I could write about how frustrating it is that Tyler has changed up his routine in the past week (a growth spurt perhaps?), or how he spits up so much we've had to find more bibs and burp cloths, or about how my aches and pains are getting worse, but really, that's all just par for the course. The truth is that at this moment, I'm just insanely happy, and for the first time in a long time complaining just really isn't on the agenda.
I'm preparing to start my freelance career in January, and already I have several gigs lined up. It's funny, because a few of them are with the health system I have worked for! I'm realizing that my biggest problem with my new part-time career will not be finding enough work, but finding enough time for the work that comes my way. That's a great problem to have.
I went to a baby group last week and I got asked out! No, not by a potential mate, of course, but by a much more difficult thing to find--a potential friend. The woman, C, has a 6-month-old and probably lives about 20 minutes from my house. I know this sounds silly, but this is exactly what I have been waiting for for a long time--making friends with other stay-at-home moms I meet at baby groups. It's a dream come true! And the best part is, I didn't even have to make the first move. We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to get together after the holidays. (Of course, I'm going to have to figure out how to balance work and play dates.)
This Christmas is just so much better than last Christmas. It's nice that the biggest issue on my mind right now is the incredible amount of snow that's been falling in the Midwest.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
Priorities
I had this grand plan to go to a free mommy and me yoga class this morning at a maternity store about 20-25 minutes from my house.
Tyler woke up for his first feeding of the day at about 7:45 a.m. This is perfect, I thought. Hopefully, he'll sleep till at least 10:30, I can pile him in the car seat, he'll sleep in the car on the way over, then I can feed him again at the store while we wait for the class to start.
Except. Just as I was blow drying my hair and preparing to pack the diaper bag at about 10:20, I heard a cry. Tyler was awake and hungry. That's OK, I told myself as I quickly prepared the bottle, I can still feed him, leave home by 11 a.m. and make it in time for the class. He just might be a little crankier after getting a catnap in the car.
As I tried my best to encourage him to take the bottle quickly (note: nothing can encourage a baby to eat more quickly if he wants to take his good old time about it), I watched the clock and became more and more stressed. We were going to be late, and it was only an hour-long class!
Then I looked at my son as he took a little break from his feeding. He looked relaxed, and happy, and perfectly content lying down in Mommy's lap.
This is what I have been waiting for for so long.
To hell with yoga, and stress, and schedules.
This is our time, and nothing will take that away from us.
Tyler woke up for his first feeding of the day at about 7:45 a.m. This is perfect, I thought. Hopefully, he'll sleep till at least 10:30, I can pile him in the car seat, he'll sleep in the car on the way over, then I can feed him again at the store while we wait for the class to start.
Except. Just as I was blow drying my hair and preparing to pack the diaper bag at about 10:20, I heard a cry. Tyler was awake and hungry. That's OK, I told myself as I quickly prepared the bottle, I can still feed him, leave home by 11 a.m. and make it in time for the class. He just might be a little crankier after getting a catnap in the car.
As I tried my best to encourage him to take the bottle quickly (note: nothing can encourage a baby to eat more quickly if he wants to take his good old time about it), I watched the clock and became more and more stressed. We were going to be late, and it was only an hour-long class!
Then I looked at my son as he took a little break from his feeding. He looked relaxed, and happy, and perfectly content lying down in Mommy's lap.
This is what I have been waiting for for so long.
To hell with yoga, and stress, and schedules.
This is our time, and nothing will take that away from us.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Resolution - finally
The day after I wrote my last post, I started bottle feeding. It was the best thing I could have done.
I think it was a conversation with my mom that was the breaking point. She said to me, "I can't believe you've been this patient for this long. You have worked so hard on this." I realized that I had, indeed, done just about everything I could to continue breastfeeding Tyler, and that no one would blame me if I stopped. So, with the pedi's blessing, I have switched to mostly formula, with a bit of breast milk thrown in (I pump three times a day now). Yes, it would be nice if I could feed Tyler completely on pumped breast milk, but that simply isn't possible with my milk supply. (And before any of you suggest that I pump more often, I barely get anything pumping 7 or 8 times a day--maybe an ounce a pumping. And...OWWW!)
Tyler is thriving. I finally caved and bought 8-ounce bottles. He's going to start getting 5 ounces, because at 7 weeks, 4 already isn't enough for him. I think he's thrilled that he's finally getting enough to eat.
And now, I can actually play with him and enjoy his precious baby-ness! It's getting so much more fun every day to watch him. He's smiling more and more. My biggest problem these days is managing the vast amounts of spit-up he produces.
And if that's my biggest problem, I'm doing pretty darned good.
I think it was a conversation with my mom that was the breaking point. She said to me, "I can't believe you've been this patient for this long. You have worked so hard on this." I realized that I had, indeed, done just about everything I could to continue breastfeeding Tyler, and that no one would blame me if I stopped. So, with the pedi's blessing, I have switched to mostly formula, with a bit of breast milk thrown in (I pump three times a day now). Yes, it would be nice if I could feed Tyler completely on pumped breast milk, but that simply isn't possible with my milk supply. (And before any of you suggest that I pump more often, I barely get anything pumping 7 or 8 times a day--maybe an ounce a pumping. And...OWWW!)
Tyler is thriving. I finally caved and bought 8-ounce bottles. He's going to start getting 5 ounces, because at 7 weeks, 4 already isn't enough for him. I think he's thrilled that he's finally getting enough to eat.
And now, I can actually play with him and enjoy his precious baby-ness! It's getting so much more fun every day to watch him. He's smiling more and more. My biggest problem these days is managing the vast amounts of spit-up he produces.
And if that's my biggest problem, I'm doing pretty darned good.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Conflicted
I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes.
I just don't know what to do. I have been breastfeeding for six weeks, and trying so, so hard to give my son what he needs. I use a supplemental feeding system. I work hard during the feeding to try to keep Tyler interested. I pump after every feeding. I take Fenugreek three times a day. I take goat's rue (an herb) four times a day (and that's not an easy one to take, because I can't drink anything for 20 minutes before and 20 minutes after taking it).
Yet why do I feel like it's just not worth it?
According to the pedi's scale, Tyler gained 7 ounces in 7 days. Great, right? Except two days later, I weighed him on the lactation support group scale, and he only weighed 3 1/2 ounces more than he had the week before on the same scale. WTF? How can that be?
Yet it's not even the weight, specifically. It's the worry. Every week, I wonder if he's getting enough. Half of his feedings, he doesn't seem terribly interested, and I end the feeding wondering if he's getting enough. I look at him and wonder if he's too small.
I'm so sick of worrying.
I saw my OB for my 6-week appt. last Friday. Even she told me that the greatest benefits of breastfeeding are to be had within the first month. Yet I get the distinct impression that the pedi doesn't want me to give up.
I'm trying so hard, and yet I still cry every other day.
It's like losing your virginity. You can always make the choice to lose it, but once you've lost it you can never go back.
I have invested so much in this breastfeeding gig. How can I just give up?
But it is such a relief when we give Tyler a bottle, because I know exactly how much he's getting.
I don't want the world to judge me because I'm not breastfeeding my son.
(Can you tell I'm going crazy here?)
I just don't know what to do. I have been breastfeeding for six weeks, and trying so, so hard to give my son what he needs. I use a supplemental feeding system. I work hard during the feeding to try to keep Tyler interested. I pump after every feeding. I take Fenugreek three times a day. I take goat's rue (an herb) four times a day (and that's not an easy one to take, because I can't drink anything for 20 minutes before and 20 minutes after taking it).
Yet why do I feel like it's just not worth it?
According to the pedi's scale, Tyler gained 7 ounces in 7 days. Great, right? Except two days later, I weighed him on the lactation support group scale, and he only weighed 3 1/2 ounces more than he had the week before on the same scale. WTF? How can that be?
Yet it's not even the weight, specifically. It's the worry. Every week, I wonder if he's getting enough. Half of his feedings, he doesn't seem terribly interested, and I end the feeding wondering if he's getting enough. I look at him and wonder if he's too small.
I'm so sick of worrying.
I saw my OB for my 6-week appt. last Friday. Even she told me that the greatest benefits of breastfeeding are to be had within the first month. Yet I get the distinct impression that the pedi doesn't want me to give up.
I'm trying so hard, and yet I still cry every other day.
It's like losing your virginity. You can always make the choice to lose it, but once you've lost it you can never go back.
I have invested so much in this breastfeeding gig. How can I just give up?
But it is such a relief when we give Tyler a bottle, because I know exactly how much he's getting.
I don't want the world to judge me because I'm not breastfeeding my son.
(Can you tell I'm going crazy here?)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Weight and other matters
Goodness, I just realized I haven't updated all of you on the weight issue. It really is true what they say about time passing you by...
The good news is that Tyler gained 8 ounces in one week--one ounce more than expected. The doctor was happy. He told me that Tyler could see him in one week if I was nervous, or two weeks if I felt good about things.
I scheduled another appointment for this Monday.
Here's why: When I went to a lactation support group on Wednesday, their scale showed he only gained .3 ounces in two days. Yes, I know different scales can show different amounts. However, it was enough to freak me out--that and the handout the lactation consultant gave me that said Tyler should be eating between 3 and 4 ounces at each feeding. I have reason to believe that he's getting less than an ounce from me, and no more than 2 ounces of supplement.
So, I want another weigh-in. I fear that this one won't be so positive.
Much like when I was going through infertility treatments, I now have a back-up plan for if this appointment doesn't go well. I'm going to ask the pedi about exclusively bottle feeding and pumping afterwards (basically, I'd end up doing a combo of formula and breast milk, like I'm doing now, except I'd know exactly what he's getting). You might think that sounds cumbersome, except, I'm already pumping after each feeding, so I'd just be substituting the bottle for the breast.
I am just so sick of massaging my breasts and not feeling any fullness--only drops of milk coming out. It's incredibly frustrating for me. Boy, PCOS is the gift that just keeps on giving (although, all pregnant PCOS-ers out there shouldn't be terribly concerned, because low milk supply is a condition that only affects some of us; thus, I'm living up to the name of my blog again).
In other news (yes, I am capable of occasionally thinking of something besides feeding), I am happy to say that I am establishing, if not a routine, then at least a general guideline for Tyler's daytime naps. I can often put him down for a nap and he doesn't cry at all! Yay me! And yay for time to get things done around the house!
Although I have to say that with washing dishes and changing diapers and clothes, my back is killing me...
The good news is that Tyler gained 8 ounces in one week--one ounce more than expected. The doctor was happy. He told me that Tyler could see him in one week if I was nervous, or two weeks if I felt good about things.
I scheduled another appointment for this Monday.
Here's why: When I went to a lactation support group on Wednesday, their scale showed he only gained .3 ounces in two days. Yes, I know different scales can show different amounts. However, it was enough to freak me out--that and the handout the lactation consultant gave me that said Tyler should be eating between 3 and 4 ounces at each feeding. I have reason to believe that he's getting less than an ounce from me, and no more than 2 ounces of supplement.
So, I want another weigh-in. I fear that this one won't be so positive.
Much like when I was going through infertility treatments, I now have a back-up plan for if this appointment doesn't go well. I'm going to ask the pedi about exclusively bottle feeding and pumping afterwards (basically, I'd end up doing a combo of formula and breast milk, like I'm doing now, except I'd know exactly what he's getting). You might think that sounds cumbersome, except, I'm already pumping after each feeding, so I'd just be substituting the bottle for the breast.
I am just so sick of massaging my breasts and not feeling any fullness--only drops of milk coming out. It's incredibly frustrating for me. Boy, PCOS is the gift that just keeps on giving (although, all pregnant PCOS-ers out there shouldn't be terribly concerned, because low milk supply is a condition that only affects some of us; thus, I'm living up to the name of my blog again).
In other news (yes, I am capable of occasionally thinking of something besides feeding), I am happy to say that I am establishing, if not a routine, then at least a general guideline for Tyler's daytime naps. I can often put him down for a nap and he doesn't cry at all! Yay me! And yay for time to get things done around the house!
Although I have to say that with washing dishes and changing diapers and clothes, my back is killing me...
Monday, November 10, 2008
The new norm
I had intended on writing a remembrance of last year every day last week. But, as it often does, life got in the way.
This past week has been...hard. A close relative's death, a very, very long car trip with a 4-week-old, a weight scare and subsequent crazy feeding schedule for that same 4-week-old, family drama--I am extremely glad that this week appears to be relatively routine.
After finding out Tyler wasn't gaining enough weight on Monday, I went to a new parent support group on Tuesday. I was the only one who showed up. When the facilitator asked how things were going, I burst into tears. In short order, she had found two lactation consultants who kindly took time to watch me feed Tyler. They confirmed that I wasn't making enough milk and put me on a feeding regiment that goes something like this:
Mix up formula and put it into a supplemental feeder (a tube that attaches to my shoulder and goes down to my nip.ple). Feed Tyler both with my milk and with the supplemental formula that he is getting while s.uckin.g on my nipp.le (written that way so I don't get perverts on my site). When we are finished, pump for 10 minutes for additional nipple stimulation. Store whatever I get from pumping and use it for the next feeding session, which will probably be in two hours.
The whole process takes nearly an hour. These days, Tyler is feeding every two hours, which means that I am dedicating literally half my waking hours just to feeding him.
Complicated? Certainly. And that's before we introduce the road trip into the whole process.
M was such a trooper. He's a meticulous guy to begin with, and he had us so incredibly organized with the pump, the supplemental feeder, the formula, the nursery water, the bottle warmer (both regular and car), the accessories, and the dishwashing paraphrenalia. I could never have done it without him. Although I didn't particularly enjoy pulling into McDonald's parking lots, finding the most out-of-the-way parking space there and spending the next hour and 15 minutes trying to feed, eat, pump and change Tyler in the most efficient way possible.
The visitation and funeral went as well as can be expected. My uncle is an ass, and he was terrible to my mother. But my grandmother loved meeting Tyler and our niece, and I think they were the one bright spot for her in this whole terrible week.
I've run out of time to post--got to feed again! Yes, this is my life, and I definitely can't take this long-term. But we have a weigh-in this afternoon, so I'll update later.
This past week has been...hard. A close relative's death, a very, very long car trip with a 4-week-old, a weight scare and subsequent crazy feeding schedule for that same 4-week-old, family drama--I am extremely glad that this week appears to be relatively routine.
