The Rest of our Hospital Stay

After I got to feed A.J. for the first time in the post op room, the nurses wanted to take her away again to recheck all her vitals and give her a real bath while I was wheeled off to my own room to get settled in.  Matt, at this point, headed off for home to pick up his Mom and Peter and bring them back to the hospital to meet our new arrival. 

Once in my room, I killed the time by making a few phone calls and generally annoying the nurses by asking questions about when I'd be allowed to get out of bed.  I'd spoken to my doctor in great detail ahead of time about how I could get out of the hospital (and back home to my son) as soon as possible.  He had told me that the standard hospital stay for a Cesarean was 4 days... sometimes 5.  Women who really want to go home are usually able to leave on the 3rd day if everything is going well.  BUT, he also told me that he had, twice, in his 25 years of practicing, had women go home the day following surgery.  He'd informed me that since my recovery had gone so smoothly the last time, and that my surgery was so early in the morning this time, that theoretically I had a fair chance of "convincing him" to let me go home LATE on the day after surgery as well.  Provided of course I was up, and eating, and the catheter had come out okay and I'd made all the necessary trips to the bathroom and my outputs were good and my incision looked good and of course, if the baby was doing well.

Two patients in 25 years huh?  Well, CHALLENGE EXTENDED.  I was determined to do everything in my power to be his third patient released on that 2nd day if I could, so I could go home with my new baby to my original baby, Peter.  Call me crazy if you want.  Many people have, including many of my nurses most of that afternoon following the surgery as I was begging for help to get out of bed, and go to the bathroom and take a shower.

Well, first of all, two things about that. 

After Peter was born, I was certainly not in any hurry to go home, but I did want out of that bed.  I HATED feeling tied down and helpless and stuck in that bed.  I have as much of a lazy streak as anyone, I guess, but when big things are happening, like say, the arrival of a new child, the last thing I want to do is be stuck sitting around in bed, doing next to nothing.

And the other thing is, I remember that happy little post-partum bubble Matt and I flittered around in at the hospital for 4 sureal days after Peter was born.  However, this time, that happy little bubble kept popping... every single time I thought about Peter and wondered how he was doing at home without his Mommy and Daddy.  Not that I didn't know that he was in the very capable care of his Gramma.  But I MISSED him.  I missed him like crazy.  And I felt confident that going home to my boy sooner rather than later was going to be the best way for me to be able to fully relax, enjoy my new baby and concentrate on recovering.  My Doctor understood my feelings and agreed with me... again, so long as I was healthy enough to go, he would let me.

Anyway, back to A.J.'s birth day. 

Right around 10:30 Matt arrived back at with his Mom and Peter.  Boy was I glad to see him. 

We immediately paged the nursery and asked them to bring us A.J. but they said they wanted to keep her there under the warmer for a little while longer as her temperature was a little low after her bath.  Then FINALLY they brought her in and for the first time that day my heart felt whole again. 

Daddy lifted Peter up to get a first glimpse of his new little sister.  A.J. however could not hold his interest for very long as Sesame Street was on Television.

 

However, once she was in his Daddy's arms, he found her more interesting...

Here's a cute shot of Matt and his Mom doting on our sweet little girl.

And here is our first photo of our new family of four.  Peter by then was much more interested in his strange new little sister than in smiling for the camera.

True love all over again...

Peter's first lesson in sharing Mommy.

Gosh, and now Gramma has her...

Eventually, after a nice long visit (and lots of snuggles with Mommy and Daddy) Gramma needed to take Peter home for some lunch and a nap.  It made me so sad to see them go, but I knew it was necessary and with him safe at home I was able to focus on my recovery some!!

Then our friend Dawn came by!  It was so exciting to have another visitor, especially since the last time we were there in the hospital we didn't yet know anybody here who could come and visit.  Sweet Dawn was so moved by our new addition that she actually cried!  (I don't even think I cried... which is weird... but anyway...) 

As the day of her birth wore on, A.J. nursed a lot, and soiled some diapers, and screamed occasionally about one of those two, and she slowly became more and more alert to her new life outside of Mommy's tummy. 

Although, to be fair, who wants to be alert when snuggling asleep in Daddy's warm arms is an option...



Somewhere along the way, a nurse came by with this very cool souvenir hat- a gift from the hospital.  And a very welcome one at that, since the newborn beanie wouldn't stay on her big head but this one actually fit!!

A.J. snuggled with Daddy the next morning while Mommy got a shower.  I'd actually been granted a quick one the night before (to scrub down my itchy skin) but by the morning I was desperate to get out of the hospital gown and into some nice comfortable jammies of my own.

Especially since I had found some fun Mickey Mouse jammies, complete with a matching onsie for the baby, for just this occasion!

Now of course, by this point we'd all forgotten that my c-section was originally scheduled for December 1st not November 30, but it had been moved up one day by my doctor when another, more complex surgery came up about a month and a half ago.  It wasn't actually until he came in to check on me that morning, still in his surgical scrubs, that I even remembered.

So he checked my chart and my tummy and my incision and commended me on "taking care of business," so to speak, so that maybe he could release me.  Then he laughed about how half the nurses were so annoyed by me for pushing myself so hard while the other half were in love with me for not whining and moaning and needing a bunch of convincing to so much as roll over in bed.  After giving me this hard time, he said that if the pediatrician would be willing to release A.J., and if everything on my end continued on par for the rest of the day, he'd return in the evening after his office hours and send me home.   

Naturally, we celebrated this happy news by getting a photo of her with the man who's hands delivered her.  (She was less than thrilled to see him again.)

