It's hard to believe really, but this time last year I didn't even know for sure that I was pregnant.
Matt had been home from deployment for almost 3 weeks and there had certainly been a lot of trying but I wasn't deluding myself into believing we'd actually be lucky enough to make a baby that first month.
Except that for a week or two I'd been feeling kind of strange. Certainly not nauseous or anything, just, strange. I can't really explain it.
The 23rd had been the date on the calendar to dread, so the speak, for most of that summer, so when it came and went I started to get suspicious. The thing was though, that the stress of Matt's homecoming had made me a week late the previous month so I really didn't know when to expect anything.
On the afternoon of Saturday the 25th I took a pregnancy test just for the heck of it. I guess it was a lame attempt at finding some peace of mind so I'd stop thinking about it. The test was negative. Sadly I shrugged away tears and tried (in vain) to put it out of my mind.
Except that the test had come in a pack of two. So the next morning I took another one. It was still negative. I think. Because, you know, those old fashion cheapy line tests are really hard to read.
Monday "it" still hadn't come so on my way home from school I stopped and bought a 2 pack of the more expensive "digital" EPT tests. I told myself that I was NOT going to take them. I wasn't! I would just keep them around for a few more days and if still nothing happened, then I'd take one then.
(Yea right.)
The next day, Tuesday morning, on Oct 28, 2008 I peed on a stick for the third time that week and 3 minutes later the little screen said "PREGNANT."
Interesting. Maybe we are actually that lucky. Maybe a woman can trust her intuition after all.
I called and made an appointment with my Primary Care doctor to confirm, but unfortunately they didn't have anything available until FRIDAY AFTERNOON!!!
It was going to be a very long 4 days.
After school I stopped again and bought more tests in about 3 different brands (spending something ungodly like $80.) I took them all and they all confirmed that I was, indeed, pregnant.
Just, you know, not officially.
I called Matt who was at work and had overnight duty. Obviously he knew my suspicions so I just told him I'd made an appointment to see the doctor. My very sweet husband, ever the funny man, asked me why and said that I didn't seem sick to him.
I think he was in denial.
That Friday was Halloween which made it a great deal easier to dash out of work early and head to my appointment. Once there I had the pleasure, once again, of urinating, this time in a cup. After that, a Doctor (who was not my regular doc and seemed to have been out of med school for something like 15 minutes) came in to confirm that officially, medically, I was "with child."
Another Doc came in, (confirming my suspicions that the original fellow was still very wet around the ears) and directed him in what papers I was supposed to be given, what labs needed to be ordered and what needed to be submitted to Tri-Care. They spoke to me for a few minutes and in the course of the conversation decided they needed to test my wee for a UTI since I've had one many times before. They told me to "Sit Tight" and said some one would be back shortly.
So I sat.
And I sat.
Nobody ever came.
Ever.
Eventually, it seemed really quiet in the hallway and it had been nearly an hour so I opened the door to the exam room and peeked out. The lights were mostly all off, and there was one lone Doctor down the hall in her office apparently finishing paperwork.
Apparently everyone had forgotten about me. :(
Maybe they were all in a hurry to get home for Trick or Treat.
The Doctor that WAS still there was very nice, and helpful and swore that heads would roll in the morning for my embarrassing situation. She finished up my paperwork and sent me on my way.
I was mortified. I would never go back there, that was for sure. I switched to the Navy clinic and tried very hard to forget about the big, ugly, dark cloud that had blown in over one of the happiest days of my life.
Because the fact of that matter was I was pregnant! God had answered my prayers.
Granted at that point Peter was nothing more than I a small bundle of rapidly dividing cells trying desperately to implant itself safely in my uterus. But still. Wow.
It's a lot to think about.
In 2008, for Trick or Treat, I got a fetus.
(Except, technically I don't think it was a fetus just yet, but whatever.)
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
Showing posts with label Pregnancy #1. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy #1. Show all posts
Friday, October 30, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Birthday Party
Getting Ready
The night between June 30 and July 1st was probably one of the longest in my entire life. I couldn't sleep. I didn't really feel afraid, just anxious. As I've mentioned I'm not very good at waiting. At 3:30 in the morning I got up and ate some toast and a bowl of cereal and chugged a big glass of OJ and some water as I wasn't allowed to eat after 4:00 am. Mostly, all this accomplished was making my nervous stomach upset and grumbly. Somewhere in the very early dawn hours I think I finally fell asleep for a little while, and then I awoke at around 8:00 am.
I got up, and took a shower. Matt played video games. I shoved more and more crap into my suitcase, just in case and Matt played more video games. At 9:00 I am Legend came on HBO and since I have never seen it I became really engrossed and I didn't want to have to leave. But, before I knew it, it was 9:30 and we were loading up the car and heading to the hospital.
As soon as we checked in a very nice and patient nurse took us to our room. She showed us where to put our things. I got changed into my hospital gown and other garb and then once I was in bed she put in an I.V. The doctor wanted me to take in a whole bag of fluid before the surgery ever began. Mostly this just made my arm cold and meant I had to pee about 12 times in those 2 hours before the surgery. Time moved slower than I ever thought possible. Matt grew very nervous as they explained to us all that was going to happen and eased his mind by asking thousands of questions. He learned from the nurse not only all the pertinent details of the upcoming procedure but also the inner-workings of the I.V. machine, the blood pressure monitor, and the machines which were monitoring the contractions and the baby's heart beat. I can't actually believe that the nurse was patient and kind enough to explain all of it to him.
At about 10 minutes til 12 Dr. Ramseur came in to do a quick ultrasound and verify that the baby was still breech.
Before we knew it the clock said noon and Matt and I found ourselves sitting alone, still in my room, waiting.
Then everything started to happen very quickly.
Pre-Op
About 5 minutes after 12 the nurse brought in this ridiculously tan, bushy headed blond and pretty good looking surfer type dude in off-purple scrubs. She introduced him as the anesthesiologist. He shook my hand very firmly and then continued to hold on to it tightly for several minutes while he leaned in a little too closely and explained his side of the procedure to me. I have no idea what he said. All I could think about was "Why won't he let go of my hand?" and "Gosh he's leaning in close to talk to me!" and "Oh my he is sort of cute... teehee... how on earth can he be talking to me this closely in front of my husband when I'm about to have a baby."
Then he went away again. Matt and I both looked at the nurse as if to say "Is he for real?" and she just sort of shrugged and said something about how he is older than he looks. Apparently he'd taken off several years to surf before going to medical school. Go figure.
The nurse told Matt to put on his funny shower cap and bath robe and follow me as she walked me and my new I.V. rolling-tower-friend to the operating room. Matt was told to wait outside with one of the nurses while I went on in and got set up. Once everything was ready he'd he allowed to join me.
The operating room was bright and stifling. The lights in there were so powerful the made the dull colors of the doctor's and nurses scrubs come to life and the metallic instruments shown blindingly and everything seemed very surreal. Several more nurses were introduced to me. Once in particular, a teeny little woman said "Hi, Jennifer my name is something or other and since you'll be numb and won't be able to, I'm going to help out Dr. Ramseur by pushing your baby out for you today." Then a very nice, soft spoken nurse who I would soon come to love intimately for the lovely care she gave me, came in and said she was going to be my nurse for the rest of the day. She helped me onto the table and then held my shoulders while I tried my best to slouch over appropriately as the surfer dude Doctor took care of the epidural.
The Surfer Dude Doc told me to lean forward in a curved shape and push my lower back towards him. Not a very easy thing to do with an enormous preggo belly, let me just tell you. The nurse held my shoulders and I tried very hard to keep still, and breath and ignore the fact that the surfer dude was now face to face with my exposed butt cheeks just a few inches below where he was working. He told me as he made some marks in ink, then he told me as he cleaned the area. He told me as he put some sort of protective cover over my back and gave me a shot of some sort of local numbing agent. (I felt that bit go in as very quickly a hot and heavy sensation moved from the pricking spot towards my butt crack.) Finally, he told me from then on all I'd feel would be pressure. I felt this pressure for several more minutes while he tried to get the needle in. The nurses meanwhile were giggling in the background about someone having a mild shake in their hand. My eyes bugged out a little thinking they were talking about the Surfer Dude Doc who was about to stick a needle into my spine and then everyone assured me they were just talking about Dr. Ramseur being a perfectionist and always having to line up his dots perfectly when closing a patient. It did occur to me to wonder whether or not the Doctor, who was about to cut my baby out of me, did indeed have a shaky hand.
Eventually the Surfer Dude Doc asked for a smaller needle and finally got the epidural in and I quickly was laid out on the table while the feeling drained out of the lower 2/3 of my body.
All vanity or modesty I might ever have felt evaporated as they put in the catheter and set me up in the correct position for surgery. Meanwhile Dr. Ramseur was bouncing around the room with a smile under his mask going on about how we were going to have a birthday party and how much fun it was going to be. Then he started started drawing marks on my lower tummy, the nurses splayed my arms out on either side of me and a plasticy sheet was erected in front of my face to protect the sterile area and also block our view of the proceedings.
I started to freak out. Matt as still outside. The only other person on my side of the tent was the surfer dude and the view blocking sheet was hanging about an inch in front of my nose. This combined with the rubber oxygen mask on my face was making me feel COMPLETELY claustrophobic and I started to cry. (No sobs or anything, just tears.)
The Surfer Dude Doc tried to stretch the screen sheet a little further to get it off my face, then Matt came in, grabbed my left hand, took a seat beside me and they got started.
The Cesarean Section
Going into it, I felt that I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. I'd talked to many people who'd had their babies via C-Section. I'd talked to several doctors and one fourth year-med student about the procedure and what was going to happen.
In reality I had no idea.
I heard a doctor or a nurse or somebody say that I'd feel the pressure as the initial incision was made. I did and it was, okay. I kept right on weeping and trying to look at my very blurry husband (who had my glasses in his pocket because they wouldn't fit over the oxygen mask) and tried to remember to keep breathing. The "pressure" continued as the doctor worked through the layers to get to my uterus. Several people had told me what these layers were, but I can't remember any of them besides "skin" and "uterus" nor can I even remember exactly how many there are supposed to be. Then I found myself wondering why anybody would ever call the feeling I was having down there "pressure" because from my perspective it felt a lot more like "pulling" or "tugging."
Pulling and tugging my guts out to be exact.
The surfer dude doctor, who I suddenly noticed did indeed have surf boards on his surgical cap, was sort of narrating and rubbing my forehead right along with Matt. Matt, told me later he was gently rubbing Matt's shoulder as well. Apparently, the Surfer Dude Doc is also very sensitive.
Suddenly I heard Dr. Ramseur say "I see toes!!" and then to me louder, "Jennifer, I think we were right about it being a boy or else those little round things between his feet are going to be a real problem." (The doctor told me later, in the womb the baby had his feet tucked under his buttocks and crossed around his little scrotum. How, um, lovely.)
Things went on, the tugging sensation grew worse and worse and I just tried to keep breathing. I kept thinking about how this was definitely not the pain free procedure I'd heard described to me. (In retrospect I do realize that most of the women I'd talked to did not have breech babies.) I heard words like "push" and "hang on" and "turn him" get thrown around and at some point in there the whole table was shaking as whatever it was went on down below the privacy screen. I think it was the doctor tugging. Tugging hard. I started to feel sort of woozy and dizzy and the chaos went on for while longer before the I heard Dr. Ramseur say "He's Out!" and then the Sensitive Surfer Dude Doc started whispering in my ear about what was going on again.
"They've put a mask on the baby to help him breath and that's why you don't hear him crying," he told us, "its not that he isn't crying its just muffled by the mask." A few moments passed. "They're just working on him and trying to get him cleaned up and warm so you can see him." Matt bravely peeked around the screen to the corner where the baby warmer was located, but told me he couldn't see the baby because there were nurses and doctors surrounding him.
Honestly, at the time, I can only remember thinking that I wished I cared more. I was feeling a lot of pain and I just really wanted the whole thing to be over. I tried to listen for the cries or the APGAR scores but my attention span wasn't really holding.
Side note:
Two days later, before the circumcision, I asked Dr. Ramseur about those scores and got the rest of the story there. (Well, technically, some of this he told me in post-op, but for continuity's sake, let me just put it all here, now.) Apparently, when the nurse tried to push so that Dr. Ramseaur could pull the baby out he was stuck. His hands were up near his chin and both together they kept catching on, I don't know, something. With some difficulty they were able to unstuck the hands and chin only to find the cord wrapped, TWICE, around the baby's neck. After unwinding the cord, he was finally able to take the baby out. However, after the "trauma" (that might not be the best word) of all the pulling and tugging the baby had been sort of "depressed" and was basically unresponsive upon making his entrance into the world.
The mere thought of this, kills me now. But, basically, Dr. Ramseur explained it like this: You know how when a baby animal gets picked up in its mother's mouth (think Tiger cubs) it just goes limp to avoid getting hurt. This is what happens to a baby in childbirth. When a contraction happens their hearts slow, and they go limp and almost lifeless to prepare to get pushed out and not get hurt. But in childbirth the contractions and the pushes are spaced out. In our case I was having contractions making him go limp already... then the doctor was trying to pull him out, relaxing his system and then on top of that there was the cord... all of which caused him to relax, for a little to long, and a little too much.
Thankfully, babies are resilient and he was "easily" revived once they got him over to the warmer and did their thing. (What they did, I don't know, because I haven't spoken to the pediatrician about it.)
Matt reminds me that lots of babies enter this world in less than perfect condition and turn out absolutely perfect. Obviously I'm pretty convinced my own son is now living proof of this. But the mere thought that for even a few moments he was not 100% after birth, scares the bageezus out of me. Especially as I look at him laying beside me now.
Anyway.
