Today a young woman I know found out that, yet again, her pregnancy has ended without a baby.
When she announced the pregnancy, it was with the wild abandon and hope that this one was gonna take. A baby had to come this time.
Because the first time it happened? Who knows?
And the second? Well, he was just about to leave on a yearlong deployment and so maybe it was god's way of saying this was not the right time. Right?
But he's home now. Life is beautiful and happy. Just the way you dream of life when you're a child. It should really work out when everything else is going so well, shouldn't it?
Only it doesn't always. And it doesn't so often that I find myself hoping I can somehow absorb the worries of my friends' hearts. Like that will raise the chances of a happy outcome.
Because I never want anyone to feel that kind of loss.
Do you even know how quickly an entire life can be imagined? From the realization that a pregnancy test is in order to the confirmation of life, plans are already hatching. Dreams are already forming. A future life is already being lived.
How many times have I sat in front of a monitor in a dark room and seen the still shadows on the screen?
Saw the words, "NO FETAL HEART TONE"? And why do those words have to be in all caps?
I have to say, the best part of getting my tubes tied two years ago is never having to worry that much through another pregnancy.
Okay, yes, until someone is carrying my grandchild. And then, hopefully, I will do what I do now. Cheer and celebrate and hope for the best while silently sending out little pleas that this one will make it.
Last week I was going through an old magazine that we have laying around. There's a note in the back from the editor. To the infant son he lost 36 years before.
It was one of those pieces that slammed into my head as much as my heart.
It never goes away.
I am not a freak because I look at young adults around me and think I could be their mother. I mean, not theirs, but the mother of a friend that they never got to make. A brood of young men and/or women could be filling my life, along with the son and daughters I know.
Where did they go?
And at the other end of this babyloss-marked life, I have to say that I'm grateful to the little being that never was, who gave way to Fynnie. We could not have had that baby and Fynnie since they were created less than two months apart. I cannot imagine choosing anyone else.
October is a somber time for many people. It's National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Did you know that? Did you know that people all over the country will be lighting a candle at 7:00 P.M. on October 15 in remembrance of the little lives lost? It's to create a wave of light.
That saying about time healing all wounds? I suppose it does. To some degree. Define healed, right?
I am heartbroken for my friend and a little sad for me. I hope she feels the light on October 15 like a blanket. Between now and the peaceful sadness and wonder I think she'll eventually come to find, I hope there is a rainbow in her arms.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Monday, October 01, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
"How Did You Get Through It?"
That was what my very pregnant friend, Maija, asked me the other day.
It was when Madelyn went into the neonatal intensive care unit, or NICU, after she was born.
It came up because Maija is recently home from a nearly three week stay in the hospital, where she and the doctors successfully stopped her twin daughters from arriving two months early. Now home and just under four weeks away from her due date (and less than two from when the doctors would be happy for them to arrive), emotions float just under the surface.
"How did you get through it? I don't know how I could do it. How could I leave them at the hospital and just walk away? I don't think I could. I mean, how did you?"
As I listened to Maija, my immediate response was, "I was very strong. I did what I had to do. You will, too."
But as she spoke I remembered wanting answers to those questions. Over four years later, I remember them like yesterday. That line of questioning is, plain and simple, unnecessary self-abuse. It's as if the very act of leaving the hospital without your child is the first act of bad parenting you are carrying out. Abandonment at the very outset of this mommy and me relationship.
What kind of mother does that? I asked myself that question a lot before I walked out of the hospital without Madelyn.
Oh, I was terribly hard on myself. Pretty sure I'm not the only one who has felt that way. Of course we know that it is healthier for some babies to stay in the hospital, in those damned plastic boxes.
Beyond the questions about how to get over that incredibly high hurdle, there was the matter of getting through every minute between birth and going home.
When it came to actually answering Maija's question, I gave her the truth as I now see it.
I handled it like a crazy person. I did. I smiled and nodded every time the nurse came to let me know that, no, Madelyn still wasn't stabilized, but they'd let me know as soon as she was.
"No, spending some time on oxygen didn't quite work like we'd hoped. The neonatalogist will be in to speak with you and your husband soon. We might be able to let you see her and hold her in the nursery before she is transferred to NICU."
"Here's a photo I just took of your daughter (covered in wires and tape and little gold heart shaped stickers). She's beautiful. I don't say that to everyone. Sometimes I just say, "Whoa, hey, it's a baby!" Hopefully we'll get you over to see her soon. You won't be able to hold her, but you might be able to touch her foot. Hopefully."
The crazy person in me came out smiling and full of energy and trying to act like everything was fine. It was fine and I was fine and I could do it my own self, thank you very much.
What did I do after 36 hours of labor, including more than three at 8+ centimeters, and delivering an 8 pound 3 ounce broad-shouldered baby? I walked from Labor and Delivery to my new room in Maternity. Carrying some of the rather obnoxious quantities of personal belongings we'd schlepped to the hospital.
Other nurses protested as my nurse and I passed their station. If I could have worn a top hat and tap shoes, I would have jazz handed my way from one department to the next.
"She should be in a wheelchair! Why is she carrying her things?"
And there I was, smiling and waving, even laughing a little at them, "I feel great. It's okay. I can do this."
And clearly, I could. Some of why I could had to do with giving birth naturally and all the amazing things a body does for a woman whose just given birth. But a lot of it was just me literally putting one foot in front of the other. Getting through this minute while I tried to come up with a plan for the next one.
Away from the nurses and doctors, I let my true feelings out. Breaking down on the phone to my aunt in Wisconsin because no one else was available.
Tom was with Madelyn, where he belonged.
My mom and Corey had gone to her house to sleep off the all-nighter they'd just pulled with me. They left before we knew how serious the problem was.
Nancy, who left the same all night labor along with Mom and Corey, went and picked up her husband and took him on what turned out to be his last trip sailing until his ashes were buried at sea the following year.
Honestly, it has only just occurred to me that I could have used that energy to go be with my daughter and husband. Isn't it strange how the brain works? Why didn't I get that?
The other thing about having this experience with Madelyn is that it never goes fully away. No, I don't sit around silently weeping about it. I don't wake up in the middle of the night catching my breath. I don't even think about it often.
But if I read or hear a story about someone going through a similar situation (or worse... and we got off comparatively easy, so the stories are worse), the memories come and tears will probably flow. The feelings of that time are right there.
Back when my water had broken with Fynn and Tom pulled our car up to the hospital, my mood made a sudden shift from giddy to somber.
This was the place where we left our first daughter.
Apparently I am not alone in carrying these thoughts and emotions. Maija recently witnessed something that brought back the equally traumatic experience of the birth of her first daughter. She and her husband contained themselves because that's what people do, and because their young daughters were with them. And also because the father was standing next to them in the hall as his wife was raced down the hall for an emergency C-section, and who wants to be the jackass who falls apart in front of him?
Having read hundreds of birth stories with happy and sad endings, I am fully aware that four days in NICU is hardly anything at all. And coming home isn't guaranteed. I'm sure Maija knows that emergency C-sections happen all the time, and that they don't always end with a beautiful child to raise.
We get it.
All the same, it's pretty safe to say that the births of our first daughters were some of the most difficult times of our lives. I am amazed at how emotionally tied to that experience I am more than four years later. I probably will always be.
It was when Madelyn went into the neonatal intensive care unit, or NICU, after she was born.
It came up because Maija is recently home from a nearly three week stay in the hospital, where she and the doctors successfully stopped her twin daughters from arriving two months early. Now home and just under four weeks away from her due date (and less than two from when the doctors would be happy for them to arrive), emotions float just under the surface.
"How did you get through it? I don't know how I could do it. How could I leave them at the hospital and just walk away? I don't think I could. I mean, how did you?"
As I listened to Maija, my immediate response was, "I was very strong. I did what I had to do. You will, too."
But as she spoke I remembered wanting answers to those questions. Over four years later, I remember them like yesterday. That line of questioning is, plain and simple, unnecessary self-abuse. It's as if the very act of leaving the hospital without your child is the first act of bad parenting you are carrying out. Abandonment at the very outset of this mommy and me relationship.
What kind of mother does that? I asked myself that question a lot before I walked out of the hospital without Madelyn.
Oh, I was terribly hard on myself. Pretty sure I'm not the only one who has felt that way. Of course we know that it is healthier for some babies to stay in the hospital, in those damned plastic boxes.
Beyond the questions about how to get over that incredibly high hurdle, there was the matter of getting through every minute between birth and going home.
When it came to actually answering Maija's question, I gave her the truth as I now see it.
I handled it like a crazy person. I did. I smiled and nodded every time the nurse came to let me know that, no, Madelyn still wasn't stabilized, but they'd let me know as soon as she was.
"No, spending some time on oxygen didn't quite work like we'd hoped. The neonatalogist will be in to speak with you and your husband soon. We might be able to let you see her and hold her in the nursery before she is transferred to NICU."
"Here's a photo I just took of your daughter (covered in wires and tape and little gold heart shaped stickers). She's beautiful. I don't say that to everyone. Sometimes I just say, "Whoa, hey, it's a baby!" Hopefully we'll get you over to see her soon. You won't be able to hold her, but you might be able to touch her foot. Hopefully."
The crazy person in me came out smiling and full of energy and trying to act like everything was fine. It was fine and I was fine and I could do it my own self, thank you very much.
What did I do after 36 hours of labor, including more than three at 8+ centimeters, and delivering an 8 pound 3 ounce broad-shouldered baby? I walked from Labor and Delivery to my new room in Maternity. Carrying some of the rather obnoxious quantities of personal belongings we'd schlepped to the hospital.