The rest of that day was mostly spent relaxing and enjoying our daughter.  We all took a few naps.  Nurses came in and out and checked on everybody.  We watched some TV.  My lunch came and Matt and I split it.  Matt did some homework and played computer games on his computer while I nursed A.J. and slept some more.  A lovely lactation consultant paid us a visit.  She watched me feed the baby and gave our latch her "seal of approval."  She also noticed that the baby stayed latched on for well over 30 minutes and okayed us to give her a pacifier if we wanted.  Not that we needed her permission, but it was nice to hear she didn't think it would do any harm.  

The pediatrician was called in the early afternoon and informed of our plans (hopes) to leave the hospital.  She wasn't happy.  When she'd been in to see A.J. early that morning she'd been very sleepy and uninterested in nursing.  She really felt another night's stay would be best for her, but would settle for us making an office visit in the morning for a weight check and a quick once over instead.  (A.J. by then was down 8 oz from her birth weight.)

Late in the afternoon, Gramma and Peter came back to see us.  We all visited again for awhile and then Matt took them home to get dinner and prepare Peter for bed before he came back to get A.J. and I who would hopefully be home just in time for his bedtime. 

A new nurse checked in for the afternoon/evening shift.  She was crazy.  I'm sure she thought she was funny, but Matt and I both found her to be very, very annoying.  This made me more glad to be leaving.  She loaded us up with diapers and thermometers and booger-bulbs and maxi pads and those mesh underpants and those GIGANTIC post-partum mega-maxi-pads that I'm sure serve a purpose for women who deliver their babies the traditional way.  Then she started listing orders for me and Matt to follow once I got home.  These basically indicated that I wasn't to move or do anything at all, except maybe cuddle or nurse my new baby and occasionally waddle off to the bathroom.  Matt on the other hand, was charged with ensuring I did nothing, and was, supposedly to take care of everything else.  The whole thing was so ridiculous, actually, because Matt really does a great deal around here normally and in fact did not need some silly nurse to start assuming the worst male stereotypes about him.  But whatever.

Oh, and while Matt was gone taking Peter and his Mom home, my dinner came and I was to eat it before they'd let me leave.  It was prime rib, with steamed brocolli and a baked potato.  It was delicious.  It was way too good to be hospital food, even though, this time around, the food I had (all 5 meals of it) was actually really quite tasty. 

Suddenly I began to rethink my desire to go home.

But by then it was too late.  I had my marching orders and Peter was at home expecting me.

And A.J. was all dressed and ready to go too.

As was I.  Although why I thought it was a good idea to stand sort of sideways for this picture I have NO idea.  It's like I'm trying to show people how big my tummy still was the day after.  Ugh.

When Daddy came back, we loaded her up in her car seat.  Thankfully she didn't scream.  (Boy am I ever glad we had already introduced that pacifier!!)

And then we were headed out.  Of course the nurse insisted I use a wheelchair, which, if you ask me,  is just silly.  When I got to the hospital, I was still very pregnant, and quite frankly, even though I was not in labor, was suffering from a great deal of pain... but they let me walk then.  Whatever.

Finally, on our way ou,t we stopped at the Dennis the Menace statue for a quick photo. 

(We'd missed the photo op last time because I'd been moved to a room outside of the Family Birth Center when too many other women came in to deliver, and had therefore exited the hospital a different way.)
Not long afterward, we were home and I was helping put Peter to bed.  He was so happy to see me.  He wouldn't let me leave the room.  He wanted me to pick him up so badly, and of course I couldn't but I did sit on the floor next to his crib and he gripped my hand in his own for a long time until he fell asleep.  It was right then that I knew, once and for all, the I'd made the right choice in coming home early.  I'm sure if I'd stayed longer he'd have been fine, eventually, but at this point, that one long night away from him was plenty.  I was so happy to be home.

A.J.'s Birthday Party

Monday, was a long day.  Matt had class in the morning but since I had an appointment to go in to the hospital to check in and have some blood drawn around noon, he came home for lunch to look after Peter so I could go and take care of all that.  In the afternoon Matt went back to school and Peter napped while I alternated between an obsessive desire to accomplish various "last minute" tasks and the overwhelming need to take a nap on the couch.  When Peter awoke we took Brutus for a walk until Matt came home and then we all went out to pick up some last minute needed groceries and have dinner before Gramma's flight came in.

Last year, the night before Peter was born, we had dinner at Islands (because I love me some good burgers) and Matt decided eating there the night before having our babies seemed like as good a tradition as any to continue. 

Gramma's flight landed around 8, which was an hour after Peter's regular bed and bath time so after the airport we immediately hurried home to get him ready and into bed.  Then we all sat up talking for a few more hours before eventually deciding to retire onto our respective pillows for the night.  Trouble was, I was feeling way too anxious about the morning to get any sleep.

Ugh.  I think I stared at the clock until at least 3 am.  Somewhere in there I dozed awhile, but of course before I knew it 4 am had rolled around and Matt was getting up.  Then it was suddenly 5, and my alarm was telling me to get up too.

Here I am, showing  off my baby bump one last time.  Don't I look excited?  That's right, it was 5 am. 

I got in the shower.  I'd showered well the night before and washed my hair and everything, so the morning's shower was only meant to be a quick rinse off to wake me up.  Instead I stood under that hot water for a very long time.  I didn't ever want to leave.  It just felt too good.  Except of course while I stood there under the wonderful refreshing hot water I kept staring down at my enormous tummy and my reality kept coming back to me.  That baby needed to come out and I couldn't hide from that in the shower no matter how much the impending surgery was scaring me.