During the time that they were, um, getting him to cry, my own Doctor was starting to stitch everything back up and the Sensitive Surfer Dude Doc told me he was going to give me something to make my uterus contract. The resulting cramping feeling literally made the room start to go fuzzy for me and this was when I finally heard my child cry out. Somewhere in there I heard a nurse yell out that the baby was peeing (on the pediatrician) and then a moment later the pediatrician FINALLY brought the baby to us. The doctor, who looked something like Jim Henson with his mask on over his full, grey beard... or maybe a very tall Papa Smurf... brought him over all bundled up in blankets and there was this little, perfect pink face with enormous dark blue eyes staring at me from underneath a ridiculous pink and blue striped hat. I tried to remind myself that this was a moment I'd long been dreaming about and looking forward to. "Tried" being the key word there. I looked at him and pretty much thought to myself "Alrighty then" and went on about my business of feeling like complete crap. Matt tells me I said he was cute, or something, but I have no memory of that at all. My memory is too busy remembering that at that point the baby was being taken to the nursery and Matt (under my own orders) was to go with him. Trouble was I didn't want Matt to leave ME. I didn't stop him though, I forced myself to think sensibly about who needed him most, kissed him goodbye through his surgical mask and suddenly found myself to be very alone.
Alone except for the team of Doctors and Nurses doing their thing and of course, my Sensitive Surfer Dude Anesthesia Doc. The room was literally spinning and I told him I felt like I was going to pass out. He pulled my I.V. Arm away from my face where it had been the entire surgery as Matt held my hand and told me that would help the medicine get through. It must have, because before long I started to really feel like vomiting instead. For this I was given some other medicine and left to lie on the table feeling crampy and in agony. All I wanted was to be able to curl up into a ball and lay on my side (as per my normal response to cramps) but of course I could not. I distracted myself by listening to the nurses count and recount tools and sponges. I tried to count the little clicks as Dr. Ramseur stapled up the incision and rejoiced that the whole thing was almost over. I started thinking about whether or not I'd forget how terrible the whole thing felt as any mother will tell you that you do.
Then suddenly the the tent was coming down. The blanket over my chest and neck disappeared and the heart monitor stickies were pulled off. There was counting and someone telling me about how I was going to feel like I was falling as they shifted me back onto a bed and then suddenly the bright lights were fading and I was being wheeled out, into the hall and then into a small recovery room. Somebody made the bed sit up a little and I immediately felt at least a thousand times better. Dr. Ramseur was there before long and he told me that the baby was stretched out in the nursery sucking on the back of his hand while they did their thing with him. Matt came in next and then before long they brought the baby to me.
The events of the operating room and all the yuckiness immediately started to fade in my brain. He was just so beautiful. And perfect.
Post-Op
Before I knew it I was having the fantasy meeting with my son that I'd been imagining for months and hadn't had in the operating room. I looked into his big round, dark blue eyes and giggled at how he only wanted to open one at a time. I traced the slope of his adorable little nose. I stroked his teeny tiny little lips and immediately noticed they slant gently down on the right side just like my husband's on crooked grin. I counted his fingers and toes and laughed at the ridiculously small little nails growing on them. I peeked under his funny little hat to find a full head of soft, medium brown hair- still crusted with some of the amniotic gunky stuff. Matt started taking pictures and before long was making phone calls. While Matt was in the hall on the phone, my nurse, who might go down on record as the nicest and most patient person in the history of the world, helped me through my anxiety and fear and got me nursing my beautiful boy.
The rest of my baby's birthday is kind of a blur. After I nursed my son for the first time, and found the process to be surprisingly easy (I think the baby was going easy on me since I was full of issues) they took him away again to be bathed and I was taken to my room to rest and relax for awhile. They brought me the baby soon and he stayed with Matt and I for most of the rest of the day. Because I'd had a c-section and was still regaining feeling in my legs and couldn't really lift my boy on my own they had to take him to the nursery when Matt went home for dinner and for the night to take care of the dog and the cats. That was the hard part, letting them keep taking him from me. I spent the alone time talking on the phone and trying to absorb the day's events. I kept trying to decide if I felt like a Mommy yet. The longing to be near him that I felt every time he went back to the nursery that first night and my absolute inability to sleep without him near me quickly answered that question.
So there it is... the story of the day my son was born.
Now, may I proudly present, Mr. Peter Joseph
(Peter because it is a nice normal name that isn't used much these days, Joseph after my Grandfather and Uncle Joe.
Born, Wednesday, June 1, 2009 at 12:51 pm.
8 pounds, 2 ounces. 20 1/2 inches long
Here I am in post-op holding him for the first time.
Matt was all about holding his son and getting to know him that first afternoon. He's an amazing Father.
Peter had some trouble staying warm but snuggled in nicely once a nurse brought the extra large, warmed blanket.
The night between June 30 and July 1st was probably one of the longest in my entire life. I couldn't sleep. I didn't really feel afraid, just anxious. As I've mentioned I'm not very good at waiting. At 3:30 in the morning I got up and ate some toast and a bowl of cereal and chugged a big glass of OJ and some water as I wasn't allowed to eat after 4:00 am. Mostly, all this accomplished was making my nervous stomach upset and grumbly. Somewhere in the very early dawn hours I think I finally fell asleep for a little while, and then I awoke at around 8:00 am.
I got up, and took a shower. Matt played video games. I shoved more and more crap into my suitcase, just in case and Matt played more video games. At 9:00 I am Legend came on HBO and since I have never seen it I became really engrossed and I didn't want to have to leave. But, before I knew it, it was 9:30 and we were loading up the car and heading to the hospital.
As soon as we checked in a very nice and patient nurse took us to our room. She showed us where to put our things. I got changed into my hospital gown and other garb and then once I was in bed she put in an I.V. The doctor wanted me to take in a whole bag of fluid before the surgery ever began. Mostly this just made my arm cold and meant I had to pee about 12 times in those 2 hours before the surgery. Time moved slower than I ever thought possible. Matt grew very nervous as they explained to us all that was going to happen and eased his mind by asking thousands of questions. He learned from the nurse not only all the pertinent details of the upcoming procedure but also the inner-workings of the I.V. machine, the blood pressure monitor, and the machines which were monitoring the contractions and the baby's heart beat. I can't actually believe that the nurse was patient and kind enough to explain all of it to him.
At about 10 minutes til 12 Dr. Ramseur came in to do a quick ultrasound and verify that the baby was still breech.
Before we knew it the clock said noon and Matt and I found ourselves sitting alone, still in my room, waiting.
Then everything started to happen very quickly.
Pre-Op
About 5 minutes after 12 the nurse brought in this ridiculously tan, bushy headed blond and pretty good looking surfer type dude in off-purple scrubs. She introduced him as the anesthesiologist. He shook my hand very firmly and then continued to hold on to it tightly for several minutes while he leaned in a little too closely and explained his side of the procedure to me. I have no idea what he said. All I could think about was "Why won't he let go of my hand?" and "Gosh he's leaning in close to talk to me!" and "Oh my he is sort of cute... teehee... how on earth can he be talking to me this closely in front of my husband when I'm about to have a baby."
Then he went away again. Matt and I both looked at the nurse as if to say "Is he for real?" and she just sort of shrugged and said something about how he is older than he looks. Apparently he'd taken off several years to surf before going to medical school. Go figure.
The nurse told Matt to put on his funny shower cap and bath robe and follow me as she walked me and my new I.V. rolling-tower-friend to the operating room. Matt was told to wait outside with one of the nurses while I went on in and got set up. Once everything was ready he'd he allowed to join me.
The operating room was bright and stifling. The lights in there were so powerful the made the dull colors of the doctor's and nurses scrubs come to life and the metallic instruments shown blindingly and everything seemed very surreal. Several more nurses were introduced to me. Once in particular, a teeny little woman said "Hi, Jennifer my name is something or other and since you'll be numb and won't be able to, I'm going to help out Dr. Ramseur by pushing your baby out for you today." Then a very nice, soft spoken nurse who I would soon come to love intimately for the lovely care she gave me, came in and said she was going to be my nurse for the rest of the day. She helped me onto the table and then held my shoulders while I tried my best to slouch over appropriately as the surfer dude Doctor took care of the epidural.
The Surfer Dude Doc told me to lean forward in a curved shape and push my lower back towards him. Not a very easy thing to do with an enormous preggo belly, let me just tell you. The nurse held my shoulders and I tried very hard to keep still, and breath and ignore the fact that the surfer dude was now face to face with my exposed butt cheeks just a few inches below where he was working. He told me as he made some marks in ink, then he told me as he cleaned the area. He told me as he put some sort of protective cover over my back and gave me a shot of some sort of local numbing agent. (I felt that bit go in as very quickly a hot and heavy sensation moved from the pricking spot towards my butt crack.) Finally, he told me from then on all I'd feel would be pressure. I felt this pressure for several more minutes while he tried to get the needle in. The nurses meanwhile were giggling in the background about someone having a mild shake in their hand. My eyes bugged out a little thinking they were talking about the Surfer Dude Doc who was about to stick a needle into my spine and then everyone assured me they were just talking about Dr. Ramseur being a perfectionist and always having to line up his dots perfectly when closing a patient. It did occur to me to wonder whether or not the Doctor, who was about to cut my baby out of me, did indeed have a shaky hand.
Eventually the Surfer Dude Doc asked for a smaller needle and finally got the epidural in and I quickly was laid out on the table while the feeling drained out of the lower 2/3 of my body.
All vanity or modesty I might ever have felt evaporated as they put in the catheter and set me up in the correct position for surgery. Meanwhile Dr. Ramseur was bouncing around the room with a smile under his mask going on about how we were going to have a birthday party and how much fun it was going to be. Then he started started drawing marks on my lower tummy, the nurses splayed my arms out on either side of me and a plasticy sheet was erected in front of my face to protect the sterile area and also block our view of the proceedings.
I started to freak out. Matt as still outside. The only other person on my side of the tent was the surfer dude and the view blocking sheet was hanging about an inch in front of my nose. This combined with the rubber oxygen mask on my face was making me feel COMPLETELY claustrophobic and I started to cry. (No sobs or anything, just tears.)
The Surfer Dude Doc tried to stretch the screen sheet a little further to get it off my face, then Matt came in, grabbed my left hand, took a seat beside me and they got started.
The Cesarean Section
Going into it, I felt that I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. I'd talked to many people who'd had their babies via C-Section. I'd talked to several doctors and one fourth year-med student about the procedure and what was going to happen.
In reality I had no idea.
I heard a doctor or a nurse or somebody say that I'd feel the pressure as the initial incision was made. I did and it was, okay. I kept right on weeping and trying to look at my very blurry husband (who had my glasses in his pocket because they wouldn't fit over the oxygen mask) and tried to remember to keep breathing. The "pressure" continued as the doctor worked through the layers to get to my uterus. Several people had told me what these layers were, but I can't remember any of them besides "skin" and "uterus" nor can I even remember exactly how many there are supposed to be. Then I found myself wondering why anybody would ever call the feeling I was having down there "pressure" because from my perspective it felt a lot more like "pulling" or "tugging."
Pulling and tugging my guts out to be exact.
The surfer dude doctor, who I suddenly noticed did indeed have surf boards on his surgical cap, was sort of narrating and rubbing my forehead right along with Matt. Matt, told me later he was gently rubbing Matt's shoulder as well. Apparently, the Surfer Dude Doc is also very sensitive.
Suddenly I heard Dr. Ramseur say "I see toes!!" and then to me louder, "Jennifer, I think we were right about it being a boy or else those little round things between his feet are going to be a real problem." (The doctor told me later, in the womb the baby had his feet tucked under his buttocks and crossed around his little scrotum. How, um, lovely.)
Things went on, the tugging sensation grew worse and worse and I just tried to keep breathing. I kept thinking about how this was definitely not the pain free procedure I'd heard described to me. (In retrospect I do realize that most of the women I'd talked to did not have breech babies.) I heard words like "push" and "hang on" and "turn him" get thrown around and at some point in there the whole table was shaking as whatever it was went on down below the privacy screen. I think it was the doctor tugging. Tugging hard. I started to feel sort of woozy and dizzy and the chaos went on for while longer before the I heard Dr. Ramseur say "He's Out!" and then the Sensitive Surfer Dude Doc started whispering in my ear about what was going on again.
"They've put a mask on the baby to help him breath and that's why you don't hear him crying," he told us, "its not that he isn't crying its just muffled by the mask." A few moments passed. "They're just working on him and trying to get him cleaned up and warm so you can see him." Matt bravely peeked around the screen to the corner where the baby warmer was located, but told me he couldn't see the baby because there were nurses and doctors surrounding him.
Honestly, at the time, I can only remember thinking that I wished I cared more. I was feeling a lot of pain and I just really wanted the whole thing to be over. I tried to listen for the cries or the APGAR scores but my attention span wasn't really holding.
Side note:
Two days later, before the circumcision, I asked Dr. Ramseur about those scores and got the rest of the story there. (Well, technically, some of this he told me in post-op, but for continuity's sake, let me just put it all here, now.) Apparently, when the nurse tried to push so that Dr. Ramseaur could pull the baby out he was stuck. His hands were up near his chin and both together they kept catching on, I don't know, something. With some difficulty they were able to unstuck the hands and chin only to find the cord wrapped, TWICE, around the baby's neck. After unwinding the cord, he was finally able to take the baby out. However, after the "trauma" (that might not be the best word) of all the pulling and tugging the baby had been sort of "depressed" and was basically unresponsive upon making his entrance into the world.
The mere thought of this, kills me now. But, basically, Dr. Ramseur explained it like this: You know how when a baby animal gets picked up in its mother's mouth (think Tiger cubs) it just goes limp to avoid getting hurt. This is what happens to a baby in childbirth. When a contraction happens their hearts slow, and they go limp and almost lifeless to prepare to get pushed out and not get hurt. But in childbirth the contractions and the pushes are spaced out. In our case I was having contractions making him go limp already... then the doctor was trying to pull him out, relaxing his system and then on top of that there was the cord... all of which caused him to relax, for a little to long, and a little too much.
Thankfully, babies are resilient and he was "easily" revived once they got him over to the warmer and did their thing. (What they did, I don't know, because I haven't spoken to the pediatrician about it.)
Matt reminds me that lots of babies enter this world in less than perfect condition and turn out absolutely perfect. Obviously I'm pretty convinced my own son is now living proof of this. But the mere thought that for even a few moments he was not 100% after birth, scares the bageezus out of me. Especially as I look at him laying beside me now.
Anyway.