Other nurses protested as my nurse and I passed their station. If I could have worn a top hat and tap shoes, I would have jazz handed my way from one department to the next.
"She should be in a wheelchair! Why is she carrying her things?"
And there I was, smiling and waving, even laughing a little at them, "I feel great. It's okay. I can do this."
And clearly, I could. Some of why I could had to do with giving birth naturally and all the amazing things a body does for a woman whose just given birth. But a lot of it was just me literally putting one foot in front of the other. Getting through this minute while I tried to come up with a plan for the next one.
Away from the nurses and doctors, I let my true feelings out. Breaking down on the phone to my aunt in Wisconsin because no one else was available.
Tom was with Madelyn, where he belonged.
My mom and Corey had gone to her house to sleep off the all-nighter they'd just pulled with me. They left before we knew how serious the problem was.
Nancy, who left the same all night labor along with Mom and Corey, went and picked up her husband and took him on what turned out to be his last trip sailing until his ashes were buried at sea the following year.
Honestly, it has only just occurred to me that I could have used that energy to go be with my daughter and husband. Isn't it strange how the brain works? Why didn't I get that?
The other thing about having this experience with Madelyn is that it never goes fully away. No, I don't sit around silently weeping about it. I don't wake up in the middle of the night catching my breath. I don't even think about it often.
But if I read or hear a story about someone going through a similar situation (or worse... and we got off comparatively easy, so the stories are worse), the memories come and tears will probably flow. The feelings of that time are right there.
Back when my water had broken with Fynn and Tom pulled our car up to the hospital, my mood made a sudden shift from giddy to somber.
This was the place where we left our first daughter.
Apparently I am not alone in carrying these thoughts and emotions. Maija recently witnessed something that brought back the equally traumatic experience of the birth of her first daughter. She and her husband contained themselves because that's what people do, and because their young daughters were with them. And also because the father was standing next to them in the hall as his wife was raced down the hall for an emergency C-section, and who wants to be the jackass who falls apart in front of him?
Having read hundreds of birth stories with happy and sad endings, I am fully aware that four days in NICU is hardly anything at all. And coming home isn't guaranteed. I'm sure Maija knows that emergency C-sections happen all the time, and that they don't always end with a beautiful child to raise.
We get it.
All the same, it's pretty safe to say that the births of our first daughters were some of the most difficult times of our lives. I am amazed at how emotionally tied to that experience I am more than four years later. I probably will always be.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Endings
My emotions have been a little too pendulous these days. The end of this month is bringing some huge changes.
This afternoon Fynnie had her last appointment with Dr. Present. We were hoping to get a vaccination in so she'd be caught up to our schedule before transferring. She'd been too sick with another of her recurrent nasty fevers in May and it threw us off.
Part of me wanted to bring all of the kids. And the camera. Or to leave photos of our kids behind. There is a wall of photos. It's something that had been started by the previous pediatrician, that Dr. Present and his wife continued. There are three photos of Corey up there. Preschool, kindergarten and, I think, second grade. No photos of the girls. They have never had any professional shots done. (*sigh* That's the downside of getting Tom to agree that I needed an expensive camera with a nice lens.) I haven't seen the wall updated in several years.
I forgot the camera this morning and decided not to go back for it because, well, I could see myself letting the emotions take over if I made too big of a deal about it.
Corey did not join us for the appointment, but Mad did. Having gone a couple of times where she didn't get a shot and she did get a sucker, there was none of thedrama tension of previous visits.
During the appointment, we had a list of questions we wanted answered. Some of them we know will have to be addressed with the new ped, but it was important to me that we have some way of judging his... worthiness, I guess.
No shot for Fynnie Girl as she, like all of us, is sick. Ear infections are popping up. Doc prescribed antibiotics today because he's closed Thursdays.
After all of our questions were answered and handmade chocolates from a local shop were given, it was time to go.
Dr. Present encouraged us to call him if we ever have any questions or if we need anything. His nurses did the same as we made our way to the door.
This new insurance better be damn good.
It's one thing to change insurance companies. But we are transferring to a completely different insurance model.
I went to get Fynn's prescription filled at our regular pharmacy. It's around the corner from where we used to live. In the store where we used to shop.
The pharmacy tech and the pharmacist and I have known each other since Corey was a baby. Heck, I would have sworn the pharmacy tech was just a baby when I met him (turns out he's almost my age... whatever). These are people who have filled prescription after prescription for Corey. They have a sense of what's gone on with him. They ask about him when he's not with me and they're kind to him when he is.
I was in that store at that pharmacy counter while in early labor with Madelyn.
These people are part of huge stories in my life. And now they are gone. From us. It's not like a meteor struck or something.
We'll have to go to different pharmacies now. Ones that are part of our new network. I'm sure the new people will be great. I'm sure we'll have other huge stories. But I like walking up to the counter and finding people who are happy to see me.
Does it seem like I'm overly emotional about pediatricians and nurses and pharmacy staff? Well wait, there's more.
On Tuesday Corey will be 18.
Every year around this time I have told him little stories about when I was pregnant with him. It's a tradition that he has been unaware of, loved, felt annoyed by but tolerated and then loved again. It's never been a "sit here and let me tell you" sort of deal. Just little thoughts thrown in here and there during general conversations. Since I can't seem to have any general sorts of conversations with him right now, I'm going to have them with you. Pull up a chair and pretend to be a surly teen so the illusion isn't broken.
"On this day in 1993, I woke up from a dream that I'd met you and knew you were a boy. It was kind of a creepy dream, involving a homeless woman and me shopping around for baby clothes. When we couldn't decide whether to buy for a boy or a girl, she removed you (harmlessly) from my belly. We tried on boy clothes and they looked fine. We tried on girl clothes and they looked great! But I still knew you were a boy. I also saw you around age seven, playing at a park (you looked nothing like yourself). I woke up and said out loud, "It's Cameron." Moments later my phone rang and your grammy called to tell me that Auntie Mary also just had a dream that you were a boy.
"Two Fridays before you were due, your great grandparents accompanied me to my appointment. I'm pretty sure it was Great Grandpa's first time at a prenatal appointment. They were loaded with camera equipment. I asked them not to take any pictures of my belly because those fiery stretch marks were embarrassing. I wish I had a recording of their faces and gasps and comments as they heard your heart beating. Even better would be a little clip of your generally stoic Great Grandpa leaning over my belly and firmly instructing you to be born on your Great Grandma's birthday (conveniently your due date), complete with finger pointing, a twinkle in his eye and a "you hear?"
"Exactly one week before your due date, your dad and I spent the day at a chili cook-off in our neighborhood. That afternoon we went out to the water (we lived in San Diego's Ocean Beach) and tossed a Frisbee back and forth. It made people nervous every time I went after the Frisbee. After a while I sat down and read while Stephen went out in the water. There was a 45 minute period where I couldn't find him out there. Mostly I tried to keep reading and acting nonchalant, but I was freaking out. I made a deal with god that I would name you the name you have if only Stephen were safe. You don't look like a Cameron anyway, but the funny thing is, if I hadn't made that deal, you wouldn't have your name. It took serious balls to give you that name. I wasn't even sure I believed in any god, but I wasn't reneging on my end of the bargain just in case.
"That same evening we headed to the hospital to pre-register. I remember looking at the line of cars still flooding our little piece of the peninsula and hoping we wouldn't have to go to the hospital when all the beach goers were usually heading home.
"The night before you were born, the moon was a crescent and it sat high in the sky over a brilliant star. For almost a decade, that continued to be true on your birthday, too."
This afternoon Fynnie had her last appointment with Dr. Present. We were hoping to get a vaccination in so she'd be caught up to our schedule before transferring. She'd been too sick with another of her recurrent nasty fevers in May and it threw us off.
Part of me wanted to bring all of the kids. And the camera. Or to leave photos of our kids behind. There is a wall of photos. It's something that had been started by the previous pediatrician, that Dr. Present and his wife continued. There are three photos of Corey up there. Preschool, kindergarten and, I think, second grade. No photos of the girls. They have never had any professional shots done. (*sigh* That's the downside of getting Tom to agree that I needed an expensive camera with a nice lens.) I haven't seen the wall updated in several years.
I forgot the camera this morning and decided not to go back for it because, well, I could see myself letting the emotions take over if I made too big of a deal about it.
Corey did not join us for the appointment, but Mad did. Having gone a couple of times where she didn't get a shot and she did get a sucker, there was none of the
During the appointment, we had a list of questions we wanted answered. Some of them we know will have to be addressed with the new ped, but it was important to me that we have some way of judging his... worthiness, I guess.
No shot for Fynnie Girl as she, like all of us, is sick. Ear infections are popping up. Doc prescribed antibiotics today because he's closed Thursdays.
After all of our questions were answered and handmade chocolates from a local shop were given, it was time to go.
Dr. Present encouraged us to call him if we ever have any questions or if we need anything. His nurses did the same as we made our way to the door.
This new insurance better be damn good.
It's one thing to change insurance companies. But we are transferring to a completely different insurance model.
I went to get Fynn's prescription filled at our regular pharmacy. It's around the corner from where we used to live. In the store where we used to shop.
The pharmacy tech and the pharmacist and I have known each other since Corey was a baby. Heck, I would have sworn the pharmacy tech was just a baby when I met him (turns out he's almost my age... whatever). These are people who have filled prescription after prescription for Corey. They have a sense of what's gone on with him. They ask about him when he's not with me and they're kind to him when he is.
I was in that store at that pharmacy counter while in early labor with Madelyn.