We eventually got to the hospital right at 6.  A nurse handed me several packages of some surgical prep wipes and a gown and told me to go strip, wipe my entire body down with the wipes and then put on the gown.  This of course left me FREEZING have to death as I climbed into my hospital bed about 10 minutes later.  Soon some other nurses came in to complete the check in process for me and hook me up the IV.  Of course she blew my vein on her first attempt (because I wasn't already feeling massive amounts of anxiety or anything.)  Once she successfully got the IV in I was left to sit in bed and soak up a bag or two of IV fluid and be nervous for about 45 minutes until the surgery.  Matt did his best to entertain me, but mostly I just kept freaking out.  I'd alternate between tears and giggles as the fear overtook me and then Matt said something funny to cheer me back up.  I tried very hard not to remember how, well, awful Peter's C-section had been, but it just kept coming back to me.

The anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself.  Unlike last year, this man was older and seemed much more like an actual doctor to me.  The nurse warned me that he would talk a lot and probably never stop.  That seemed funny to me.

Then I was walking down the hall to the Operating Room.  Nobody had seen my doctor yet, as he seemed to be running late, but I recognized several of the nurses.  The surgical nurse, Kim, was the same lady I'd had last time and she was also my nurse back in September when I was sick. 

I'd mentioned to the Anesthesia guy how last time it took FOREVER to get the spinal block in, so this time, instead of my sitting up and hunching over forward, he had me lay down on my right side in a hunched over sort of fetal position.  This was insane to me because the operating table seemed to be only about 8 inches wide.  I balanced there on my side some how and he cleaned my back and prepped the site and then I got to just lay there for several minutes listening to everybody banter on as Dr. Ramseur had called to say he was coming, but still hadn't arrived and he didn't want to put the spinal in until the Doc was physically on sight. 

When my Doc came in at last he introduced me (awkwardly since I was laying down on my side with my butt hanging out while the spinal went in) to another OB who was assisting him with the Cesarean and then before I knew it the block was in and the anesthesia guy was going on and on and ON about how my back was so skinny and there was no fat and he could see all the landmarks so clearly and how I'd just been such a good patient already.  That nurse was right.  He really DID talk a lot. 

They rolled me onto my back and I felt my legs start to go dead. I looked down and was surprised to see  them being moved around by the nurses as they put in the catheter, cleaning my abdomen and the docs started making surgical marks everywhere.  It seemed like an eternity was going by.  I remembered the horrible awful tugging sensations from Peter's birth and I didn't want to relive them.  But I wanted them to get started so that Matt could come in.  The anesthesia doctor just kept talking.  I took deep breaths and closed my eyes and pictured Peter;s sweet face in my head and tried to stay calm.  The anesthesia doctor rambled on some more.  The OBs were having another conversation entirely, apparently about another patient they both knew.  The nurses were flittering around getting stuff ready.

Then Peter's pediatrician came in.  I'd requested she be the attending Pediatrician but because of Thanksgiving we'd never gotten a confirmation that she'd be there so that was a relief. 

Then the view blocking curtain thing went up and then Matt came in.  He looked funny in the shower cap and surgical gown get up, but unlike this time he was his normal, goofing off self, smiling and making little jokes.  He took my hand and then applied some chap stick for me.  That made me laugh. 

The docs got started.  I'm not sure if it was because the spinal block was working better or if it was because Matt was now bantering back and forth with the endlessly babbling anesthesiologist but I didn't really feel anything this time.  Or maybe I just ignored the uncomfortableness and focused on what everyone was saying instead.  Matt and the anesthesia guy just kept going on and on.  I told them to keep talking and distracting me.  They did, but for a million dollars I couldn't tell you what on earth they were saying.  On the other side of the curtain I could hear my OB and his assistant continuing on about that other patient between brief surgical things about holding this and passing that and "Oh that looks good" and stuff like that. 

I closed my eyes again and thought about Peter.  I wondered if he was awake yet.  Was he okay?  Did he miss me?  Was he eating his breakfast?

When I opened them, I noticed (since I still had my glasses on this time) that I could ALMOST make out what the doctors were doing reflected in the little mirrors of the surgical lights above me.  I said something about how I wanted to look but yet I didn't want to look and this got the anesthesia guy going on and on about this new exciting topic: OR lighting!

Then the doctor said something about the baby's giant head.  And LOTS of dark hair.  Matt answered about how our friend had said the baby had lots of hair because lately I'd had lots of heartburn.  *Apparently* (although Matt only heard about this afterward in the nursery and I didn't find out until the next day) but the baby's head was large enough that Doc had a tough time getting his hands around it and getting it out.  He ended up having to make the surgical incision LONGER than it had been with Peter (I guess the cut right along the old scar) which he found to be completely silly.  He wondered how on earth he needed a bigger incision for a normal head-down presentation than he'd needed for a true breech!  Anyway, I guess he sliced me a bit wider and then he proceeded to start delivering my baby. 

What I do remember is noticing the assisting doc's elbows pushing back against the curtain and knowing that meant he was going to start pushing and feeling like maybe if it felt like it had last time that I might not be able to take it.  But it didn't.  I felt almost nothing at all...

I'd sort of requested ahead of time that they maybe lower the curtain or lift the baby up or whatever if it was possible so maybe I could see her be born.  Matt DID not want any part of this, but I told him to look away when the doc asked if I wanted to see.  A nurse or somebody pushed the curtain down a bit.  The anesthesia guy lifted my head but I still couldn't see anything.  A moment passed, the doc lifted the baby higher and everybody else tried again and then I saw her.

"Hovering" in the doc's hands directly above my tummy area she was there, all sprawled out and covered in purple-ish slime and stuff.  She sort of looked like Gollem actually, now that I think about it, but I remember thinking wow, there's my "fantasy" birth moment of seeing her be born and noticing her squenched up little face and her arms and legs and fingers and toes all splayed out everywhere and then after that brief and thoroughly amazing little momentary glimpse my head was back down and the curtain was back up and the doctors went on about finishing delivering her and I was back to staring at the ceiling and Matt and wondering what on earth that Anesthesia guy could possibly STILL be going on about. 

