairs and contemplated how much I felt like dying a little while longer. Then I called a few neighbors hoping someone might be able to look after Peter for me. Of course nobody answered, it wasn't even 7 am yet.
Then I finally called the hospital and spoke to a few nurses, describing my symptoms, etc....
long story short... better safe than sorry, they wanted me to come on in.
I went back downstairs and told Matt I was going to the hospital. He thought for a moment and said alright he'd email his professor and go take a shower. Confused, I wondered what he was planning, and he said he would get Peter up and together we'd all go in. I guess I sort of assumed I'd have to take myself in and figure out something to do with our son, at least while he was in class. Surprise! I guess he does love me after all (even if expressing that is strangely difficult for him right now.)
Anyway, skip ahead to right around 7:30 when we get to the hospital...
No wait, hold that thought, because I almost forgot, something else happened. After I got dressed I was sitting on the edge of our bed waiting for Matt and feeling worse then ever and thoroughly horrified at the possible things they might tell me at the hospital (the worst of course being that I was crazy, and that I was perfectly fine and that I'd wasted everybody's time.) Then I went and threw up. A lot. I mean, I whole lot. Like, more throw up then I ever thought could be possible from one person and definitely not at 7 o'clock in the morning from what should have been an empty stomach.
After that I actually felt much better.
And I contemplated just calling the whole thing off and going back to bed.
But I didn't.
Now, back to the hospital:
Since I'd called ahead they were expecting me. We had to wait about 5 minutes or something before they put me (us) in a room. It wasn't one of the birthing suites, it was a smaller one, back by the operating rooms and the nursery that still had all of the medical equipment but none of the "luxurious" bells and whistles. A lovely nurse helped me into a gown, took my vitals and got me hooked up to a fetal heart rate monitor and contraction detector. (That can't possibly be what that thing is called, can it?)
Peter squirmed in Matt's arms and ran around and tried to destroy stuff. Eventually the nurse "encouraged" them both to go check out the fish pond in the lobby.
Some time went by. Matt and Peter came and went a few times. I just laid there and tried to relax and felt horrible some more and wondered to myself whether those uncomfortable tummy pains I was feeling periodically were contractions or not. I wished desperately the the room was laid out differently so that I could have seen the numbers on the monitor.
My nurse came back. She said my doc was in and was getting ready to do a C-Section and that probably by the time he was done they'd have enough information from the monitors to figure out what was going on. I asked if the monitor showed any contractions and she said no... but that I was having something like uterine "spasms" every few minutes, probably caused by whatever discomfort was going on in my digestive tract, but that was just a guess.
Then she went away again and 2 other nurses came in. (One of them I remembered clearly from last year when Peter was born as some one I didn't care for very much.) They said another lady was coming in and that she was 24 weeks along and going to deliver so they wanted her in that room so she'd be as close to the nursery as possible. This meant I needed to go elsewhere with my big bad wasting everybody's time self.
(Okay, well she didn't say that last bit, but that's how I was feeling.)
They gathered my stuff and rolled me off down the hall to another room. This time it was an actual birthing suite, albeit a much smaller one then I'd been in last year when I actually WAS going to have a baby.
Once there I was rehooked up to all the machines (it took the nurse about 20 minutes to catch the baby on the heart monitor) and told to rest, relax, etc, awhile longer. Eventually another nurse came in and told me Doc was pretty sure that I had some sort of flu bug and it had me all dehydrated so they were going to start an IV to put some fluids in me and then give me some anti-nausea meds as well.
I was left to wait awhile longer, to (you guessed it) rest, relax and be monitored. Somewhere in there I had a monster contraction. The monitor showed it. Matt saw the numbers jump and everything. And I felt it. Boy did I feel it. And, well, aside from the fact that I had just had a contraction 12 weeks early, and, um, ouch, I was actually a little tiny bit happy to have one, and you know, prove to the nurses that I wasn't crazy and maybe I actually had been having some all night and maybe there really was a good reason for me to be there.
And alright, let me continue to be honest, it probably wasn't a monster, either, but it felt pretty big... you know, for someone who's never delivered the old fashioned way.
Not long after that a nurse came in, I got my IV, some blood was drawn for tests and I was hooked up to a bag of fluids, which I sort of soaked right up.
A new nurse came next (she was my pre-op nurse last year, and she had helped Dr. R deliver Peter and to be honest I absolutely love her!!) She wanted to adjust my monitors to ensure they were on all right because they kept showing I was having contractions and also to adjust my IV. I assured her that whatever contractions the monitor was picking up I was feeling too. While she was there the Doc came in. He teased me and reminded me that there are better ways for mothers of toddlers to get some rest and relaxation besides checking into the hospital. He talked to the nurse and they looked at the monitor's print out of my contractions. He ordered the nurse be ready to start a second IV of fluids and apparently decided they needed a urine sample as well.