During the time that they were, um, getting him to cry, my own Doctor was starting to stitch everything back up and the Sensitive Surfer Dude Doc told me he was going to give me something to make my uterus contract. The resulting cramping feeling literally made the room start to go fuzzy for me and this was when I finally heard my child cry out. Somewhere in there I heard a nurse yell out that the baby was peeing (on the pediatrician) and then a moment later the pediatrician FINALLY brought the baby to us. The doctor, who looked something like Jim Henson with his mask on over his full, grey beard... or maybe a very tall Papa Smurf... brought him over all bundled up in blankets and there was this little, perfect pink face with enormous dark blue eyes staring at me from underneath a ridiculous pink and blue striped hat. I tried to remind myself that this was a moment I'd long been dreaming about and looking forward to. "Tried" being the key word there. I looked at him and pretty much thought to myself "Alrighty then" and went on about my business of feeling like complete crap. Matt tells me I said he was cute, or something, but I have no memory of that at all. My memory is too busy remembering that at that point the baby was being taken to the nursery and Matt (under my own orders) was to go with him. Trouble was I didn't want Matt to leave ME. I didn't stop him though, I forced myself to think sensibly about who needed him most, kissed him goodbye through his surgical mask and suddenly found myself to be very alone.
Alone except for the team of Doctors and Nurses doing their thing and of course, my Sensitive Surfer Dude Anesthesia Doc. The room was literally spinning and I told him I felt like I was going to pass out. He pulled my I.V. Arm away from my face where it had been the entire surgery as Matt held my hand and told me that would help the medicine get through. It must have, because before long I started to really feel like vomiting instead. For this I was given some other medicine and left to lie on the table feeling crampy and in agony. All I wanted was to be able to curl up into a ball and lay on my side (as per my normal response to cramps) but of course I could not. I distracted myself by listening to the nurses count and recount tools and sponges. I tried to count the little clicks as Dr. Ramseur stapled up the incision and rejoiced that the whole thing was almost over. I started thinking about whether or not I'd forget how terrible the whole thing felt as any mother will tell you that you do.
Then suddenly the the tent was coming down. The blanket over my chest and neck disappeared and the heart monitor stickies were pulled off. There was counting and someone telling me about how I was going to feel like I was falling as they shifted me back onto a bed and then suddenly the bright lights were fading and I was being wheeled out, into the hall and then into a small recovery room. Somebody made the bed sit up a little and I immediately felt at least a thousand times better. Dr. Ramseur was there before long and he told me that the baby was stretched out in the nursery sucking on the back of his hand while they did their thing with him. Matt came in next and then before long they brought the baby to me.
The events of the operating room and all the yuckiness immediately started to fade in my brain. He was just so beautiful. And perfect.
Post-Op
Before I knew it I was having the fantasy meeting with my son that I'd been imagining for months and hadn't had in the operating room. I looked into his big round, dark blue eyes and giggled at how he only wanted to open one at a time. I traced the slope of his adorable little nose. I stroked his teeny tiny little lips and immediately noticed they slant gently down on the right side just like my husband's on crooked grin. I counted his fingers and toes and laughed at the ridiculously small little nails growing on them. I peeked under his funny little hat to find a full head of soft, medium brown hair- still crusted with some of the amniotic gunky stuff. Matt started taking pictures and before long was making phone calls. While Matt was in the hall on the phone, my nurse, who might go down on record as the nicest and most patient person in the history of the world, helped me through my anxiety and fear and got me nursing my beautiful boy.
The rest of my baby's birthday is kind of a blur. After I nursed my son for the first time, and found the process to be surprisingly easy (I think the baby was going easy on me since I was full of issues) they took him away again to be bathed and I was taken to my room to rest and relax for awhile. They brought me the baby soon and he stayed with Matt and I for most of the rest of the day. Because I'd had a c-section and was still regaining feeling in my legs and couldn't really lift my boy on my own they had to take him to the nursery when Matt went home for dinner and for the night to take care of the dog and the cats. That was the hard part, letting them keep taking him from me. I spent the alone time talking on the phone and trying to absorb the day's events. I kept trying to decide if I felt like a Mommy yet. The longing to be near him that I felt every time he went back to the nursery that first night and my absolute inability to sleep without him near me quickly answered that question.
So there it is... the story of the day my son was born.
Now, may I proudly present, Mr. Peter Joseph
(Peter because it is a nice normal name that isn't used much these days, Joseph after my Grandfather and Uncle Joe.
Born, Wednesday, June 1, 2009 at 12:51 pm.
8 pounds, 2 ounces. 20 1/2 inches long
Here I am in post-op holding him for the first time.
Matt was all about holding his son and getting to know him that first afternoon. He's an amazing Father.
Peter had some trouble staying warm but snuggled in nicely once a nurse brought the extra large, warmed blanket.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Final Check
I just came from my "last" prenatal appointment.
Based on the exam, I think that is a very good thing as I am still only dilated to apx 1+1/2 centimeters. (I've been dilated to apx 1+1/2 centimeters since about a month ago when I was checked for the very first time back in San Diego.) Now, perhaps there isn't as much dilating going on because there is no head pushing down onto my pelvis, but also that would tend to indicate that I'd probably not be having this baby here any time soon without the C-section. It might be a few more weeks before anything starts progressing. (ugh!) Or that might mean I'd need to be induced. (double ugh!)
Dr. Huxtable (not his real name) said that the baby is trying to move down (which explains all the pain and pressure on my pelvis) but that it isn't really happening because the butt doesn't fit in as well where the head is supposed to go. Then he said that he definitely felt a nice squishy bottom there where the head "ought" to be and the heartbeat is still high. How special.
So, apparently we are all set to go for next Wednesday. (But the Doctor did tell me to take it easy this weekend and stay hydrated to ensure I don't go into labor sooner.)
And, still we wait.
Based on the exam, I think that is a very good thing as I am still only dilated to apx 1+1/2 centimeters. (I've been dilated to apx 1+1/2 centimeters since about a month ago when I was checked for the very first time back in San Diego.) Now, perhaps there isn't as much dilating going on because there is no head pushing down onto my pelvis, but also that would tend to indicate that I'd probably not be having this baby here any time soon without the C-section. It might be a few more weeks before anything starts progressing. (ugh!) Or that might mean I'd need to be induced. (double ugh!)
Dr. Huxtable (not his real name) said that the baby is trying to move down (which explains all the pain and pressure on my pelvis) but that it isn't really happening because the butt doesn't fit in as well where the head is supposed to go. Then he said that he definitely felt a nice squishy bottom there where the head "ought" to be and the heartbeat is still high. How special.
So, apparently we are all set to go for next Wednesday. (But the Doctor did tell me to take it easy this weekend and stay hydrated to ensure I don't go into labor sooner.)
And, still we wait.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
"Good Things Come to Those Who Wait"
It seems that for Matt and I, all that's left is the waiting.
The new house is organized, as much as it is ever going to be, for now. Even the pictures are hung on the walls. The only thing we're still waiting on is the cable guy (who FINALLY comes tomorrow.)
Matt was able to get checked into school early. He wasn't supposed to get started checking in until this Friday, but they let him in early because of the baby. Next week he has some things to do on Monday and Tuesday, and he needs to buy textbooks, but pretty much other than that he is mine until the 6th (Happy Birthday Uncle Joe) when his classes officially begin.
As of today I am 38 weeks and 2 days pregnant.
Friday at my appointment with the new doctor the baby was still sitting breech so after a lengthy ultrasound and some discussion he decided to schedule a C-Section. It was interesting meeting this new doctor because he is so very different then the midwife I was seeing in San Diego. To begin with, he's a man, and he's probably several years older. He came in wearing scrubs and immediately apologized for meeting me for the first time after working 4 nights in a row. Then while we talked he joked around about the pitfalls of pregnancy and when we discussed breast feeding he warned me about the "Nipple Nazis" at the hospital here. "CHOMP," you see (AKA the Community Hospital of Monterey Peninsula) is proud to have been named the "41st Baby-friendly" Family birthing center in the US, and has earned awards for the support it gives to breast feeding mothers. Basically, Dr. Huxtable (which is really who he reminds me of) said that if I didn't want to breast feed that was 100% okay by him but I'll have to be ready to fight off much of the nursing staff.
Good to know.
And I still have decided for sure.
Anyway, after consulting with Matt's schedule at school, we are all signed up to go in for the Parent-Making surgery Wednesday, July 1 at noon.
How very exciting.
And also terrifying.
People keep asking me if I feel disappointed that the baby is turned "wrong" and I won't get to delivery normally. I think my answer to that is no. I mean, my mother had to C-sections, so I guess I grew up thinking that was just the way to go. I've also had close to 3 weeks to get used to the idea. I mean, sure I'd love to deliver vaginally and be able to share horror stories (or not) with all my girl friends and compare war wounds (so to speak, because otherwise, EW,) but, I guess it's just not in the cards for us. Also, based on the few rounds of contractions I've had so far, I'm feeling happy to kind of just skip them.
Seeing as Matt and I are the parents of this child... I'm not really surprised this is how things are going. My husband, the notorious jokester, will often do anything to complicate a situation just for the fun of it. It would figure that while this pregnancy has annoyed me for the last 9 months it has gone perfectly smoothly until the last month when suddenly the position of the baby is revealed and we are labelled "High Risk."
Actually come to think of it maybe Matt and I should get t-shirts made that say that. They would be very fitting. Hahah.
Meanwhile, I am ridiculously stubborn. Matt often explains my behavior by saying, "Jen is going to do, what Jen wants to do, and nobody is going to change her mind." As weird as it is to hear my husband say that about me, he's right. Once I set my mind on something there is NO changing it.
Apparently, the baby has set it's little mind on sitting on it's bum, and nobody is going to tell it to go the another way.
My child, ladies and gentleman, proving to be difficult before even making an entrance into the world.
*Applause*
So yea. Now we wait. I stare at the suitcase and the list of stuff to take the hospital and I procrastinate about packing. I wander in and out of the baby's room flipping through books and making sure everything is ready. I freak myself out about the c-section by watching disgusting videos on You-Tube. I go to the pool and float around (its AMAZING how buoyant a baby-belly makes you) like a big pale walrus to relieve the swelling in my arms and legs. I spoil the dog in case I neglect him a little in the coming months. Matt, well, he plays video games.
After all those years of Marching Band one would think I'd be better at playing the "Hurry Up and Wait" game. I feel like an airplane in a holding pattern circling above my new life, just waiting for the clearance to land and get started.
The great debate of course, is whether or not "knowing" when the baby is scheduled to come makes the waiting easier or harder to handle.
The jury is still out.
I've begun to wonder if it is possible to annoy God with your prayers. I mean, obviously it isn't supposed to be, but for the last few weeks my prayers are looping. "Please Lord let us get settled before the baby comes, Let someone rent out our house SOON, Let the baby be healthy, Bring me through the delivery safely, protect and watch over our friends and family, but oh by the way if you could please send a nice family to us to rent our house it would reduce SO VERY much of our stress...."
But of course I can't end with that, not that the Lord doesn't know my true heart, but I can't possibly come off like I am more concerned about finances than the baby, (even though at this point I probably am, a little,) so I rewind back on myself "and Lord, please get the baby and I safely through this delivery and watch over our friends and family.... etc, etc, etc...)
As if asking more than once makes any difference.
There was time when I was kid where I convinced myself that God wouldn't know who I was unless I told him my name at the beginning and the end of my prayers. Lately, I think I am rivalling my own previous ridiculous behaviors.
Waiting stinks.
Oh, and P.S...
My friend Allison wanted to see photos of the baby's room... so here it is so far. Go Bucks and Enjoy!
The new house is organized, as much as it is ever going to be, for now. Even the pictures are hung on the walls. The only thing we're still waiting on is the cable guy (who FINALLY comes tomorrow.)
Matt was able to get checked into school early. He wasn't supposed to get started checking in until this Friday, but they let him in early because of the baby. Next week he has some things to do on Monday and Tuesday, and he needs to buy textbooks, but pretty much other than that he is mine until the 6th (Happy Birthday Uncle Joe) when his classes officially begin.
As of today I am 38 weeks and 2 days pregnant.
Friday at my appointment with the new doctor the baby was still sitting breech so after a lengthy ultrasound and some discussion he decided to schedule a C-Section. It was interesting meeting this new doctor because he is so very different then the midwife I was seeing in San Diego. To begin with, he's a man, and he's probably several years older. He came in wearing scrubs and immediately apologized for meeting me for the first time after working 4 nights in a row. Then while we talked he joked around about the pitfalls of pregnancy and when we discussed breast feeding he warned me about the "Nipple Nazis" at the hospital here. "CHOMP," you see (AKA the Community Hospital of Monterey Peninsula) is proud to have been named the "41st Baby-friendly" Family birthing center in the US, and has earned awards for the support it gives to breast feeding mothers. Basically, Dr. Huxtable (which is really who he reminds me of) said that if I didn't want to breast feed that was 100% okay by him but I'll have to be ready to fight off much of the nursing staff.
Good to know.
And I still have decided for sure.
Anyway, after consulting with Matt's schedule at school, we are all signed up to go in for the Parent-Making surgery Wednesday, July 1 at noon.
How very exciting.
And also terrifying.
People keep asking me if I feel disappointed that the baby is turned "wrong" and I won't get to delivery normally. I think my answer to that is no. I mean, my mother had to C-sections, so I guess I grew up thinking that was just the way to go. I've also had close to 3 weeks to get used to the idea. I mean, sure I'd love to deliver vaginally and be able to share horror stories (or not) with all my girl friends and compare war wounds (so to speak, because otherwise, EW,) but, I guess it's just not in the cards for us. Also, based on the few rounds of contractions I've had so far, I'm feeling happy to kind of just skip them.
Seeing as Matt and I are the parents of this child... I'm not really surprised this is how things are going. My husband, the notorious jokester, will often do anything to complicate a situation just for the fun of it. It would figure that while this pregnancy has annoyed me for the last 9 months it has gone perfectly smoothly until the last month when suddenly the position of the baby is revealed and we are labelled "High Risk."
Actually come to think of it maybe Matt and I should get t-shirts made that say that. They would be very fitting. Hahah.