A moment later the docs had her all the way out and the nurses and pediatrician had her over at the warmer.

And she SCREAMED.  And then a moment passed and she SCREAMED some more.  The cycle repeated.  Peter never screamed like that, Matt and I said so to each other and then sort of giggled.  I mumbled towards her that I'd be with her soon and that I was sorry she had to wait for me.  I told Matt to get the camera out.  He did and then the Anesthesia Doc started going on about giving him the camera and how his son or somebody is a photographer and you could find him (or maybe his son?) on google, because he takes so many birth photos and so Matt gave him the camera and then when Dr. Ruckle brought us our baby he started taking pictures like crazy. 


Matt holds our new daughter up close for me to see before they leave for the nursery

And the whole time I'm thinking to myself, "Gosh, well, there she is.  And she does sort of look like Peter doesn't she?  Oh except her face is sort of, um, "mushy" a bit like an old person's or something..." and the doc took a few more pictures, and then the pediatrician told me her APGARS were bother really good (9 out of 10s) and then they were all leaving for the nursery.  Matt argued with the burse for a moment about who should carry our daughter and then he said good bye to me and then he was gone WITHOUT KISSING ME GOODBYE!!! 

That part I remember for sure, because last time when he left with Peter it was so funny to me that he lifted my oxygen mask and kissed me through his little surgical mask and this time I only had on a nasal cannula thing and he didn't kiss me AT ALL.

And I was left there to feel a bit slighted by my husband with nobody to talk to except that ridiculous anaesthesiologist.

It seemed like another eternity went by.  I knew from my previous Cesarean and from the doctors that closing me up was going to take longer than the delivery.  Again, it was far better than last time (I'm sure in part because I was a lot less freaked out about the new baby part and that the surgery itself, which had been the part freaking me out ahead of time, had gone so much more painlessly and smoothly) but then they gave me the oxytocin to start contracting my uterus and of course I wanted to just die.

That stuff is just EVIL I tell you. 

So I laid there for the duration of the surgery and sent evil, hateful vibes toward that bag of IV fluid hanging above my head that was causing my abdominal area so much pain.  Doc asked me how I was doing at some point and I told him my thoughts.  He reminded me that while the drug might be evil and painful it was contracting my uterus so I could be skinny again.  That cheered me up, and helped... a little.  I heard the staples go in.  Gross.  I heard the nurses counting sponges and tools.  I also noticed for the first time since I'd been in that room that the anesthesiologist was actually NOT talking.  I thought about Peter some more. 
I thought about my new little girl.   I wondered if she was still upset and screaming.  I thought about how many babies get to nurse immediately after they are born and how much it sucked that she had to wait for me. 

Then at last the curtain was coming down.  Somebody rolled my arms up over me and told me not to move and then they counted and lifted me onto the bed.  As they were rolling me away Doc told me he was going to see the baby and Matt in the nursery.  I told him to give Matt a really hard time for leaving me without a goodbye kiss. 

I spent a long time in the recovery room feeling terrible.  A long time. 

The nurses kept asking me about my pain and it was pretty bad, a think I rated it at an 8 out of 10 because of the oxytocin and those darn contractions trying to shrink down my uterus.  The nurses told me later that my uterus seemed "extra stretchy" so my dose of the meds were higher than normal to counteract this.  It wasn't helping either that every few minutes the nurses needed to check my abdomen by pushing all over it which might as well be a form of torture.  Then there was the itching.  Oh, itching, why do you torment me so?!  The docs had warned me that one of the pain meds I received pre-op was likely to make me itching.  Oh how it did.  I spent my time in post-op rubbing a cold wet wash cloth all over my fact and arms.  Eventually I got meds for that which mostly helped.  Slowly but surely my legs were regaining feeling.  I distracted myself from the pain and the itching by trying to move my toes.  So that was entertaining.

For the third time in a single day, another eternity went by as I waited to be "well-enough" for them to bring me my daughter. 

The pediatrician did stop in to let me know that she was doing well and was screaming her head off in the nursery.  After they'd run all the tests on her, Matt been directed to sit in a rocking chair with her to cuddle her and try to calm her down.  (Matt tells me it didn't help her much.... apparently she just wanted her Mama to feed her.)  She also took great delight in informing me that the baby had a large dark brown birthmark mole on her tooshie.  Exciting!


Once in the nursery, Matt waited until the nurses got her better cleaned up and diapered and then snapped this gem of her screaming her head off

Finally, after I started to feel a lot less pain, and my legs began to regain feeling they brought me my daughter.  Unlike with Peter (who they left tightly swaddled) they unwrapped her and gave her to me in just her tiny little diaper so that she could nurse "skin to skin."  They lifted the blankets off of me and handed her to me and she looked up at me spied her target and pretty much clamped right down and got to work.  She nursed for a long time.  And I was happy.  My daughter was born.  She was finally in my arms.  She was tiny and healthy and pink and perfect and loud and demanding and... wonderful. 

More details to come later about the rest of the hospital stay, etc....  for now, I'll leave you with a few more pictures, long over due, but of course, I've been busy.

Presenting, our newest little blessing:

Miss Abigail Jane, AKA... our little A.J.

Born, Tuesday November, 30, 2010 at 8:15 am via Cesarian Section
Weighing 8 lb 7 oz
and measuring 20 1/2 inches long

Snuggled in amoungst as many blankies as possible.  Without the extra blankets, she just kept shivering.  Also, again with the one eye open thing, just like her brother!

