Missing You

Every day since returning to work, I've thought of a few things I'd love to blog about.  Some of them I was smart enough (in my opinion) to save somewhere (we'll see what you think in a minute, won't we?).


So, here are some parts of conversations and thoughts I've had over the past two weeks.


With my Mad-A-Girl at the doctor's office for Fynnie's monthly shot:
"Is that the music for me to dance?"  Yes, yes it is.  (Even better than dancing, Mad stepped into the middle of the packed waiting room and held her snowman out.  Mm-hmm, my girl's a performance artist.)


With my sister, who was reflecting on her (thankfully temporary) post-surgery life with a catheter and without hormone replacement therapy:
"I call the bag Whizzer.  Ya know, it's not that bad.  I'm kind of getting used to peeing like a guy.  I think I'm jealous."


"I'm so emotional.  I'm all over the place.  One minute I'm crying watching Pride and Prejudice and the next I'm cursing at the TV because it's too effing slow." 


"I don't want chocolate.  I don't know why.  It's got to be better than being high."


With my Wicked Stepmom, who texted me last week from her home outside of Atlanta:
"Hello from the sunny south.  NOT.  Snowed in.  One mom, six children, one nana, one papa, and one dog who doesn't want to pee in the snow!"


A few minutes later, "We are hoping for a small window to get them home.  It's going to ice up in two hrs, all is closed here."


In terms of real life, face-to-face conversations, I learned that my multi-tasking skills, and Nance's poker face skills aren't up to par anymore when I flashed her the pic of me trying on those pants in the middle of a meeting last week.  Okay, so Nance actually held it together pretty well after that view.  It was the shot of Madelyn trying to put "milk in a bag" for Fynn that did her in.


And, within my own brain, I had a pregnancy scare.  Yes, I did have my tubes tied.  But I recently joined a board for moms to share baby clothes and gear amongst ourselves (more on this topic later).  One mama, who has a gob of children and got her tubes tied last spring is now expecting a baby.  So, when my breasts were extra sore and sensitive, and my appetite and sleep patterns were changing, I immediately thought it could be a baby.  Between you and me, I was not exactly upset (as long as I didn't think too deeply about how life would change yet again).  Instead, the truth is that I had cracked nipples, a clogged duct and, oh yeah, my first period since forever ago.  It's a bundle alright.


There you go.  A little trip through my life and mind.  Aren't you glad I was able to keep these gems and share them with you?

To Recap

I started out the "weekend" (Thursday night) absolutely sure I was getting my first period in a year.  An event for which I'd apparently saved up a years worth of moodiness.  Tom was sent out for good chocolate.


Had the surgery.  Got hit with trapped gas.  Spent Sunday afternoon trying out various remedies.


Sunday afternoon is also when I was suddenly struck with the knowledge that I had been shaved for the procedure.


So last night was spent in a room with my poor innocent daughter, who is too young to get away for long, as I spent the evening trying not to scratch my increasingly itchy crotch while attempting to expel as much gas as possible.


Cue the music:

Under Pressure

I have trapped gas from the surgery.  That is a whole lotta painful!  This morning Fynn woke up to nurse around 4:00 (old time... our clocks got changed about three hours ago). She was zonked out and in her crib by 4:30. Everyone in the house was asleep. I was tired and laid back down. It was painful enough that I gave up what turned out to be three extra hours of sleep. What mom of a three month old does that?

So this afternoon I consulted Dr. Google and my mother-in-law for remedies. The more solutions I read and try, the less my body wants to give up the gas.  I may explode.

How Are You?

I'm sterile!


Very funny to Tom and I.  No one else seemed to laugh nearly as much as we did at the surgery center today.


Everything went very well.  I love my OB (and yet I'm still glad he never delivered my girls... go figure).  Love that he spent about five minutes chatting with us about Chicago and the ratio of Jews to non-Jews in his last two years of medical school (71/1 both years... one year there was an Italian and the next year there was a Chinese man... oh, and one brave, but odd woman in his graduating class way back in the day).