After finding out Tyler wasn't gaining enough weight on Monday, I went to a new parent support group on Tuesday. I was the only one who showed up. When the facilitator asked how things were going, I burst into tears. In short order, she had found two lactation consultants who kindly took time to watch me feed Tyler. They confirmed that I wasn't making enough milk and put me on a feeding regiment that goes something like this:
Mix up formula and put it into a supplemental feeder (a tube that attaches to my shoulder and goes down to my nip.ple). Feed Tyler both with my milk and with the supplemental formula that he is getting while s.uckin.g on my nipp.le (written that way so I don't get perverts on my site). When we are finished, pump for 10 minutes for additional nipple stimulation. Store whatever I get from pumping and use it for the next feeding session, which will probably be in two hours.
The whole process takes nearly an hour. These days, Tyler is feeding every two hours, which means that I am dedicating literally half my waking hours just to feeding him.
Complicated? Certainly. And that's before we introduce the road trip into the whole process.
M was such a trooper. He's a meticulous guy to begin with, and he had us so incredibly organized with the pump, the supplemental feeder, the formula, the nursery water, the bottle warmer (both regular and car), the accessories, and the dishwashing paraphrenalia. I could never have done it without him. Although I didn't particularly enjoy pulling into McDonald's parking lots, finding the most out-of-the-way parking space there and spending the next hour and 15 minutes trying to feed, eat, pump and change Tyler in the most efficient way possible.
The visitation and funeral went as well as can be expected. My uncle is an ass, and he was terrible to my mother. But my grandmother loved meeting Tyler and our niece, and I think they were the one bright spot for her in this whole terrible week.
I've run out of time to post--got to feed again! Yes, this is my life, and I definitely can't take this long-term. But we have a weigh-in this afternoon, so I'll update later.
Monday, November 3, 2008
November 3
The day after Zach's diagnosis, I was scheduled to play a concert in a mall with my community handbell choir. I chose to go ahead with my commitment, partly because it would have been impossible to replace me, and partly because I needed a distraction. I e-mailed the choir members on Friday, asking them not to mention my pregnancy at all. They complied. I made it through the concert, but only after working hard to keep my emotions in check amidst all the music (music always makes me cry).
Today was supposed to be a decent day with beautiful weather. Instead, it turned into an incredibly sucky day. My grandpa died this morning. It wasn't unexpected; he's 93 and he's been ill for quite some time. Still, you can never prepare for the death of a family member. He lived 8 hours away from us, so that means we'll be traveling that distance with a 3-week-old. With stops for feeding, it's going to be a looong trip--not to mention a very, very sad one.
Then, at Tyler's pedi appointment, I found out he's only gained 6 ounces in 2 weeks. I had suspected he wasn't getting enough food. So now I have to supplement with formula. I know many have had to do this, but I'm still so disappointed that I can't make all the milk he needs. I have a whole new world of worry now.
Today was supposed to be a decent day with beautiful weather. Instead, it turned into an incredibly sucky day. My grandpa died this morning. It wasn't unexpected; he's 93 and he's been ill for quite some time. Still, you can never prepare for the death of a family member. He lived 8 hours away from us, so that means we'll be traveling that distance with a 3-week-old. With stops for feeding, it's going to be a looong trip--not to mention a very, very sad one.
Then, at Tyler's pedi appointment, I found out he's only gained 6 ounces in 2 weeks. I had suspected he wasn't getting enough food. So now I have to supplement with formula. I know many have had to do this, but I'm still so disappointed that I can't make all the milk he needs. I have a whole new world of worry now.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
November 2
On November 2, 2007, I went to a perinatologist to find out why I had a low level of amniotic fluid in my uterus. The verdict: My baby had no kidneys, which meant he would never live outside the womb. I could either carry to term (with no hope of his survival), or I could terminate the pregnancy. Devastated, my husband and I held each other all night, leaving home only to go to church and pray.
M, Tyler and I traveled to the Chicago suburbs for our very first overnighter as a family of three. Overall, it went well--despite my parents' incredibly sucky rocking chair. This morning, we went to our niece's baptism. Afterwards, all of us went to a pancake place to celebrate--us, my parents, my brother, SIL, the baby and their 2-year-old, and SIL's two sisters and their families--a total of 11 kids under 10, most of whom are younger than 5. Needless to say, it was pandemonium, especially when my 2-year-old niece decided to throw a major temper tantrum. Guess whose kid was the most angelic of all of them? (Well, then again, Tyler is only 3 weeks old and mostly oblivious to the world.
One question, however: When a baby is fed, and changed, and comfortable, and consistently gets fussy (not all the time, but usually at least once in between feedings), is that normal?
M, Tyler and I traveled to the Chicago suburbs for our very first overnighter as a family of three. Overall, it went well--despite my parents' incredibly sucky rocking chair. This morning, we went to our niece's baptism. Afterwards, all of us went to a pancake place to celebrate--us, my parents, my brother, SIL, the baby and their 2-year-old, and SIL's two sisters and their families--a total of 11 kids under 10, most of whom are younger than 5. Needless to say, it was pandemonium, especially when my 2-year-old niece decided to throw a major temper tantrum. Guess whose kid was the most angelic of all of them? (Well, then again, Tyler is only 3 weeks old and mostly oblivious to the world.
One question, however: When a baby is fed, and changed, and comfortable, and consistently gets fussy (not all the time, but usually at least once in between feedings), is that normal?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Need sleep advice
OK, I'm tossing this one out to the peanut gallery because M and I are totally at a loss.
Tyler doesn't have a problem with sleeping--once he actually gets to sleep. Getting him to sleep is the hard part. Every night, I feed him and we try to put him down. Except, he's wide awake, and the more you try to get him sleepy, the angrier he gets. How in the world do we get him tired enough that he consents to being rocked to sleep? When I wake up at night for feedings, I don't have a huge problem putting him back to sleep. Apparently, he's tired enough.
Yes, we use Mr. Karp's 5 S's. Yes, we do the whole "nighttime routine." But none of that works when he's not actually tired!
Tyler doesn't have a problem with sleeping--once he actually gets to sleep. Getting him to sleep is the hard part. Every night, I feed him and we try to put him down. Except, he's wide awake, and the more you try to get him sleepy, the angrier he gets. How in the world do we get him tired enough that he consents to being rocked to sleep? When I wake up at night for feedings, I don't have a huge problem putting him back to sleep. Apparently, he's tired enough.
Yes, we use Mr. Karp's 5 S's. Yes, we do the whole "nighttime routine." But none of that works when he's not actually tired!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Settling down
Tyler is actually having a good long nap, which means I have time (!) to update my blog. I love watching him sleep; he just looks so peaceful and cozy. (By the way, I am reading your blogs. However, since my reading time is mostly limited to breastfeeding, I don't have enough hands free to actually comment. Someday, maybe...)
I can already tell that working part time is going to be the right choice for me. Much as I love hanging out with Tyler, I don't get the stimulation I will eventually need. One of the things I loved about freelance writing when I was doing it full time three years ago was that I never knew what kinds of fun assignments each week would bring. The only bad part was that I felt like a slacker in between assignments. I feel like I can get the best of both worlds now--intellectually stimulating work when I want it, and a wonderful distraction all day long. Of course, at some point we're actually going to have to have some semblance of a schedule for napping (otherwise, I'll never get anything done), but we've got time for that. After all, he's not even three weeks old yet!
Here, at long last, is a picture of our little angel:
I can already tell that working part time is going to be the right choice for me. Much as I love hanging out with Tyler, I don't get the stimulation I will eventually need. One of the things I loved about freelance writing when I was doing it full time three years ago was that I never knew what kinds of fun assignments each week would bring. The only bad part was that I felt like a slacker in between assignments. I feel like I can get the best of both worlds now--intellectually stimulating work when I want it, and a wonderful distraction all day long. Of course, at some point we're actually going to have to have some semblance of a schedule for napping (otherwise, I'll never get anything done), but we've got time for that. After all, he's not even three weeks old yet!
Here, at long last, is a picture of our little angel:
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Pondering life and death
I was originally going to write a post about the trials of breastfeeding and putting down a newborn (both take freakin' forever!). But I've been reading enough over the past few days to know that the concerns and frustration (and tears) I've been experiencing are completely normal. Suffice it to say that it will get better--and I'm looking forward to that day. Oh, and I think the breastfeeding is probably going OK (Tyler had gained sufficient weight between last Thursday and Monday. Although I tried to pump again in lieu of breastfeeding today, and only got 1.5 ounces!
No, I'd rather write about some of the emotions I've been experiencing. Today was the first day I was allowed to lift anything heavier than Tyler. To celebrate, he and I went on our very first outing together while M was leading a youth event at church. I was a bit nervous about using the car seat and stroller, but he and I successfully drove to the mall--and I even bought a shirt.
I had to take the highway to the mall. It could be the fact that there's lots of construction on the road, but I noticed I reacted very differently to the drive. I felt like everyone else drove like a bat out of hell, and I have to admit that I was a bit squeamish about everybody's fast lane changes. This coming from an admittedly "offensive" driver. The difference? It's not just me in the car anymore; I now have Tyler to worry about. That changes everything. It feels good...but kinda scary. The world is a big, bad place!
As I tried, tried and tried some more to find a parking space at the mall, I remembered that we're getting closer to the holidays, and that the crowds were probably indicative of early Christmas shopping. And then I remembered that I had visited the mall just two weekends later last year and noticed the same thing. Only last year, I was at the mall to buy an urn for Zach, who had been stillborn just three days before. And I looked around at the colorful falling leaves and remembered looking at those same leaves last year as I grieved, and I was unspeakably sad. The happiest day and the saddest day of my life are in the same season. They will be forever linked together. Because of death, there is life.
I love both my sons with all my heart.
No, I'd rather write about some of the emotions I've been experiencing. Today was the first day I was allowed to lift anything heavier than Tyler. To celebrate, he and I went on our very first outing together while M was leading a youth event at church. I was a bit nervous about using the car seat and stroller, but he and I successfully drove to the mall--and I even bought a shirt.
I had to take the highway to the mall. It could be the fact that there's lots of construction on the road, but I noticed I reacted very differently to the drive. I felt like everyone else drove like a bat out of hell, and I have to admit that I was a bit squeamish about everybody's fast lane changes. This coming from an admittedly "offensive" driver. The difference? It's not just me in the car anymore; I now have Tyler to worry about. That changes everything. It feels good...but kinda scary. The world is a big, bad place!
As I tried, tried and tried some more to find a parking space at the mall, I remembered that we're getting closer to the holidays, and that the crowds were probably indicative of early Christmas shopping. And then I remembered that I had visited the mall just two weekends later last year and noticed the same thing. Only last year, I was at the mall to buy an urn for Zach, who had been stillborn just three days before. And I looked around at the colorful falling leaves and remembered looking at those same leaves last year as I grieved, and I was unspeakably sad. The happiest day and the saddest day of my life are in the same season. They will be forever linked together. Because of death, there is life.
I love both my sons with all my heart.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Tyler's birth
And now (drum roll please)...the long-awaited birth story.
I was scheduled to be induced early Saturday morning (Oct. 11). My OB had asked me to come into the hospital for an overnight the night before to have my cervix softened. That afternoon, I started having very minor contractions. By the time we were driving to the hospital, I was having them on a semi-regular basis, but they barely hurt. Sure enough, the monitor showed they were 4 to 6 minutes apart, but I still hadn't dilated more than 1.5 cm. It was a miserable night because I had insomnia and the contractions were just annoying enough that I couldn't drop off. I hate insomnia.
At 4 a.m., right after I had started dozing (of course), I was awakened by a mega contraction and a sort of...pounding feeling. It felt like the baby (or SOMETHING) had just pummeled my cervix HARD. After another big contraction, I talked the nurse into doing another cervical check. I hadn't progressed, but while she was checking, my water broke. Um, I guess at least something was happening.
The next two hours were not fun at all. At the time, I would have said they were hell, but my definition of hell changed that afternoon. By 6 a.m., the OB on call was checking my cervix again, and thank heavens I was at 4 cm, so she gave the OK for the epidural. That was wonderful. M and I slept on and off the rest of the morning and early afternoon.
At 2:45 p.m., things started getting...uh, interesting. My OB (who was the on-call doc, thank goodness) wanted me to start pushing. Public service announcement: They turn down your epidural when you start pushing so you can more easily feel the contractions. Translation: It still hurts like hell. My problem was that my baby wasn't making very much progress. Two hours after I started pushing, I was begging for a c-section. It's one thing to go through this incredible pain (I swear, I have never been so tired and frustrated in my life); it's another to go through the pain while knowing it's not doing much good. On top of that, I wasn't making much urine, and the urine I was passing was bloody. (We later learned my bladder was swollen and blocking the baby's way to the birth canal.) My OB finally talked me into pushing a little while longer to see if she could get the baby down far enough to use forceps or suction, but to no avail. After 2 1/2 hours of pushing, she agreed to do a c-section.
The bad part was, I was midway through pushing while they prepped for surgery, and rather than the pain subsiding, it got worse. For about 45 minutes, all I experienced was one long contraction and lots and lots of pressure. It was agony. And of course the anesthesiologist was the last to arrive for the surgery.
The surgery itself progressed smoothly. It wasn't until Tyler had been born (I shooed M away to be with him; Tyler needed his father more than I needed him) and they were trying to get the placenta out that my OB ran into difficulties. I found out later that I had a certain type of placenta that becomes very difficult to remove. So even if I had had a vaginal birth, I may have needed a D&C. During this time, I started feeling pain, so the anesthesiologist was rushing to give me more meds. As a result, I didn't get to see Tyler until we were back in my room, about 2 hours after he was born.
My OB's assessment? A c-section was the right move. She's not sure if I would ever have been able to give birth to Tyler vaginally. My assessment? It really, really sucks experiencing the worst of both worlds, but I'm thankful that I seem to be recovering from surgery remarkably well.
In the next couple of days, I'll post more about what my days are like. Suffice it to say that things are a whole lot better. My milk is in, and (wonder of wonders) I'm actually sleeping.