Hi Mommy!!

So sweet...

and so peaceful....

Some Thoughts

1.  I probably really need to do a Thanksgiving picture post for this year....  we had a great holiday, I'm just struggling to find the motivation to upload any of the pictures.


2.  I find myself wondering seriously if anyone actually HAD shared with me a lot of the nitty-gritty (often terrifying and usually at least mildly disgusting) secrets of pregnancy if I would have even believed them.



3.  Along these lines, my outie belly button has officially gone over to the bad place.  (Yes, if you ask my husband these days a lot of things tend to go to the "bad place," like the trash when it needs to be taken out, or the dirty dishes in the sink, or the master bathroom in general.)  But in the case of my belly button I'm not kidding or exaggerating.  Seriously, it's poking so far out its like a really misplaced third nipple.  I apologize if this comparison bothers you, but I can assure that my reasoning behind calling it this is sound.  I've heard that men who run can often have trouble with their nipples rubbing and chafing on their shirts.  Well, I'm certainly NOT doing any running these days (unless it's after Peter) but my belly button is chafing just like a running man's nipples none the less.  *OUCH!*

I tried coating it with Vaseline but this left a greasy circle in the middle of my shirt.  When I applied a band aid over the Vaseline, it wouldn't stay stuck.  So today I skipped the Vaseline and just applied the band aid.  This time it stuck soundly but I must complain that the relief was not nearly as great without the undercoating of grease.  Oh.  And then I had to remove the band aid.  OH MY!  If you think pulling a well-stuck bandage off of a hairy arm hurts, well, let me just tell you all here and now that that pain has NOTHING on the pain of ripping one off of some very tightly stretched, and very chafed baby belly skin.

UGH.


4.  I got my Christmas tree and a random sampling of Holiday decorations up today.  Namely, the decorations that are toddler safe and not likely to end up in 40 thousand pieces when he smashes them on the floor.  The tree (although filled with plenty of breakable ornaments) is safely protected behind a flexible baby gate.  It all went up while Peter napped this afternoon and I am very sorry that when Matt brought him downstairs I did not have a camera handy to capture the darling look of wonder on my son's face.  He was so in awe it nearly brought tears to my eyes. 

I know that Christmas is about celebrating the birth and gift of God's son here on Earth first and foremost.  And I truly believe that the key to celebrating the holiday lies in spending quality time with the ones you love and not in decorations or gifts.

But let me just tell you, the decorations sure do help to make this a special time of year.  :)

(And the gifts are fun too.)


5.  Matt's youngest brother is here for Thanksgiving.  He's in the army, is always stationed far, far away and constantly seems to be deploying to someplace dangerous and scary.  Having him here though has been so awesome.  He's a wonderful Uncle and I love watching him with Peter.  (Heck, yesterday he even willingly changed a poopie diaper!!)  When I was a kid I can honestly say that my favorite person on the planet was my Uncle Joe.  I confess that I've often wondered who might take this special role in the life of my own kids.  Not that my kids are in any way ever going to run short on Uncles since I have a brother, Matt has 4 and Matt's best friend (Peter's Godfather) takes the honorary title of "Uncle" as well.  But they all tend to live so far away.  I guess it's just really nice to see the distance removed for once, if only for a short couple of days and a good Turkey Dinner.  We love you Marcus!


6.  Today was Black Friday.  In holding with my normal tradition, I did ZERO shopping.  I wouldn't have even left the house if the dog didn't need a walk and we didn't end up going out to dinner.

Yeah!

Oddly enough though, Matt (the man who hates shopping as a rule) did go out. 


7.  Today is mine and Matt's 8th Anniversary.  Love you Babe! :)


8.. Only 3 more days and wake up....

You say "contracting," I say "contracting"

So this story might only be funny to me, but I'm posting it anyway. 

Tonight as Matt was taking out his contacts and getting ready to brush his teeth before bed I waddled into the bathroom with him.

"Would you be mad at me if I went in to labor tonight?"

(I've asked him something along the lines of this very question every morning and evening for at least the past two weeks.)

"Probably."  He replied.  "Why?"

"Well, it's might just be due to my needing to go to the bathroom (again) but I'm having another random contraction." I told him, hoping he'd hurry up so I could do my business.

"Ah!"  He said, "Lucky for you I know all about contractions.  I studied English in undergrad and now I am study contracting in graduate school!"

Oh. 

Ha.

See, it's a pun.

English contractions... as in, can + not = can't

And his major is CONtracting and Acquisitions for his MBA.  As in, how the military goes about purchasing goods and services.  Except he didn't say it like that, he pronounced like I would say my uterus was conTRACTing.

Get it?

He's funny.

Right.

Anyway, once I used the bathroom the contractions went away again so it didn't matter.

Biding my time...

On the one hand, all that's left really now is the waiting.  This time next week we should be getting Gramma Terri settled in to help take care of Peter while I am in the hospital.  And then I'm going to hug my sweet first born little man goodnight a few million times and try my darnedest to force myself to sleep so that when I have to get up around 5 am on Tuesday morning, in order to be at the hospital by 6 am for the 7:30 Cesarean I won't be a total zombie.

Most likely I'll just be hysterical instead.

First of all, I don't want to leave Peter for 3 or 4 days. 

Second of all, it's all supposed to happen so early in the morning and I am NOT GOOD at mornings.

Third of all I'll be facing major surgery, and having been through one Cesarean already, I'd be lying if I said I was not dreading going through it all again.  "All you should feel is some pressure!" they say.  AS IF.
Hopefully this recovery is fairly easy like the last one was though. 

And of course, fourth of all, I'll be about to meet my new baby.  Like face to face.  I can't stinking wait!