Meanwhile, I am ridiculously stubborn. Matt often explains my behavior by saying, "Jen is going to do, what Jen wants to do, and nobody is going to change her mind." As weird as it is to hear my husband say that about me, he's right. Once I set my mind on something there is NO changing it.
Apparently, the baby has set it's little mind on sitting on it's bum, and nobody is going to tell it to go the another way.
My child, ladies and gentleman, proving to be difficult before even making an entrance into the world.
*Applause*
So yea. Now we wait. I stare at the suitcase and the list of stuff to take the hospital and I procrastinate about packing. I wander in and out of the baby's room flipping through books and making sure everything is ready. I freak myself out about the c-section by watching disgusting videos on You-Tube. I go to the pool and float around (its AMAZING how buoyant a baby-belly makes you) like a big pale walrus to relieve the swelling in my arms and legs. I spoil the dog in case I neglect him a little in the coming months. Matt, well, he plays video games.
After all those years of Marching Band one would think I'd be better at playing the "Hurry Up and Wait" game. I feel like an airplane in a holding pattern circling above my new life, just waiting for the clearance to land and get started.
The great debate of course, is whether or not "knowing" when the baby is scheduled to come makes the waiting easier or harder to handle.
The jury is still out.
I've begun to wonder if it is possible to annoy God with your prayers. I mean, obviously it isn't supposed to be, but for the last few weeks my prayers are looping. "Please Lord let us get settled before the baby comes, Let someone rent out our house SOON, Let the baby be healthy, Bring me through the delivery safely, protect and watch over our friends and family, but oh by the way if you could please send a nice family to us to rent our house it would reduce SO VERY much of our stress...."
But of course I can't end with that, not that the Lord doesn't know my true heart, but I can't possibly come off like I am more concerned about finances than the baby, (even though at this point I probably am, a little,) so I rewind back on myself "and Lord, please get the baby and I safely through this delivery and watch over our friends and family.... etc, etc, etc...)
As if asking more than once makes any difference.
There was time when I was kid where I convinced myself that God wouldn't know who I was unless I told him my name at the beginning and the end of my prayers. Lately, I think I am rivalling my own previous ridiculous behaviors.
Waiting stinks.
Oh, and P.S...
My friend Allison wanted to see photos of the baby's room... so here it is so far. Go Bucks and Enjoy!
Friday, June 19, 2009
The week in review
When last I blogged it was the morning of our first full day in Monterey. Wow. A lot has happened since then.
A few hours after my previous post, the movers arrived. From about 10:00 that morning until around 2:00 that afternoon they first unloaded the truck of all our boxes and all our furniture and then they unloaded all our boxes.... leaving the contents of said boxes ALL OVER THE PLACE.
There are 2 schools of thought on the Navy movers. Some say they should just drop the boxes and go, leaving you to unpack them at your own leisure. Unfortunately, this also leaves you with all the packing material to dispose of. On the other hand, there are people, like me, who'd rather have the movers unpack all the boxes, despite the ENORMOUS mess they leave behind because it frees you from the nightmare of paper and box disposal. Also, the mess means you are forced to get your house together faster, or else risk insanity.
In this particular instance, with they movers coming just shy of 3 weeks prior to my due date I definitely opted to have the boxes unpacked.
Here is the result in my dining room:
And also my kitchen:
*shudder*
Needless to say Matt and I spent the rest of our Tuesday trying to get things put away. By bedtime that night the the kitchen, dining and living room, along with our bathrooms and bedroom were at maybe 75%.
Wednesday morning I had a doctors appointment. The lovely Navy medical insurance program that is so easy to navigate when you live in a fleet concentration area turns into a real bitch when you move to some place else. Monterey, while home to Navel Postgraduate School isn't a Navy-ful town enough for Military health care, so we have to make the transition to civilian health care.
This meant that first we had to turn in a lot of paperwork. (Matt did that on Tuesday.) Then Wednesday I had to go "establish care" with my new Primary Care doctor. Matt had made the appointment ahead of time, so I could go in, have my pregnancy confirmed and get referred to an OB/Gyn. I loved the part where I had to get medical confirmation of my pregnancy. As if Tri-Care hasn't been paying for my prenatal appointments for 8 months already. And as if any 3 year old on the street couldn't tell you I was pregnant.
Seriously, I wanted to walk in and be like, "Help me, I recently noticed an enormous amount of swelling in my midsection!!!"
But whatever, the appointment was short and the primary care doctor called around and found me a good OB. When it was all said and done, I was scheduled to see my new OB/Gyn Friday morning.
So anyway, the doctor ate up most of Wednesday morning and the rest of the day we shockingly spent organizing the house. By bedtime on Wednesday, we'd gotten the baby's room set up and all in all I'd say the house at a whole was about 80%.
The baby furniture and paraphernalia took a TON of time what with all the packaging that had to be torn through and the assembly that was required. Also, I came to the conclusion that although we spent a decent amount of money on what is supposed to be a very good quality crib, the manufactures are morons...
...as this was the label showing us the "right" side of the crib.
To celebrate our triumph over the nightmare of Baby room assembly we treated ourselves to dinner out that evening. And when we came home we were shocked to see a small family of 5 deer running through the neighborhood. Unfortunately, the photo isn't very good. It was getting dark and the flash was highlighting all the wrong things. Still, after a little digital adjustment, you can see a few of our visitors.
Our first mission on Thursday was to get rid of the packing material we still had from the few random boxes we'd asked the movers not to unload and ALL the baby furniture as the boxes were limiting out ability to walk in down the hall upstairs. Matt broke all the cardboard down and we took it over to a recycling center. Then we picked up some needed items at Target before coming home, hanging the curtains in the baby's room and FINALLY organizing the guest room.
So this morning we fond our mess was suddenly starting to look like a home. Hip-hip-Hooray!!! Matt started hanging pictures while he waited around for the delivery of our new washer and dryer while I headed off to see the OB/Gyn.
The doctor did his exam and ultrasound and determined that the baby is still very breech. And not moving. Well, I mean, there is movement, lots of it, just not the sort to make anyone think that this time next week the head might be down. He measured and estimated the baby is still between 7.5 and 8 lbs. He looked at the heart and saw that it is healthy and beating strong, he checked that the lungs are doing their thing and the umbilical chord is doing whatever it is an umbilical is supposed to be doing that shows the baby is ready for delivery. He did all this because he doesn't think we are good candidate to try and turn the baby. He's recommending we do a C-section in a week or so. At this point it is just a matter of me getting all registered at the hospital and finding a date that won't conflict with Matt's orientation schedule.
I find it funny how Matt is reacting to the news of the C-section, because I think I am reacting the same way. It isn't like we didn't know it was possible, especially since we found out about the position of the baby. But suddenly it became so real. So. Very. Real. The baby is coming, and probably at least a week sooner than the due date. There probably will be no waiting or guessing about whether or not I'm in labor. There won't be any breathing and pushing. There will be something else entirely. Something, surgical. Wow.
All that's left is to pack a bag, check the calendar and pick a date.
Double Wow.
A few hours after my previous post, the movers arrived. From about 10:00 that morning until around 2:00 that afternoon they first unloaded the truck of all our boxes and all our furniture and then they unloaded all our boxes.... leaving the contents of said boxes ALL OVER THE PLACE.
There are 2 schools of thought on the Navy movers. Some say they should just drop the boxes and go, leaving you to unpack them at your own leisure. Unfortunately, this also leaves you with all the packing material to dispose of. On the other hand, there are people, like me, who'd rather have the movers unpack all the boxes, despite the ENORMOUS mess they leave behind because it frees you from the nightmare of paper and box disposal. Also, the mess means you are forced to get your house together faster, or else risk insanity.
In this particular instance, with they movers coming just shy of 3 weeks prior to my due date I definitely opted to have the boxes unpacked.
Here is the result in my dining room:
And also my kitchen:
*shudder*
Needless to say Matt and I spent the rest of our Tuesday trying to get things put away. By bedtime that night the the kitchen, dining and living room, along with our bathrooms and bedroom were at maybe 75%.
Wednesday morning I had a doctors appointment. The lovely Navy medical insurance program that is so easy to navigate when you live in a fleet concentration area turns into a real bitch when you move to some place else. Monterey, while home to Navel Postgraduate School isn't a Navy-ful town enough for Military health care, so we have to make the transition to civilian health care.
This meant that first we had to turn in a lot of paperwork. (Matt did that on Tuesday.) Then Wednesday I had to go "establish care" with my new Primary Care doctor. Matt had made the appointment ahead of time, so I could go in, have my pregnancy confirmed and get referred to an OB/Gyn. I loved the part where I had to get medical confirmation of my pregnancy. As if Tri-Care hasn't been paying for my prenatal appointments for 8 months already. And as if any 3 year old on the street couldn't tell you I was pregnant.
Seriously, I wanted to walk in and be like, "Help me, I recently noticed an enormous amount of swelling in my midsection!!!"
But whatever, the appointment was short and the primary care doctor called around and found me a good OB. When it was all said and done, I was scheduled to see my new OB/Gyn Friday morning.
So anyway, the doctor ate up most of Wednesday morning and the rest of the day we shockingly spent organizing the house. By bedtime on Wednesday, we'd gotten the baby's room set up and all in all I'd say the house at a whole was about 80%.
The baby furniture and paraphernalia took a TON of time what with all the packaging that had to be torn through and the assembly that was required. Also, I came to the conclusion that although we spent a decent amount of money on what is supposed to be a very good quality crib, the manufactures are morons...
...as this was the label showing us the "right" side of the crib.
To celebrate our triumph over the nightmare of Baby room assembly we treated ourselves to dinner out that evening. And when we came home we were shocked to see a small family of 5 deer running through the neighborhood. Unfortunately, the photo isn't very good. It was getting dark and the flash was highlighting all the wrong things. Still, after a little digital adjustment, you can see a few of our visitors.
Our first mission on Thursday was to get rid of the packing material we still had from the few random boxes we'd asked the movers not to unload and ALL the baby furniture as the boxes were limiting out ability to walk in down the hall upstairs. Matt broke all the cardboard down and we took it over to a recycling center. Then we picked up some needed items at Target before coming home, hanging the curtains in the baby's room and FINALLY organizing the guest room.
So this morning we fond our mess was suddenly starting to look like a home. Hip-hip-Hooray!!! Matt started hanging pictures while he waited around for the delivery of our new washer and dryer while I headed off to see the OB/Gyn.
The doctor did his exam and ultrasound and determined that the baby is still very breech. And not moving. Well, I mean, there is movement, lots of it, just not the sort to make anyone think that this time next week the head might be down. He measured and estimated the baby is still between 7.5 and 8 lbs. He looked at the heart and saw that it is healthy and beating strong, he checked that the lungs are doing their thing and the umbilical chord is doing whatever it is an umbilical is supposed to be doing that shows the baby is ready for delivery. He did all this because he doesn't think we are good candidate to try and turn the baby. He's recommending we do a C-section in a week or so. At this point it is just a matter of me getting all registered at the hospital and finding a date that won't conflict with Matt's orientation schedule.
I find it funny how Matt is reacting to the news of the C-section, because I think I am reacting the same way. It isn't like we didn't know it was possible, especially since we found out about the position of the baby. But suddenly it became so real. So. Very. Real. The baby is coming, and probably at least a week sooner than the due date. There probably will be no waiting or guessing about whether or not I'm in labor. There won't be any breathing and pushing. There will be something else entirely. Something, surgical. Wow.
All that's left is to pack a bag, check the calendar and pick a date.
Double Wow.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Moving.....
I hate this week.
Actually, if I really think about it, I'm probably going to hate the better part of the next two weeks... at least.
It all started this past weekend. Matt and I had to drive up to Monterey to sign the leasing paperwork on our new place because its suddenly time for Matt to transfer again. It's Base Housing, but apparently there are rules about how long they can hold an unoccupied house which is what led us to drive 6 and a half hours each way for an overnight stay in our soon-to-be new hometown, exactly a week and a half before the actual move.
The prospect of making the trip was less than thrilling to me, but Matt was eager for me to see the new town and felt it was easier to just take me along rather than deal with my tears and anxiety if he'd try to go without me.
He's right. I do tend to cry a lot if he leaves me.
All in all, Monterey seemed nice, but also VERY confusing. There seemed to be absolutely NO rhyme nor reason to the layout of the roads which were constantly curving around hills and through dense foresty areas of trees. Don't get me wrong, I love hills and trees, but I've been in Southern California too long and let's just say I've gotten used to the wide open spaces when trying to figure out where I'm going.
Then of course we came home Sunday evening and it was time to start preparing for the movers. UGH! We both had to work all day on Monday and the movers were coming today so the process of taking down all the pictures, and sorting out the items we wanted to keep for ourselves to live with until our stuff arrives at the new place after we drive up there next week became sort of frantic. (As if I don't stress out enough about anything all on my own.) Plus, I still had to teach today and pull off the final one of my four Spring Performances so I wasn't home all day to help guide the packing.
So now, after along day of chaos, most of which I missed out on (while I was dealing with another sort of chaos entirely at work) I am home, in an almost entirely empty house laying on a camping cot and trying to ignore my surroundings and the unsettling feeling of yet ANOTHER move.
In case you wondering, this is not a new experience for us. Thanks to the Navy, Matt and I have done this before all of the following times:
1. In January of 1999, Matt moved himself from Ohio to Newport, Rhode Island (I didn't move with him because I had to finish college, but I helped.)
2. 6 months later the Navy moved Matt moved from Rhode Island to Corpus Christi, Texas.
3. 1 month after that I moved myself from Ohio to Texas to be with him.
4. After a year we moved ourselves to a different apartment
5. After another year the Navy moved Matt to San Diego and I moved myself to a different town in Texas to teach and finish my Master's degree.
6. About 8 months later I moved myself from Texas out to San Diego to be with Matt, again.
7. 3 months after that Matt and I moved ourselves to a bigger apartment in our same San Diego apartment complex.
8. 8 months later the Navy moved Matt to Georgia. I moved to another apartment in San Diego, hoping after 6 months Matt would get stationed back in San Diego.