I was scheduled to be induced early Saturday morning (Oct. 11). My OB had asked me to come into the hospital for an overnight the night before to have my cervix softened. That afternoon, I started having very minor contractions. By the time we were driving to the hospital, I was having them on a semi-regular basis, but they barely hurt. Sure enough, the monitor showed they were 4 to 6 minutes apart, but I still hadn't dilated more than 1.5 cm. It was a miserable night because I had insomnia and the contractions were just annoying enough that I couldn't drop off. I hate insomnia.
At 4 a.m., right after I had started dozing (of course), I was awakened by a mega contraction and a sort of...pounding feeling. It felt like the baby (or SOMETHING) had just pummeled my cervix HARD. After another big contraction, I talked the nurse into doing another cervical check. I hadn't progressed, but while she was checking, my water broke. Um, I guess at least something was happening.
The next two hours were not fun at all. At the time, I would have said they were hell, but my definition of hell changed that afternoon. By 6 a.m., the OB on call was checking my cervix again, and thank heavens I was at 4 cm, so she gave the OK for the epidural. That was wonderful. M and I slept on and off the rest of the morning and early afternoon.
At 2:45 p.m., things started getting...uh, interesting. My OB (who was the on-call doc, thank goodness) wanted me to start pushing. Public service announcement: They turn down your epidural when you start pushing so you can more easily feel the contractions. Translation: It still hurts like hell. My problem was that my baby wasn't making very much progress. Two hours after I started pushing, I was begging for a c-section. It's one thing to go through this incredible pain (I swear, I have never been so tired and frustrated in my life); it's another to go through the pain while knowing it's not doing much good. On top of that, I wasn't making much urine, and the urine I was passing was bloody. (We later learned my bladder was swollen and blocking the baby's way to the birth canal.) My OB finally talked me into pushing a little while longer to see if she could get the baby down far enough to use forceps or suction, but to no avail. After 2 1/2 hours of pushing, she agreed to do a c-section.
The bad part was, I was midway through pushing while they prepped for surgery, and rather than the pain subsiding, it got worse. For about 45 minutes, all I experienced was one long contraction and lots and lots of pressure. It was agony. And of course the anesthesiologist was the last to arrive for the surgery.
The surgery itself progressed smoothly. It wasn't until Tyler had been born (I shooed M away to be with him; Tyler needed his father more than I needed him) and they were trying to get the placenta out that my OB ran into difficulties. I found out later that I had a certain type of placenta that becomes very difficult to remove. So even if I had had a vaginal birth, I may have needed a D&C. During this time, I started feeling pain, so the anesthesiologist was rushing to give me more meds. As a result, I didn't get to see Tyler until we were back in my room, about 2 hours after he was born.
My OB's assessment? A c-section was the right move. She's not sure if I would ever have been able to give birth to Tyler vaginally. My assessment? It really, really sucks experiencing the worst of both worlds, but I'm thankful that I seem to be recovering from surgery remarkably well.
In the next couple of days, I'll post more about what my days are like. Suffice it to say that things are a whole lot better. My milk is in, and (wonder of wonders) I'm actually sleeping.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Head above water - barely
Like many of you new moms out there, I intend on writing a birth story (trust me, it's a good one). However, I simply can't formulate my thoughts coherently enough to write it. So instead, you get a completely unorganized list of thoughts I'm having/scenes from my new life/my ever-growing list of worries.
1. I have a newborn baby in my house who is completely dependent on me. Holy. Cow. There's no turning back now. Not that I'd want to, but still...
2. I paced around the house holding a screaming baby last night, tears streaming down my face. Not because I was happy, but because I had no idea how to calm him (yes, I've read all the right books, but none of the methods, including Mr. Karp's, were working), and I was so very, very tired.
3. When Tyler is coming into my breast for a feed, he shakes his head back and forth and looks for all the world like a little mouse.
4. It's been six days since he was born, and I'm still waiting for my milk to come in (all I have is the transitional stuff so far). Ever the optimist, I'm convinced my milk will never come in.
5. We saw the ped yesterday. While he's not concerned with Tyler's huge loss of weight (15 oz in five days), he wants to see him again on Monday, and if he's still losing weight, we're going to have to start supplementing with formula. Yet another way in which my body doesn't seem to be working as it should.
6. I have godawful nipple pain whenever Tyler nurses. Ok, it's not godawful, but it isn't the most fun thing in the world. It necessitate the use of a nipple shield.
7. I have an incredibly beautiful baby. I can't seem to find any of his features that actually look like me, but I suppose that's fine. The nurses at the hospital said he's too pretty to be a boy (on account of his long eyelashes).
8. I have constipation (because of the pain meds) for the first time in a year. It sucks.
9. On the other hand, I feel (and M feels, as a veteran of two hernia surgeries) that I am recovering remarkably well from my c-section. I could definitely see doing this again (once you hear my birth story, you'll understand why I probably won't be a proponent of a VBAC).
10. Yes, parenting is lots and lots of hard work. However, he's just so darned cute!
11. I have the best OB in the world.
1. I have a newborn baby in my house who is completely dependent on me. Holy. Cow. There's no turning back now. Not that I'd want to, but still...
2. I paced around the house holding a screaming baby last night, tears streaming down my face. Not because I was happy, but because I had no idea how to calm him (yes, I've read all the right books, but none of the methods, including Mr. Karp's, were working), and I was so very, very tired.
3. When Tyler is coming into my breast for a feed, he shakes his head back and forth and looks for all the world like a little mouse.
4. It's been six days since he was born, and I'm still waiting for my milk to come in (all I have is the transitional stuff so far). Ever the optimist, I'm convinced my milk will never come in.
5. We saw the ped yesterday. While he's not concerned with Tyler's huge loss of weight (15 oz in five days), he wants to see him again on Monday, and if he's still losing weight, we're going to have to start supplementing with formula. Yet another way in which my body doesn't seem to be working as it should.
6. I have godawful nipple pain whenever Tyler nurses. Ok, it's not godawful, but it isn't the most fun thing in the world. It necessitate the use of a nipple shield.
7. I have an incredibly beautiful baby. I can't seem to find any of his features that actually look like me, but I suppose that's fine. The nurses at the hospital said he's too pretty to be a boy (on account of his long eyelashes).
8. I have constipation (because of the pain meds) for the first time in a year. It sucks.
9. On the other hand, I feel (and M feels, as a veteran of two hernia surgeries) that I am recovering remarkably well from my c-section. I could definitely see doing this again (once you hear my birth story, you'll understand why I probably won't be a proponent of a VBAC).
10. Yes, parenting is lots and lots of hard work. However, he's just so darned cute!
11. I have the best OB in the world.
Monday, October 13, 2008
M filling in with good news.
Hi all,
I'm filling in for Ann today, as she is a bit laid up. Ann promises to give the full scoop in a few days in her much more interesting style, so bear with my fumbling...
As scheduled, we packed up for the hospital on Friday to check in for cervidel (sp?) to soften the cervix prior to being induced Saturday morning. However, she actually started early labor contractions Friday afternoon. They progressed, along with the cervidel, to active labor early Saturday morning. We added pitocin in the morning and started pushing around 2:30 Saturday afternoon. Two and a half hours into pushing, Ann and the OB agreed labor was stalled and we went for a cesarian section.
Our prayers were answered at 6:19 pm when our son, Tyler, was born. The big guy is 22-1/2 inches tall and 9 lb, 4 oz. He has a full head of hair, complete with long eyelashes and full eyebrows.
Ann is healing and is, of course, sore and tired. She is pushing herself to get back to health as quickly as possible. While she is looking forward to getting home,
it's nice to have all these wonderful people waiting an us.
As long as I've got creative control for the moment, I want to thank all of you for your support and the community you forged here in the blogosphere. It has been wonderful to share in each others' challenges and triumphs. This world truly benefits from close knit groups like this. That's all from M for now.
-Cheers!
I'm filling in for Ann today, as she is a bit laid up. Ann promises to give the full scoop in a few days in her much more interesting style, so bear with my fumbling...
As scheduled, we packed up for the hospital on Friday to check in for cervidel (sp?) to soften the cervix prior to being induced Saturday morning. However, she actually started early labor contractions Friday afternoon. They progressed, along with the cervidel, to active labor early Saturday morning. We added pitocin in the morning and started pushing around 2:30 Saturday afternoon. Two and a half hours into pushing, Ann and the OB agreed labor was stalled and we went for a cesarian section.
Our prayers were answered at 6:19 pm when our son, Tyler, was born. The big guy is 22-1/2 inches tall and 9 lb, 4 oz. He has a full head of hair, complete with long eyelashes and full eyebrows.
Ann is healing and is, of course, sore and tired. She is pushing herself to get back to health as quickly as possible. While she is looking forward to getting home,
it's nice to have all these wonderful people waiting an us.
As long as I've got creative control for the moment, I want to thank all of you for your support and the community you forged here in the blogosphere. It has been wonderful to share in each others' challenges and triumphs. This world truly benefits from close knit groups like this. That's all from M for now.
-Cheers!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Place holder - 40w6d
This is really just a post to let you guys know that I'm still around. I have nothing new or insightful to say. While I have been adamantly opposed to induction for quite a while (excepting, of course, for medical reasons), I have to admit that I take comfort in knowing that in 48 hours, I'll be in the hospital with a ripening cervix. I kept on quizzing my doctor about the medical necessity of this induction because I wanted to convince myself that I wasn't just doing it so I could get this baby out of me. Because of no-Sunday-induction rules at my hospital, I would either be induced at 41w2d or 41w4d. So I wouldn't call this frivolous.
We're not telling our family we're going to be induced this weekend. We just want to experience labor on our own, without feeling the need to update all the time.
At least I'm not in the office this week. Thank God.
We're not telling our family we're going to be induced this weekend. We just want to experience labor on our own, without feeling the need to update all the time.
At least I'm not in the office this week. Thank God.
Monday, October 6, 2008
40w4d
I had my NST and fluid check today. The good news is that the baby appears to be completely healthy. The disappointing news is that I'm not any more dilated than I was two weeks ago. My OB has officially scheduled an induction for Saturday morning. I am to be admitted to the hospital on Friday night so they can start softening my cervix. Of course, she warned me that induction doesn't always work, so it's not a guarantee I'll have the baby this weekend.
I'm pretty darned sure I won't be going into labor before the induction. I have to admit that a small part of me is saying, "Great--just another natural thing that most women can do that my body just hasn't gotten the hang of."
Since Friday was my last day at work, I've spent most of the last few days lying around. It's weird--most people would welcome the chance to get more things done around the house. But I don't have anything left to do! Sure, I could always clean, but that's pretty physically exhausting for me at this point. Everything else, like starting the baby book, ordering copies of maternity photos, doing more laundry, etc., is all stuff I swore I wouldn't do until after I had a live baby in my arms. So I continue in limbo.
In the meantime, a few select friends and family members keep on calling to check "how things are." I wonder if it's just because they're secretly afraid we won't tell them when something DOES happen. As in, "Oh, sorry Mom, we had the baby two weeks ago. Didn't we tell you? Oops."
I really am doing fine; at least I'm catching up on my "Buffy" watching! And I'm thankful that all involved are healthy. Apparently, our baby is just way too comfortable in my ute!
I'm pretty darned sure I won't be going into labor before the induction. I have to admit that a small part of me is saying, "Great--just another natural thing that most women can do that my body just hasn't gotten the hang of."
Since Friday was my last day at work, I've spent most of the last few days lying around. It's weird--most people would welcome the chance to get more things done around the house. But I don't have anything left to do! Sure, I could always clean, but that's pretty physically exhausting for me at this point. Everything else, like starting the baby book, ordering copies of maternity photos, doing more laundry, etc., is all stuff I swore I wouldn't do until after I had a live baby in my arms. So I continue in limbo.
In the meantime, a few select friends and family members keep on calling to check "how things are." I wonder if it's just because they're secretly afraid we won't tell them when something DOES happen. As in, "Oh, sorry Mom, we had the baby two weeks ago. Didn't we tell you? Oops."
I really am doing fine; at least I'm catching up on my "Buffy" watching! And I'm thankful that all involved are healthy. Apparently, our baby is just way too comfortable in my ute!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
40 weeks
I had a meltdown last night.
It was about midnight and I had tried changing locations in the house in an effort to sleep through at least some of the night, but it wasn’t working. Finally, I stomped back to our bedroom, woke M and proceeded to give him a tearful rendition of how frustrated, tired, annoyed, impatient, etc. I was, and how I had no idea how I was going to feel better. Poor guy, he was sort of taken aback and tried his best to comfort me (he even offered to play cards with me to take my mind off my insomnia), but of course he couldn’t actually do anything.
The funny part? My due date is today. I’m not even technically “overdue” yet (yes, I know that you’re not actually overdue until after 42 weeks, but try telling that to society).
I think my problem is that I get way too bothered by other people. Basically, for the past three weeks, people keep on saying “You’re still around?” to me whenever they see me. So, that has set an expectation in my mind that I might go into labor at any second. It has become almost a get-out-of-jail-free card for me. As in, “Boy, I really don’t want to be at that meeting tomorrow. Hey, maybe I’ll go into labor and I won’t have to go!” It hasn’t helped that I’m thoroughly sick of work.
In the meantime, there’s this cloud of guilt that follows me wherever I go. It’s said that whenever you start feeling sorry for yourself, you should just think about the misfortune of others and you’ll be able to put things in perspective. I don’t have to look very far; I just think of myself 11 months ago and how utterly terrible my situation was. The Ann of November 2007 would have looked at the Ann of October 2008 with disgust, thinking that she had absolutely no appreciation for the gift she has been given.
Then, there are the women in my office: my co-worker, who doesn’t shy away from telling the story of how she struggled with infertility and lost; and my boss, who never tells her story, but whose answer to the question “Do you have kids?” is, “We were never blessed with children.” That same boss reminded me today that I should be thankful that I’m healthy and everything appears to be OK. And I am. Immensely. I feel terrible even talking about being impatient, because my goodness, if a long pregnancy is the worst of my problems, I’m doing pretty darned well.
But hormones aren’t logical.
Once I’m done working on Friday, I want to hole myself up at home and not talk to any friends and family. Last night, I even toyed with the idea of not answering my family birthday calls because I don’t want to deal with my mother or M’s mother.
When was the last time I felt this strong of a need to shield myself from the world? It was January 2008, when I was still in the throes of grief.