I've spent several of the last few evenings annoying my husband with talk about Peter's birth because it's the only thing that compares.  I've asked him like ten zillion times to describe those long precious early minutes after I first glimpsed his face when they whisked him off to the nursery while the doctor closed me up.  It's funny, but until now, I never really wondered what went on in that 30 minutes of time.  Doc had told me then that when he checked, Peter had been sprawled out in the baby warmer calmly sucking on the back of his hand.  Matt, by that point, had taken to looking really rather green and had been sent to the hallway to wait for me by one of the nurses.  Matt tells me that before he got kicked out, they nurses were monitoring Peter's vitals and they kept checking him and running little tests so I didn't miss anything major.  But, to me, it's just so odd I wasn't there for any of that.

Anyway, my hospital bag is packed (except for toiletries because I will be using those between now and then and in a pinch should anything happen to go on sooner the hospital undoubtedly has toothbrushes and shampoo.)  It's been sitting by the back door for a few days now giving me some peace of mind, because, if all else fails, at least THAT is done.

Because, see, on the other hand, A LOT needs to happen in the next seven days. 

Tomorrow is Bible Study and there's a whole to-do for the holiday going on with that. 

Wednesday, Matt has some big group project he needs to make major strides on, plus I have my final doctor's appointment before the main event and then I need to finish cleaning my house.  Namely, I need to break down and do something about the ginormous disorganized mess that has become the counter top in my bathroom, I need to mop the floors, run the vacuum and steam the dining room carpets. 

Because seriously, it's like there's this little boy that throws a lot of his food on the dining room carpet.

And therefore, ew.

But I keep putting off working on it because I'm fairly certain Peter might not let the clean last very long.

Wednesday evening, Matt needs to drive to San Jose to get his brother at the airport as he's coming in for the Thanksgiving from Hawaii.

Thursday, of course, is the holiday.  We've got two families joining us (an additional 6 people ) on top of ourselves and Matt's brother.  It seems like asking for trouble hosting this close to my due date, but I guess we just like to live dangerously.  Hopefully, nothing eventful happens and Marcus (Matt's brother) doesn't end up helping Peter host.  :)

Friday is Black Friday, which I will probably avoid like the plague.  The shopping here sucks anyway.  My goal is actually to get my Christmas tree and some decorations up instead so that I'm not trying to worry about that with a newborn when I come home from the hospital.

Saturday is the Ohio State vs. M*ch*g*n game, which I'm sure will eat up our entire morning.  Chances are good college football will eat up much of the rest of the day too.  Unless Marcus wants to do anything in which case I guess we'll see.

Sunday we have to get Marcus back up to the airport in San Jose to fly home.  Then will probably be church and there's an Advent kickoff lunch and craft workshop afterward.  Last year that was a lot of fun.  So we might do that.  Or we might all come home and Peter and I will  nap so Matt can do some more school work.  I feel like I need to spend every available moment sleeping this week as I might never get to do it again after the new baby arrives.

Monday, Matt has class all day, and his Mom flies in at night.

And of course, Tuesday is the main event.

So like I said, it's odd how on the one hand I feel like a sitting duck just waiting for baby to come, but on the other hand I'm going to be running around like a chicken with its head caught off this next week trying to get everything done. 

One thing is for sure though, while I really do want to be done with this pregnancy, what I really really  REALLY want is to hold this baby in my arms.

Belly Pictures

This past weekend we were out at a beautiful location near here full of lovely little gardens so that I could take some family photos of some friends for their Christmas cards.  Since my hair was surprisingly NOT in a ponytail and neither Peter nor Matt had any noticeable stains on their clothes I handed over my camera to my friend and she took some photos of us as well. 

When I was pregnant with Peter my girlfriend who's a photographer, actually flew out to San Diego to take some for us.  It was a whole production, and I'm sure, as a result, the photos were much more impressive.  I never did post any on here then.... but, you might all be happy to find that I did (just a minute ago) go in and back-post a few of my favorites.  You can click over and see them HERE if you'd like. 

Anyway, not to have my second born child be overlooked-- here are some from this pregnancy taken this past weekend. 

This looks so sweet, but Matt was NOT happy that we made him do that!

Almost a family of four....

Don't be deceived... they already find ways to fight with each other.  If Peter sits on my lap he gets little kicks in his back from inside my belly!

Love you kid!

And A.J., we can't wait to meet you!

More Doctors' Appointments

First of all, this post is a few days past due as I've spent the better part of the last few days really rather quite sick with what I can only assume was another nasty stomach bug.

As an aside, if anyone reading this saw me at church on Sunday (which based on my working knowledge of who I saw Sunday and the people I've shared this blog address with probably includes nobody) this stomach bug would explain my odd behavior during mass.  The immense desire I felt to lay down horizontally on (or under) a pew and evaporate into nothingness was NOT in fact due to contractions and/or early labor pains as so many of us thought (hoped) but was actually the beginning of about 48 hours of bathroom based hell on earth for me, um digestively.

Ugh.

Nothing I ate stayed in there.  One way or another, it all came back on me.  A lot.

What with all the vomiting and "natural colon cleansing" my body was giving me I thought perhaps when it was all said and done I might actually go into labor (I've read that these symptoms are often an early indicator of labor) but so far nothing has happened. 
:(

Actually the Braxton-Hicks have even settled down quite a bit.

But anyway, owing to the illness, this post is a few days past due.  My apologies.

So anyway.

Friday I saw my OB again and had another ultrasound.  Everything still apparently looks good.  I actually lost a pound (which also can be seen as an early sign of impending labor) but I still measured too big.  On Friday I was 36 weeks and 3 days along but I measured at a solid 40 weeks.  Doc said I have a lot of amniotic fluid which explains why I am so large.  He seems to think this is a good thing, so I am not inclined to argue (much.)