These people are part of huge stories in my life. And now they are gone. From us. It's not like a meteor struck or something.
We'll have to go to different pharmacies now. Ones that are part of our new network. I'm sure the new people will be great. I'm sure we'll have other huge stories. But I like walking up to the counter and finding people who are happy to see me.
Does it seem like I'm overly emotional about pediatricians and nurses and pharmacy staff? Well wait, there's more.
On Tuesday Corey will be 18.
Every year around this time I have told him little stories about when I was pregnant with him. It's a tradition that he has been unaware of, loved, felt annoyed by but tolerated and then loved again. It's never been a "sit here and let me tell you" sort of deal. Just little thoughts thrown in here and there during general conversations. Since I can't seem to have any general sorts of conversations with him right now, I'm going to have them with you. Pull up a chair and pretend to be a surly teen so the illusion isn't broken.
"On this day in 1993, I woke up from a dream that I'd met you and knew you were a boy. It was kind of a creepy dream, involving a homeless woman and me shopping around for baby clothes. When we couldn't decide whether to buy for a boy or a girl, she removed you (harmlessly) from my belly. We tried on boy clothes and they looked fine. We tried on girl clothes and they looked great! But I still knew you were a boy. I also saw you around age seven, playing at a park (you looked nothing like yourself). I woke up and said out loud, "It's Cameron." Moments later my phone rang and your grammy called to tell me that Auntie Mary also just had a dream that you were a boy.
"Two Fridays before you were due, your great grandparents accompanied me to my appointment. I'm pretty sure it was Great Grandpa's first time at a prenatal appointment. They were loaded with camera equipment. I asked them not to take any pictures of my belly because those fiery stretch marks were embarrassing. I wish I had a recording of their faces and gasps and comments as they heard your heart beating. Even better would be a little clip of your generally stoic Great Grandpa leaning over my belly and firmly instructing you to be born on your Great Grandma's birthday (conveniently your due date), complete with finger pointing, a twinkle in his eye and a "you hear?"
"Exactly one week before your due date, your dad and I spent the day at a chili cook-off in our neighborhood. That afternoon we went out to the water (we lived in San Diego's Ocean Beach) and tossed a Frisbee back and forth. It made people nervous every time I went after the Frisbee. After a while I sat down and read while Stephen went out in the water. There was a 45 minute period where I couldn't find him out there. Mostly I tried to keep reading and acting nonchalant, but I was freaking out. I made a deal with god that I would name you the name you have if only Stephen were safe. You don't look like a Cameron anyway, but the funny thing is, if I hadn't made that deal, you wouldn't have your name. It took serious balls to give you that name. I wasn't even sure I believed in any god, but I wasn't reneging on my end of the bargain just in case.
"That same evening we headed to the hospital to pre-register. I remember looking at the line of cars still flooding our little piece of the peninsula and hoping we wouldn't have to go to the hospital when all the beach goers were usually heading home.
"The night before you were born, the moon was a crescent and it sat high in the sky over a brilliant star. For almost a decade, that continued to be true on your birthday, too."
Friday, July 30, 2010
Reason 1,428,982 Why I Love My Coworkers
The kids and I* went down the hill for a chiropractic appointment today. When we arrived, Corey walked over to my mom's house. This time he'll be gone for the weekend. I love taking Mad to these appointments. Once we're in the room, she helps me change the face paper (why don't people do that before they leave?) and raise the headrest. While I'm laying there waiting for the doctor, Mad uses the foot levers and puts her hands up over my arm to "help fix Mama's back." I usually get lots of smooches, too, which makes her adjustments significantly different from what Doc does.
The chiropractor is right around the corner from my office, so we stopped in to say hello before heading to Grandma's house. We took the long way to my desk, so we could drop by as many people as possible before getting to the nuthouse section. Since it's Friday and the middle of summer, almost no one was there. Perfect! (Mad's less shy than she has been, but she's also more cranky lately, so I'm not being sarcastic... this time.) Only three people (out of 10) were in my area. We were all happy to see one another, and they loved seeing my curly-wurly. She didn't love them quite as much and decided to sprawl out on the floor to avoid any touching from the possibly slightly overly affectionate Aunt Jill.
As I went torescue her pick her up, Jill started talking about how great I look. In particular, what a fine ass I have while pregnant. She called over another person who concurred.
Okay, I've seen what I have and it really ain't pretty or fine, but they made me smile. And I might have checked myself out when I used the restroom before heading off to Grandma's. (And I might have confirmed what I already know, but I love them all the more for being sweet... in our typically inappropriate fashion, of course.)
*I've only begun using that phrase, "the kids and I" in the past few months. I kind of like it. Makes me sound like I've got more than two kids.
The chiropractor is right around the corner from my office, so we stopped in to say hello before heading to Grandma's house. We took the long way to my desk, so we could drop by as many people as possible before getting to the nuthouse section. Since it's Friday and the middle of summer, almost no one was there. Perfect! (Mad's less shy than she has been, but she's also more cranky lately, so I'm not being sarcastic... this time.) Only three people (out of 10) were in my area. We were all happy to see one another, and they loved seeing my curly-wurly. She didn't love them quite as much and decided to sprawl out on the floor to avoid any touching from the possibly slightly overly affectionate Aunt Jill.
As I went to
Okay, I've seen what I have and it really ain't pretty or fine, but they made me smile. And I might have checked myself out when I used the restroom before heading off to Grandma's. (And I might have confirmed what I already know, but I love them all the more for being sweet... in our typically inappropriate fashion, of course.)
*I've only begun using that phrase, "the kids and I" in the past few months. I kind of like it. Makes me sound like I've got more than two kids.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wet Pillow
This morning I dreamt that Fynnie had died. Tom and I spent one last evening going places and having a lovely "date" with our daughter before heading to the hospital. Along the way he gave me several gifts that were related to Fynn. At each stop a happy crowd would watch as I opened the present. One woman sat at our table and insisted on seeing the mother ring (made with wooden beads, coral and turquoise) before he gave it to me. He leaned over the table and showed it to her while saying in a rather charming manner, "My daughter just died and I'm giving this to my wife."
Anyone feel like keeping me company while I never sleep again?
Anyone feel like keeping me company while I never sleep again?
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The First Big Thing and Girl Parts
Okay, it's the second, really, but the first first thing isn't working out so well. What the heck am I talking about? Baby stuff! Yay!
A couple of months ago my niece gave us her old dresser. It's the right color and size, and the style even works with the girls' room. But my brother and his wife are heavy duty smokers. We have had that dresser and all the drawers spread out over our patio on sunny days and wiped it down with vinegar five or six times. The smell seemed to be gone well enough that we moved it upstairs to our loft. Still didn't notice any bad aromas. We had Mad's party and the big reveal on Sunday (more on that later), and put the drawers back into the dresser just for tidiness. When I took my dad upstairs to show him Mad's "new bed" we stopped and took a whiff of the dresser.
I can barely smell anything, but as soon as we opened the drawer, I could smell that smell. Ugh! If anyone has a workable solution to get the stench out, I would love to hear it. Plan B is to post wanted ads on Freecycle.org and hope we get a better dresser.
So what has supplanted the dresser as the first big thing? We got the baby's mattress. As we've learned more about being green (I'm proud to say we were green before green was cool... but embarrassed to say we're lazy... so maybe we're really teal? aqua?) and health conscious, we have learned about all the nasties that get put into crib mattresses. So Mad has our family's first organic mattress. And by organic, I don't mean the cotton cover is organic, but sprayed with chemical flame retardants. I mean it's got an organic rubber core and cotton and wool padding and cover. Wool is a natural flame retardant.
We love the mattress, but hated the whole process of getting it. I found a website for a company based in Vermont, called and made the order. The 2-3 weeks estimate for shipping turned into 10 weeks. It almost didn't arrive before Madelyn! And when it did arrive, it was folded in half in a box.
Even if that company were still in business, there's no way I'd send them my money again. We found another company, EcoBaby Pure Rest, that not only manufactures their own mattresses, they have a showroom. And they're in my hometown, San Diego! I called to confirm that they had mattresses in stock, Nance and I made the drive and picked one up. It's leaning against the wall in our living room right now. Shipping is only $35, which is about what I spent in gas, but I was glad to have it in my hands immediately (okay, after about two and a half hours of driving). The bonus of the day came when the sales guy, Victor, told me they give a 20% discount for coming to pick it up. I saved $88. Yay!
To make it less of a spent-the-whole-day-driving kind of day, we went over to the harbor and had a fabulous lunch at The Fish Market in an enclosed patio right over the water. The only downside for me is that I haven't completely regained my taste buds from this pesky cold.
In other Baby Fynn news, I had the EKG done yesterday. Her heart is strong and healthy. Even though I have some minor heart things, she does not. The doctor asked if I avoid caffeine. I do, in part because of my own palpitations and mainly because who wants to have a hyper baby en utero? Then he told us something we'd never heard before: Caffeine during pregnancy is linked to babies developing skipped heartbeats, too. Who knew?
After he was done checking out her heart, Doc spent a little time doing another ultrasound. For part of it he switched to 4D. I saw my daughter's face. It felt like meeting her a little. I can't wait to really be face to face with her.
And, causing me to think these ultrasound people are more than slightly obsessed with genitalia, he reconfirmed that we are having a girl. The picture he printed is pretty grainy, so to be sure we didn't forget that we're having a girl, he typed "Vagina" and put three arrows pointing to it. If that wasn't enough, he also typed a message in the corner.
JUST LIKE MOMMY!
Thanks, dude, for the picture I will never show (at least until she's, you know... annoying me around her friends or something).