9. 6 months later our plan back-fired and I moved myself to Georgia so that the Navy could move us both to Japan.
10. After 2 long years in Japan the Navy moved us back to San Diego.
11. A year later we bought our house here in San Diego and moved ourselves into it.
12. Finally, after another 18 months we arrive at the present in June of 2009, and the Navy is moving us up to Monterey, CA.
Just looking at that list makes me tired. And it makes me question my sanity a little bit in continually doing it "just" to be with Matt.
Although, I will state that for the record, when the Navy moves you, THEY MOVE YOU and you barely have to lift a finger. It's all those other moves that pretty much kill you.
And, for the record, doing this a 36 weeks pregnant is one of the worst ideas I've ever heard of.
Not to mention that the doctor told me this afternoon that the Baby is Breech. She's not concerned yet, but stressed to me just how very IMPORTANT it is that I find a doctor next week upon arriving in Monterey to immediately take over my prenatal care. Sweet.
So anyway, rather than continue to think about the unbelievable fact that I am moving AGAIN, I would like to now take a few moments to share with all of you some pictures I took on the drive to Monterey.
Somewhere a short while north of LA we had to leave the security of the 5 freeway behind and cross through the middle of nowhere as we made our way back toward the coast. So far as I can tell, the teeny little town where this split happened makes its money by "farming" for two things:
1. Pallets
and
2. Oil.
Seriously there were A LOT of pallets and the oil pumpy thingies extended in either direction as far as my eyes could see.
After leaving the town we found ourselves surrounded on both sides by some sort of tree farm. Matt says there were signs for Pecans, so I'm going to go with the assumption that these thousands of trees are growing the lovely nuts used to makes delicious Thanksgiving pies. MMMMmmmmmm.... pie.....
As we drove deeper and deeper into B.F.E. I was happy to find some Happy California cows.
Although I think those commercials are kind of misleading because they always show those Happy Cows in very green grass.
This grass is definitely NOT green.
There were also Happy California Sprinklers.... which mostly made me have to go to the bathroom.
We passed some "Amber Waves of Grain"
and funny hills which reminded me of piles of fabric....
Somewhere in there I think we got lost and made a detour through the African Tundra...
Before driving through lots of vineyards.
As we entered Monterey County, we started to see LOTS of fields that looked like this:
Eventually, based on the trucks we saw leaving the fields we decided that they grow a lot of Romaine Lettuce up there.
Which really makes me want to eat some Caesar Salad.
Actually, if I really think about it, I'm probably going to hate the better part of the next two weeks... at least.
It all started this past weekend. Matt and I had to drive up to Monterey to sign the leasing paperwork on our new place because its suddenly time for Matt to transfer again. It's Base Housing, but apparently there are rules about how long they can hold an unoccupied house which is what led us to drive 6 and a half hours each way for an overnight stay in our soon-to-be new hometown, exactly a week and a half before the actual move.
The prospect of making the trip was less than thrilling to me, but Matt was eager for me to see the new town and felt it was easier to just take me along rather than deal with my tears and anxiety if he'd try to go without me.
He's right. I do tend to cry a lot if he leaves me.
All in all, Monterey seemed nice, but also VERY confusing. There seemed to be absolutely NO rhyme nor reason to the layout of the roads which were constantly curving around hills and through dense foresty areas of trees. Don't get me wrong, I love hills and trees, but I've been in Southern California too long and let's just say I've gotten used to the wide open spaces when trying to figure out where I'm going.
Then of course we came home Sunday evening and it was time to start preparing for the movers. UGH! We both had to work all day on Monday and the movers were coming today so the process of taking down all the pictures, and sorting out the items we wanted to keep for ourselves to live with until our stuff arrives at the new place after we drive up there next week became sort of frantic. (As if I don't stress out enough about anything all on my own.) Plus, I still had to teach today and pull off the final one of my four Spring Performances so I wasn't home all day to help guide the packing.
So now, after along day of chaos, most of which I missed out on (while I was dealing with another sort of chaos entirely at work) I am home, in an almost entirely empty house laying on a camping cot and trying to ignore my surroundings and the unsettling feeling of yet ANOTHER move.
In case you wondering, this is not a new experience for us. Thanks to the Navy, Matt and I have done this before all of the following times:
1. In January of 1999, Matt moved himself from Ohio to Newport, Rhode Island (I didn't move with him because I had to finish college, but I helped.)
2. 6 months later the Navy moved Matt moved from Rhode Island to Corpus Christi, Texas.
3. 1 month after that I moved myself from Ohio to Texas to be with him.
4. After a year we moved ourselves to a different apartment
5. After another year the Navy moved Matt to San Diego and I moved myself to a different town in Texas to teach and finish my Master's degree.
6. About 8 months later I moved myself from Texas out to San Diego to be with Matt, again.
7. 3 months after that Matt and I moved ourselves to a bigger apartment in our same San Diego apartment complex.
8. 8 months later the Navy moved Matt to Georgia. I moved to another apartment in San Diego, hoping after 6 months Matt would get stationed back in San Diego.
9. 6 months later our plan back-fired and I moved myself to Georgia so that the Navy could move us both to Japan.
10. After 2 long years in Japan the Navy moved us back to San Diego.
11. A year later we bought our house here in San Diego and moved ourselves into it.
12. Finally, after another 18 months we arrive at the present in June of 2009, and the Navy is moving us up to Monterey, CA.
Just looking at that list makes me tired. And it makes me question my sanity a little bit in continually doing it "just" to be with Matt.
Although, I will state that for the record, when the Navy moves you, THEY MOVE YOU and you barely have to lift a finger. It's all those other moves that pretty much kill you.
And, for the record, doing this a 36 weeks pregnant is one of the worst ideas I've ever heard of.
Not to mention that the doctor told me this afternoon that the Baby is Breech. She's not concerned yet, but stressed to me just how very IMPORTANT it is that I find a doctor next week upon arriving in Monterey to immediately take over my prenatal care. Sweet.
So anyway, rather than continue to think about the unbelievable fact that I am moving AGAIN, I would like to now take a few moments to share with all of you some pictures I took on the drive to Monterey.
Somewhere a short while north of LA we had to leave the security of the 5 freeway behind and cross through the middle of nowhere as we made our way back toward the coast. So far as I can tell, the teeny little town where this split happened makes its money by "farming" for two things:
1. Pallets
and
2. Oil.
Seriously there were A LOT of pallets and the oil pumpy thingies extended in either direction as far as my eyes could see.
After leaving the town we found ourselves surrounded on both sides by some sort of tree farm. Matt says there were signs for Pecans, so I'm going to go with the assumption that these thousands of trees are growing the lovely nuts used to makes delicious Thanksgiving pies. MMMMmmmmmm.... pie.....
As we drove deeper and deeper into B.F.E. I was happy to find some Happy California cows.
Although I think those commercials are kind of misleading because they always show those Happy Cows in very green grass.
This grass is definitely NOT green.
There were also Happy California Sprinklers.... which mostly made me have to go to the bathroom.
We passed some "Amber Waves of Grain"
and funny hills which reminded me of piles of fabric....
Somewhere in there I think we got lost and made a detour through the African Tundra...
Before driving through lots of vineyards.
As we entered Monterey County, we started to see LOTS of fields that looked like this:
Eventually, based on the trucks we saw leaving the fields we decided that they grow a lot of Romaine Lettuce up there.
Which really makes me want to eat some Caesar Salad.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Three Things
I've read a lot of pregnancy books. I've read the ones that tell you what to expect and how wonderful it is. I've also read several that tell you about the stuff that probably won't expect, but might happen anyway and probably won't be that wonderful at all.
I've really go to say, aside from the early arrival of my tummy and the constant remarks I've had to hear about it as well as the nausea, fatigue, swelling and NEVER-ENDING head colds it has been pretty easy. I mean, I'm not loving it, mostly because I long to have own my body back. Not to "normal," or even to "what it was before," just back to "myself," you know, without the "parasite".... that's my husband's word not mine. But I am really glad to have gotten to go through this whole experience. It has certainly been unique.
However, I do feel that the "Tell all/100% straight-up honesty" books have left out a few issues. Which has left me wondering the following:
*Ahem*
Why didn't anybody tell me that for the entire last three months of my pregnancy my pelvis would be "sore?" We've officially progressed from the feeling of a 15 pound bowling ball sitting on my cervix to something more resembling somebody cracking the bones in two with a sledge hammer. I'd expect this sort of pain IN the delivery room, just not for all those weeks leading up to it.
Also:
Why didn't anybody tell me that towards the end of your pregnancy your maternity pants will refuse to stretch any further resulting in the already obnoxious elastic band rolling over on itself? As if those pants are not stupid enough already now there have to be all bunched up around the area formerly known as my waist. And I know what you're thinking, that I should just stick to dresses. However, I've noticed lately that when I sit down wearing a dress I can actually feel my tummy sitting ON MY LAP. Ugh. Not a good feeling. Too weird to handle.
Finally:
Why didn't anybody tell me that when you're pregnant you'll eventually get SO humongous that each of the 900 times a day that you go to the bathroom you will actually struggle to, um, well, wipe. I mean, I'm sorry, and I don't mean to be vulgar, but this is becoming a reeeeeaaal problem. I seriously can barely reach and when I do it hurts to bend that way.
A little warning would have been nice that's all I'm saying.
Although I guess if somebody had told me this stuff before it actually happened there is no WAY I would have believed them
I've really go to say, aside from the early arrival of my tummy and the constant remarks I've had to hear about it as well as the nausea, fatigue, swelling and NEVER-ENDING head colds it has been pretty easy. I mean, I'm not loving it, mostly because I long to have own my body back. Not to "normal," or even to "what it was before," just back to "myself," you know, without the "parasite".... that's my husband's word not mine. But I am really glad to have gotten to go through this whole experience. It has certainly been unique.
However, I do feel that the "Tell all/100% straight-up honesty" books have left out a few issues. Which has left me wondering the following:
*Ahem*
Why didn't anybody tell me that for the entire last three months of my pregnancy my pelvis would be "sore?" We've officially progressed from the feeling of a 15 pound bowling ball sitting on my cervix to something more resembling somebody cracking the bones in two with a sledge hammer. I'd expect this sort of pain IN the delivery room, just not for all those weeks leading up to it.
Also:
Why didn't anybody tell me that towards the end of your pregnancy your maternity pants will refuse to stretch any further resulting in the already obnoxious elastic band rolling over on itself? As if those pants are not stupid enough already now there have to be all bunched up around the area formerly known as my waist. And I know what you're thinking, that I should just stick to dresses. However, I've noticed lately that when I sit down wearing a dress I can actually feel my tummy sitting ON MY LAP. Ugh. Not a good feeling. Too weird to handle.
Finally:
Why didn't anybody tell me that when you're pregnant you'll eventually get SO humongous that each of the 900 times a day that you go to the bathroom you will actually struggle to, um, well, wipe. I mean, I'm sorry, and I don't mean to be vulgar, but this is becoming a reeeeeaaal problem. I seriously can barely reach and when I do it hurts to bend that way.
A little warning would have been nice that's all I'm saying.
Although I guess if somebody had told me this stuff before it actually happened there is no WAY I would have believed them
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A Lesson on Adoption and another Baby Shower
A few posts ago I mentioned my New Teacher Support Provider, Sharon, who happens to have been be a kindergarten teacher for something in the neighborhood of 20 years. Today after school we were talking about how one of the reasons I am sad to leave my job is that I get to see the same kids year after year as they progress through the grades. In just the two short years I've been in Vista I am constantly amazed at how my students grow and change. Sharon commented, along those same lines, on how many of her Kindergartners come back for visits year after year.
These students nearly all ask her the same thing. They ask her if she still does the thing they all, apparently remember best. The ask her if she still hatches chicks at the end of the year.
The answer to this, of course, is yes.
I have no idea how it started but each year Sharon gets the incubator out and few dozen eggs from a local farm somewhere. Then, together with her students waits patiently until they hatch. For the last few weeks of the school year the children have several peeping classroom pets to look after before they eventually go back to the farm to meet whatever fate might happen to chickens on farms. (I find its best not to think about that part.)
This year, however, something was wrong with the eggs and they never hatched. :(
No worries. Sharon decided to make it a teachable moment. She explained to her kids that sometimes there are people who want very badly to be mommies and daddies but are disappointed, just as they were disappointed when none of the eggs hatched. Then she explained that there are also sometimes babies or children who for a lot of different reasons NEED a Mommy or a Daddy to take care of them. The class talked about the reasons why children might need a Mommy or a Daddy before learning that when these children are taken in by new parents it is called "adoption."
Sharon explained to her students that after the eggs did not turn out, she decided she should adopt some chicks for the class instead.
And here they are:
I love that she turned her yearly chicken process into such an amazing lesson for her young students. I'm sure, just as all the kids who came before, this year's class will never forget the baby chicks they adopted.
And of course, you all know me, which means I had to get some cuddles in.
I might not have any idea what to do when this baby is born, but cute little animals I can handle. :)
In other news, the teachers at Beaumont threw me a baby shower this afternoon.
Because I have a sweet tooth, (or rather a whole mouth full of fillings as a direct result of having a whole lot of sweet teeth)here is a picture of the cake:
Not really sure if there are really yellow storks, but I figure that MUST be what that is because if it were a yellow chick the beak is all wrong and that would just be a weird thing to have on a baby shower cake.
Here I am showing off the visor they had made for me. It is decorated with little baby booties and bottles and rattles and stuff.
I also feel the need to point out that the dress I am wearing is NOT a maternity dress. It is one of several baby doll style dresses that I had hanging in my closet from the good old days when I actually could see my feet. These days I find myself wondering why all the dresses I owned before were cut so perfectly for pregnancy.
The gifts at this shower were mostly very different than my previous shower. It was plainly obvious that the gifts were from teachers as Baby and I received MANY children's books. The fifth grade teachers went one step further and focused on my own field giving us an early music education gift set:
I think it is just about the cutest thing ever.
Sadly I don't think Matt is nearly as excited about the impending noise as I am. He won't even let me open the packaging yet.
These students nearly all ask her the same thing. They ask her if she still does the thing they all, apparently remember best. The ask her if she still hatches chicks at the end of the year.