He measured the baby via ultrasound and gently informed me that there is a BIG head in there.  He estimated it to be 34 cm or so already so I reminded him that Peter's was 36 cm at birth.  Then he shared a story about this lady he'd delivered earlier via an eventually c-section.  The lady's father had arrived for the main event and my doc swore that man had the BIGGEST HEAD he had ever seen.  Like the sort of head that made him wonder if the man didn't need a neck brace sometimes to hold it up.  Doc was sort of amused because it was only AFTER 2 hours of pushing that the lady admitted that all the baby's in her family tended to go Cesarean owing to their genetic relationship to the man's giant head. 

Ah Dr. R... always good for a laugh.  Anyway, Doc looked around with the ultrasound and said everything seems good.  He estimated the baby then to have been right around 7 lbs which bods well for another 8 pounder in a couple of weeks.  He and Matt were joking about God only knows what the entire time so I can't remember really what we saw other than a confirmation of his earlier gender prediction.  Oh, and baby was confirmed to be head down and without the cord currently around the neck (Matt asked.) 

So, good news there.  Did I mention that the Cesarean got moved up from Dec 1 to Nov 30 because Doc had another surgery to do?  This mean the big day is just 14 days away, assuming nothing happens sooner. 

And really, sooner would be better.

But I can wait 14 days, if I have too. 

That's definitely a plus side to the planned C-section... there is an end in sight. 

Although, this morning I woke up with the most horrendous rash covering the sides of my belly.  And HOLY HECK if it doesn't itch.  I mean, my skin already itches a lot of the time.  My pregnant skin really itches ALL of the time.  This rash on the other hand... it itches so much it literally BURNS.  It makes me want to shave my skin off.  Anyway, calamine lotion is my friend. 

In other news, Peter FINALLY had his 15 month (which turned out to be his 16 1/2 month) physical on Monday morning.  I'm mostly just proud that I didn't throw up all over the place (or worse) although I am ashamed to admit that Peter definitely got his hand into the CLEAN toilet water during one of my trips to the bathroom.  YUCK! 

BTW, attempting to hold a 16 1/2 month old squirmy, and very strong-willed little boy up to the sink while nearly 37 weeks pregnant and trying to scrub any toilet-water-germs off his chubby little fingers is an adventure all of its very own.  But maybe that's a story for another day entirely.

So anyway, first the nurse got Peter's measurements.

weight- 24 lbs 11 oz... 45th percentile
height- 33 1/4 inches... 85th percentile
head- 49 cm... 80th percentile

Glad to know my chubby little man isn't so much any more.  Still pretty tall and still with the big head, but that's all fine by me.

The exam went fine.  Doc was impressed by how well he behaved during his exam (he sat in her chair staring up at her with enormously sweet little eyes and she sat in one of the "parent chairs" actually.)  She was also impressed with his verbal skills.   She laughed at his climbing skills.  I spent the entire time alternating between the role of proud mother and wondering where on earth my kid learned to behave so well.    All in all, I guess it was a pretty standard check up, which is great.  I love when things are "normal" and status quo, so to speak.

Then it was time for shots.  He was due for the dreaded MMR (if I'd been feeling up to it, I probably would have worried and freaked out a lot about this one since I have a family member who became very sick after getting that shot a number of years back, but as it was, I was just trying to stay awake and not barf on anyone) as well as his chicken pox vaccine and a flu shot.

Peter always entertains me a bit with his shots.  He never wants to lay down for them, but that really isn't surprising.  What does surprise me is that the first shot never seems to phase him much.  He just sort of flinches.  Then the second one went into the same leg and the boy WAILED.  (He really has been perfecting the volume on his unhappy screams lately.) 

But then the third one went in.

And there was the horrified look...

Followed by he quick moment of shock and anger...

Followed by the substantial gasp for air...

And then then there was the SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAMMM!!!!


The nurse plastered a band aid quickly on each of his thighs and ran for the hills.

I busied myself about snuggling him and getting him dressed since the distraction usually calms him down.

Happily the Doc had provided him with a new board book on aircraft to study and within moments he was merely red faced and a little snively as he looked at his new literary treasure. 

That's my big boy.  Always the little trooper.

Whatever is best for my baby

I had an interesting conversation with my Ob this past Friday at my 35/36 week checkup.  A reality check actually.

As has become the norm I still measured big... 39 weeks this time around.  Baby's heartbeat still sounded great.  I mentioned to Doc all the contractions I've been having.  He checked me and said the head is down but I am "barely" dilated.  His official assessment was that I still might go early, but probably not this week.

Alrighty then!

Because as much as I want to be done being pregnant, when you're down to just 3 weeks, and you have the Cesarean scheduled, well, it just becomes lots easier to wait. 

Well, that and due to the baby's dropping and current position or whatever, I don't feel GINORMOUS and horribly uncomfortable any more.  Er, well, not as much anyway. 

So we'll see.

Next week we have another check up and an ultrasound scheduled.  Doc warned me that even if Baby looks full term at that appointment there is really no reason for me to start begging to deliver sooner.  (Well, begging more than I already have, I guess.)

I asked him if most women beg him to deliver early by that last month.  He said most do, but there are also those few women who LOVE end-stage pregnancy.  (Weirdos!)

Then we got into this whole conversation about pregnant mother's and their preconceived notions and desires going into the birth process.  You know, the "NO drugs at any cost" moms.  Or the "I absolutely do not want a C-section" moms.    Or my personal favorite, (and I intend no offense to anyone here, but I frankly just don't understand this one) the "I just want to enjoy my birthing experience" moms. 