More time went by. I kept having random contractions and I kept right on feeling crappy. Eventually around noon, I sent Matt home with Peter so both could eat lunch, one could study and the other could take a nap.
Lab results came back to show that I was in fact dehydrated and the Doc decided that was what was causing the sporadic contractions. He ordered a shot of something to stop the contractions and I was put on a different IV containing some sugars and also more importantly potassium, which apparently I was low on. More frustrating was that the IV was going to take a good 4-5 hours so that meant I was going to be there at leastuntil the early evening.
The anti-contraction shot made me feel more crappy because it made my heart race a bit and it made the baby jittery and both of us felt all hyper, which didn't help either. The contractions mostly seemed to stop but then of course my stomach just kept right on hurting. Doc said he figured I'd gotten one of those 24 hour stomach bugs and that, by his guess I was only about half way through its course. He asked if I'd had any more vomiting (no) and if any "loose stool" had made an appearance yet (also no) because he suspected that as these things usually run their course, mine was on the way.
Great.....
"Loose stool' is always something you want to have when you're hooked to an IV and about 45 fetal monitors and you have to call a nurse to unhook you every time you "feel the urge."
Anyway, he was right. Mine did come eventually, with a vengeance, but that's all I'm going to say about that. The only good part about it, as the Doctor said, was it meant the "bug" was nearly finished running its course with me.
Let's see, what else happened?
At some point the nurse took a swab sample to do some sort of "preterm labor prediction test." Basically if it had come back positive I would have had a 90% chance or greater of going into preterm labor in the next two weeks. (Can you say "extended hospital stay" much?") Even thinking about getting back those test results terrified me. Honestly up until that point, there wasn't ever a moment during any of the long sick night or the long day in the hospital that I had ever, EVER, let my mind even consider the idea that my baby was going to be born. I was there to confirm IF I was even having contractions and then make them stop. PERIOD. No baby. Not yet.
But thanks to the test, there for an hour or so, images of micro-preemie babies in warmers that I'd seen on TV and various Mommy blogs kept drifting in and out of my brain scaring the SHIT out of me.
Praise the Lord, my test back negative and I breathed a TREMENDOUS sigh of relief.
Doc and nurses alike, assured me, there was never any danger to my child. I was sort of a sick, dehydrated mess, probably because I'd contracted this stomach thing right at the tale end of a wicked head cold, but the baby was always doing fine. The heartbeat was always strong as were the kicks and judging by the number of times they had to adjust the fetal monitor, so was the baby's activity level.
Still, scary to even consider.
By mid afternoon my IV of potassium, etc was about half drained. I had one random contraction after a few hours of nothing, so I was given a couple of pills designed to stop contractions, more as a precaution then anything else. I was also given some mylanta (for my stomach) and some immodium (for the lower end) and told to get some rest.
Seriously?
Has anyone ever tried to sleep in an L and D room? You know, without all the exhaustion of an actual L and D? The beds are rock hard and designed so that that bottom half breaks off to reveal the dreaded stirrups I'm presuming and are, as uncomfortable as anything I can imagine even deserves to be called a bed. Plus I had a heart monitor for me on my left index finger and an IV in my right hand, plus the 2 monitors on my tummy for the baby and the drippy drippy clicky noise of the IV machine and the noise of the monitor paper piling up and all that's only AFTER they turned down the fetal microphone thing so I couldn't hear the baby's heartbeat and every movement.
So then, after tossing and turning and detangling all the wires about 47 times I f-i-n-a-l-l-y start to drift off and an alarm goes off because my blood pressure is a bit low or the paper is running out or the IV's battery is dying. Then the nurse just comes in to check on you, all bright and cheerful and bubbling with energy.
Oh those lovely nurses, the same ones who thankfully came running within 45 seconds when I had to "GO" to the bathroom, in the way the Doc warned me that I might, but then would take what felt like an hour and a hald unhooking everything and getting the toilet all ready so I could give a urine sample and all I really, really wanted to do is, well... poop.
A lot.
Anyways.
I never did get much sleep.
They also kept bringing me food, which really was sort of amusing. Let me just say that it's a more than a full 24 hours later and I still don't feel much like eating. Bleh.