Ironic, isn’t it?
I know exactly what I need to do: Focus on others, take my mind off myself and my pregnancy and just smile and nod when others exclaim over the fact that I’m still around. But it’s easier said than done.
It was about midnight and I had tried changing locations in the house in an effort to sleep through at least some of the night, but it wasn’t working. Finally, I stomped back to our bedroom, woke M and proceeded to give him a tearful rendition of how frustrated, tired, annoyed, impatient, etc. I was, and how I had no idea how I was going to feel better. Poor guy, he was sort of taken aback and tried his best to comfort me (he even offered to play cards with me to take my mind off my insomnia), but of course he couldn’t actually do anything.
The funny part? My due date is today. I’m not even technically “overdue” yet (yes, I know that you’re not actually overdue until after 42 weeks, but try telling that to society).
I think my problem is that I get way too bothered by other people. Basically, for the past three weeks, people keep on saying “You’re still around?” to me whenever they see me. So, that has set an expectation in my mind that I might go into labor at any second. It has become almost a get-out-of-jail-free card for me. As in, “Boy, I really don’t want to be at that meeting tomorrow. Hey, maybe I’ll go into labor and I won’t have to go!” It hasn’t helped that I’m thoroughly sick of work.
In the meantime, there’s this cloud of guilt that follows me wherever I go. It’s said that whenever you start feeling sorry for yourself, you should just think about the misfortune of others and you’ll be able to put things in perspective. I don’t have to look very far; I just think of myself 11 months ago and how utterly terrible my situation was. The Ann of November 2007 would have looked at the Ann of October 2008 with disgust, thinking that she had absolutely no appreciation for the gift she has been given.
Then, there are the women in my office: my co-worker, who doesn’t shy away from telling the story of how she struggled with infertility and lost; and my boss, who never tells her story, but whose answer to the question “Do you have kids?” is, “We were never blessed with children.” That same boss reminded me today that I should be thankful that I’m healthy and everything appears to be OK. And I am. Immensely. I feel terrible even talking about being impatient, because my goodness, if a long pregnancy is the worst of my problems, I’m doing pretty darned well.
But hormones aren’t logical.
Once I’m done working on Friday, I want to hole myself up at home and not talk to any friends and family. Last night, I even toyed with the idea of not answering my family birthday calls because I don’t want to deal with my mother or M’s mother.
When was the last time I felt this strong of a need to shield myself from the world? It was January 2008, when I was still in the throes of grief.
Ironic, isn’t it?
I know exactly what I need to do: Focus on others, take my mind off myself and my pregnancy and just smile and nod when others exclaim over the fact that I’m still around. But it’s easier said than done.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
39w6d
Tomorrow is my due date. My doctor happens to be on call tomorrow. Boy, it sure would be a nice day to go into labor.
At my most recent OB appointment, I was still only 1.5 cm dilated, but now 70 percent effaced. My lactation consultant friend seems to think my first sign of labor will be my water breaking because my cervix is so soft but not dilated very much. It would be nice if that happened before the end of this week.
In the meantime, I have decided that Friday will be my last day at work. If I haven’t gone into labor by Monday, I will just take vacation time. In the meantime, the next three days are going to be excruciatingly boring. I planned so well, I literally have nothing to do! I’ve been living the past two weeks as though each day was my last, so I’ve been trying to complete projects, make phone calls, etc. No good deed goes unpunished, eh? And now my replacement is sitting with nothing to do, either. Oh well—there are certainly worse things in life than sitting in front of a computer surfing the Internet.
If I haven’t gone into labor by Oct. 11 (nine days after my due date), my doctor will induce me. However, I hope it doesn’t get to that point. On October 26, my close friend is having a baby shower two hours away. I really, really want to go, but if it’s just two weeks after I give birth—especially if it’s a difficult delivery—it will be kind of hard. Then, on Nov. 2, my niece is getting baptized—also two hours away. I’d like to have this baby soon so I can have some recovery time before life gets going again!
At my most recent OB appointment, I was still only 1.5 cm dilated, but now 70 percent effaced. My lactation consultant friend seems to think my first sign of labor will be my water breaking because my cervix is so soft but not dilated very much. It would be nice if that happened before the end of this week.
In the meantime, I have decided that Friday will be my last day at work. If I haven’t gone into labor by Monday, I will just take vacation time. In the meantime, the next three days are going to be excruciatingly boring. I planned so well, I literally have nothing to do! I’ve been living the past two weeks as though each day was my last, so I’ve been trying to complete projects, make phone calls, etc. No good deed goes unpunished, eh? And now my replacement is sitting with nothing to do, either. Oh well—there are certainly worse things in life than sitting in front of a computer surfing the Internet.
If I haven’t gone into labor by Oct. 11 (nine days after my due date), my doctor will induce me. However, I hope it doesn’t get to that point. On October 26, my close friend is having a baby shower two hours away. I really, really want to go, but if it’s just two weeks after I give birth—especially if it’s a difficult delivery—it will be kind of hard. Then, on Nov. 2, my niece is getting baptized—also two hours away. I’d like to have this baby soon so I can have some recovery time before life gets going again!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Totally unreasonable
I am shocked to find that I still resent pregnancy announcements. Within the past 24 hours, I have learned that M's friend's wife is about 17 weeks along, and my co-worker is 5 weeks along. Neither of them had any trouble whatsoever conceiving.
No matter how unreasonable it is, I find myself resenting people for whom conception is a piece of cake. It's like I feel they don't really "deserve" the pregnancy--even though I know that's all relative. If each one of us experienced the pain and suffering that everyone else did on all issues, we'd all be absolutely miserable! Everyone has their own issues to deal with, and ours happened to be conception/baby loss/etc. Still, I can't help but grit my teeth.
In the meantime, my friend who is 21 weeks pregnant after 2 1/2 years of secondary infertility and IVF just found out she has placenta previa. The placenta is completely covering the cervix. Yet, her doc is not referring her to a peri, and doesn't plan on doing another ultrasound until late in the 3rd trimester. Is this normal? Or should she seek a second opinion? The doc merely told her to page her at any sign of bleeding.
No matter how unreasonable it is, I find myself resenting people for whom conception is a piece of cake. It's like I feel they don't really "deserve" the pregnancy--even though I know that's all relative. If each one of us experienced the pain and suffering that everyone else did on all issues, we'd all be absolutely miserable! Everyone has their own issues to deal with, and ours happened to be conception/baby loss/etc. Still, I can't help but grit my teeth.
In the meantime, my friend who is 21 weeks pregnant after 2 1/2 years of secondary infertility and IVF just found out she has placenta previa. The placenta is completely covering the cervix. Yet, her doc is not referring her to a peri, and doesn't plan on doing another ultrasound until late in the 3rd trimester. Is this normal? Or should she seek a second opinion? The doc merely told her to page her at any sign of bleeding.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Miss Zero Personality
Happily, my biggest concern of the moment is that I am sick to death of work.
Specifically, I am not thrilled about my maternity replacement. She started late last week and I have been spending most of my time either explaining my job duties to her or letting her watch me as I put out fires, work on projects, etc.
Other people in my office think she is only going to be around for three months. I, however, know I won’t be coming back, and I also am pretty sure my boss suspects this. It is my opinion that if she (we’ll call her Flo) works out, she will become my permanent replacement (because I don’t plan on returning to work for more than a couple of weeks).
Here’s my problem with Flo: She’s, well...dull. For the past week, I have been struggling with my feelings because I wonder if I’m not giving her enough of a chance. I try to remember what it’s like to be learning a new job and soaking in all this information. Except that even when someone is clueless, you can tell if they have a certain “spark.” Do you know what I mean? A person who works in public relations should have some spunk to them. In my job, I have to advise people as to the proper ways to publicize information; I talk them down off a ledge when they’re upset about a negative news article; I call them out when they’re trying to pawn off too much work on me and my department. Flo doesn’t seem to have much of a personality. She’s not assertive (and yes, you can be assertive even when you’re learning a new job). Sometimes she has this strange expression on her face. Perhaps a lot of her problem is that she doesn’t know how to present herself effectively. She reminds me of some of the mediocre journalists I used to know (her background is print journalism, as is mine, although I think she’s only about 25) who would work fine where they are, but would never really accomplish anything great.
Perhaps this post sounds mean. Perhaps it is. But all I know is that I’m being forced to spend my days with Miss Zero Personality. Oh, she’ll do fine as a workhorse. She seems to have an attention to detail, and she has the raw skills my boss needs to fill my position. But I don’t know if she’s going to contribute anything to the office. It’ll be interesting to see if my boss decides to keep her around once I give my notice.
Flo works Tuesday through Thursday. I am fervently hoping that I go into labor before next Tuesday, but I’m not holding my breath. Quick update: I’m about 1.5 cm dilated, still about 50% effaced, and no significant contractions to speak of. I continue to be in limbo at 39 weeks. My OB would probably induce at 41 ½ weeks. It would suck if I had to wait that long...but, of course, suckage is all relative. At least everyone involved is still healthy. I’m just whiny.
Specifically, I am not thrilled about my maternity replacement. She started late last week and I have been spending most of my time either explaining my job duties to her or letting her watch me as I put out fires, work on projects, etc.
Other people in my office think she is only going to be around for three months. I, however, know I won’t be coming back, and I also am pretty sure my boss suspects this. It is my opinion that if she (we’ll call her Flo) works out, she will become my permanent replacement (because I don’t plan on returning to work for more than a couple of weeks).
Here’s my problem with Flo: She’s, well...dull. For the past week, I have been struggling with my feelings because I wonder if I’m not giving her enough of a chance. I try to remember what it’s like to be learning a new job and soaking in all this information. Except that even when someone is clueless, you can tell if they have a certain “spark.” Do you know what I mean? A person who works in public relations should have some spunk to them. In my job, I have to advise people as to the proper ways to publicize information; I talk them down off a ledge when they’re upset about a negative news article; I call them out when they’re trying to pawn off too much work on me and my department. Flo doesn’t seem to have much of a personality. She’s not assertive (and yes, you can be assertive even when you’re learning a new job). Sometimes she has this strange expression on her face. Perhaps a lot of her problem is that she doesn’t know how to present herself effectively. She reminds me of some of the mediocre journalists I used to know (her background is print journalism, as is mine, although I think she’s only about 25) who would work fine where they are, but would never really accomplish anything great.
Perhaps this post sounds mean. Perhaps it is. But all I know is that I’m being forced to spend my days with Miss Zero Personality. Oh, she’ll do fine as a workhorse. She seems to have an attention to detail, and she has the raw skills my boss needs to fill my position. But I don’t know if she’s going to contribute anything to the office. It’ll be interesting to see if my boss decides to keep her around once I give my notice.
Flo works Tuesday through Thursday. I am fervently hoping that I go into labor before next Tuesday, but I’m not holding my breath. Quick update: I’m about 1.5 cm dilated, still about 50% effaced, and no significant contractions to speak of. I continue to be in limbo at 39 weeks. My OB would probably induce at 41 ½ weeks. It would suck if I had to wait that long...but, of course, suckage is all relative. At least everyone involved is still healthy. I’m just whiny.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Still here
Wow. Within a half hour, I had two separate requests for an update and realized that being away for this long is bound to spark imaginations.
So let me answer the basic questions: Yes, I am still pregnant. No, I am not having contractions. As of yesterday, I was 1 cm dilated and 50 percent effaced. My OB estimates the baby is about 7 1/2 pounds.
And, oh yeah, I’m a mess.
Now wait, before you go all panicky on me, let me preface this post by saying that there is nothing wrong with me or the baby (that I know of), and that life is basically status quo.
Except for my hormones. And my back spasms. And my pregnancy-induced carpel tunnel syndrome. And the fact that I burst into tears this morning at work, and, in fact, feel like crying just thinking about how I burst into tears.
I am a planner. So yes, waiting around to go into labor is rough. However, at least I can plan for the unplannable. I am ready to have to go to the hospital at a moment’s notice—or a few hours’ notice, more likely. Does that make sense?
This morning, however, my boss walked into my office and said that my hospital has a disaster drill planned for 5:15 p.m. tomorrow. They need a Public Information Officer to participate, and she’s not available. Could I do it?
I normally work 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Starting last week Wednesday, I conduct a children’s handbell choir at 6 p.m. on Wednesdays. I’ve been trying to get in as much time with them as possible before I go on “maternity leave” (which will probably amount to a few weeks with a different conductor).
So my boss brought in the other PR person to ask if at least one of us could do it. Technically, this is my job. But the idea of an unplanned late night at work and the prospect of having to find a replacement conductor at the last minute was enough to push me to almost-tears. My co-worker said she would do it (even though it’s an inconvenience for her, too), and I’m still feeling guilty about it. Hell, I’m crying even thinking about it.
Overreact much?
I am literally limping around the office because my lower back hurts so much. At home, I can’t do much more than lay around. While M is being wonderful about all of this, I hate having to ask him to do things that I would normally do. Under ordinary circumstances, we have a pretty darned good division of household tasks. But our house is filthy. So I had to ask him last night if he would be able to clean the house this weekend.
While I sit on my butt watching TV.
Honestly, I know I will only be 38 weeks on Thursday, but I am SOOO ready to have this baby.
So let me answer the basic questions: Yes, I am still pregnant. No, I am not having contractions. As of yesterday, I was 1 cm dilated and 50 percent effaced. My OB estimates the baby is about 7 1/2 pounds.
And, oh yeah, I’m a mess.
Now wait, before you go all panicky on me, let me preface this post by saying that there is nothing wrong with me or the baby (that I know of), and that life is basically status quo.
Except for my hormones. And my back spasms. And my pregnancy-induced carpel tunnel syndrome. And the fact that I burst into tears this morning at work, and, in fact, feel like crying just thinking about how I burst into tears.
I am a planner. So yes, waiting around to go into labor is rough. However, at least I can plan for the unplannable. I am ready to have to go to the hospital at a moment’s notice—or a few hours’ notice, more likely. Does that make sense?
This morning, however, my boss walked into my office and said that my hospital has a disaster drill planned for 5:15 p.m. tomorrow. They need a Public Information Officer to participate, and she’s not available. Could I do it?