Found it odd that I now have high quality before and after shots of my tubes, as well as the bonus shots of my ovaries.  I was very impressed at how "clean" everything was, for some reason (drugs).


A bit disappointed that my request for a complimentary boob job was declined.  Ah well, winter's coming and maybe I'll appreciate my armpit warmers more over the next several months.


I was surprised by how much pain I was in when I became aware that I was waking up.  Apparently I'd already assessed my pain at a nine in the half hour before that.  It was "only" a 6-8 from when I remember.  (For context, when I was in labor with Madelyn and stuck at 8+ for over three hours, I was also at an "8" on the pain scale.)


I'm grateful my dad and Margaret live so close to my doctor and the surgery center (at the same hospital where I delivered my girls).  We'd planned on getting out of surgery, getting a bite to eat, grabbing the girls and being home by Mad's nap.  Instead we went straight to my dad's, where I pumped (let someone else handle the act of dumping) and then slept for a few hours.  When I got up, I repeated the process.  We got home just before 7:00 this evening.


So I'm also grateful to my mom for hanging out with Corey (she spent the night last night and said she'd stay until we got home... we did have dinner with her before she left).  Then she offered to follow me up the stairs in case I fell.  Love her for that.  I'd totally take her out if that happened, but it was sweet.  And she offered to come back any time this weekend or Monday and Tuesday if I still need help getting around.  (However, this puts me in a bit of a pickle, because Margaret also offered once she found out about the surgery.)


I'm still in pain and still walking like it, but it's getting much better as the hours pass.  Totally expecting to be fine by Monday.  I've been pre-scolded not to overdo things by a few people, so that's well-covered.


Fynn and Mad had a great time with Grandma and Papa today, and I think Mad especially enjoyed having four of her favorite adults together, even if two of us couldn't maintain consciousness.  All in all, not a bad day.


My eyes, in case you are wondering, are burning, but I think it's just because I'm tired.

The Face In the Mirror

I remember looking at myself in the mirror right before I left the bathroom to go have sex for the first time.  And I remember inspecting my face later to see if I'd changed.  Was it as obvious to everybody else as it was to me?  Were my eyes giving me away?


I'm not sure if I remember the answers now or if what I recall is really just a fantasy.


For the past few days I keep finding my face in the mirror again.  No, not because I'm about to have sex for the first time after Fynn.  We're currently practicing the Bristol Palin method of birth control.  I understand it didn't work so well for her.  Maybe she didn't read the instructions.  (Or maybe she didn't fall asleep so fast?)


No, I am now at the far end of the womanhood spectrum.  Not that far, although I have joked I'll be going straight from maternity to menopause (please let me be joking!).


Friday I'm going in for my laparoscopy tubal sterilization.  I feel like they could have come up with a better name.  What's wrong with ligation, anyway?  Sterilization makes it sound like I'm the black sheep of the family.  Trust me, as weird as I am... this sheep ain't the black one!


It's easy to let myself get distracted, and maybe I should let it go with that.  Because the focus is this:  Today I could have another baby if I chose (okay, yes, and could stay awake... sticklers!).  Tomorrow, too.  But when I get home on Friday afternoon, that will no longer be true.


Do I want to have more children?  No.  Not really.  I know why we wanted to have a third child, and I am so glad we got Fynn out of the deal, but I could have easily stopped after Mad was born.  We were supposed to stop before she was conceived.  She was just very intent on joining us and improving our lives.


Add to that my 10 days early daughter.  Corey and Mad were born the day after and the day before their respective due dates.  It's cool that I got to experience the whole water breaking to kick off labor, but I do suspect Fynn came early because of my age.  After she was born I heard that early water breaking is most common among teen moms and those of "advanced maternal age."  I'm not up for risking anything else.


And last, I'd like to ingest as few chemicals as possible, and that includes birth control.


So I'm not looking for a way out of the surgery.  At this point I'm still not freaking out about it (although I did make a pact with my friend; she'll tell my kids every day that I love them if something happens to me... I'll remind her husband not to let his sister watch their son if something ever happens to her). 