A couple of months ago my niece gave us her old dresser. It's the right color and size, and the style even works with the girls' room. But my brother and his wife are heavy duty smokers. We have had that dresser and all the drawers spread out over our patio on sunny days and wiped it down with vinegar five or six times. The smell seemed to be gone well enough that we moved it upstairs to our loft. Still didn't notice any bad aromas. We had Mad's party and the big reveal on Sunday (more on that later), and put the drawers back into the dresser just for tidiness. When I took my dad upstairs to show him Mad's "new bed" we stopped and took a whiff of the dresser.
I can barely smell anything, but as soon as we opened the drawer, I could smell that smell. Ugh! If anyone has a workable solution to get the stench out, I would love to hear it. Plan B is to post wanted ads on Freecycle.org and hope we get a better dresser.
So what has supplanted the dresser as the first big thing? We got the baby's mattress. As we've learned more about being green (I'm proud to say we were green before green was cool... but embarrassed to say we're lazy... so maybe we're really teal? aqua?) and health conscious, we have learned about all the nasties that get put into crib mattresses. So Mad has our family's first organic mattress. And by organic, I don't mean the cotton cover is organic, but sprayed with chemical flame retardants. I mean it's got an organic rubber core and cotton and wool padding and cover. Wool is a natural flame retardant.
We love the mattress, but hated the whole process of getting it. I found a website for a company based in Vermont, called and made the order. The 2-3 weeks estimate for shipping turned into 10 weeks. It almost didn't arrive before Madelyn! And when it did arrive, it was folded in half in a box.
Even if that company were still in business, there's no way I'd send them my money again. We found another company, EcoBaby Pure Rest, that not only manufactures their own mattresses, they have a showroom. And they're in my hometown, San Diego! I called to confirm that they had mattresses in stock, Nance and I made the drive and picked one up. It's leaning against the wall in our living room right now. Shipping is only $35, which is about what I spent in gas, but I was glad to have it in my hands immediately (okay, after about two and a half hours of driving). The bonus of the day came when the sales guy, Victor, told me they give a 20% discount for coming to pick it up. I saved $88. Yay!
To make it less of a spent-the-whole-day-driving kind of day, we went over to the harbor and had a fabulous lunch at The Fish Market in an enclosed patio right over the water. The only downside for me is that I haven't completely regained my taste buds from this pesky cold.
In other Baby Fynn news, I had the EKG done yesterday. Her heart is strong and healthy. Even though I have some minor heart things, she does not. The doctor asked if I avoid caffeine. I do, in part because of my own palpitations and mainly because who wants to have a hyper baby en utero? Then he told us something we'd never heard before: Caffeine during pregnancy is linked to babies developing skipped heartbeats, too. Who knew?
After he was done checking out her heart, Doc spent a little time doing another ultrasound. For part of it he switched to 4D. I saw my daughter's face. It felt like meeting her a little. I can't wait to really be face to face with her.
And, causing me to think these ultrasound people are more than slightly obsessed with genitalia, he reconfirmed that we are having a girl. The picture he printed is pretty grainy, so to be sure we didn't forget that we're having a girl, he typed "Vagina" and put three arrows pointing to it. If that wasn't enough, he also typed a message in the corner.
JUST LIKE MOMMY!
Thanks, dude, for the picture I will never show (at least until she's, you know... annoying me around her friends or something).
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Perspective
I thoroughly enjoyed being pregnant with Corey, even though I vomited for the first and last three months. Everything about being pregnant was fabulous and wonderful.
It was natural to wonder how my 37 year old body would handle pregnancy compared to doing it at 22. Just so happens that being pregnant was even more wonderful and exciting than carrying Corey, and involved almost no vomiting whatsoever.
Pregnancy glow? Check.
Reduction in allergies? Check.
Slower hair growth on the legs and pits? Double check.
People happy to carry things and open doors for me? Check.
Basically, if there was a benefit to being pregnant, I had it. I honestly don't recall if any of those perks happened with Corey, mainly because I wasn't aware of the possibilities (and I didn't have allergies back then).
I will be the first to admit that I had less than a wholehearted desire to get pregnant again after Madelyn. Nothing against Fynnie. The first time Tom brought up having another baby was when we confirmed the singleton en utero. And when last summer came and went without even a small twinkling of a reason to pee on a stick, I started to get excited about making plans for my body that only involved me (uh, don't get all pervy, I'm talking about getting my tattoo re-inked and setting up a couple of classes to teach up here... that kind of stuff).
Clearly I am a willing and quite happy participant in the creation of the little girl inside me. I cannot wait to meet her and watch what becomes of her life.
Still... I am also glad to know that this is our last baby. It seems strange to think it, let alone put it out there, but once she is born, I am glad to be done.
I suppose it is just the universe's way of keeping my focus on the children we have and not the ones we'll never have; instead of getting all the perks of pregnancy, here's what I have:
Allergies in full force? Achoo... er... check.
Stuffy nose even when allergies are fine? Check.
Bloody nose? Ugh... check.
Teenaged acne face? Spot, spot... why is that one bleeding?... and check.
Persistent nausea? Check.
Recurring heartburn? Check.
Backache, complete with torn hip muscle? Youch! Check.
So we're 10 days past the halfway mark. I'm not in the kind of hurry to have Fynn that says, "I wish she'd hurry up and get here." It's totally cool with me if she comes on time or even slightly late. But I am looking beyond her birth and the year or so of nursing, and this pregnancy is helping to ensure I don't look back.
Thank you, universe?
It was natural to wonder how my 37 year old body would handle pregnancy compared to doing it at 22. Just so happens that being pregnant was even more wonderful and exciting than carrying Corey, and involved almost no vomiting whatsoever.
Pregnancy glow? Check.
Reduction in allergies? Check.
Slower hair growth on the legs and pits? Double check.
People happy to carry things and open doors for me? Check.
Basically, if there was a benefit to being pregnant, I had it. I honestly don't recall if any of those perks happened with Corey, mainly because I wasn't aware of the possibilities (and I didn't have allergies back then).
I will be the first to admit that I had less than a wholehearted desire to get pregnant again after Madelyn. Nothing against Fynnie. The first time Tom brought up having another baby was when we confirmed the singleton en utero. And when last summer came and went without even a small twinkling of a reason to pee on a stick, I started to get excited about making plans for my body that only involved me (uh, don't get all pervy, I'm talking about getting my tattoo re-inked and setting up a couple of classes to teach up here... that kind of stuff).
Clearly I am a willing and quite happy participant in the creation of the little girl inside me. I cannot wait to meet her and watch what becomes of her life.
Still... I am also glad to know that this is our last baby. It seems strange to think it, let alone put it out there, but once she is born, I am glad to be done.
I suppose it is just the universe's way of keeping my focus on the children we have and not the ones we'll never have; instead of getting all the perks of pregnancy, here's what I have:
Allergies in full force? Achoo... er... check.
Stuffy nose even when allergies are fine? Check.
Bloody nose? Ugh... check.
Teenaged acne face? Spot, spot... why is that one bleeding?... and check.
Persistent nausea? Check.
Recurring heartburn? Check.
Backache, complete with torn hip muscle? Youch! Check.
So we're 10 days past the halfway mark. I'm not in the kind of hurry to have Fynn that says, "I wish she'd hurry up and get here." It's totally cool with me if she comes on time or even slightly late. But I am looking beyond her birth and the year or so of nursing, and this pregnancy is helping to ensure I don't look back.
Thank you, universe?
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Corey and the Baby
Of course I intend to continue telling the journey of Mad's beginning, but today I saw something that reminded me I need to talk about Corey's side of the whole thing. So I'm going to start with part of the story after Mad was born, bring you up to today and then go back.
Corey was deathly afraid of Madelyn at first. He was so afraid of hurting her, scaring her, scarring her. He was close enough to hear her very first cry and I think it made him feel even more vulnerable than he usually does. It took a couple weeks for him peek in at her while she was sleeping. She was about 10 weeks old before he had to hold her for the first time (outside of the time my mother-in-law practically forced him into a brother/sister shot when she was a week old), and that was because I was injured and virtually immobilized. Lucky for him, my mother-in-law arrived the same morning (albeit in a full leg cast... we were a pair, ha!). When he did work up the nerve to pick up and carry his baby sister outside of dire need, it was always in a methodical pacing until he could hand her back to me. Anxious would probably be the best word to describe his demeanor. My dad would use a different terminology: scared shitless sounds like what he'd say.
Today we had some of our Mommy Group friends over, along with some new friends Mad and I made at the park this summer. By the end of the day, we had nine adults and four very little kids here. Mad, her birthday sharing pal Luke Skywalker (no, I'm not joking) (no, really, that's the kid's name) (stop laughing!) (well he's really cute and funny, so he'll charm his way out of trouble, that's how), park pal Scotty and his baby sister Lilly, plus all the parents, my mom and a close friend.
Naturally, Lilly woke from her nap just as Mom and Dad were getting ready to eat. I held her for them. Lilly and I bonded with the baby in the mirror for quite a while. Corey came to hang out. We talked about how hard it already is to recall Mad at that age or size. I turned away from the mirror to see my relaxed son smiling at this little baby. He's that way with Mad now, but back then, even when he was smiling at her, he looked tense. I commented, "It's a lot easier when it's not your own sister, huh?" He smiled at me and shrugged in a way that said he's a young man with a little life experience under his belt. He seemed so confident that I wanted to offer to let him hold her. Since Lilly isn't my baby, I didn't. I wonder how he would have reacted.