The answer to this, of course, is yes.
I have no idea how it started but each year Sharon gets the incubator out and few dozen eggs from a local farm somewhere. Then, together with her students waits patiently until they hatch. For the last few weeks of the school year the children have several peeping classroom pets to look after before they eventually go back to the farm to meet whatever fate might happen to chickens on farms. (I find its best not to think about that part.)
This year, however, something was wrong with the eggs and they never hatched. :(
No worries. Sharon decided to make it a teachable moment. She explained to her kids that sometimes there are people who want very badly to be mommies and daddies but are disappointed, just as they were disappointed when none of the eggs hatched. Then she explained that there are also sometimes babies or children who for a lot of different reasons NEED a Mommy or a Daddy to take care of them. The class talked about the reasons why children might need a Mommy or a Daddy before learning that when these children are taken in by new parents it is called "adoption."
Sharon explained to her students that after the eggs did not turn out, she decided she should adopt some chicks for the class instead.
And here they are:
I love that she turned her yearly chicken process into such an amazing lesson for her young students. I'm sure, just as all the kids who came before, this year's class will never forget the baby chicks they adopted.
And of course, you all know me, which means I had to get some cuddles in.
I might not have any idea what to do when this baby is born, but cute little animals I can handle. :)
********************************
In other news, the teachers at Beaumont threw me a baby shower this afternoon.
Because I have a sweet tooth, (or rather a whole mouth full of fillings as a direct result of having a whole lot of sweet teeth)here is a picture of the cake:
Not really sure if there are really yellow storks, but I figure that MUST be what that is because if it were a yellow chick the beak is all wrong and that would just be a weird thing to have on a baby shower cake.
Here I am showing off the visor they had made for me. It is decorated with little baby booties and bottles and rattles and stuff.
I also feel the need to point out that the dress I am wearing is NOT a maternity dress. It is one of several baby doll style dresses that I had hanging in my closet from the good old days when I actually could see my feet. These days I find myself wondering why all the dresses I owned before were cut so perfectly for pregnancy.
The gifts at this shower were mostly very different than my previous shower. It was plainly obvious that the gifts were from teachers as Baby and I received MANY children's books. The fifth grade teachers went one step further and focused on my own field giving us an early music education gift set:
I think it is just about the cutest thing ever.
Sadly I don't think Matt is nearly as excited about the impending noise as I am. He won't even let me open the packaging yet.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Just call me Shamu, Shamu-moo-moo!
I'm not really sure why it didn't make the news, but yesterday down at Torrey Pines State beach there was a beached whale:
Can someone please tell me how it is possible that I have 6 more weeks left to get BIGGER?
Ew.
To further my point I asked Matt why he put me so far to the left in the frame. He said that he wanted to make sure my whole belly fit.
Har. Har. Har.
And to think he asked me this morning why he was all sun burnt and I'm not. Karma can be a bitch sometimes.
Can someone please tell me how it is possible that I have 6 more weeks left to get BIGGER?
Ew.
To further my point I asked Matt why he put me so far to the left in the frame. He said that he wanted to make sure my whole belly fit.
Har. Har. Har.
And to think he asked me this morning why he was all sun burnt and I'm not. Karma can be a bitch sometimes.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Latest and not-so Greatest
I suffer from a personality flaw. Well, more than one, actually, but this one particular issue has reared its ugly head lately and has caused a little bit of a stir.
You see, I have this almost compulsive NEED to let people know when they can look better. Man does that ever make me sound like a bitch, and I'm sure many of you would agree, but really I do mean it out of love. The thing is I, by no means, think I look perfect all the time... no, its definitely NOT that. But if I'm walking around with spinach in my teeth or my hair is completely messed up or my jeans make my butt look like a semi-truck, I REALLY, REALLY hope somebody will tell me.
Reversing that logic, you can pretty much always count on me to let you know if you are suffering somewhere in the area of your looks.
I do try to be nice about it.
But apparently "nice" has never been my strong suit.
For the record, when my brother and I had our falling out a few years back there were a whole slew of reasons. However, my brother did cite my brutal honesty as a major cause on his side. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now.
Anyway... if your wondering what one Earth I'm talking about head over to this post on Lori's blog (where I started the whole mess) and check out the comments section. Then, for the rest of the story, see her responsory blog post here and of course, be sure to check out the corresponding comments.
*sigh*
For the record Lori, I did mean it out of love and I didn't mean to embarrass you or hurt your feelings. The whole thing is sort of funny, if it did make me feel like a big meanie. Maybe the Internet isn't the best place for fashion advice.
Life's a lesson you learn as you go.
(Or something like that.)
In other news, as I've been laying on the couch this morning typing this the baby has been hiccuping non-stop. This is by no means news, except for WHERE I am feeling the little jerking movements. According to a variety of Internet sources if the hiccuping movements are felt down by my pelvis that means Baby is upside down in my belly and all ready for the big arrival. According to many of these same websites, by this stage in the pregnancy (which for means me 33 weeks plus 6 days) Baby is not supposed to be able to turn again.
This morning, for the first time ever I felt Baby's hiccups on my left side. Up until now I've only felt movements down near my pelvis and off to the right side near my ribs, which I took to mean Baby was upside down, though perhaps leaning a little to my right.
This morning as I felt the hiccups on on the left side of my body I reached the Internet inspired conclusion that my little one is decidedly sideways and therefore, NEVER coming out.
Great.
One more thing. This past week has been a bit of a killer. Last Friday was the first of my four school's Spring performances. The weekend went way too fast, since Matt had to work all day Saturday and when Monday rolled around I was by no means prepared. Especially since Wednesday morning I had to conduct the second school's Spring performance.
As soon as the kids were done singing I wanted to go home and go to bed. Of course this wasn't possible since I had an entire afternoon of classes to teach ahead of my after school was the end of BTSA Spring Colloquium.
If you're unaware of what BTSA is, well, its Hell. No, I'm kidding. It's not that bad. Basically its a two year mentoring and induction program for new teachers in the state of California. Its supposed to help ensure that new teachers get the support they need and have a system of checks and balances that ensures those new teachers are taking care of business so to speak. It is a giant pain in the butt. Any program that give new teachers extra work is stupid if you ask me, but nobody ever did. The only good thing about the program is it matches you with a mentor like "support provider" who is a an experienced teacher you can always turn to when you're struggling.
Anyway, last Wednesday night was the end of it for me! Yea!
The only sad part about completing BTSA for me is saying goodbye to Sharon, my Support Provider.
Sharon, is amazing. She's been teaching Kindergarten for like 20 years and has children my age. There is really absolutely no reason why she should have been assigned to me, since she knows practically nothing about music but she took me on anyway. For the last 2 years she's guided me, not so much as a teacher, but as a person. She has let me cry on her shoulder over my students and the other teachers, and the principals, and the entire deployment and she's always been amazing and listened and pointed me to God. I can not even really put into words how amazing she is but I am tremendously grateful to have had her be a part of my life.
I know this is weird, but the best way I can describe her is she's like "Mokey Fraggle."
I'm sure if you never watched Fraggle Rock in the '80s I just lost you but Mokey is the older, wiser, calmer Fraggle. She's the one that gives helpful advice and a hugs when her little Fraggle friends are stressed out. She's like, the heart at the center of that shows' furry little cast and without her everything just might fall apart.
That's kind of what Sharon has been to me.
(She even somehow manages to look just a little like her Muppet counterpart.)
I can only thank God that He brought her into my life.
You see, I have this almost compulsive NEED to let people know when they can look better. Man does that ever make me sound like a bitch, and I'm sure many of you would agree, but really I do mean it out of love. The thing is I, by no means, think I look perfect all the time... no, its definitely NOT that. But if I'm walking around with spinach in my teeth or my hair is completely messed up or my jeans make my butt look like a semi-truck, I REALLY, REALLY hope somebody will tell me.
Reversing that logic, you can pretty much always count on me to let you know if you are suffering somewhere in the area of your looks.
I do try to be nice about it.
But apparently "nice" has never been my strong suit.
For the record, when my brother and I had our falling out a few years back there were a whole slew of reasons. However, my brother did cite my brutal honesty as a major cause on his side. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now.
Anyway... if your wondering what one Earth I'm talking about head over to this post on Lori's blog (where I started the whole mess) and check out the comments section. Then, for the rest of the story, see her responsory blog post here and of course, be sure to check out the corresponding comments.
*sigh*
For the record Lori, I did mean it out of love and I didn't mean to embarrass you or hurt your feelings. The whole thing is sort of funny, if it did make me feel like a big meanie. Maybe the Internet isn't the best place for fashion advice.
Life's a lesson you learn as you go.
(Or something like that.)
****************************
In other news, as I've been laying on the couch this morning typing this the baby has been hiccuping non-stop. This is by no means news, except for WHERE I am feeling the little jerking movements. According to a variety of Internet sources if the hiccuping movements are felt down by my pelvis that means Baby is upside down in my belly and all ready for the big arrival. According to many of these same websites, by this stage in the pregnancy (which for means me 33 weeks plus 6 days) Baby is not supposed to be able to turn again.
This morning, for the first time ever I felt Baby's hiccups on my left side. Up until now I've only felt movements down near my pelvis and off to the right side near my ribs, which I took to mean Baby was upside down, though perhaps leaning a little to my right.
This morning as I felt the hiccups on on the left side of my body I reached the Internet inspired conclusion that my little one is decidedly sideways and therefore, NEVER coming out.
Great.
****************************
One more thing. This past week has been a bit of a killer. Last Friday was the first of my four school's Spring performances. The weekend went way too fast, since Matt had to work all day Saturday and when Monday rolled around I was by no means prepared. Especially since Wednesday morning I had to conduct the second school's Spring performance.
As soon as the kids were done singing I wanted to go home and go to bed. Of course this wasn't possible since I had an entire afternoon of classes to teach ahead of my after school was the end of BTSA Spring Colloquium.
If you're unaware of what BTSA is, well, its Hell. No, I'm kidding. It's not that bad. Basically its a two year mentoring and induction program for new teachers in the state of California. Its supposed to help ensure that new teachers get the support they need and have a system of checks and balances that ensures those new teachers are taking care of business so to speak. It is a giant pain in the butt. Any program that give new teachers extra work is stupid if you ask me, but nobody ever did. The only good thing about the program is it matches you with a mentor like "support provider" who is a an experienced teacher you can always turn to when you're struggling.
Anyway, last Wednesday night was the end of it for me! Yea!
The only sad part about completing BTSA for me is saying goodbye to Sharon, my Support Provider.
Sharon, is amazing. She's been teaching Kindergarten for like 20 years and has children my age. There is really absolutely no reason why she should have been assigned to me, since she knows practically nothing about music but she took me on anyway. For the last 2 years she's guided me, not so much as a teacher, but as a person. She has let me cry on her shoulder over my students and the other teachers, and the principals, and the entire deployment and she's always been amazing and listened and pointed me to God. I can not even really put into words how amazing she is but I am tremendously grateful to have had her be a part of my life.
I know this is weird, but the best way I can describe her is she's like "Mokey Fraggle."
I'm sure if you never watched Fraggle Rock in the '80s I just lost you but Mokey is the older, wiser, calmer Fraggle. She's the one that gives helpful advice and a hugs when her little Fraggle friends are stressed out. She's like, the heart at the center of that shows' furry little cast and without her everything just might fall apart.
That's kind of what Sharon has been to me.
(She even somehow manages to look just a little like her Muppet counterpart.)
I can only thank God that He brought her into my life.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Medicated
It's apx 10:15 on Saturday morning and I just woke up.
(For those of you who knew me in any previous version of my life you probably aren't surprised by how late that is. If anything you're thinking it's pretty early for me.)
So what's the big deal? Well.... two things really. Since I get up at 6 during the week these days, the latest I normally sleep on weekends is some place between 8:30 and 9:00.
Also, there's the fact that I went to sleep last night at 8:00.
Holy crap I just slept for 14 hours!!!
(Although technically I did wake up somewhere in the neighborhood of 742 times to go pee.)
(Also, on that note, I fell asleep in front of the fan on my husband's side of the bed- which is closer to the bathroom, and at some point in there I found myself rolling over looking for him and I almost fell out of bed. Matt apparently left me where I was when he came to bed because I've been complaining about waddling around the room every time I have to go potty. I'm not sure if switching sides so I can be closer to the bathroom door is going to work if my body instinctively goes to the left looking for him and I fall out of bed in the process.)
So, getting back to my mini-hibernation last night, what happened?
Last week at the Doctor I was complaining about the constant itchy skin stretched across my baby bump. It's been driving me NUTSO since about the 4 month mark. On several occasions I've managed to bruise myself from the scratching and no amount of lotion or cocoa butter or ointment really seems to help. So my midwife looked at my nearly translucent stretched-out skin and noted a slight rash "developing." She said it might be the early signs of Pupps or maybe heat rash (which I do tend to get on my stomach pretty often if its hot,) or, it might be something else entirely. She decided to prescribe me some help.
Thursday I was finally able to find the time to swing by the pharmacy and pick up her cures. First there is a bottle of this amazing lotiony stuff that works kind of like Ben Gay and cools/numbs my entire tummy. (Unfortunately it also smells something like gasoline, but I guess you have to take the good with the bad.) There is also a bottle of small pills. She mentioned that the pills would help with the itching. She also said they'd likely help me to calm down sleep better. At the time I assumed she meant I would sleep better because I wouldn't itching and scratching.
No, in reality that is not what she meant at all. When I read the prescription facts and paperwork I found that the pills are a mild form of an anti-anxiety drug that also sometimes helps to reduce itchiness.
Hmmm.
Now, maybe I'm being a tad bit sensitive about this, because I've been on various anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills in the past, but I'm trying to figure out if my mid-wife, having listened to me stress out about everything baby-related over the last 8 months, just made an executive decision to "trick" me into going back on meds.
Anyway, since she has assured me that these pills are safe for Baby, I started taking them Friday and the result was I slept for 14 hours. I'm not sure what I think about that, but apparently they're working
I do however know that since Matt had to work today, Brutus seemed pretty happy to have his Mommy home in bed with him. When my eyes popped open he was asleep next to me with his head on the pillow and his body half under the covers. He is, like, the most ridiculous dog ever.