But I do look at myself and wonder if I'll see a change. Will it be as obvious to everybody else as it is to me?  Will my eyes give me away?

Argh! and Yea!

I have been attempting to add photos to a pending post since Sunday night.  Still only extremely limited success (and none of the cute ones).  I'm hoping my cries for help are the reason "image uploads" is going to be serviced tomorrow.  In the meantime, here is a random sampling of my life:


I set up my phone so I can send posts to Blogger, but there must be a step I'm missing.


This has been stuck in my head for a week (I kind of like it):

Potty training is going very well.  I gave up the ridiculous idea that changing Mad's diaper while she's laying down will confuse her or I'm failing to reinforce that she's not a baby anymore. So, no more poopy hands for Mama.  Whoever thought of using a timer to make kids go to the potty is a fricken genius.  I'd kiss him or her on the mouth!  And realizing that I can use my cell phone alarm instead of the oven timer (thereby not having to rest Fynn's perpetually nursing body on the stove so I can make the ringing stop) makes me a freaking genius, too!  (At least to me.)  Mad's been telling me when she needs to go during nap time and overnight.  I mostly make it to her in time, but she's diapered then, so it's not as urgent.  She's getting good at telling me when she needs to go the rest of the day, too.  As I'm getting a sense of her timing, we are not living our entire mornings in 10 minute increments.  This is great!  However, when I offered to let her wear panties while we took Brother to school, she declined.


My friend with the lung situation has been tested four different ways.  One shows a borderline cancer score (6-10 typically means cancer; she got a 6).  However, a biopsy shows that there are no lesions.  It's not exactly a clean bill of health.  The doctor wanted to do another procedure, but the test results weren't close enough to 100% reliable for L, so she declined.  She'll go through another PET scan in two months to see if it's grown.  There are so many things to say or think about a friend in this situation.  I think I know how I'd handle much of it.  For one thing, I'd want to know as much as possible.  The opposite is true for her.  No googling, no super-involved conversations with the doctor.  Her philosophy is that everything she ever felt like she wouldn't be able to survive has happened, with this being the big one (if it is, indeed, the big one), but she's survived everything else.  Why not this, too, right?


In odd news that I probably shouldn't be mentioning, tomorrow would be my 20th anniversary if I'd stayed married the first time.  I cannot imagine still being married to him.  I have felt exactly that way since we agreed to divorce.  Yet every year at this time I feel a mental countdown.  I have no idea where he's at, if he's still married to wife number three (or was it four?  I couldn't keep track), or even if he's still alive.  I am glad we're not in contact, but I would tolerate him and be decent if he were part of Corey's life.  Fricken jackass.


Over the past 24 hours or so we've had some spectacular thunder and lightning.  Tom, Fynn and I sat upstairs in our bedroom watching (well, Fynnie nursed... is it possible that she's starting her next growth spurt so early?!?).  The strangest thing to me was the lack of heavy winds during most of it.  The gentle breeze made it possible to sit here with the window open.... until all of a sudden the storm got serious.  Wind, rain, hail.  Little chilly until Tom could close the window.  I'm so glad we have wireless Internet or I'd be stuck playing solitaire on my phone tonight while Tom and Fynn sleep.


I don't remember mentioning, but I have scheduled my tubal.  Two weeks from this Friday.  I'm good with the decision again.  Really, I always have been; I realized it while talking to my doctor.  I'll be 40 in the spring.  As I said to the doc, "There's room in the house.  There isn't room in the budget or the calendar."  Or the car.  Corey barely fits back there with the girls.  It's good we've gone so many places as a family, but if this continues, we'll have to get a bigger car.


There is still a slim chance we can make it to Chicago for Christmas, because the state still owes me money.  If nothing else unexpected happens, the money I'll get through PFL may be enough to do a slightly shorter trip.


Let's end with some good news.  I got my statement today showing that my check will be this month will only be a few hundred dollars short.  Compared to last month, I feel rich!