When Tom and I confirmed that we were expecting (early August 2007), he insisted on waiting to tell anybody until his parents came out to visit mid-September. It was especially hard not to tell some people. I wasn't sure how Corey would react, so postponing that wasn't bad. It helped that I only dealt with a mild, but persistent nausea (okay, it lasted nearly five months and sometimes it was a matter of shear willpower not to vomit, but I won and now prefer to recall that it was mild).
Corey has almost always wanted a sibling. When he first started talking about it around age four, I lovingly but firmly told him that I wasn't married anymore and wasn't having a baby unless I was married.
***Let's be clear, I don't care what choices you make or why you make them. If it works, it works and I say don't mess with it. Despite being raised by hippie parents, I was also influenced greatly by my Baptist grandparents. They were two of the best people I know and some of the way they lived rubbed off.
It came up several times over the intervening years. I never promised nor pretended that I thought I would have another baby. When Tom and I got engaged, the subject of siblings came up again. At that point in our relationship, anything felt possible, but all I would say to Corey is, "I don't know." I was a little surprised that he was still interested. It's not your typical 12-year-old boy way of thinking. Of course, Corey has rarely been typical.
I wanted Corey to know before anyone else. The night before Tom's parents arrived we sat down in the living room and told him we had some big news. He was very happy and guessed it right away. I say "guessed" even though I'm not entirely sure he didn't already know. We had quite a lot of trouble with Corey breaking into our room at the old apartment, and I suspected that he'd been in through our bathroom window again. I didn't let it bring down the mood and never brought it up.
He was absolutely thrilled and we were both relieved. Probably I was most relieved as I have worried about him feeling pushed to the side if it became Mom, Dad and Their Baby. Corey was inspired to write a lullaby for his new brother or sister. (He plays classical guitar.) I don't know if he ever played it for her, but I know he worked on it for a couple of months.
Once it was out in the open with Corey, certain things changed for me. Because of my history of miscarriages before Corey, the doctor did recommend a lifting restriction. As far as Corey was concerned, I was not to carry anything. This made grocery shopping and carrying in fabulous!
***Okay, one time I bought some 2.5 gallon water jugs at the groc and accepted the bagger's offer to carry things out. I felt like a fool, even after I explained. I still feel like a fool. I mean, seriously, how do you think the water jugs got into my cart?!?
Corey and I had plans to strip and reseal our dining table. I had to stand inside, behind our closed sliding glass door wearing a mask to direct him (yeah... that worked... well, I guess it did... he did a great job).
As my belly grew, Corey was somewhat fascinated, but did not really want to see it, feel it, talk about it or listen to the heartbeat at the doctor's office. There were a few times when he felt the baby move and even a couple of times when he watched as she hopped around or had hiccups. He never said it was gross. His adjectives were more along the lines of creepy, weird and alien. I could see that he was nervous for me and for his Bruster (brother + sister = Bruster). One of his biggest concerns from the get-go was that he would be stuck delivering the baby.
Over time I addressed his various concerns through discussions (whether he wanted them or not!), anecdotes about how things went when I was pregnant with him and classes. Corey attended the hospital tour, infant care and infant/child/adult CPR classes with us. He has always been quite firm in two things, "I'm not changing diapers" and, "Please don't leave me alone with the baby." The only thing he did not attend was prepared childbirth.
If you recall a big wind blowing through your neighborhood in January 2008 (when the last class began), that was probably just Corey sighing with relief.
Corey was deathly afraid of Madelyn at first. He was so afraid of hurting her, scaring her, scarring her. He was close enough to hear her very first cry and I think it made him feel even more vulnerable than he usually does. It took a couple weeks for him peek in at her while she was sleeping. She was about 10 weeks old before he had to hold her for the first time (outside of the time my mother-in-law practically forced him into a brother/sister shot when she was a week old), and that was because I was injured and virtually immobilized. Lucky for him, my mother-in-law arrived the same morning (albeit in a full leg cast... we were a pair, ha!). When he did work up the nerve to pick up and carry his baby sister outside of dire need, it was always in a methodical pacing until he could hand her back to me. Anxious would probably be the best word to describe his demeanor. My dad would use a different terminology: scared shitless sounds like what he'd say.
Today we had some of our Mommy Group friends over, along with some new friends Mad and I made at the park this summer. By the end of the day, we had nine adults and four very little kids here. Mad, her birthday sharing pal Luke Skywalker (no, I'm not joking) (no, really, that's the kid's name) (stop laughing!) (well he's really cute and funny, so he'll charm his way out of trouble, that's how), park pal Scotty and his baby sister Lilly, plus all the parents, my mom and a close friend.
Naturally, Lilly woke from her nap just as Mom and Dad were getting ready to eat. I held her for them. Lilly and I bonded with the baby in the mirror for quite a while. Corey came to hang out. We talked about how hard it already is to recall Mad at that age or size. I turned away from the mirror to see my relaxed son smiling at this little baby. He's that way with Mad now, but back then, even when he was smiling at her, he looked tense. I commented, "It's a lot easier when it's not your own sister, huh?" He smiled at me and shrugged in a way that said he's a young man with a little life experience under his belt. He seemed so confident that I wanted to offer to let him hold her. Since Lilly isn't my baby, I didn't. I wonder how he would have reacted.
When Tom and I confirmed that we were expecting (early August 2007), he insisted on waiting to tell anybody until his parents came out to visit mid-September. It was especially hard not to tell some people. I wasn't sure how Corey would react, so postponing that wasn't bad. It helped that I only dealt with a mild, but persistent nausea (okay, it lasted nearly five months and sometimes it was a matter of shear willpower not to vomit, but I won and now prefer to recall that it was mild).
Corey has almost always wanted a sibling. When he first started talking about it around age four, I lovingly but firmly told him that I wasn't married anymore and wasn't having a baby unless I was married.
***Let's be clear, I don't care what choices you make or why you make them. If it works, it works and I say don't mess with it. Despite being raised by hippie parents, I was also influenced greatly by my Baptist grandparents. They were two of the best people I know and some of the way they lived rubbed off.
It came up several times over the intervening years. I never promised nor pretended that I thought I would have another baby. When Tom and I got engaged, the subject of siblings came up again. At that point in our relationship, anything felt possible, but all I would say to Corey is, "I don't know." I was a little surprised that he was still interested. It's not your typical 12-year-old boy way of thinking. Of course, Corey has rarely been typical.
I wanted Corey to know before anyone else. The night before Tom's parents arrived we sat down in the living room and told him we had some big news. He was very happy and guessed it right away. I say "guessed" even though I'm not entirely sure he didn't already know. We had quite a lot of trouble with Corey breaking into our room at the old apartment, and I suspected that he'd been in through our bathroom window again. I didn't let it bring down the mood and never brought it up.
He was absolutely thrilled and we were both relieved. Probably I was most relieved as I have worried about him feeling pushed to the side if it became Mom, Dad and Their Baby. Corey was inspired to write a lullaby for his new brother or sister. (He plays classical guitar.) I don't know if he ever played it for her, but I know he worked on it for a couple of months.
Once it was out in the open with Corey, certain things changed for me. Because of my history of miscarriages before Corey, the doctor did recommend a lifting restriction. As far as Corey was concerned, I was not to carry anything. This made grocery shopping and carrying in fabulous!
***Okay, one time I bought some 2.5 gallon water jugs at the groc and accepted the bagger's offer to carry things out. I felt like a fool, even after I explained. I still feel like a fool. I mean, seriously, how do you think the water jugs got into my cart?!?
Corey and I had plans to strip and reseal our dining table. I had to stand inside, behind our closed sliding glass door wearing a mask to direct him (yeah... that worked... well, I guess it did... he did a great job).
As my belly grew, Corey was somewhat fascinated, but did not really want to see it, feel it, talk about it or listen to the heartbeat at the doctor's office. There were a few times when he felt the baby move and even a couple of times when he watched as she hopped around or had hiccups. He never said it was gross. His adjectives were more along the lines of creepy, weird and alien. I could see that he was nervous for me and for his Bruster (brother + sister = Bruster). One of his biggest concerns from the get-go was that he would be stuck delivering the baby.
Over time I addressed his various concerns through discussions (whether he wanted them or not!), anecdotes about how things went when I was pregnant with him and classes. Corey attended the hospital tour, infant care and infant/child/adult CPR classes with us. He has always been quite firm in two things, "I'm not changing diapers" and, "Please don't leave me alone with the baby." The only thing he did not attend was prepared childbirth.
If you recall a big wind blowing through your neighborhood in January 2008 (when the last class began), that was probably just Corey sighing with relief.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Oh, Fine. Whatever!
When I was pregnant with Corey, I followed every piece of advice and guidance as if it were etched in stone. Not so much with Madelyn.
Did I go crazy with rule breaking? Nope. In fact, some of the guidance I didn't follow includes
I arrived right after they opened, because this time I was told it was a fasting test. As the first person in, I got to get the blood test and drink the nasty stuff right away. Last time I'd gotten a choice of "soda" flavors and opted for orange because I was afraid the "7Up" flavor would be similar to the "lemon lime" flavored Alka-Seltzer I'd had to have once when I was sick and which induced vomiting. This time, no choice.
"Lemon lime for you!"
My initial plan was to just pound the stuff. There's a limited time to drink it, but it's way longer than it would normally take me to drink a glass of water.
I made it about 2/3 of the way through before I realized Plan A wasn't working. The lab tech eyed me warily, waiting to see if I would urp all over her. Not sure how I managed to keep it down... and finish the rest... but I did. (Thank god, too, because one of my friends didn't and she had to redo it... twice!)