(For those of you who knew me in any previous version of my life you probably aren't surprised by how late that is. If anything you're thinking it's pretty early for me.)
So what's the big deal? Well.... two things really. Since I get up at 6 during the week these days, the latest I normally sleep on weekends is some place between 8:30 and 9:00.
Also, there's the fact that I went to sleep last night at 8:00.
Holy crap I just slept for 14 hours!!!
(Although technically I did wake up somewhere in the neighborhood of 742 times to go pee.)
(Also, on that note, I fell asleep in front of the fan on my husband's side of the bed- which is closer to the bathroom, and at some point in there I found myself rolling over looking for him and I almost fell out of bed. Matt apparently left me where I was when he came to bed because I've been complaining about waddling around the room every time I have to go potty. I'm not sure if switching sides so I can be closer to the bathroom door is going to work if my body instinctively goes to the left looking for him and I fall out of bed in the process.)
So, getting back to my mini-hibernation last night, what happened?
Last week at the Doctor I was complaining about the constant itchy skin stretched across my baby bump. It's been driving me NUTSO since about the 4 month mark. On several occasions I've managed to bruise myself from the scratching and no amount of lotion or cocoa butter or ointment really seems to help. So my midwife looked at my nearly translucent stretched-out skin and noted a slight rash "developing." She said it might be the early signs of Pupps or maybe heat rash (which I do tend to get on my stomach pretty often if its hot,) or, it might be something else entirely. She decided to prescribe me some help.
Thursday I was finally able to find the time to swing by the pharmacy and pick up her cures. First there is a bottle of this amazing lotiony stuff that works kind of like Ben Gay and cools/numbs my entire tummy. (Unfortunately it also smells something like gasoline, but I guess you have to take the good with the bad.) There is also a bottle of small pills. She mentioned that the pills would help with the itching. She also said they'd likely help me to calm down sleep better. At the time I assumed she meant I would sleep better because I wouldn't itching and scratching.
No, in reality that is not what she meant at all. When I read the prescription facts and paperwork I found that the pills are a mild form of an anti-anxiety drug that also sometimes helps to reduce itchiness.
Hmmm.
Now, maybe I'm being a tad bit sensitive about this, because I've been on various anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills in the past, but I'm trying to figure out if my mid-wife, having listened to me stress out about everything baby-related over the last 8 months, just made an executive decision to "trick" me into going back on meds.
Anyway, since she has assured me that these pills are safe for Baby, I started taking them Friday and the result was I slept for 14 hours. I'm not sure what I think about that, but apparently they're working
I do however know that since Matt had to work today, Brutus seemed pretty happy to have his Mommy home in bed with him. When my eyes popped open he was asleep next to me with his head on the pillow and his body half under the covers. He is, like, the most ridiculous dog ever.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Doing what's "breast"
I've mentioned this briefly in passing before, but I need to seriously address something. Here. Now.
I have a tremendous, overwhelming, completely irrational fear
of
breast feeding.
(duhn, duhn, DUHN!!!!)
Let me start by saying that I was not breast fed and I tend to be one of the healthiest people on the planet. Sure, there is also the fact that I NEVER really got along with my mother (not even when I was a baby... supposedly I didn't like her holding me while I took my bottle) but there is absolutely no proof that the bottle feeding had anything to do with that.
So, as a result, I always just worked with the assumption that I would bottle feed my own children, if, at some point, I ever got around to having any.
I never really thought there was any issue with this. Yes, I am aware that medical science definitely comes out in favor of the breast, but I also always thought it was my choice.
Now that I am pregnant, well, I've found this to be completely false.
Everyone, and I do mean everyone, seems to think that if I choose not to nurse my child I will be severely ruining our ability to bond and surely damaging him/her for life.
By now you are probably thinking, "so just do it, what's the big deal?"
Well, let me try to tackle my issues in an orderly fashion:
1. My Body Image
I am EXTREMELY self conscious about my chest. Seriously. It's small, it's always been small and I am very embarrassed by it (even now, with pregnant boobs.) I barely feel comfortable letting my husband see or touch my chest and have absolutely no idea how I'm supposed to allow a small little creature to suckle off of it. Plus, when you first start nursing there are supposed to be all these lactation specialists getting all up in your business inspecting your work and your form and trying to ensure you're doing it right. Frankly, the mere thought of this makes me wanna die.
2. Pain and Suffering
My ta-tas, if you will. are VERY sensitive. This being the main reason why my husband is not really allowed to touch them. All I can say is OUCH. This is not even bringing mention to all the apx. 7000 women who have told me to start roughing up my nipples now (with everything from a rag or towel to a loofah) to prepare for the pain and cracking or whatever later. As if I'm not struggling enough with this already.
3. Privacy
This child, no doubt, is, at some point, going to want/need to eat someplace other than the privacy of one of our bedrooms. So, right, I'm supposed to cover up with a blankie or something, whip out one of my girls, attach my baby too it and then go on about my business or my conversation or whatever in PUBLIC?!?!?! Wait a second, forget public, I can't even imagine doing this in front of Matt or his mother or my Grandmother (who are supposed to come to help when the baby comes) in my living room.
4. Two words: Breast Pump.
Yes I realize that this is a necessary part of successful nursing, especially if I am ever going to have more than like 4 hours of Independence once this kid comes, but... ACK! Who even invented those machines. They look like medieval torture devices.
5. Regarding Bonding
I'm about to make some enemies, and probably offend a lot of people, but I have to, no, I NEED to say this:
Women who talk about how nursing makes you feel like a mother, and is the most amazing thing ever and how they never wanted to stop and how its JUST the BEST FEELING EVER really bug the crap out of me. And scare me quite a lot.
Now, I certainly can't speak for myself yet, because I'm not there, yet.... but based on my feeling regarding the matter so far (see items #1-4) I am inclined to doubt, highly that I will feel this way. In fact, I feel that I am more likely to resent the poor child for torturing me with the struggles to nurse and the pain, and everything. And, THE LAST THING I EVER WANT TO DO is resent my child.
As far as the new born bonding goes, again, I'm not there yet, but I already feel pretty bonded with my child. With ever kick we grow closer. With every set of hiccups I love this baby more. I imagine what his/her thoughts are any time my belly changes shape. So, I already feel we're very connected.
And, you know what I think.... screw all that bonding talk anyway. What about mothers who CAN'T nurse or about adopted children? The notion that those women are in any way LESS connected to their children is frankly, RIDICULOUS.
6. A Healthy Baby.
So, apparently, according to, well, everyone I've EVER met, nursing is, like SOOOOO much better for baby's health. My breast milk can help the baby build up immunities and stuff. If I nurse baby is less likely to have allergies and be overweight. Etc, etc, etc.
Trust me. I hear you. I get it.
But in the face of all this reason I have my own sanity to consider. Here's the thing. I WANT to do what's best for my baby. I really, really, really do. But, first of all, there is NO guarantee of a healthy baby EVER. Breast Milk or formula. And, I do have my own needs to consider as I'm sure becoming a new mother will have enough challenges all on its own with out my having sore-boobie-induced nervous breakdowns.
A few weeks ago I was talking to a teacher who has a severe peanut allergy. I asked her if she'd had it as a child or if it had developed later in her life. This woman actually had the nerve to come right out and blame her mother for not nursing and "giving" her the allergy. A few days later I was having a conversation with some Special Education teachers about my Autistic cousin Chris and someone asked if my Aunt had bottle fed him. As if that might have "caused" it.
Pardon me, but what a bunch of B.S.
But...
What if I bottle feed and then this kid has a severe allergy. Or autism? Will I ever be able to believe it isn't my fault??? I'm literally making myself crazy here.
7. Baby Weight
Many women I've talked to swear that nursing their babies has enabled them to loose all the baby weight and get skinny again quickly. This makes a fair bit of sense to me, as it would tend to burn a lot of calories to produce food for your offspring. A book I read also said something about the lactation process shrinking you uterus faster.
These 2 pieces of information, honestly, sound like some of the best news I've heard in, well, 8 months. Call me vain, call me selfish, but I WANT to be skinny again, after this baby.... ASAP.
Of course then there's those other women. The ones who did nurse and stayed fat.
*******
So where does all this leave me?
In the beginning of this pregnancy I believed firmly that I would give nursing the good, honest, college try. My goal would be 6 weeks. If I made it to 6 weeks I'd try for 3 months. After 3 months, I'd try for 6. Etc.
However as my due date looms closer, I'm really loosing my nerve.
Last week after our 8 month check up, Matt and I were discussing the birthing plan. When I got to the breast feeding questions I started to cry. Sitting there, at my kitchen counter considering my options on drugs, delivery positions, and whether or not Matt would be cutting the cord suddenly made this whole thing very real. And in reality, when I considered nursing my infant, I started to cry.
This can't be a good sign.
I don't know what to do.
Because I honestly do believe its best, and I do want to do what's best.
I just really don't know if I can. It literally freaks me out.
And if I decide I can't, am I going to be able to fight off the Breast-Feeding Nazi Nurse (AKA-lactation specialist) in the hospital???
I have a tremendous, overwhelming, completely irrational fear
of
breast feeding.
(duhn, duhn, DUHN!!!!)
Let me start by saying that I was not breast fed and I tend to be one of the healthiest people on the planet. Sure, there is also the fact that I NEVER really got along with my mother (not even when I was a baby... supposedly I didn't like her holding me while I took my bottle) but there is absolutely no proof that the bottle feeding had anything to do with that.
So, as a result, I always just worked with the assumption that I would bottle feed my own children, if, at some point, I ever got around to having any.
I never really thought there was any issue with this. Yes, I am aware that medical science definitely comes out in favor of the breast, but I also always thought it was my choice.
Now that I am pregnant, well, I've found this to be completely false.
Everyone, and I do mean everyone, seems to think that if I choose not to nurse my child I will be severely ruining our ability to bond and surely damaging him/her for life.
By now you are probably thinking, "so just do it, what's the big deal?"
Well, let me try to tackle my issues in an orderly fashion:
1. My Body Image
I am EXTREMELY self conscious about my chest. Seriously. It's small, it's always been small and I am very embarrassed by it (even now, with pregnant boobs.) I barely feel comfortable letting my husband see or touch my chest and have absolutely no idea how I'm supposed to allow a small little creature to suckle off of it. Plus, when you first start nursing there are supposed to be all these lactation specialists getting all up in your business inspecting your work and your form and trying to ensure you're doing it right. Frankly, the mere thought of this makes me wanna die.
2. Pain and Suffering
My ta-tas, if you will. are VERY sensitive. This being the main reason why my husband is not really allowed to touch them. All I can say is OUCH. This is not even bringing mention to all the apx. 7000 women who have told me to start roughing up my nipples now (with everything from a rag or towel to a loofah) to prepare for the pain and cracking or whatever later. As if I'm not struggling enough with this already.
3. Privacy
This child, no doubt, is, at some point, going to want/need to eat someplace other than the privacy of one of our bedrooms. So, right, I'm supposed to cover up with a blankie or something, whip out one of my girls, attach my baby too it and then go on about my business or my conversation or whatever in PUBLIC?!?!?! Wait a second, forget public, I can't even imagine doing this in front of Matt or his mother or my Grandmother (who are supposed to come to help when the baby comes) in my living room.
4. Two words: Breast Pump.
Yes I realize that this is a necessary part of successful nursing, especially if I am ever going to have more than like 4 hours of Independence once this kid comes, but... ACK! Who even invented those machines. They look like medieval torture devices.
5. Regarding Bonding
I'm about to make some enemies, and probably offend a lot of people, but I have to, no, I NEED to say this:
Women who talk about how nursing makes you feel like a mother, and is the most amazing thing ever and how they never wanted to stop and how its JUST the BEST FEELING EVER really bug the crap out of me. And scare me quite a lot.
Now, I certainly can't speak for myself yet, because I'm not there, yet.... but based on my feeling regarding the matter so far (see items #1-4) I am inclined to doubt, highly that I will feel this way. In fact, I feel that I am more likely to resent the poor child for torturing me with the struggles to nurse and the pain, and everything. And, THE LAST THING I EVER WANT TO DO is resent my child.
As far as the new born bonding goes, again, I'm not there yet, but I already feel pretty bonded with my child. With ever kick we grow closer. With every set of hiccups I love this baby more. I imagine what his/her thoughts are any time my belly changes shape. So, I already feel we're very connected.
And, you know what I think.... screw all that bonding talk anyway. What about mothers who CAN'T nurse or about adopted children? The notion that those women are in any way LESS connected to their children is frankly, RIDICULOUS.
6. A Healthy Baby.
So, apparently, according to, well, everyone I've EVER met, nursing is, like SOOOOO much better for baby's health. My breast milk can help the baby build up immunities and stuff. If I nurse baby is less likely to have allergies and be overweight. Etc, etc, etc.
Trust me. I hear you. I get it.
But in the face of all this reason I have my own sanity to consider. Here's the thing. I WANT to do what's best for my baby. I really, really, really do. But, first of all, there is NO guarantee of a healthy baby EVER. Breast Milk or formula. And, I do have my own needs to consider as I'm sure becoming a new mother will have enough challenges all on its own with out my having sore-boobie-induced nervous breakdowns.
A few weeks ago I was talking to a teacher who has a severe peanut allergy. I asked her if she'd had it as a child or if it had developed later in her life. This woman actually had the nerve to come right out and blame her mother for not nursing and "giving" her the allergy. A few days later I was having a conversation with some Special Education teachers about my Autistic cousin Chris and someone asked if my Aunt had bottle fed him. As if that might have "caused" it.
Pardon me, but what a bunch of B.S.
But...
What if I bottle feed and then this kid has a severe allergy. Or autism? Will I ever be able to believe it isn't my fault??? I'm literally making myself crazy here.
7. Baby Weight
Many women I've talked to swear that nursing their babies has enabled them to loose all the baby weight and get skinny again quickly. This makes a fair bit of sense to me, as it would tend to burn a lot of calories to produce food for your offspring. A book I read also said something about the lactation process shrinking you uterus faster.