To sum up, this very long and probably very boring story, after dinner (which I barely touched) around 5:45 pm Doc came in from another C-section and told me I'd successfully drained the IV. I was going to get another shot of anti-nausea stuff as well as some more immodium before I left and that he'd called in a prescription for some more of both for me to pick up on the way home. He told me in 12-24 hours I should start to feel back to 100% again as the bug worked its way out of my system, but to try to take it easy for awhile so as not to redehydrate myself and start this whole thing over again. Finally, the nurse gave me a list of probably 500 symptoms why I should, legitamitely, come back in, should I experience any of them, between now and our December scheduled birth.
We went home, got Peter to bed, I took a very hot shower and crashed out myself for a good 12 hours. Let me just tell you how much I love my own pajamas and my own bed. Seriously.
Today aside from feeling exceptionally tired and not-hungry I feel much better.
I'm very thankful for all the kind nurses and my amazing doctor who took care of me yesterday and that none of them laughed at me or called me a big baby for being there in the first place (even though that's pretty much how I felt.)
I'm also very thankful to now know, for sure, what a contraction feels like so I can know if I start to have them again (although preferably NOT.)
I'm very very very thankful that the medicine worked so well and that the contractions I was having, sporadically or otherwise, stopped. :)
I'm thankful that my baby is healthy and seems largely, unfazed by the entire incident.
And finally, I'm thankful that Matt was able miss class to take me in to the hospital and to be there to give me funny, uncomfortable looks in between chasing Peter while I was treated. I'm thankful that he is such a good and patient father to our son and that I didn't need to worry that they would be okay together without me all day. I'm also, thankful that when I told Matt he should take Peter home for a nap he asked me whether or not I was sure. He (who is still adamant that he does NOT want to be in the OR for the arrival of number 2) really wanted to know that I would be okay there in the hospital without him, by myself. That might seem dumb, or silly, but it was probably the sweetest and most kind thing he could have said to me at that moment.
Anyway, here's to another 11 weeks of healthy, uneventful pregnancy.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Random Stuff
Peter, what happend to your other shoe?
Oh.
One would hope that he would learn his lesson and STOP trying to climb over the baby gates.
In other news....
I'm not entirely sure if he's trying to communicate with his sibling, to regain some of his Mama's lost lap space or just a very firm believer that belly buttons belong on the INSIDE, but lately he seems fascinated by my preggo belly.
Finally, I'm not generally the biggest fans of blog video posts (the loadtimes drive me crazy,) but I've heard the Grandparents rather enjoy them and in this case, Peter was just being too darn cute interacting with an episode of Sesame Street for me not to share. (Be sure to turn up your volume to hear what's happening on the TV and understand Peter's reactions.)
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Sickness
The big kids all went back to school a few weeks ago, which I guess means by now they've all had plenty of time to accumulate germs from their little friends, give these germs to their little brothers and sisters who have then shared these germs with my son, who has lovingly shared them with me also.
It started on Sunday... Peter had a runny nose. A "Glazed Donut" face as my one friend would call it.
After church he only took a very short nap, presumably because he couldn't breath properly.
By the afternoon his nose was producing large green slugs.
Yuck.
He had some Baby Tylenol at bed time and slept okay that night.
On Monday the green slugs were starting to appear less frequently.
On Tuesday he just had some dry crusty stuff.
And I was happy that we seemed to have come through this little bug with out a trip to the pediatrician, a bought of bronchitis or even pneumonia.
Except that sometime yesterday afternoon my own nose started to run. And my throat and sinuses started feeling scratchy.
Ugh.
I'm trying to remind myself that I had at least 745 separate infections, colds or flus while I was pregnant with Peter. (Nasty germy elementary school children....)
And, really, aside from all the barfing in the beginning, this is the first time I can recall being sick during this pregnancy.
Still at 4-something this morning as I was still lying there miserable and mostly awake because I couldn't breath, and I watched Matt get up to start his day, that thought really didn't console me.
I hate snot.
I hate blowing my nose every 5 minutes and never feeling any relief anyway.
I hate this sinus headache and the scratchy throat and having to breath through my mouth like a moron and that everything tastes like rubber.
Bleh....
Hopefully this will run its course quickly with me like it did with Peter.
It started on Sunday... Peter had a runny nose. A "Glazed Donut" face as my one friend would call it.
After church he only took a very short nap, presumably because he couldn't breath properly.
By the afternoon his nose was producing large green slugs.
Yuck.
He had some Baby Tylenol at bed time and slept okay that night.
On Monday the green slugs were starting to appear less frequently.
On Tuesday he just had some dry crusty stuff.
And I was happy that we seemed to have come through this little bug with out a trip to the pediatrician, a bought of bronchitis or even pneumonia.