When the drinking and initial bloodletting was done, I was made to go into the lobby and wait for an hour. I had to return at exactly five minutes to the hour or be forced to start over. No, I could not leave the office.
I brought a book, but I'm a people watcher by nature. Kind of awkward when you're watching people go into a bathroom and come out with a cup filled with their own pee, but whatever.
About 10 minutes before I had to go back for the second set of blood draws, a woman walked in with her grandchild. In an otherwise empty, spacious lobby, they chose seats right next to the pregnant woman. And they stood there, not two feet away, coughing and hacking all over one another and me.
I covered my mouth and nose, but it was too late.
Hours later the verdict was in: I had the flu.
I will admit to holding a grudge against these people... well, the adult anyway... even today. Why do people do that? Forget that I was pregnant for a sec. If you're sick, stay the hell away from other people! I don't care if you're in a medical lab because you're ill. I'm not! Bastards!
Because I am opposed to taking medications while pregnant (it's just one of many potential causes on my list of "what do you suppose happened to make Corey have so many problems?"), my goal was to deal with this naturally. So no matter how much I didn't want to, I made myself drink extra water. I used a humidifier to keep the cough away. I slept a lot. And I slathered myself in Vick's. Oh, and I probably went through two boxes of tissue (with lotion!) in three days. I flushed out my body every way I could. I did not spike a fever over 101, so I never went to the doctor.
Yes, I did tell him.
No, to his credit, he did not say, "I told you so."
Oh, and I didn't have gestational diabetes.
Did I go crazy with rule breaking? Nope. In fact, some of the guidance I didn't follow includes
- A little alchohol is okay (yeah, I don't think the wine industry had made that "finding" yet when I was pregnant with Corey)
- Two cups of coffee a day is a-okay (hmm... it used to be one, but now that there's Starbucks on every corner, two is a good number?... plus, I've always been sensitive to caffeine, so it has to be out while I'm pregnant)
- Chocolate is what every pregnant woman needs (not with the caffeine in it, thanks anyway... dammit!)
- "You can eat whatever you want to now" or "You're eating for two, right?" (yeah, but one of us is the size of a pinhead!... wish I could recall the comedian who said that not long before I got pregnant with Corey)
I arrived right after they opened, because this time I was told it was a fasting test. As the first person in, I got to get the blood test and drink the nasty stuff right away. Last time I'd gotten a choice of "soda" flavors and opted for orange because I was afraid the "7Up" flavor would be similar to the "lemon lime" flavored Alka-Seltzer I'd had to have once when I was sick and which induced vomiting. This time, no choice.
"Lemon lime for you!"
My initial plan was to just pound the stuff. There's a limited time to drink it, but it's way longer than it would normally take me to drink a glass of water.
I made it about 2/3 of the way through before I realized Plan A wasn't working. The lab tech eyed me warily, waiting to see if I would urp all over her. Not sure how I managed to keep it down... and finish the rest... but I did. (Thank god, too, because one of my friends didn't and she had to redo it... twice!)
When the drinking and initial bloodletting was done, I was made to go into the lobby and wait for an hour. I had to return at exactly five minutes to the hour or be forced to start over. No, I could not leave the office.
I brought a book, but I'm a people watcher by nature. Kind of awkward when you're watching people go into a bathroom and come out with a cup filled with their own pee, but whatever.
About 10 minutes before I had to go back for the second set of blood draws, a woman walked in with her grandchild. In an otherwise empty, spacious lobby, they chose seats right next to the pregnant woman. And they stood there, not two feet away, coughing and hacking all over one another and me.
I covered my mouth and nose, but it was too late.
Hours later the verdict was in: I had the flu.
I will admit to holding a grudge against these people... well, the adult anyway... even today. Why do people do that? Forget that I was pregnant for a sec. If you're sick, stay the hell away from other people! I don't care if you're in a medical lab because you're ill. I'm not! Bastards!
Because I am opposed to taking medications while pregnant (it's just one of many potential causes on my list of "what do you suppose happened to make Corey have so many problems?"), my goal was to deal with this naturally. So no matter how much I didn't want to, I made myself drink extra water. I used a humidifier to keep the cough away. I slept a lot. And I slathered myself in Vick's. Oh, and I probably went through two boxes of tissue (with lotion!) in three days. I flushed out my body every way I could. I did not spike a fever over 101, so I never went to the doctor.
Yes, I did tell him.
No, to his credit, he did not say, "I told you so."
Oh, and I didn't have gestational diabetes.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Under Pressure
When I was pregnant with Corey my mom told me that people would be falling all over themselves to open doors and take packages out of my arms. It just wasn't true. The only person who ever did help me, came to my rescue when I was trying to go to the laundry room with a newborn placed on top of a pile of his dirty clothes. But she didn't stay to help, she just got me to the room and that was it. So I didn't expect much when I was pregnant with Mad. However, I have a job that can involve some pretty heavy lifting at times, and that had to be cut back. My doc recommended, but didn't insist on, a 10 pound limit. I mentioned that to Nance and my days of lifting anything were over.
My office consists of a group of women, all but three of whom are mothers and/or grandmothers,(oh, and one happy-to-be-the-lone-male guy). Women declared themselves surrogate grandmas. One person said it really was the *place of business* baby, not just mine. All of this was said in good humor and with love. I was extremely well cared for during my pregnancy.
In the beginning I was exceptionally concerned that I could lose the baby or that the baby might at that very moment not be doing well. So I was at the Ob/Gyn more frequently than the average mama bear in the beginning. It's sort of strange, because I'd taken exactly the opposite stance with Corey... I figured that if "this one took" after so many miscarriages, then it was meant to be and if not, I was done trying for a while. I didn't even rush off to the doctor as soon as I suspected I might be pregnant. Once I heard his heartbeat at the doctor's office, I don't recall ever worrying again that he would be anything other than perfect. And he wasn't.
But I put so much pressure on myself regarding having a healthy baby with Tom and avoiding anything that would cause heartbreak and disappointment for him and his parents, especially his mom. Not to mention that my own father had been plotting and scheming to convince somebody... anybody... to give him another grandchild. Nobody else put this pressure on me; it was an overactive congeniality gene or something. I just wanted to please them and let them be pleased for themselves. And since Mad wasn't planned, I especially wanted her to be as beautiful as Corey had been. Of course, she was, as evidenced by this, her best photo EVER:
But back then, I didn't know that this was the glorious girl who was waiting to meet us. So I fretted a bit. Okay, Nance would say a lot. But she got to "meet" Madelyn via ultrasound because I just had to confirm one last time that everything was okay before we told the fam, so I don't think she'd complain too much about it.
Pregnancy and I get on very well. I had raging morning sickness for the first and last three months of my pregnancy with Corey, but I still loved every minute of it (well, I didn't especially love puking my guts out in the mall shopping center between expensive cars every time I couldn't make it to McDonald's from the bus stop... and heck, making it there wasn't so great because it always seemed to be filled with moms and kids listening to my insides hit the bowl... but aside from that, it was pretty great).
With Mad I was nauseated most of the time for just over half the pregnancy. One time the nausea was so bad that I went into the bathroom absolutely sure that this was it. I couldn't bring myself to look at the toilet because I knew the sight of it would bring me down faster than anything. So I stood in front of the toilet, facing the wall and talking to myself about how I needed to tighten the towel bar and how I was not going to turn around. Thoughts of the watery bowl behind me kept trying to creep in, but I shot them down with, "what a lovely shade of lavender the wall is despite how shockingingly bright it'd seemed at first, lalala."
It worked. I didn't throw up once during my pregnancy.
My office consists of a group of women, all but three of whom are mothers and/or grandmothers,(oh, and one happy-to-be-the-lone-male guy). Women declared themselves surrogate grandmas. One person said it really was the *place of business* baby, not just mine. All of this was said in good humor and with love. I was extremely well cared for during my pregnancy.
In the beginning I was exceptionally concerned that I could lose the baby or that the baby might at that very moment not be doing well. So I was at the Ob/Gyn more frequently than the average mama bear in the beginning. It's sort of strange, because I'd taken exactly the opposite stance with Corey... I figured that if "this one took" after so many miscarriages, then it was meant to be and if not, I was done trying for a while. I didn't even rush off to the doctor as soon as I suspected I might be pregnant. Once I heard his heartbeat at the doctor's office, I don't recall ever worrying again that he would be anything other than perfect. And he wasn't.
But I put so much pressure on myself regarding having a healthy baby with Tom and avoiding anything that would cause heartbreak and disappointment for him and his parents, especially his mom. Not to mention that my own father had been plotting and scheming to convince somebody... anybody... to give him another grandchild. Nobody else put this pressure on me; it was an overactive congeniality gene or something. I just wanted to please them and let them be pleased for themselves. And since Mad wasn't planned, I especially wanted her to be as beautiful as Corey had been. Of course, she was, as evidenced by this, her best photo EVER:
But back then, I didn't know that this was the glorious girl who was waiting to meet us. So I fretted a bit. Okay, Nance would say a lot. But she got to "meet" Madelyn via ultrasound because I just had to confirm one last time that everything was okay before we told the fam, so I don't think she'd complain too much about it.Pregnancy and I get on very well. I had raging morning sickness for the first and last three months of my pregnancy with Corey, but I still loved every minute of it (well, I didn't especially love puking my guts out in the mall shopping center between expensive cars every time I couldn't make it to McDonald's from the bus stop... and heck, making it there wasn't so great because it always seemed to be filled with moms and kids listening to my insides hit the bowl... but aside from that, it was pretty great).