I normally work 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Starting last week Wednesday, I conduct a children’s handbell choir at 6 p.m. on Wednesdays. I’ve been trying to get in as much time with them as possible before I go on “maternity leave” (which will probably amount to a few weeks with a different conductor).
So my boss brought in the other PR person to ask if at least one of us could do it. Technically, this is my job. But the idea of an unplanned late night at work and the prospect of having to find a replacement conductor at the last minute was enough to push me to almost-tears. My co-worker said she would do it (even though it’s an inconvenience for her, too), and I’m still feeling guilty about it. Hell, I’m crying even thinking about it.
Overreact much?
I am literally limping around the office because my lower back hurts so much. At home, I can’t do much more than lay around. While M is being wonderful about all of this, I hate having to ask him to do things that I would normally do. Under ordinary circumstances, we have a pretty darned good division of household tasks. But our house is filthy. So I had to ask him last night if he would be able to clean the house this weekend.
While I sit on my butt watching TV.
Honestly, I know I will only be 38 weeks on Thursday, but I am SOOO ready to have this baby.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Loss of innocence
The inquiries have started in earnest now: “Are you nervous and scared about labor and delivery? Do you know what you’re going to do about pain meds? Take the epidural! Is M ready to be a dad? Have you washed all the baby clothes yet?”
The funny part is, most of these people know part or all of Zach’s story. They’ve just sort of forgotten what we went through 10 months ago. And the answers to those questions?
“Well, I’m a little nervous, but I’ve sort of been through this before—albeit with a 14-ounce baby, not with a 7- or 8-pound baby. To tell you the truth, I’ll take physical pain over emotional pain any day.”
“Yes, I will be getting an epidural at some point in the labor; remember, I already had an epidural so I know what it’s like.”
“M already is a dad.”
No, I have washed nothing. I haven’t even unwrapped most of the baby stuff we’ve gotten. Some part of me is terrified our child will die and I’ll have to figure out what to do with all this stuff.
You know what’s weird? Sometimes, these days, the more excited people get, the more annoyed I get. At our last shower over the weekend, people kept on saying, “The next time I see you, you’ll have the baby!” And I feel the need, often, to reply, “Well, let’s just hope that everything goes OK.” I’ve lost my ability to assume the best.
I think the question that annoys me the most is, “Are you ready?” We’ve been ready for 2 ½ years.
Yes, I know I’m being picky. Or maybe I’m just hormonal. But for God’s sake, stop treating me like someone who’s naïve!
The funny part is, most of these people know part or all of Zach’s story. They’ve just sort of forgotten what we went through 10 months ago. And the answers to those questions?
“Well, I’m a little nervous, but I’ve sort of been through this before—albeit with a 14-ounce baby, not with a 7- or 8-pound baby. To tell you the truth, I’ll take physical pain over emotional pain any day.”
“Yes, I will be getting an epidural at some point in the labor; remember, I already had an epidural so I know what it’s like.”
“M already is a dad.”
No, I have washed nothing. I haven’t even unwrapped most of the baby stuff we’ve gotten. Some part of me is terrified our child will die and I’ll have to figure out what to do with all this stuff.
You know what’s weird? Sometimes, these days, the more excited people get, the more annoyed I get. At our last shower over the weekend, people kept on saying, “The next time I see you, you’ll have the baby!” And I feel the need, often, to reply, “Well, let’s just hope that everything goes OK.” I’ve lost my ability to assume the best.
I think the question that annoys me the most is, “Are you ready?” We’ve been ready for 2 ½ years.
Yes, I know I’m being picky. Or maybe I’m just hormonal. But for God’s sake, stop treating me like someone who’s naïve!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Me--an optimist?
I have officially crossed over to the other side.
Buh-bye, paranoia. Well...buh-bye, at least, to the most extreme kind of paranoia. A couple of days ago, I had to pull my car over on my way to work because of extreme dizziness and shortness of breath. I eventually made it to work, but after I got there I realized I wasn’t going to be able to function unless I laid down. A co-worker wheeled me down to Occupational Health (remember, I work in a hospital), but rather than just let me lie down, the bastards there sold me out and made me see my OB across the street.
Just as I suspected, all my vitals were fine; outwardly, nothing was wrong. My OB told me she suspected I was just experiencing positional shortness of breath. But because she, like the nurses in Occ Health, wanted to cover her ass, she told me that in the Worst Case Scenario, I had a blood clot in my lungs, and only a CAT scan would be able to tell for sure.
Would you believe that I declined?
I truly believe in my gut that I am just experiencing normal pregnancy symptoms. But I must say that I now understand why some people say the last month can suck. I am torn between my need to get work and life all tidily sewn up before my (hopefully) impending delivery, and my need to just lie on my butt and do nothing.
Why Ann (you might say), why don’t you just do nothing? You deserve it!
Well, see, it’s not that simple. I’m supposed to be working right up until I deliver unless I get a doctor’s note. And even if I were to procure one of those, it would mean my 12 weeks would start way early, which messes up a lot of plans. So for now, I’m still working 40 hours a week.
Plus, our favorite pastor at church – the one who was our greatest supporter when Zach died – is leaving for another church. She’s in charge of youth group, and since M and I regularly help out, we’re the most obvious choice to pick up the slack. Except, of course, for the fact that we’re having a baby. So we’re trying to make lots of preparations now so we can relax for a month after the baby comes. And we’re trying to organize the kids to make a goodbye collage for the pastor.
Whew. No wonder I burst into tears last night after driving 20 minutes through heavy construction to see the optometrist, getting my shoe caught on the door and ruining it, spending 15 minutes filling out stupid forms, then finding out my insurance doesn’t cover an exam until October 1. Um.
And yet.
As I drove home from the optometrist, muttering angrily to myself, I saw a F.lig.ht for L.ife helicopter cruising over me. And I thought about the hospital to which it was likely carrying a critically ill patient—the same hospital where I delivered Zach. And I considered how all my aches and pains and frustrations and exhaustion were absolutely nothing compared to the emotional devastation I experience 10 months ago.
And I felt blessed.
P.S. Thank you all for sending along your e-mails. I have had room for all on my list! I'll probably be going invite-only in about a week; watch for updates. (And e-mail me if I totally screw this up!)
Buh-bye, paranoia. Well...buh-bye, at least, to the most extreme kind of paranoia. A couple of days ago, I had to pull my car over on my way to work because of extreme dizziness and shortness of breath. I eventually made it to work, but after I got there I realized I wasn’t going to be able to function unless I laid down. A co-worker wheeled me down to Occupational Health (remember, I work in a hospital), but rather than just let me lie down, the bastards there sold me out and made me see my OB across the street.
Just as I suspected, all my vitals were fine; outwardly, nothing was wrong. My OB told me she suspected I was just experiencing positional shortness of breath. But because she, like the nurses in Occ Health, wanted to cover her ass, she told me that in the Worst Case Scenario, I had a blood clot in my lungs, and only a CAT scan would be able to tell for sure.
Would you believe that I declined?
I truly believe in my gut that I am just experiencing normal pregnancy symptoms. But I must say that I now understand why some people say the last month can suck. I am torn between my need to get work and life all tidily sewn up before my (hopefully) impending delivery, and my need to just lie on my butt and do nothing.
Why Ann (you might say), why don’t you just do nothing? You deserve it!
Well, see, it’s not that simple. I’m supposed to be working right up until I deliver unless I get a doctor’s note. And even if I were to procure one of those, it would mean my 12 weeks would start way early, which messes up a lot of plans. So for now, I’m still working 40 hours a week.
Plus, our favorite pastor at church – the one who was our greatest supporter when Zach died – is leaving for another church. She’s in charge of youth group, and since M and I regularly help out, we’re the most obvious choice to pick up the slack. Except, of course, for the fact that we’re having a baby. So we’re trying to make lots of preparations now so we can relax for a month after the baby comes. And we’re trying to organize the kids to make a goodbye collage for the pastor.
Whew. No wonder I burst into tears last night after driving 20 minutes through heavy construction to see the optometrist, getting my shoe caught on the door and ruining it, spending 15 minutes filling out stupid forms, then finding out my insurance doesn’t cover an exam until October 1. Um.
And yet.
As I drove home from the optometrist, muttering angrily to myself, I saw a F.lig.ht for L.ife helicopter cruising over me. And I thought about the hospital to which it was likely carrying a critically ill patient—the same hospital where I delivered Zach. And I considered how all my aches and pains and frustrations and exhaustion were absolutely nothing compared to the emotional devastation I experience 10 months ago.
And I felt blessed.
P.S. Thank you all for sending along your e-mails. I have had room for all on my list! I'll probably be going invite-only in about a week; watch for updates. (And e-mail me if I totally screw this up!)
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Humbled
Wow. There’s nothing like announcing that you’re going invite-only to bring out the masses.
Well. Relatively speaking. It’s not like I’ve had 300 people asking for an invite—which is a good thing, because apparently Blogger limits me to 100! But I have to admit it’s been an ego boost to hear from all of you—especially you lurkers. Honestly, I feel like I’m in an episode of “This is Your Life.” Or maybe an observer at my own funeral. (Too morbid?) I am so completely touched by some of the e-mails you have sent me, and I’m humbled that you want to follow along on my journey.
I’m sad, too, because by going invite-only, I’m inevitably turning this blog into a different animal. I love the fact that a heartbroken mom/mom-to-be/wanna-be-mom-to-be/wanted-to-be-mom-to-be who has a story somewhat similar to mine can find me on this newfangled thing we call the Web. For that same reason, however (and many others) I have to protect my privacy. My greatest source of support could become my nightmare if I’m not careful. I prefer that this blog continue to be read by virtual strangers (that’s you guys!) rather than risk someone I know stumbling across it.
Now down to business: Everyone who asked for an invite has been added to my list. A few of you, however (specifically, I’m talking to Geohde, Dorian&Amp and Nurse Lochia) said I could find your e-mail in your profile. Um, it’s not there. Geohde, I know we’ve e-mailed before but for the life of me I can’t find your address! So could you just drop me an e-mail so I can add you to the hordes? (Ha!)
In pregnancy-related news, my friend A hosted the shower for me a week ago, and it was lovely. All my worries were for naught; the perfect number of people came to the shower. I continue to be overwhelmed by the support of friends.
Sleep, however, continues to elude. Oh, I get a fair amount—but I’m constantly waking up, shifting, settling down uncomfortably and repeating the same cycle about an hour later.
I must admit, too, that I’m starting to get my first round of the freak-outs. As in, “Holy crap, in about six weeks I’m actually going to be responsible for the well-being of another person!
M and I are also getting our butts in gear and finally ordering a monument for Zach’s grave. Between the opening and closing of the grave and the monument, they seriously do rob you blind. Sigh. But we can’t not put the marker there, because how would we even remember where he’s buried? Such is the problem with stillbirth that you never would even think about. If Zach had been born alive, we could’ve gotten life insurance for him and not had to pay for everything out of pocket.
Well. Relatively speaking. It’s not like I’ve had 300 people asking for an invite—which is a good thing, because apparently Blogger limits me to 100! But I have to admit it’s been an ego boost to hear from all of you—especially you lurkers. Honestly, I feel like I’m in an episode of “This is Your Life.” Or maybe an observer at my own funeral. (Too morbid?) I am so completely touched by some of the e-mails you have sent me, and I’m humbled that you want to follow along on my journey.
I’m sad, too, because by going invite-only, I’m inevitably turning this blog into a different animal. I love the fact that a heartbroken mom/mom-to-be/wanna-be-mom-to-be/wanted-to-be-mom-to-be who has a story somewhat similar to mine can find me on this newfangled thing we call the Web. For that same reason, however (and many others) I have to protect my privacy. My greatest source of support could become my nightmare if I’m not careful. I prefer that this blog continue to be read by virtual strangers (that’s you guys!) rather than risk someone I know stumbling across it.
Now down to business: Everyone who asked for an invite has been added to my list. A few of you, however (specifically, I’m talking to Geohde, Dorian&Amp and Nurse Lochia) said I could find your e-mail in your profile. Um, it’s not there. Geohde, I know we’ve e-mailed before but for the life of me I can’t find your address! So could you just drop me an e-mail so I can add you to the hordes? (Ha!)
In pregnancy-related news, my friend A hosted the shower for me a week ago, and it was lovely. All my worries were for naught; the perfect number of people came to the shower. I continue to be overwhelmed by the support of friends.
Sleep, however, continues to elude. Oh, I get a fair amount—but I’m constantly waking up, shifting, settling down uncomfortably and repeating the same cycle about an hour later.
I must admit, too, that I’m starting to get my first round of the freak-outs. As in, “Holy crap, in about six weeks I’m actually going to be responsible for the well-being of another person!
M and I are also getting our butts in gear and finally ordering a monument for Zach’s grave. Between the opening and closing of the grave and the monument, they seriously do rob you blind. Sigh. But we can’t not put the marker there, because how would we even remember where he’s buried? Such is the problem with stillbirth that you never would even think about. If Zach had been born alive, we could’ve gotten life insurance for him and not had to pay for everything out of pocket.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Going invite-only--soon
I recently discovered that my company blocks users from clearing their Internet histories. I guess it's sort of the Big Brother thing--if we get accused of viewing naughty pictures online, they want to be able to track it.
That does not bode well for me, however. I can just picture it: My maternity replacement comes into the office, gets bored one day and starts absentmindedly viewing the pages (and many blogs) I have viewed while in the office. Suddenly, she stumbles upon a particularly interesting blog called The Unlucky 20 Percent...and decides to share it with all her new friends in my office.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
So, the only solution is to take a step I had planned on taking anyway: As of about mid-September, I will be going invite-only. It saddens me that I have to restrict my readership, but I simply have to protect my anonymity.
Of course, this isn't sad news for all of you lovely people. All you have to do is send me your e-mail address and I'll add you to the "safe list." (We'll see if I run into any technological disasters along the way.) E-mail me at b ear nest at wi dot rr dot com, and we can rock 'n roll!
I'm only 34 weeks, so I'm not expecting to leave the office just yet. But I need your e-mails in the next three weeks so I can go invite-only early--just in case.