Except that sometime yesterday afternoon my own nose started to run. And my throat and sinuses started feeling scratchy.
Ugh.
I'm trying to remind myself that I had at least 745 separate infections, colds or flus while I was pregnant with Peter. (Nasty germy elementary school children....)
And, really, aside from all the barfing in the beginning, this is the first time I can recall being sick during this pregnancy.
Still at 4-something this morning as I was still lying there miserable and mostly awake because I couldn't breath, and I watched Matt get up to start his day, that thought really didn't console me.
I hate snot.
I hate blowing my nose every 5 minutes and never feeling any relief anyway.
I hate this sinus headache and the scratchy throat and having to breath through my mouth like a moron and that everything tastes like rubber.
Bleh....
Hopefully this will run its course quickly with me like it did with Peter.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Another Year, Another Fair
This past weekend was the Monterey County Fair once again, and since Friday was free for military families we decided to go, even though, mostly, these small county fairs just make me nostalgic for the great Ohio State Fair. Oh how I long to slide down the giant yellow slide again, devour ice cream cones from the dairy barn while pondering giant sculptures of famous people made out of butter. I want to watch hours of endless horse shows in the coliseum, to fill enormous bags with sugary goodness in the bulk candy tent, to fish for catfish in the wildlife center, and then of course to ride back towards the car on the sky ride which my husband finds ABSOLUTELY terrifying. :)
Maybe next summer...
(I say that every year...)
Which is sort of ironic since as a child I didn't "love" the fair. It was just something my parents dragged us to. But then in college Matt and I went together and spent way to much money on way to much junkie fair food and, well, it became a magical experience. I guess being in love will do that to some things.
Anyway....
While the fair here is much, much smaller by comparison (even when compared to Ohio's county fairs, or even the San Diego county fair) we still managed to enjoy a nice afternoon there as a family.
Peter met a clown,
and saw lots of poultry, including this large white, duck.
Then Daddy introduced him to some cows. Not sure if this particular model was of the "keeps your sippy cup full of milk" or the "hamburgers are delicious" variety, but he or she was nice to meet none the less.
Next Peter directed us toward the pigs and the sheep.
The pigs were apparently terrifying to our one year old, but the goats and sheeps were much friendlier and he willingly reached out to say hello to many of them.
Then we went and ate lunch. This is Peter giving me the "Mommy I'm hungry, please feed me more of your tri-tip sandwich and Italian sausage NOW or else I'll scream" face.
He's deceivingly innocent looking, I know, but don't be fooled.
Ignore the big blue/green eyes...
Pay no mind to those chubby cheeks...
Look away from the mess of blond curls...
Alright fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.
:)
After lunch, since he is still to small to ride most of the rides, and his father is afraid of most of them with him anyway, and his mother is too pregnant to fit in the seats even if she were allowed....
Peter enjoyed his first ever pony ride.
They made us wait a bit longer in the line to put him on their very smallest pony....
AKA, "Shorty"
(Mommy- who perhaps should have reconsidered how much that orange tank top would make her look like a pumpkin- came along to hold him tightly in the saddle.)
"YEEE-HAW!!"
Next we literally ran into Artichoke Man.
Yea, I have no idea either. Maybe it's a California thing? Although, following that logic, I kept looking for Avocado Man, but I never did find him. Maybe we're too far north?
In one of the Arts and Crafts buildings Matt and Peter took a quick airplane ride...
In another, Peter discovered why all of his sheep friends from earlier in the day had such close haircuts.
When did he get so big anyway?
(I think maybe he was directing us back towards the main drag where all the food could be found...)
Then Matt ran into one of his classmates from school who shared a large portion of his kettle corn with Peter.
I literally could not get my camera out fast enough to get a good picture of him eating it all because it disappeared THAT fast.
He also got to try a few bites of our strawberries and cream funnel cake.
I can't be positive, but I'm pretty sure my son enjoys the fair food at least as much as I do.
Finally, before we left we visited the produce building. Last year when we went there we found a free souvenir mini-fly swatter for our 6 week old and I was happy to get another this year and be able to make the following comparison:
THEN:
and NOW:
What a tremendous difference a year makes?!?
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
A couple pictures
First, there's a hippo running around chasing after my kid these days...
Oh, and somebody is another month older! Happy 14 months kiddo!
For Grandpa
Back at Easter, Grandpa left his cane here. It's been living behind the shelf of DVDs ever since. Until about a week ago, when Peter discovered it there...
The Leader of the Pack
It seems I live wth a pack of wild animals and my husband is in charge. Whatever he does his packmates (Brutus and Peter) do as well.
The neighbors think we're crazy. (They're probably right.)
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