With Mad I was nauseated most of the time for just over half the pregnancy. One time the nausea was so bad that I went into the bathroom absolutely sure that this was it. I couldn't bring myself to look at the toilet because I knew the sight of it would bring me down faster than anything. So I stood in front of the toilet, facing the wall and talking to myself about how I needed to tighten the towel bar and how I was not going to turn around. Thoughts of the watery bowl behind me kept trying to creep in, but I shot them down with, "what a lovely shade of lavender the wall is despite how shockingingly bright it'd seemed at first, lalala."
It worked. I didn't throw up once during my pregnancy.
History of the Madelyn Girl
I was reading some of the responses on The One Minute Writer today and it took me back to last year, when Madelyn was born. I had written most of it down... or typed it up... on the computer, but when we had that crash in January, everything was lost. So I'm going to put some of what I remember about my pregnancy and delivery and Mad's early days here. This first bit is from an article I submitted to DivineCaroline in November of 2007.
My husband and I have been together for nearly eight years and married for two. We’ve discussed having children together. Sometimes I felt the pull of the daughter who is “out there” waiting for me. Other times I knew for sure I didn’t want to go through that again. For my husband, I think he has worried about how good of a father he’d be “from the get-go.” I have been married once before and have a fourteen-year old son. Tom has been wonderful with my son, who is now our son.
For the better part of a year we had been discussing whether or not we wanted to have a child together. If we weren’t having a baby, then I wanted to get my tubes tied so I could go off the pill and live a less chemical life.
Sometime early this summer we both decided that not having a baby was the better decision for us. We’ve been working on some financial goals and enjoying the freedom that comes with having a teenager. I was in agreement with the decision, but I wasn’t ecstatic about it. I told Tom that I would take a little time to absorb the finality and then I’d make the appointment. However, our summer schedule was insane. Our son started an independent study program that meant I was essentially his teacher. When we weren’t working eight hours a day on schoolwork, we were off camping. We had so many trips scheduled, and not all with definite dates. So there wasn’t really time to have surgery. I planned to make the appointment for early October, when life would be back to normal and taking a few days off work wouldn’t be such a big deal.
I remember the time that I think the baby was conceived. In a small part of my mind, I thought about our decision ... but I had thought about it other times as well. This particular time, though, was so incredible and magical. It felt like making a baby.
A few weeks later when my period didn’t come on Sunday, as it had been for a few months, I wasn’t too worried. The original reason I got on the pill was to regulate my period, and even with that help, the only thing I could guarantee was the week that my period would start and stop ... not which day. When my period didn’t come on Wednesday ... typically the latest day ... I started to wonder. When nothing had happened by Sunday night and I was starting to feel “different,” I was concerned.
One night while Corey was away and Tom was playing tennis, I did a little online research to see if maybe I had cancer or something else that caused my missed period. It sounds crazy, and it probably is, to say that a major ailment could be better than being pregnant. But this is where I was at: Life was so good. Tom, Corey and I were settling well into married life. We had been incredibly happy. Getting pregnant without both sides consenting seems to me a lot like betrayal. I know I didn’t do it on purpose, but I think that the part of me that wanted to have a child with him feels guilty anyway. The thing I kept thinking was that this pregnancy could be the key to unlock the happiness of our marriage and send it away for good.
I stopped sleeping well. I couldn’t fall asleep and I couldn’t stay asleep. For the next couple of nights, I probably averaged two to three hours over the course of the night. Even though I’m off during summers, I couldn’t sleep late because I was now home schooling our son.
Relief came in the form of a camping trip with my brother and his family. Tom couldn’t join us, so Corey and I headed out to the Eastern Sierras without him. By the time Corey finished setting up the tent, I was so exhausted that I went to take a nap. This is not something I normally do on vacation, and especially not on camping trips. I slept for an hour and then when we all headed to bed later, I crashed right away. Part of me knew this was probably a bit of being pregnant and a lot of not having to face Tom with this news.
We stayed away for three nights. I slept so well for the first two, but the night before we went home, I could feel the tension welling up again. I couldn’t sleep to save my life. When I did sleep, I dreamt that his best friend tried to kiss me and that I was sort of letting him when Tom walked up. I don’t remember it as clearly now, but one of us said to the other, “We have a lot of things to talk about.”
When we got home that night, it was too beautiful outside and too stuffy inside, so I spent most of the evening on the grass in the yard. When Tom got home and joined me, I listened to the events of his past few days without us and told him a little about our time in the mountains. I told him about the dream and then, without my meaning to, but also without my being able to stop, I told him that I thought I was pregnant. Well, I told him that I was either pregnant or very sick and that I’d done research that pretty much negated the possibility of very sick.
I thought I saw him smile (or grimace) a little and I saw tears welling in his eyes. I didn’t have a clue as to what he was going through. I was as ready as I could be for, “You know I said no, so you can deal with it on your own.” (This really wouldn’t be like him.) To my complete relief, what he said was, “Well this is just another adventure for us, isn’t it?”
The next morning we went together to buy a pregnancy test. He waited for me to take it and made me promise not to look without him. Once it was confirmed, we went to the bookstore, where each of us got a pregnancy book. He has attended every appointment with me, and insisted after the first one that we change doctors because of the demeanor of that doctor and his staff. He gets to decide if we find out or not about the baby’s gender, and we both have to love the names we choose.
When it came to telling our families, he made me wait until his was out here in late September (we found out in August). In reality, this made perfect sense because I have a history of miscarriages prior to having Corey, and I was only a few weeks along. And telling all of our parents at the same time would be fairer. I’m glad we waited, but it was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in a few years.
Our son is thrilled to finally be getting the brother or sister he’s always wanted. My father almost knocked me down when he came to hug me after getting a copy of the first ultrasound photo. My mother, who is almost blind, just sat there perplexed as to why she was given a photo of an owl until she heard my mother-in-law gasp and saw her come running up to hug me. My father-in-law, who’s never been one to think women can’t do anything they want to, has suddenly become very concerned that I not go out of my way to do things for others, or otherwise over-exert myself.
And somehow, this news, this pregnancy, did unlock a key to the happiness in our marriage, but instead of letting it fly away, it has deepened and become more intense and exciting and fun. Life is good.
My husband and I have been together for nearly eight years and married for two. We’ve discussed having children together. Sometimes I felt the pull of the daughter who is “out there” waiting for me. Other times I knew for sure I didn’t want to go through that again. For my husband, I think he has worried about how good of a father he’d be “from the get-go.” I have been married once before and have a fourteen-year old son. Tom has been wonderful with my son, who is now our son.
For the better part of a year we had been discussing whether or not we wanted to have a child together. If we weren’t having a baby, then I wanted to get my tubes tied so I could go off the pill and live a less chemical life.
Sometime early this summer we both decided that not having a baby was the better decision for us. We’ve been working on some financial goals and enjoying the freedom that comes with having a teenager. I was in agreement with the decision, but I wasn’t ecstatic about it. I told Tom that I would take a little time to absorb the finality and then I’d make the appointment. However, our summer schedule was insane. Our son started an independent study program that meant I was essentially his teacher. When we weren’t working eight hours a day on schoolwork, we were off camping. We had so many trips scheduled, and not all with definite dates. So there wasn’t really time to have surgery. I planned to make the appointment for early October, when life would be back to normal and taking a few days off work wouldn’t be such a big deal.
I remember the time that I think the baby was conceived. In a small part of my mind, I thought about our decision ... but I had thought about it other times as well. This particular time, though, was so incredible and magical. It felt like making a baby.
A few weeks later when my period didn’t come on Sunday, as it had been for a few months, I wasn’t too worried. The original reason I got on the pill was to regulate my period, and even with that help, the only thing I could guarantee was the week that my period would start and stop ... not which day. When my period didn’t come on Wednesday ... typically the latest day ... I started to wonder. When nothing had happened by Sunday night and I was starting to feel “different,” I was concerned.
One night while Corey was away and Tom was playing tennis, I did a little online research to see if maybe I had cancer or something else that caused my missed period. It sounds crazy, and it probably is, to say that a major ailment could be better than being pregnant. But this is where I was at: Life was so good. Tom, Corey and I were settling well into married life. We had been incredibly happy. Getting pregnant without both sides consenting seems to me a lot like betrayal. I know I didn’t do it on purpose, but I think that the part of me that wanted to have a child with him feels guilty anyway. The thing I kept thinking was that this pregnancy could be the key to unlock the happiness of our marriage and send it away for good.
I stopped sleeping well. I couldn’t fall asleep and I couldn’t stay asleep. For the next couple of nights, I probably averaged two to three hours over the course of the night. Even though I’m off during summers, I couldn’t sleep late because I was now home schooling our son.
Relief came in the form of a camping trip with my brother and his family. Tom couldn’t join us, so Corey and I headed out to the Eastern Sierras without him. By the time Corey finished setting up the tent, I was so exhausted that I went to take a nap. This is not something I normally do on vacation, and especially not on camping trips. I slept for an hour and then when we all headed to bed later, I crashed right away. Part of me knew this was probably a bit of being pregnant and a lot of not having to face Tom with this news.
We stayed away for three nights. I slept so well for the first two, but the night before we went home, I could feel the tension welling up again. I couldn’t sleep to save my life. When I did sleep, I dreamt that his best friend tried to kiss me and that I was sort of letting him when Tom walked up. I don’t remember it as clearly now, but one of us said to the other, “We have a lot of things to talk about.”
When we got home that night, it was too beautiful outside and too stuffy inside, so I spent most of the evening on the grass in the yard. When Tom got home and joined me, I listened to the events of his past few days without us and told him a little about our time in the mountains. I told him about the dream and then, without my meaning to, but also without my being able to stop, I told him that I thought I was pregnant. Well, I told him that I was either pregnant or very sick and that I’d done research that pretty much negated the possibility of very sick.