That does not bode well for me, however. I can just picture it: My maternity replacement comes into the office, gets bored one day and starts absentmindedly viewing the pages (and many blogs) I have viewed while in the office. Suddenly, she stumbles upon a particularly interesting blog called The Unlucky 20 Percent...and decides to share it with all her new friends in my office.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
So, the only solution is to take a step I had planned on taking anyway: As of about mid-September, I will be going invite-only. It saddens me that I have to restrict my readership, but I simply have to protect my anonymity.
Of course, this isn't sad news for all of you lovely people. All you have to do is send me your e-mail address and I'll add you to the "safe list." (We'll see if I run into any technological disasters along the way.) E-mail me at b ear nest at wi dot rr dot com, and we can rock 'n roll!
I'm only 34 weeks, so I'm not expecting to leave the office just yet. But I need your e-mails in the next three weeks so I can go invite-only early--just in case.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The complainer
I have a nasty habit of, when someone asks me how I’m feeling, actually telling them.
I don’t subscribe to the “I’m fine” camp when I’m not—not completely. So most people in my office are aware that I have recently had ligament pains that make it very difficult to get up from my chair and walk to the bathroom. When they ask me how I am, I tell them I’m feeling very uncomfortable.
On Friday, I accompanied M to a work conference at a resort for a night and treated myself to a massage and a few hours by the pool. Apparently, it was just what my body needed. Even M said I seemed much more relaxed.
This morning, when my co-worker S asked how I was doing, I told her, truthfully, much better. I then turned it into an extended joke along the lines of, hey, apparently all I need is just to sit on my butt by a pool and my body just magically feels much better. The office wouldn’t mind, then, if I spent the next seven weeks doing just that?
My co-worker C happened to walk up while we were talking. She gave a small smile while I was joking (hey C, you wouldn’t mind if I just took the next seven week to lay by the pool, would you, ha ha?). Then she said, presumably joking, “Hey, you chose to be pregnant, so suck it up!
(I should probably remind you that C is the office queen bee who was never able to have children and has alternately been my biggest nemesis and my biggest comfort through all the crap of the last year. She’s also planning my office shower.)
I think C was sort of joking. But it still stung. Have I really become “that person—“ the one who complains when she has been blessed enough to become pregnant? I have always been conscious of what I talk about and when, but when somebody asks me how I’m feeling, it is very difficult for me to grit my teeth and swallow down any words other than “great!” I’m just too talkative of a person for that.
It is very, very difficult for me to just ignore my pregnancy at work when, everywhere I turn (remember, I work in PR at a hospital so I work with LOTS of different people), someone is asking me about it. Even when I try to joke, I feel like I’m betraying the infertile sisterhood.
I don’t subscribe to the “I’m fine” camp when I’m not—not completely. So most people in my office are aware that I have recently had ligament pains that make it very difficult to get up from my chair and walk to the bathroom. When they ask me how I am, I tell them I’m feeling very uncomfortable.
On Friday, I accompanied M to a work conference at a resort for a night and treated myself to a massage and a few hours by the pool. Apparently, it was just what my body needed. Even M said I seemed much more relaxed.
This morning, when my co-worker S asked how I was doing, I told her, truthfully, much better. I then turned it into an extended joke along the lines of, hey, apparently all I need is just to sit on my butt by a pool and my body just magically feels much better. The office wouldn’t mind, then, if I spent the next seven weeks doing just that?
My co-worker C happened to walk up while we were talking. She gave a small smile while I was joking (hey C, you wouldn’t mind if I just took the next seven week to lay by the pool, would you, ha ha?). Then she said, presumably joking, “Hey, you chose to be pregnant, so suck it up!
(I should probably remind you that C is the office queen bee who was never able to have children and has alternately been my biggest nemesis and my biggest comfort through all the crap of the last year. She’s also planning my office shower.)
I think C was sort of joking. But it still stung. Have I really become “that person—“ the one who complains when she has been blessed enough to become pregnant? I have always been conscious of what I talk about and when, but when somebody asks me how I’m feeling, it is very difficult for me to grit my teeth and swallow down any words other than “great!” I’m just too talkative of a person for that.
It is very, very difficult for me to just ignore my pregnancy at work when, everywhere I turn (remember, I work in PR at a hospital so I work with LOTS of different people), someone is asking me about it. Even when I try to joke, I feel like I’m betraying the infertile sisterhood.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Shower time
I have to ‘fess up to something: I hate throwing parties.
It’s not because so much work goes into planning them, or even because it takes a while to clean up after a party. No, I hate throwing parties because I’m always afraid nobody is going to come.
It’s usually an unfounded fear. But it’s a fear nonetheless.
You’d think this fear would go away when somebody else is throwing me a party. But no—if anything, it gets worse.
My friend A was gracious enough to offer to throw me a shower. It was a very sweet offer, and at first I was too surprised to say anything. But as soon as I got over my shock, my prevalent thought was: Who in the world am I going to invite?
Let me back up a second. I lived in the Chicago area most of my life. Many of my closest friends, both from high school and college, live in that area, as do my parents and B and SIL’s family. I moved up to the Milwaukee area to be with M a little more than three years ago. I’ve managed to make a decent number of friends, but my “friendship base” is spread out over a larger geographic area than other people’s.
We have been overwhelmed by the support we have received in (and before) this pregnancy. There are five showers being thrown for us. Five! I love attending parties, so it’s lots of fun for me. However, we only know so many people!
Shower #1: In Chicago, thrown by my mother and SIL. It was lots of fun and the perfect size. I got to see most of my Chicago friends and was overwhelmed by love.
Shower #2: A’s shower, scheduled for next weekend (15 minutes from our house). Not including my mom, MIL and other SIL (who lives up here in Cheeseland), I could only think of 12 other people to invite. And even that’s pushing it (church people, etc.).
Shower #3: A total shocker—M’s boss and wife wanted to throw us a shower. The company is very small, so there will probably be just four or five couples there, including us. But a total non-stresser for me, so yay!
Shower #4: My work shower, thrown at a co-worker’s house (ironically, a co-worker that I’ve been hot and cold with since I started working here). Also not much of a stresser for me because everybody at the shower knows each other.
Shower #5: Thrown by my MIL and SIL here in WI. Will be mostly family and MIL’s friends. Since the guest list isn’t so much mine as it is MIL’s, I’m not stressing about it.
So why, you ask, am I so stressed out about A’s shower? First of all, every time I see her she sounds so excited about it. Even though she just had a baby at the beginning of July, she’s putting lots of work into this shower. I’ll feel like I let her down if only a few people can come! Plus, I feel really weird about asking her who she’s heard from, and she doesn't volunteer the information. My mother gave me almost a daily update on the guest list for Shower #1, so I knew exactly who she was still waiting to hear from. It feels weird to be in such a passive position regarding a party.
What I need to do is just stop stressing and start enjoying the ride!
(By the way, last November I would have killed to have “problems” like these. I must admit it feels good that the biggest issues I have right now are superficial.)
It’s not because so much work goes into planning them, or even because it takes a while to clean up after a party. No, I hate throwing parties because I’m always afraid nobody is going to come.
It’s usually an unfounded fear. But it’s a fear nonetheless.
You’d think this fear would go away when somebody else is throwing me a party. But no—if anything, it gets worse.
My friend A was gracious enough to offer to throw me a shower. It was a very sweet offer, and at first I was too surprised to say anything. But as soon as I got over my shock, my prevalent thought was: Who in the world am I going to invite?
Let me back up a second. I lived in the Chicago area most of my life. Many of my closest friends, both from high school and college, live in that area, as do my parents and B and SIL’s family. I moved up to the Milwaukee area to be with M a little more than three years ago. I’ve managed to make a decent number of friends, but my “friendship base” is spread out over a larger geographic area than other people’s.
We have been overwhelmed by the support we have received in (and before) this pregnancy. There are five showers being thrown for us. Five! I love attending parties, so it’s lots of fun for me. However, we only know so many people!
Shower #1: In Chicago, thrown by my mother and SIL. It was lots of fun and the perfect size. I got to see most of my Chicago friends and was overwhelmed by love.
Shower #2: A’s shower, scheduled for next weekend (15 minutes from our house). Not including my mom, MIL and other SIL (who lives up here in Cheeseland), I could only think of 12 other people to invite. And even that’s pushing it (church people, etc.).
Shower #3: A total shocker—M’s boss and wife wanted to throw us a shower. The company is very small, so there will probably be just four or five couples there, including us. But a total non-stresser for me, so yay!
Shower #4: My work shower, thrown at a co-worker’s house (ironically, a co-worker that I’ve been hot and cold with since I started working here). Also not much of a stresser for me because everybody at the shower knows each other.
Shower #5: Thrown by my MIL and SIL here in WI. Will be mostly family and MIL’s friends. Since the guest list isn’t so much mine as it is MIL’s, I’m not stressing about it.
So why, you ask, am I so stressed out about A’s shower? First of all, every time I see her she sounds so excited about it. Even though she just had a baby at the beginning of July, she’s putting lots of work into this shower. I’ll feel like I let her down if only a few people can come! Plus, I feel really weird about asking her who she’s heard from, and she doesn't volunteer the information. My mother gave me almost a daily update on the guest list for Shower #1, so I knew exactly who she was still waiting to hear from. It feels weird to be in such a passive position regarding a party.
What I need to do is just stop stressing and start enjoying the ride!
(By the way, last November I would have killed to have “problems” like these. I must admit it feels good that the biggest issues I have right now are superficial.)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Remembering Zach
Thank you all for your words of wisdom about a new blog, etc. There are so many things I wasn’t aware of or hadn’t even considered! I think that when the time comes, I’m probably going to need a knowledgeable blogger to walk me through the whole thing, step by step.
Yesterday I began putting Zach’s memory book together—another of the things I wanted to tick off my list before I got to the end of the third trimester. On the surface, the project is very simple—much less complicated than my other scrapbook projects. All I have to do, basically, is arrange the pictures, mat them and add a few words. I put on a “Bu.ffy” DVD in the background and set to work, naively thinking I’d be able to get most of the album done in an evening (after all, we don’t have a huge number of pictures).
I discovered, however, that while I normally don’t like to write much in the rest of my scrapbooks (go figure—the writer doesn’t like writing in her free time), I felt the need to put a succinct version of Zach’s story in the book. I wrote to him about how much he was wanted and anticipated, and how hard it was to learn that he would never live. It occurred to me as I was writing that this was an incredibly depressing project. Well, duh, but I guess I hadn’t really considered that before. There were times that I had to take a moment to wipe my eyes because my tears were making the page all blurry.
I only got three pages done. That was all I could stand to do. Apparently, this will be a project that is accomplished in stages.
I also realized that I won’t be sharing this book with anyone but M for a long, long time. I just am not in the right place to be able to watch our family members read what I have written. I don’t want to see their reactions.
Yesterday I began putting Zach’s memory book together—another of the things I wanted to tick off my list before I got to the end of the third trimester. On the surface, the project is very simple—much less complicated than my other scrapbook projects. All I have to do, basically, is arrange the pictures, mat them and add a few words. I put on a “Bu.ffy” DVD in the background and set to work, naively thinking I’d be able to get most of the album done in an evening (after all, we don’t have a huge number of pictures).
I discovered, however, that while I normally don’t like to write much in the rest of my scrapbooks (go figure—the writer doesn’t like writing in her free time), I felt the need to put a succinct version of Zach’s story in the book. I wrote to him about how much he was wanted and anticipated, and how hard it was to learn that he would never live. It occurred to me as I was writing that this was an incredibly depressing project. Well, duh, but I guess I hadn’t really considered that before. There were times that I had to take a moment to wipe my eyes because my tears were making the page all blurry.
I only got three pages done. That was all I could stand to do. Apparently, this will be a project that is accomplished in stages.
I also realized that I won’t be sharing this book with anyone but M for a long, long time. I just am not in the right place to be able to watch our family members read what I have written. I don’t want to see their reactions.
Friday, July 25, 2008
A new blog
I’ve been thinking about this particular idea for a long time now. So far, the only person with whom I’ve discussed it is M.
Now I open it up to you guys.
I think I might like to start another blog if/when/after we have our baby. This blog’s URL would be given out to basically everyone in our lives—family, friends, etc. But – and I stress this point – it would not be a blog focused on our baby. Rather, it would be an opportunity for me to continue practicing my writing and, simultaneously, an easy way to update family members on our lives. I picture myself writing some introspective posts on life, etc. Would I post baby pics? Yes, I would imagine so. But I don’t want to be defined by my reproduction.
We have friends who have been writing a “family blog” since well before they had a child. Posts often consist of what they had for breakfast that day. I can’t imagine having a blog like that. Ideally, my new blog would be very similar to this one—except, of course, that it wouldn’t be quite so “tell-all.” And another big difference is that I would have far, far fewer comments because my audience would be mostly people who don’t have blogs themselves. It wouldn’t be a conversation so much as an online news source of sorts.
The thing is, if I were to start this blog, I would have to change The Unlucky 20 Percent. In essence, I would go invite-only. The only person in the world who knows I currently have a blog is M. Whenever I refer to my conversations with you guys, I always talk about “people I have met on the Internet.” If my mom knew I actually had my own Web site, it would take her Googling fingers about 2 minutes to find it. Then I would be finished.
Yet, if I started a different blog, it would be very difficult for me to pretend like I haven’t been blogging for a year and a half. This blog is a part of me, and I would like to be able to own up to it. I only have three options: 1) Give out this blog’s URL to everyone I know (a terrible idea, because I would basically lose all my friends); 2) Delete this blog completely (I would hate to just fall off the face of the earth and lose all of you); or 3) Go invite-only. It kills me that Googlers or other Web surfers would no longer be able to find me, but you can’t have everything, right?
Isn’t it funny that, with all the changes imminent in my life, this is one of the changes that scares me the most? I must admit that the idea of opening myself up on the blogsphere to people who actually know me in real life is somewhat terrifying. What in the world can I say that won’t sound trite?
Now I open it up to you guys.
I think I might like to start another blog if/when/after we have our baby. This blog’s URL would be given out to basically everyone in our lives—family, friends, etc. But – and I stress this point – it would not be a blog focused on our baby. Rather, it would be an opportunity for me to continue practicing my writing and, simultaneously, an easy way to update family members on our lives. I picture myself writing some introspective posts on life, etc. Would I post baby pics? Yes, I would imagine so. But I don’t want to be defined by my reproduction.