Obviously if medically it is safe to go drug-free, well that is great.  And sometimes a c-section is medically necessary.  Period.  Torturing oneself about needing one is just silly.  And also, um, ladies, God put the pain in childbirth for a reason.  Yes, it is a one of a kind experience, but I'm pretty sure it is not intended to be exactly enjoyable. 

So anyway Doc and I bantered back and forth about this for awhile.  He shared a few stories.  I shared a few stories and then he said something so profound.... he said, "Frankly, I don't want to call those women selfish- but they're trying to make the delivery all about themselves.  Isn't the delivery supposed to be about getting a healthy baby born?"  Then he was like, "I just love the "whatever is best for the baby" Moms."

Because ultimately, that IS the goal right?

WHATEVER IS BEST FOR THE BABY!!!

Right.

Wow.  Funny how I think I forgot about that a bit.  I think a lot of us do while we're pregnant.

Certainly when I found out Peter was breech I did not agree to the scheduled C-Section because I was really and truly thinking about my baby.  I was too busy being terrified by the prospect of delivering my child rear-first (particularly because he was snuggled in their with his toes under his rump and his knees up by his chin in what could quite possible be considered the WIDEST possible stance for an unborn baby) and I was frankly a terrified of dying in childbirth.  (Is that overly dramatic?  Yes, probably.  Sorry about that.)

I mean, don't get me wrong, Doc mentioned to me that in the past when delivering breech babies vaginally he's had babies suffer broken clavicles and arms and I certainly didn't want to risk that happening with my own child.

But I scheduled the C-section for me.

Period.

Ultimately, that WAS what was best for my baby.  And I thank God for that. 

Doc has come in to more than one of my appointments late and noticeable stressed out after he had to fight mother's to go to emergency c-sections and then he's gotten in there to find the babies tangled all sorts of ways in the umbilical cords.  And he is always so distressed by it.  He really does not want to lose those babies! 

I've never asked him if he ever has.  Probably I don't want to hear his answer. 

But thinking back to Peter's delivery, with the cord around his neck twice... I remember hearing the doc start to get a bit concerned... FOR MY SON.  He was doing what he hoped was best for my child.

I'm so glad.

I met someone recently who's had 2 previous cesareans and she's due fairly soon now with her third.  I think her first was after an attempted vaginal birth when the baby's stats dropped.  The second time she told me she wanted to try for a VBAC so she drove to another hospital 30 or 40 miles from here where they agreed to let her try one, but eventually she went c-section anyway.  This time she mentioned that she going to delay going to the hospital as long as possible once she goes into labor (because apparently she's "planning" on going into labor well before her scheduled operation) so that hopefully she can deliver naturally AT HOME.

Well, good for her.

Seems risky though. 

There is so much than can go wrong.

There are a lot of reasons why doctor's won't recommend a patient to a VBAC.

And, is she really doing what is best for her baby?  Or is she just thinking about herself again?

The odd part to me, is that honestly, once a woman has that baby in her arms, her priorities ALWAYS correct themselves.  Once that baby becomes tangible, outside of the womb, I've never met a mother who wouldn't choose to do "whatever is best for the baby." 

Anyway, I pray that in the next 3 weeks I can remember to put my baby first.  No matter what.  This pregnancy, and this birth aren't all about me.

And I'll just have to pray for that other lady and her child as she attempts her home birth against medical advice.

FINISHED!

Not to be boastful, but this evening I'm feeling tremendously proud of myself. 

Tonight, following the unfortunate Buckeye's loss I didn't much feel like watching any more college football so I turned off the television, got out my sewing machine and F-I-N-A-L-L-Y finished the quilt for the new baby.

I started it back in May or June.  I'd decided pretty early on in this pregnancy that we were going to stick with the Ohio State theme for the new baby's room (so that I could reuse the bumpers, dust ruffle and mobile that I loved SO much with Peter but he seemed to outgrow in a flash.)  The problem was, after much searching I couldn't find any other OSU quilts that were in any way as cute as or would compare with the quality of Peter's which hangs above his crib.  I really, really wanted another cute quilt to hang above A.J.'s crib so that each of my children would have their own baby quilt to keep for forever. 

Eventually I started considering just making one.  I'd made a quilt for Matt's graduation and commissioning about 100 years ago, but I have to say I felt less than thrilled with the quality of the end product.  Perhaps this is because I made my own pattern, and I probably rushed a bit too.  Even though I was certain I could probably create something from scratch myself for baby #2, I wasn't sure it would measure up to it's predecessor.  Then I found a website for a small company that designs OSU quilt squares and a few of the stores that sold them even offered additional kits that a person could use to put them together into a larger finished product.

I hesitated for several weeks.  Would I even be able to complete these kits?  They looked complicated, and I don't know anyone with much quilting experience who I could call on to bail me out!  The kits weren't exactly cheap either- I didn't want to end up wasting money.  In the end, I discussed it with Matt, who by the way tends to call me "Becky-Home Ecky" when I get into craft mode.  He felt confident that I'd be able to make a good quilt and he gave me the go ahead to order the kits.

It was a daunting task. 

It was really hard to find time to work.

and

I've never worked on anything so complex before.

But, after a lot of time, and patience, a healthy dose of close direction reading, a few google searches for help and probably 15-20 ripped out seams when I did something wrong the first time... it's finished at last. 

:)

Here are some close ups of the individual squares.

Ohio stadium, just like it says... those stadium details gave me nightmares!!!

A Buckeye football helmet

The Athletic Block O

A Marching Band square (I have one of those hats in my storage closet!)

And of course, the traditional Block O, complete with Buckeyes and leaves.

Mark one more thing off my to-do list before December 1.