I thought I saw him smile (or grimace) a little and I saw tears welling in his eyes. I didn’t have a clue as to what he was going through. I was as ready as I could be for, “You know I said no, so you can deal with it on your own.” (This really wouldn’t be like him.) To my complete relief, what he said was, “Well this is just another adventure for us, isn’t it?”
The next morning we went together to buy a pregnancy test. He waited for me to take it and made me promise not to look without him. Once it was confirmed, we went to the bookstore, where each of us got a pregnancy book. He has attended every appointment with me, and insisted after the first one that we change doctors because of the demeanor of that doctor and his staff. He gets to decide if we find out or not about the baby’s gender, and we both have to love the names we choose.
When it came to telling our families, he made me wait until his was out here in late September (we found out in August). In reality, this made perfect sense because I have a history of miscarriages prior to having Corey, and I was only a few weeks along. And telling all of our parents at the same time would be fairer. I’m glad we waited, but it was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in a few years.
Our son is thrilled to finally be getting the brother or sister he’s always wanted. My father almost knocked me down when he came to hug me after getting a copy of the first ultrasound photo. My mother, who is almost blind, just sat there perplexed as to why she was given a photo of an owl until she heard my mother-in-law gasp and saw her come running up to hug me. My father-in-law, who’s never been one to think women can’t do anything they want to, has suddenly become very concerned that I not go out of my way to do things for others, or otherwise over-exert myself.
And somehow, this news, this pregnancy, did unlock a key to the happiness in our marriage, but instead of letting it fly away, it has deepened and become more intense and exciting and fun. Life is good.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Ah-Ah-Ah-Allergies
Did you know that pregnancy offers significant protection against allergies? Well it can, and it did for me. Prior to getting knocked up with Mad, I'd been on various allergy meds for nearly 10 years. According to my allergist, I am significantly allergic to nearly every plant that grows in our area (well, our area when we lived down the hill anyway). Every animal, but cows, too (don't tell me not to have a cow!). I would have been an excellent candidate for shot therapy, except that I'd had an allergic reaction to a half dose of children's benadryl (that doctor's rescue medicine of choice). Ugh!
It took a couple of itchy, sneezy months for the "pregnancy protection" to kick in, but once it did I was like a new woman. I noticed that my allergies have gotten worse the less I nurse Madelyn. Since she doesn't nurse every day now, I feel like a character from The Simpsons.
Now that we have Maisy, my allergies are getting out of control. As I sit here, my eyes are red and irritated and I have what sounds like a smoker's cough. Much more of this and I'll be back on an inhaler, something I haven't had to deal with since taking the meds.
It was in this condition, coupled with areas of itchy skin I might add), that I blurted out to Tom in front of Corey, "I either need to get pregnant or get back on medication stat!"
I didn't see Corey's reaction, and I'm not going into Tom's exact response. I'll just say that my man makes me smile happy smiles.
Mad has brought many good and beautiful things into our lives, including new music. Sometime around her birth, I heard a story on NPR about Barenaked Ladies' new album, SnackTime. Their alphabet song was what sucked me in ("P is for pneumonic, pterodactyl and psychosis"). There are many excellent songs on the CD.
Another great one is "Allergies":
It took a couple of itchy, sneezy months for the "pregnancy protection" to kick in, but once it did I was like a new woman. I noticed that my allergies have gotten worse the less I nurse Madelyn. Since she doesn't nurse every day now, I feel like a character from The Simpsons.
Now that we have Maisy, my allergies are getting out of control. As I sit here, my eyes are red and irritated and I have what sounds like a smoker's cough. Much more of this and I'll be back on an inhaler, something I haven't had to deal with since taking the meds.
It was in this condition, coupled with areas of itchy skin I might add), that I blurted out to Tom in front of Corey, "I either need to get pregnant or get back on medication stat!"
I didn't see Corey's reaction, and I'm not going into Tom's exact response. I'll just say that my man makes me smile happy smiles.
Mad has brought many good and beautiful things into our lives, including new music. Sometime around her birth, I heard a story on NPR about Barenaked Ladies' new album, SnackTime. Their alphabet song was what sucked me in ("P is for pneumonic, pterodactyl and psychosis"). There are many excellent songs on the CD.
Another great one is "Allergies":
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Baby Goat
When Tom and I first started hanging out, we did a lot of hiking in the local mountains.
***I always assumed hiking was done in the mountains until we went on a "hike" (walk, really) to the highest point in Wisconsin.
I've never been exceptionally steady on my feet, so leaping from this stone to that was never my gig. Tom, however, loves it. And he's good at it. In fact, I don't know if I've ever seen him fall. The occasional stumble, sure, but that's it. Tom said it's because he's part mountain goat. Ask him which animal he'd be if he could and it's a mountain goat.
Madelyn has definitely demonstrated her two-sided heritage. The first time we brought her to this home, she mastered the stairs. It's been two weeks and today she insisted that I hold her hands so she could walk up them. Of course the stairs are nearly as high as the length of her legs, so she has to swing her straight leg all the way around to the side and then up and over, but she did the whole flight.
We've unpacked 30 or 40 boxes, but we still have several sitting around here and there. One was in the living room, probably blocking her access to the wiring behind the TV stand. It's a regular banker box. Madelyn started figuring the thing out yesterday. Today she managed to climb up and have a seat. As Corey and I were debating whether I should let her do such things (you can guess where the protective big brother stands), it looked like Mad was going to fall right off because she was trying to sit down where there was no box. But she moved and we cheered. I was pointing out that we have to let her test things out or she'll never learn. Then, for reasons we'll never know be sure of (I'm guessing "testing gravity" was in there somewhere), she very slowly leaned all the way over to the side.
Mad's got a scrape on her temple. Mama, Daddy and Brother all had their hearts in their throats. And Brother spent the next half hour or so glaring and not talking to Mama.
Madelyn will be one in exactly one week. I can't even believe it. I looked on my MySpace blog to see what I'd done on this day last year. Tom and Corey set up the crib. I organized some of my belongings well enough that Tom made files for me, and we swapped out bookcases in our room, from an extra large that might fall on the baby (we had a cinderblock wall in the bedroom, so we couldn't anchor it) to a smaller one that held all of the books we'd gotten from a shower at work.
Here was my last line of that blog: I guess that’s enough for one very pregnant day. I can’t believe we’re into the single digits now. Eight days... and really, today’s pretty much over. I really can’t wait to meet this person!
***I always assumed hiking was done in the mountains until we went on a "hike" (walk, really) to the highest point in Wisconsin.
I've never been exceptionally steady on my feet, so leaping from this stone to that was never my gig. Tom, however, loves it. And he's good at it. In fact, I don't know if I've ever seen him fall. The occasional stumble, sure, but that's it. Tom said it's because he's part mountain goat. Ask him which animal he'd be if he could and it's a mountain goat.
Madelyn has definitely demonstrated her two-sided heritage. The first time we brought her to this home, she mastered the stairs. It's been two weeks and today she insisted that I hold her hands so she could walk up them. Of course the stairs are nearly as high as the length of her legs, so she has to swing her straight leg all the way around to the side and then up and over, but she did the whole flight.
We've unpacked 30 or 40 boxes, but we still have several sitting around here and there. One was in the living room, probably blocking her access to the wiring behind the TV stand. It's a regular banker box. Madelyn started figuring the thing out yesterday. Today she managed to climb up and have a seat. As Corey and I were debating whether I should let her do such things (you can guess where the protective big brother stands), it looked like Mad was going to fall right off because she was trying to sit down where there was no box. But she moved and we cheered. I was pointing out that we have to let her test things out or she'll never learn. Then, for reasons we'll never know be sure of (I'm guessing "testing gravity" was in there somewhere), she very slowly leaned all the way over to the side.
Mad's got a scrape on her temple. Mama, Daddy and Brother all had their hearts in their throats. And Brother spent the next half hour or so glaring and not talking to Mama.
Madelyn will be one in exactly one week. I can't even believe it. I looked on my MySpace blog to see what I'd done on this day last year. Tom and Corey set up the crib. I organized some of my belongings well enough that Tom made files for me, and we swapped out bookcases in our room, from an extra large that might fall on the baby (we had a cinderblock wall in the bedroom, so we couldn't anchor it) to a smaller one that held all of the books we'd gotten from a shower at work.
Here was my last line of that blog: I guess that’s enough for one very pregnant day. I can’t believe we’re into the single digits now. Eight days... and really, today’s pretty much over. I really can’t wait to meet this person!
We didn't know if the baby in my womb was Madelyn Kenzie or Oliver Canyon. It was a pretty exciting time. I worked halfway through that Wednesday. I was so afraid that not having enough scheduled things to do would result in the same "I'm-off-work-and-whew!-I'm-exhausted" feelings I had with Corey. I left work three weeks in advance of his due date. The next morning I felt like I had been concreted to my bed.
This time, I even scheduled an early morning manicure for my first day off. Bev massaged my hands in hopes of helping to stimulate labor. Then I took my car in to get the oil changed. While there I walked a few blocks away in not the best part of town to get a late breakfast. That was an experience! It's an area sometimes known for prostitution, but who'd have thunk that a nine-months pregnant woman wearing jeans and a collared T-shirt would garner any attention.
That evening Tom and I were laying in bed, chatting about our days before he headed off for tennis and I went to the grocery store. Sometime around 5:30 I had my first painful contraction. About 36 hours later, she was born and we knew her name.
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