We have friends who have been writing a “family blog” since well before they had a child. Posts often consist of what they had for breakfast that day. I can’t imagine having a blog like that. Ideally, my new blog would be very similar to this one—except, of course, that it wouldn’t be quite so “tell-all.” And another big difference is that I would have far, far fewer comments because my audience would be mostly people who don’t have blogs themselves. It wouldn’t be a conversation so much as an online news source of sorts.
The thing is, if I were to start this blog, I would have to change The Unlucky 20 Percent. In essence, I would go invite-only. The only person in the world who knows I currently have a blog is M. Whenever I refer to my conversations with you guys, I always talk about “people I have met on the Internet.” If my mom knew I actually had my own Web site, it would take her Googling fingers about 2 minutes to find it. Then I would be finished.
Yet, if I started a different blog, it would be very difficult for me to pretend like I haven’t been blogging for a year and a half. This blog is a part of me, and I would like to be able to own up to it. I only have three options: 1) Give out this blog’s URL to everyone I know (a terrible idea, because I would basically lose all my friends); 2) Delete this blog completely (I would hate to just fall off the face of the earth and lose all of you); or 3) Go invite-only. It kills me that Googlers or other Web surfers would no longer be able to find me, but you can’t have everything, right?
Isn’t it funny that, with all the changes imminent in my life, this is one of the changes that scares me the most? I must admit that the idea of opening myself up on the blogsphere to people who actually know me in real life is somewhat terrifying. What in the world can I say that won’t sound trite?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Analyze this
I’ve debated writing this post for a couple of days now, not because it’s painful, but because I was unsure if I wanted to deal with the response I thought I might get from it. Perhaps it’s best to start with the conversations I’m hoping to have with you, my readers.
I am now at a place where I can (at least most of the time) be rather emotionally disconnected from our loss last November. It’s not that I don’t miss Zach or wish he were here; I simply think about the events surrounding his death on an intellectual level rather than an emotional one. It’s how I approach much of my life—I analyze the hell out of it, just for kicks. So, as I tell the following story, I’m not looking for sympathy or expressions of condolence (although, believe me, that has been very much appreciated in the past). Rather, I’m looking for you to be over-analytical right along with me.
At my shower two weeks ago, there was a friend who had brought along her 10-day-old daughter. As I spoke to her and a few other friends, talk turned to her labor and delivery, pain management, etc. I piped in with my own experience with an epidural, cheerfully talking about how cute the anesthesiologist was and about how I questioned whether all epidurals are that easy. As I talked, it occurred to me that other people might be uncomfortable with me being so frank about my experiences. Bless their hearts, they didn’t show it, but I wondered, is it socially acceptable to talk about the induction/abortion of a doomed baby as though it were just a normal delivery? After all, I had something to add to the conversation, and I added it! I can talk about last November without crying; the question is, can others listen without feeling they need to put on their concerned and sympathetic face?
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you wondered if you should be talking so casually about such a heavy topic?
I am now at a place where I can (at least most of the time) be rather emotionally disconnected from our loss last November. It’s not that I don’t miss Zach or wish he were here; I simply think about the events surrounding his death on an intellectual level rather than an emotional one. It’s how I approach much of my life—I analyze the hell out of it, just for kicks. So, as I tell the following story, I’m not looking for sympathy or expressions of condolence (although, believe me, that has been very much appreciated in the past). Rather, I’m looking for you to be over-analytical right along with me.
At my shower two weeks ago, there was a friend who had brought along her 10-day-old daughter. As I spoke to her and a few other friends, talk turned to her labor and delivery, pain management, etc. I piped in with my own experience with an epidural, cheerfully talking about how cute the anesthesiologist was and about how I questioned whether all epidurals are that easy. As I talked, it occurred to me that other people might be uncomfortable with me being so frank about my experiences. Bless their hearts, they didn’t show it, but I wondered, is it socially acceptable to talk about the induction/abortion of a doomed baby as though it were just a normal delivery? After all, I had something to add to the conversation, and I added it! I can talk about last November without crying; the question is, can others listen without feeling they need to put on their concerned and sympathetic face?
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you wondered if you should be talking so casually about such a heavy topic?
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
This and that
So many little things have happened in the past week, I don’t feel like I can write a cohesive post. So, here you are—a rundown of what’s going on with me right now.
Shower
The part that sticks out most in my mind is when I came to the gift of one of my closest friends, K. The gift was three different-sized stacked boxes, all wrapped beautifully. I commented, “Oh, this is so pretty—I can never do the whole ribbon-wrapping-the-stacked-boxes thing.” K said, “I knew you would get a kick out of it; that’s why I wrapped it that way.” I was so touched that I have a friend who knows me that well. This is the same friend who drove two hours to our house to take us out to dinner the day she found out about Zach—two days before I was admitted to the hospital.
There were so many good things about the shower that I’m at a loss for words. I’m extremely grateful to my mom and SIL for throwing it.
You guys
Boy, and I thought nobody was reading. I am overwhelmed by how helpful you guys were when I asked for book advice. Incidentally, I ended up buying the “What to Expect…” book at H.alf Pr.ice Books over the weekend. If I make it through that one in any sort of timely manner, I’ll check out the Girlfriend’s Guide.
This is exactly what’s so wonderful about blogs—support when you need it, and good, sound advice when you need it, too. Thanks, you guys!
My BP
120/80 Yes, you read it right—my BP at my last OB appointment was perfect! That serves to quell a lot of my fears about swelling, rapid weight gain, etc. My OB wasn’t overly concerned about the pain in my left calf, and she said things seem to be going along just fine. Woo-hoo!
My hubby
He ambitiously decided to put together the crib the other night. After he had assembled it in the living room (it wasn’t very hard, he said—but then again, he’s an engineer), I looked at it, then at the door to the nursery. “Um, how are you going to fit this through the door?” I asked. He sheepishly admitted that he would have to take apart half of it and reassemble it in the nursery because he had forgotten to check the measurements. Silly M!
My weight
I'm 29 pounds at 29 weeks. Wow. So much for my goal of only gaining 30 pounds. I'll be lucky if I stop at 50. Surprisingly, the farther along I get, the less this bothers me. I'm just going to have one hell of a time losing the weight afterwards.
Shower
The part that sticks out most in my mind is when I came to the gift of one of my closest friends, K. The gift was three different-sized stacked boxes, all wrapped beautifully. I commented, “Oh, this is so pretty—I can never do the whole ribbon-wrapping-the-stacked-boxes thing.” K said, “I knew you would get a kick out of it; that’s why I wrapped it that way.” I was so touched that I have a friend who knows me that well. This is the same friend who drove two hours to our house to take us out to dinner the day she found out about Zach—two days before I was admitted to the hospital.
There were so many good things about the shower that I’m at a loss for words. I’m extremely grateful to my mom and SIL for throwing it.
You guys
Boy, and I thought nobody was reading. I am overwhelmed by how helpful you guys were when I asked for book advice. Incidentally, I ended up buying the “What to Expect…” book at H.alf Pr.ice Books over the weekend. If I make it through that one in any sort of timely manner, I’ll check out the Girlfriend’s Guide.
This is exactly what’s so wonderful about blogs—support when you need it, and good, sound advice when you need it, too. Thanks, you guys!
My BP
120/80 Yes, you read it right—my BP at my last OB appointment was perfect! That serves to quell a lot of my fears about swelling, rapid weight gain, etc. My OB wasn’t overly concerned about the pain in my left calf, and she said things seem to be going along just fine. Woo-hoo!
My hubby
He ambitiously decided to put together the crib the other night. After he had assembled it in the living room (it wasn’t very hard, he said—but then again, he’s an engineer), I looked at it, then at the door to the nursery. “Um, how are you going to fit this through the door?” I asked. He sheepishly admitted that he would have to take apart half of it and reassemble it in the nursery because he had forgotten to check the measurements. Silly M!
My weight
I'm 29 pounds at 29 weeks. Wow. So much for my goal of only gaining 30 pounds. I'll be lucky if I stop at 50. Surprisingly, the farther along I get, the less this bothers me. I'm just going to have one hell of a time losing the weight afterwards.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Looking for a book
Well, I guess it's about time.
I need a book. About parenting an infant.
Because really, I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing. And because I haven't personally bought any books about pregnancy, childbirth or parenting yet. And because I'm realizing that in three short months, I may very well have an infant in my home who is completely dependent on me.
But I want a good book--one that approaches this subject with a sense of humor, rather than just with a sense of alarm.
Any suggestions?
I need a book. About parenting an infant.
Because really, I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing. And because I haven't personally bought any books about pregnancy, childbirth or parenting yet. And because I'm realizing that in three short months, I may very well have an infant in my home who is completely dependent on me.
But I want a good book--one that approaches this subject with a sense of humor, rather than just with a sense of alarm.
Any suggestions?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
What might have been
I’m always amazed when I have new thoughts regarding our loss last November—I guess that’s partly because I sometimes feel like I’ve thunk every thought I can think regarding Zach.
But last night, as I was pondering my day of feeling bloated and heavy (and berating myself for whining about it), I flashed to a vision of an alternate universe. In this universe:
I am still 28 weeks pregnant—but it is New Year’s Eve (or thereabouts) 2007, not July 8, 2008.
M and I have made the decision to carry my doomed pregnancy to term, or however long my body chooses to house this baby.
I am feeling as I do now—bloated, heavy and fat, and I wonder whether I will ever be able to regain my former figure.
Strangers are becoming brave enough to ask me when I’m due.
I start to wonder just how difficult labor and delivery will be for me.
Now that I am experiencing the third trimester, I can catch just a glimpse of what the latter part of my first pregnancy would have been like, had we not chosen to end it.
But there’s a big difference.
Even when I have days like yesterday, during which I felt hot and decidedly unpretty, there is an underlying joy to everything I’m feeling and doing. I can handle the discomfort because I have high hopes that there will be a huge reward at the end of this pregnancy. I can plod my way through a boring day at work because I know I have a baby shower to look forward to on Saturday. I can smile my way through muggy nights because I know my husband is painting the nursery down the hall.
If I had been this pregnant with Zach, there would have been only sadness as I looked at my body. I have no idea what I would have said to strangers and acquaintances. Would I have told them about Zach’s problems right away before they could launch into a bunch of innocent questions about the baby’s sex, due date, names, etc.? Would I have taken some measure of satisfaction as I watched the smile fade from their faces after they learned of my baby’s predicted demise? Would I have turned our sad story into a black joke just to more easily escape the inevitable awkward conversation?
I know, without a doubt, I could not have handled it.
No. I take that back. With God’s strength I could have handled it. But choosing to continue the pregnancy would have turned the worst week of my life into the worst four months of my life. I would have had to watch as my friends and family members announced pregnancies, as my SIL happily decorated her toddler’s new room to make way for the (living) baby she was expecting in March, as my co-workers started talking about “trying.”
The horrifying thought of that alternate universe is something I plan to hold close to my heart the next time I’m feeling particularly whiny.
But last night, as I was pondering my day of feeling bloated and heavy (and berating myself for whining about it), I flashed to a vision of an alternate universe. In this universe:
I am still 28 weeks pregnant—but it is New Year’s Eve (or thereabouts) 2007, not July 8, 2008.
M and I have made the decision to carry my doomed pregnancy to term, or however long my body chooses to house this baby.
I am feeling as I do now—bloated, heavy and fat, and I wonder whether I will ever be able to regain my former figure.
Strangers are becoming brave enough to ask me when I’m due.
I start to wonder just how difficult labor and delivery will be for me.
Now that I am experiencing the third trimester, I can catch just a glimpse of what the latter part of my first pregnancy would have been like, had we not chosen to end it.
But there’s a big difference.
Even when I have days like yesterday, during which I felt hot and decidedly unpretty, there is an underlying joy to everything I’m feeling and doing. I can handle the discomfort because I have high hopes that there will be a huge reward at the end of this pregnancy. I can plod my way through a boring day at work because I know I have a baby shower to look forward to on Saturday. I can smile my way through muggy nights because I know my husband is painting the nursery down the hall.
If I had been this pregnant with Zach, there would have been only sadness as I looked at my body. I have no idea what I would have said to strangers and acquaintances. Would I have told them about Zach’s problems right away before they could launch into a bunch of innocent questions about the baby’s sex, due date, names, etc.? Would I have taken some measure of satisfaction as I watched the smile fade from their faces after they learned of my baby’s predicted demise? Would I have turned our sad story into a black joke just to more easily escape the inevitable awkward conversation?
I know, without a doubt, I could not have handled it.
No. I take that back. With God’s strength I could have handled it. But choosing to continue the pregnancy would have turned the worst week of my life into the worst four months of my life. I would have had to watch as my friends and family members announced pregnancies, as my SIL happily decorated her toddler’s new room to make way for the (living) baby she was expecting in March, as my co-workers started talking about “trying.”
The horrifying thought of that alternate universe is something I plan to hold close to my heart the next time I’m feeling particularly whiny.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The wonders of a warm bath
Last night, I was getting up from the table after a particularly filling dinner when I yelped in pain. M, who had been distracted by the two dogs (one is not ours; we’re dog-sitting while my friend is in the hospital after having a C-section), said, “Was that noise you?”
Yes, it was me. I was suddenly experiencing severe cramping that was agitated any time I stretched, moved, coughed or did anything but lie on the couch. In fact, even lying on the couch was starting to bother me after a while.
The logical part of me said, well, this must be what late-third-trimester ligament pain is like. The deadbaby mama in me, however, wondered if this was cause for alarm. So I decided to call our birthing center just to talk to a nurse to gain some perspective. While she was hesitant to tell me everything was OK, she did reassure me that ligament pain can, indeed, feel like “someone is shoving a stick up your v.a.g.ina.” She suggested a warm bath.
And so I took my first bath in years (I do, of course, shower—I just find it time-consuming to fill up a bathtub). While I was horrified with how dirty our bathtub/shower actually is, I was amazed by how quickly I felt better. A hot bath is the miracle drug! I’ll have to remember that when I’m in labor…
I’m 27 weeks today. This morning I discovered I had gained a whopping 4 pounds in the past week. I now weigh in 26 pounds heavier than I did pre-pregnancy. Whoa. My current fear is preeclempsia, but so far the weight gain and slight swelling are my only symptoms, so I’m just going to hang on tight and try not to think about it.