These 2 pieces of information, honestly, sound like some of the best news I've heard in, well, 8 months. Call me vain, call me selfish, but I WANT to be skinny again, after this baby.... ASAP.
Of course then there's those other women. The ones who did nurse and stayed fat.
*******
So where does all this leave me?
In the beginning of this pregnancy I believed firmly that I would give nursing the good, honest, college try. My goal would be 6 weeks. If I made it to 6 weeks I'd try for 3 months. After 3 months, I'd try for 6. Etc.
However as my due date looms closer, I'm really loosing my nerve.
Last week after our 8 month check up, Matt and I were discussing the birthing plan. When I got to the breast feeding questions I started to cry. Sitting there, at my kitchen counter considering my options on drugs, delivery positions, and whether or not Matt would be cutting the cord suddenly made this whole thing very real. And in reality, when I considered nursing my infant, I started to cry.
This can't be a good sign.
I don't know what to do.
Because I honestly do believe its best, and I do want to do what's best.
I just really don't know if I can. It literally freaks me out.
And if I decide I can't, am I going to be able to fight off the Breast-Feeding Nazi Nurse (AKA-lactation specialist) in the hospital???
Monday, May 11, 2009
Maternity Photos
My good friend who also happens to be a photographer was out visiting this past weekend. She took some awesome shots of me in all my, um, maternal splendor.
Here are my favorites:
 |
| (She told him to kiss my tummy and instead he blew a raspberry!) |
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Conflicting Wills
Today at work a friend of mine told me that when she was expecting her daughter she made it to 41 weeks with out any signs of labor. At her weekly doctor's appointment she'd said something about how apparently her baby wasn't ready to come out yet. In response to this, her doctor told her that going into labor has absolutely NOTHING to do with the readiness of the baby to be born, but has everything to do with the mother's body being ready to deliver.
Hmmm.
And suddenly a new irrational fear was born into my mind.
What if my body is never ready to deliver???
I mean, even with 9 weeks to go I'm certainly ready to be done being pregnant. I WANT my body back. However, if I think about that too much I'll start to have a little nervous breakdown because I know that the only way to get my body back is to deliver the baby, and as much as I want to meet my child, I suddenly feel very unprepared to be responsible for another teeny-tiny human being. Not to mention the fact that as my due date looms steadily closer, my fears about the delivery room grow and grow.
With all that being said, and me being a strong believer in mind over matter, what if my mind never let's my body go into labor?
I'm going to be pregnant FOREVER.
*sigh*
On the other hand, last week I was talking to another teacher who has two children, both of which were the happy blessings she received after torturous, bed-ridden, pain filled pregnancies. Her second son, as it turned out, was born 10 weeks early due to the complications in her pregnancy. (Thankfully, he has since grown and developed into a nice, healthy, rambunctious toddler these days.) She says her husband still "accuses" her of willing that baby out of her early.
So..... Why can't I do that???
(Aside from the growing fears and mini-nervous breakdowns I mean.)
I mean, I'll wait a few more weeks to ensure my child will come out good and healthy but the idea of being this humongous or even humongous-er for the next 2 months, OR EVEN MORE, hurts me to think about.
Just call me little Miss Impatient-Pants.
And, here's the thing, my Aunt had her daughter something like 5 weeks early. She had the easiest labor of anyone I've ever heard of. She had a nice, small 5-ish pound baby, who has since grown to be a nice healthy, well rounded pre-teen. So if you can have your baby a month early and that baby can be completely healthy and fine.... WHY wouldn't you??? You get to be pregnant for a whole month LESS.
I wonder if my desire to not be pregnant any more can over-power my newly forming fears about getting the baby out and actually being successful as a mother?
Or, I need to just pray for a healthy kiddo and allow God to do his thing determine the timeline. (Why can't it be easier to trust Him?)
Hmmm.
And suddenly a new irrational fear was born into my mind.
What if my body is never ready to deliver???
I mean, even with 9 weeks to go I'm certainly ready to be done being pregnant. I WANT my body back. However, if I think about that too much I'll start to have a little nervous breakdown because I know that the only way to get my body back is to deliver the baby, and as much as I want to meet my child, I suddenly feel very unprepared to be responsible for another teeny-tiny human being. Not to mention the fact that as my due date looms steadily closer, my fears about the delivery room grow and grow.
With all that being said, and me being a strong believer in mind over matter, what if my mind never let's my body go into labor?
I'm going to be pregnant FOREVER.
*sigh*
On the other hand, last week I was talking to another teacher who has two children, both of which were the happy blessings she received after torturous, bed-ridden, pain filled pregnancies. Her second son, as it turned out, was born 10 weeks early due to the complications in her pregnancy. (Thankfully, he has since grown and developed into a nice, healthy, rambunctious toddler these days.) She says her husband still "accuses" her of willing that baby out of her early.
So..... Why can't I do that???
(Aside from the growing fears and mini-nervous breakdowns I mean.)
I mean, I'll wait a few more weeks to ensure my child will come out good and healthy but the idea of being this humongous or even humongous-er for the next 2 months, OR EVEN MORE, hurts me to think about.
Just call me little Miss Impatient-Pants.
And, here's the thing, my Aunt had her daughter something like 5 weeks early. She had the easiest labor of anyone I've ever heard of. She had a nice, small 5-ish pound baby, who has since grown to be a nice healthy, well rounded pre-teen. So if you can have your baby a month early and that baby can be completely healthy and fine.... WHY wouldn't you??? You get to be pregnant for a whole month LESS.
I wonder if my desire to not be pregnant any more can over-power my newly forming fears about getting the baby out and actually being successful as a mother?
Or, I need to just pray for a healthy kiddo and allow God to do his thing determine the timeline. (Why can't it be easier to trust Him?)
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Baby Shower
Thursday after school some of my teacher friends were nice enough to organize a baby shower for me. I have to admit I was pretty excited, since I never had a bridal shower, but also that I was completely nervous. As outgoing as I tend to be, I don't like being the center of attention, especially not when I am humongous in the middle.
A few days before the event it occurred to me that since it was a co-ed shower and teachers from each of my schools were invited, that maybe Matt should come. Now, believe me when I tell you that I did not expect him to WANT to come, but I really wanted him to be there. He is the Daddy after all, and he is generally pretty wonderful and I wanted to show him off some. Also, if he was there he would undoubtedly goof around enough to take a great deal of the attention off me.
I pestered him about coming for a few days, but as of Thursday morning I had yet to get any official word one way or the other from him and I was beginning to doubt whether or not he was even going to ask for permission to leave early in order to come. As I drove to work that morning it occurred to me that I could ask for him. Surely his superiors would never turn down a very, polite, pregnant wife... would they? So, when I got to work I typed up a brief email, choosing my words very carefully mind you so as not to offend my husband's Captain or Executive Officer, asking if they would send him my way in time for the party.
About an hour later I received a response from the Captain saying he was happy to oblige. I felt very glad.
However, about an hour later the Executive Officer (AKA, XO or second in command who normally would make decisions about whether or not people can leave early) responded as well. He is known to be a bit of a kidder and was pretty much shocked that I'd had the nerve to go over his head to the Captain with my request. He was taking it upon himself to embarrass Matt as much as possible for my "appalling" behavior. He also thought Matt was pretty ridiculous for even considering attending my baby shower.
So Matt was taking a pretty good ribbing. Then randomly Kevin, one of the guys who used to work on the ship but now works for the Commodore (AKA, Matt's Captain's boss, or the guy who is in charge of not only Matt's ship but about six others) happened to call on the phone and hear about the good fun everyone was having making fun of Matt.
Kevin, took it upon himself to take the joke a step further. The Commodore, working upon Kevin's request, called over to the ship feigning anger and demanding to speak to someone who know who Matt was and WHY his wife was calling him begging that her husband be allowed to get of work early. Matt's bosses passed the phone to Matt and my poor husband just stood there in shock getting yelled at wondering how on earth I'd even known who his boss's boss was to be able to call him.
Eventually, the Commodore cracked and let poor Matt off easy, explaining that Kevin had set the whole thing up. Unfortunately by that time I think Matt had had enough because when I called him a short while later he refused to talk to me.
Oops.
But of course, he had no choice to attend the shower since everybody now knew about it. And thankfully, somehow, on the 50 mile drive from the base up to Vista he managed to calm down enough that eventually he did enjoy the party (although I'm sure he'd never admit it.)
So anyway, getting back to the Shower itself, my friends REALLY outdid themselves. Christina COMPLETELY rearranged her fourth grade classroom and her party planning partner, Maria allowed all of Christina's classroom junk to be put into her room to make it work. It was honestly so much more than I ever expected. I don't think I can even use words to do it all justice, so here, instead, are some pictures.
To begin with, the cake (apparently made by Sam's club) was Gorgeous!
When I first saw that little gum paste baby on top I almost cried. I also have to confess it was hard to resist a humongous urge to lift up that little bottom covering leaf and peer at its little baby butt cheeks....
After the party we ripped the whole baby piece off the top and saved it. It's sitting in my kitchen right now, and Matt is eagerly awaiting my permission to bite the cute little baby head off.
I've heard of and seen diaper cake centerpieces for showers before but after finding out how much they cost I certainly never expected one at my own shower. I guess I should have known better than to underestimate how awesome teachers can be, because apparently, Christina took it upon herself to make one:
She did a great job!
(Unfortunately, upon getting the diaper cake home I found my fat cat choking on one of the ribbons he had decided to try to eat and I was forced to dismantle it and pack the diapers away for safe keeping. Silly kitties.)
Our school counselors organized a few games. Here we are playing a fill-in-the-blank Nursery Rhyme game. Also notice in the background the adorable clothes line of baby items used to decorate the wall. :)
Inevitably, there was the guess how big Mommy's tummy is game which Maria (a young mother herself) took very seriously:
Here is Christina measuring me to find the winner:
And of course, the event was complete when I was buried under tissue and wrapping paper from all the presents:
I am so lucky and blessed not only to be having this baby, but to have amazing friends and coworkers who throw a great party and very obliging husband who made an appearance as well.
A few days before the event it occurred to me that since it was a co-ed shower and teachers from each of my schools were invited, that maybe Matt should come. Now, believe me when I tell you that I did not expect him to WANT to come, but I really wanted him to be there. He is the Daddy after all, and he is generally pretty wonderful and I wanted to show him off some. Also, if he was there he would undoubtedly goof around enough to take a great deal of the attention off me.
I pestered him about coming for a few days, but as of Thursday morning I had yet to get any official word one way or the other from him and I was beginning to doubt whether or not he was even going to ask for permission to leave early in order to come. As I drove to work that morning it occurred to me that I could ask for him. Surely his superiors would never turn down a very, polite, pregnant wife... would they? So, when I got to work I typed up a brief email, choosing my words very carefully mind you so as not to offend my husband's Captain or Executive Officer, asking if they would send him my way in time for the party.
About an hour later I received a response from the Captain saying he was happy to oblige. I felt very glad.
However, about an hour later the Executive Officer (AKA, XO or second in command who normally would make decisions about whether or not people can leave early) responded as well. He is known to be a bit of a kidder and was pretty much shocked that I'd had the nerve to go over his head to the Captain with my request. He was taking it upon himself to embarrass Matt as much as possible for my "appalling" behavior. He also thought Matt was pretty ridiculous for even considering attending my baby shower.
So Matt was taking a pretty good ribbing. Then randomly Kevin, one of the guys who used to work on the ship but now works for the Commodore (AKA, Matt's Captain's boss, or the guy who is in charge of not only Matt's ship but about six others) happened to call on the phone and hear about the good fun everyone was having making fun of Matt.
Kevin, took it upon himself to take the joke a step further. The Commodore, working upon Kevin's request, called over to the ship feigning anger and demanding to speak to someone who know who Matt was and WHY his wife was calling him begging that her husband be allowed to get of work early. Matt's bosses passed the phone to Matt and my poor husband just stood there in shock getting yelled at wondering how on earth I'd even known who his boss's boss was to be able to call him.
Eventually, the Commodore cracked and let poor Matt off easy, explaining that Kevin had set the whole thing up. Unfortunately by that time I think Matt had had enough because when I called him a short while later he refused to talk to me.
Oops.
But of course, he had no choice to attend the shower since everybody now knew about it. And thankfully, somehow, on the 50 mile drive from the base up to Vista he managed to calm down enough that eventually he did enjoy the party (although I'm sure he'd never admit it.)
So anyway, getting back to the Shower itself, my friends REALLY outdid themselves. Christina COMPLETELY rearranged her fourth grade classroom and her party planning partner, Maria allowed all of Christina's classroom junk to be put into her room to make it work. It was honestly so much more than I ever expected. I don't think I can even use words to do it all justice, so here, instead, are some pictures.
To begin with, the cake (apparently made by Sam's club) was Gorgeous!
When I first saw that little gum paste baby on top I almost cried. I also have to confess it was hard to resist a humongous urge to lift up that little bottom covering leaf and peer at its little baby butt cheeks....
After the party we ripped the whole baby piece off the top and saved it. It's sitting in my kitchen right now, and Matt is eagerly awaiting my permission to bite the cute little baby head off.
I've heard of and seen diaper cake centerpieces for showers before but after finding out how much they cost I certainly never expected one at my own shower. I guess I should have known better than to underestimate how awesome teachers can be, because apparently, Christina took it upon herself to make one:
She did a great job!
(Unfortunately, upon getting the diaper cake home I found my fat cat choking on one of the ribbons he had decided to try to eat and I was forced to dismantle it and pack the diapers away for safe keeping. Silly kitties.)
Our school counselors organized a few games. Here we are playing a fill-in-the-blank Nursery Rhyme game. Also notice in the background the adorable clothes line of baby items used to decorate the wall. :)
Inevitably, there was the guess how big Mommy's tummy is game which Maria (a young mother herself) took very seriously:
Here is Christina measuring me to find the winner:
And of course, the event was complete when I was buried under tissue and wrapping paper from all the presents:
I am so lucky and blessed not only to be having this baby, but to have amazing friends and coworkers who throw a great party and very obliging husband who made an appearance as well.
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