Yes, it was me. I was suddenly experiencing severe cramping that was agitated any time I stretched, moved, coughed or did anything but lie on the couch. In fact, even lying on the couch was starting to bother me after a while.
The logical part of me said, well, this must be what late-third-trimester ligament pain is like. The deadbaby mama in me, however, wondered if this was cause for alarm. So I decided to call our birthing center just to talk to a nurse to gain some perspective. While she was hesitant to tell me everything was OK, she did reassure me that ligament pain can, indeed, feel like “someone is shoving a stick up your v.a.g.ina.” She suggested a warm bath.
And so I took my first bath in years (I do, of course, shower—I just find it time-consuming to fill up a bathtub). While I was horrified with how dirty our bathtub/shower actually is, I was amazed by how quickly I felt better. A hot bath is the miracle drug! I’ll have to remember that when I’m in labor…
I’m 27 weeks today. This morning I discovered I had gained a whopping 4 pounds in the past week. I now weigh in 26 pounds heavier than I did pre-pregnancy. Whoa. My current fear is preeclempsia, but so far the weight gain and slight swelling are my only symptoms, so I’m just going to hang on tight and try not to think about it.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Preparations
One of the reasons last Christmas was so painful for me was because I had to listen to my SIL talk about all the plans she and BIL were making for their 2-year-old’s new room, now that they were expecting a baby to take over the nursery. She had no idea the discussion would be hard for me (I was even asked my opinion on paint colors), but it was. I had been hoping to be busy redecorating in January and February.
Well, now I finally get my chance—and I am relishing it. I love having all sorts of things on my (and M’s) list and trying to figure out the best times for accomplishing each task. This is my current to-do list:
1. Sell futon
2. Paint lower half of nursery (upper half’s color will not be changing)
3. Put wallpaper border along chair rail (it has already been purchased)
4. Research, buy and install new carpeting in nursery
5. Remove baby wallpaper border in M’s office that has been sitting, untouched, since he bought the house five years ago
6. Repaint M’s office, from pale purple (that matched the border) to plain white
7. Buy comfy glider for nursery
8. Paint my old bookcase a color that will match the nursery
9. Assemble crib
10. Return to B.a.bies r. us to register for items previously left off, like changing pad, crib sheets, safety gate, etc.
11. Finish scrapbooking our England trip (yes, the one from two months ago—I’m so on top of things!)
12. Put together small scrapbook of pictures of Zach (I finally feel emotionally ready for this, and I want to finish it before the second baby arrives)
13. Install curtains (which have been purchased off the registry but not yet given to us) in the nursery
14. Myriad other things I can’t even think of right now
Granted, most of this list involves M more than me. But hey, I’m supervising, right? I just love seeing everything come together after waiting so long.
Well, now I finally get my chance—and I am relishing it. I love having all sorts of things on my (and M’s) list and trying to figure out the best times for accomplishing each task. This is my current to-do list:
1. Sell futon
2. Paint lower half of nursery (upper half’s color will not be changing)
3. Put wallpaper border along chair rail (it has already been purchased)
4. Research, buy and install new carpeting in nursery
5. Remove baby wallpaper border in M’s office that has been sitting, untouched, since he bought the house five years ago
6. Repaint M’s office, from pale purple (that matched the border) to plain white
7. Buy comfy glider for nursery
8. Paint my old bookcase a color that will match the nursery
9. Assemble crib
10. Return to B.a.bies r. us to register for items previously left off, like changing pad, crib sheets, safety gate, etc.
11. Finish scrapbooking our England trip (yes, the one from two months ago—I’m so on top of things!)
12. Put together small scrapbook of pictures of Zach (I finally feel emotionally ready for this, and I want to finish it before the second baby arrives)
13. Install curtains (which have been purchased off the registry but not yet given to us) in the nursery
14. Myriad other things I can’t even think of right now
Granted, most of this list involves M more than me. But hey, I’m supervising, right? I just love seeing everything come together after waiting so long.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The story
Because I am rather noticeably pregnant these days, more and more peripheral people in my life are talking/asking me about the pregnancy. Often, they ask me if this is my first pregnancy/child.
Cue awkward pause. I am not at the point where I need to talk about Zach all the time. But neither am I at the point where I can dismiss my first pregnancy and his birth for the sake of a casual conversation. This person may not have wanted to hear about my tragic first pregnancy, but it’s too much a part of the story of this baby for me to just ignore it.
I’ve got the story down to a few sentences, and by now I’m usually able to tell it without shedding a tear. It’s more of an explanation than a request for a pity party, but it still stops people in their tracks. The responses vary, but many of the women end up sharing with me the stories of their own pregnancy losses.
I’ve found that losing Zach has also changed my perspective on this pregnancy. When people ask me, “How are things going?” I pause. On the one hand, I have been extremely sick with seasonal allergies because I’m not taking half of the meds I normally take. Plus, I’m having rather severe sciatic nerve problems that cause me to wince in pain every once in a while. On the other hand, as far as I know the baby’s fine. And that’s the important part. I’m willing to suffer through a few aches and pains as long as I feel reasonably confident that things are progressing as they should.
Cue awkward pause. I am not at the point where I need to talk about Zach all the time. But neither am I at the point where I can dismiss my first pregnancy and his birth for the sake of a casual conversation. This person may not have wanted to hear about my tragic first pregnancy, but it’s too much a part of the story of this baby for me to just ignore it.
I’ve got the story down to a few sentences, and by now I’m usually able to tell it without shedding a tear. It’s more of an explanation than a request for a pity party, but it still stops people in their tracks. The responses vary, but many of the women end up sharing with me the stories of their own pregnancy losses.
I’ve found that losing Zach has also changed my perspective on this pregnancy. When people ask me, “How are things going?” I pause. On the one hand, I have been extremely sick with seasonal allergies because I’m not taking half of the meds I normally take. Plus, I’m having rather severe sciatic nerve problems that cause me to wince in pain every once in a while. On the other hand, as far as I know the baby’s fine. And that’s the important part. I’m willing to suffer through a few aches and pains as long as I feel reasonably confident that things are progressing as they should.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Woo-hoo!
This is a little belated—but better late than never, right? Please go visit Samantha at Southern Infertility and offer her your best wishes. After an insanely frustrating, neverending cycle of IVF and OHSS, she has some beautiful-looking beta numbers!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Who was that woman from November?
About seven months ago, I remember telling my mother how bad I felt and how hard it was to imagine that I would be happy again. She told me that the grief would get easier with time, and that all I could do at the present moment was wait for time to pass.
Well, time has passed, and I do feel much, much more at peace with how things turned out with Zach. But why?
I may have mentioned this before, but as a kid I loved “Choose Your Own Adventure” books. It interested me to learn about the consequences of choices, and I enjoyed wading my way through the many different scenarios that could happen depending on which choices I made. By the time I was done with a book, I knew every possible ending and every possible path. In the Choose Your Own Adventure world, at least, I was omnipotent.
Real life isn’t like that. I will never know what my grief process would have been like if I had not become pregnant shortly after losing Zach. I probably wouldn’t want to know.
All I can work with is how I feel right now:
In many ways, the events of last November seem like a distant memory to me. When I think about the weeks spent doing nothing but watching TV and eating Butterfingers and Snickers, my heart breaks. When I think about the shopping trip with my mom during which I wandered aimlessly along the thoroughfare of the outlet mall, with no real desire to enter any stores, I can’t imagine how terrible I must have been feeling.
For about three or four months after losing Zach, I had no desire to make any real effort to get together with friends. And yes, part of that time came after I found out I was pregnant, but my pregnancy wasn’t “real” to me until after we found out there were kidneys.
Now, I’m back to my old self—I scan the weekends as I talk to friends, plotting which evenings are best for visiting which friends.
No, scratch that—I’m back to my new self, which is to say that while I still do the things I did before, I look at the world a little differently. When we found out last Saturday that the power was out at the restaurant M’s grandma had chosen to celebrate her 60th wedding anniversary, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Well, this family has experienced much worse occasions of things not going according to plan.” Even this morning, when I was silently cursing the fact that my days at work are feeling longer and more monotonous, I felt a couple of kicks and reminded myself that monotony can often be my friend.
Does grief get easier with time? For me, it has—and as a bonus, it has made me into a better person.
Well, time has passed, and I do feel much, much more at peace with how things turned out with Zach. But why?
I may have mentioned this before, but as a kid I loved “Choose Your Own Adventure” books. It interested me to learn about the consequences of choices, and I enjoyed wading my way through the many different scenarios that could happen depending on which choices I made. By the time I was done with a book, I knew every possible ending and every possible path. In the Choose Your Own Adventure world, at least, I was omnipotent.
Real life isn’t like that. I will never know what my grief process would have been like if I had not become pregnant shortly after losing Zach. I probably wouldn’t want to know.
All I can work with is how I feel right now:
In many ways, the events of last November seem like a distant memory to me. When I think about the weeks spent doing nothing but watching TV and eating Butterfingers and Snickers, my heart breaks. When I think about the shopping trip with my mom during which I wandered aimlessly along the thoroughfare of the outlet mall, with no real desire to enter any stores, I can’t imagine how terrible I must have been feeling.
For about three or four months after losing Zach, I had no desire to make any real effort to get together with friends. And yes, part of that time came after I found out I was pregnant, but my pregnancy wasn’t “real” to me until after we found out there were kidneys.
Now, I’m back to my old self—I scan the weekends as I talk to friends, plotting which evenings are best for visiting which friends.
No, scratch that—I’m back to my new self, which is to say that while I still do the things I did before, I look at the world a little differently. When we found out last Saturday that the power was out at the restaurant M’s grandma had chosen to celebrate her 60th wedding anniversary, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Well, this family has experienced much worse occasions of things not going according to plan.” Even this morning, when I was silently cursing the fact that my days at work are feeling longer and more monotonous, I felt a couple of kicks and reminded myself that monotony can often be my friend.
Does grief get easier with time? For me, it has—and as a bonus, it has made me into a better person.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
The "baby hiccups" and other matters
During the early part of the weekend, I was lamenting the fact that I hadn’t felt any movement for a while. We had a big family event (M’s grandparents’ 60th anniversary dinner) on Saturday, and even while everybody was smiling at us and congratulating us, a tiny thought in the back of my head put a damper on things: What if my baby is dead? (Obviously I will never be able to completely relax about this pregnancy.)
Then, at a movie Sunday afternoon, my arm jumped. I’m not kidding: As I was sitting there with my arm resting along the side of my abdomen, it was suddenly thrown into the air (OK, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but it was unmistakable; sort of like the hiccups). It soon became clear to me that what I was feeling was no longer the rumble of early movement, but the individuality of distinct kicks. I had been wondering when I would start to feel kicks. Apparently, for me, it has started at 23 ½ weeks. And I couldn’t be happier that things appear to be OK…for now.
I will say, however, that a portion of Saturday’s dinner was disconcerting for me. SIL’s new baby (remember, the one that was supposed to be Zach’s playmate?) decided he wanted his bottle just as SIL and BIL received their salads. I had just finished my soup so I offered to feed him. FIL and MIL were sitting next to me, and the looks on their faces as they watched me feed the baby (and a couple of the comments FIL made) made me feel like the painting Madonna and Child. If there could have been thought bubbles above their heads, they would have said, “Oh my, this is the first time we’ve seen her hold Baby M; what an emotional time!” (actually, I’ve held him once before but they weren’t there); “Ann is going to make such a wonderful mom;” “I just love seeing her with a baby!”
I was acutely aware of all these thoughts floating around us, and truthfully, I just wanted to get the baby fed. It wasn’t a “special” time for me, and it wasn’t bad either; I was simply doing my SIL and BIL a favor. I felt very, very conspicuous. I’m still not a huge baby person and I don’t see how feeding a baby from a bottle is magical.
I know, I know—I’m not being fair to my MIL and FIL. But sometimes I wish our family was a little less emotional.
Then, at a movie Sunday afternoon, my arm jumped. I’m not kidding: As I was sitting there with my arm resting along the side of my abdomen, it was suddenly thrown into the air (OK, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but it was unmistakable; sort of like the hiccups). It soon became clear to me that what I was feeling was no longer the rumble of early movement, but the individuality of distinct kicks. I had been wondering when I would start to feel kicks. Apparently, for me, it has started at 23 ½ weeks. And I couldn’t be happier that things appear to be OK…for now.
I will say, however, that a portion of Saturday’s dinner was disconcerting for me. SIL’s new baby (remember, the one that was supposed to be Zach’s playmate?) decided he wanted his bottle just as SIL and BIL received their salads. I had just finished my soup so I offered to feed him. FIL and MIL were sitting next to me, and the looks on their faces as they watched me feed the baby (and a couple of the comments FIL made) made me feel like the painting Madonna and Child. If there could have been thought bubbles above their heads, they would have said, “Oh my, this is the first time we’ve seen her hold Baby M; what an emotional time!” (actually, I’ve held him once before but they weren’t there); “Ann is going to make such a wonderful mom;” “I just love seeing her with a baby!”
I was acutely aware of all these thoughts floating around us, and truthfully, I just wanted to get the baby fed. It wasn’t a “special” time for me, and it wasn’t bad either; I was simply doing my SIL and BIL a favor. I felt very, very conspicuous. I’m still not a huge baby person and I don’t see how feeding a baby from a bottle is magical.
I know, I know—I’m not being fair to my MIL and FIL. But sometimes I wish our family was a little less emotional.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Empathy
Not that I would ever wish anyone ill, but I have often thought that every woman who wants to have children should have to go through at least a few barriers in her quest to be a mom. It irritates me to no end when women “plan” their pregnancies down to the month, assuming that, for example, they will be able to have their baby in May so their maternity leave doesn’t interfere with the start of school (if they’re a teacher).
Even my "hardened" heart was touched by a particular situation this morning, however.
It doesn’t work that way, people!
I’ve been talking with my co-worker, CM, over the past few days about her TTC plans. After much careful consideration, she and her husband had decided to start trying next month. Her situation is a bit unique: Because of severe endometriosis, she had one ovary removed and therefore only ovulates every eight weeks. So she was aware that trying to conceive could come with its unique problems.
However. For the past six months she has had terrible problems with sciatica, so terrible, in fact, that she has had to have four epidurals just to relieve the pain. Wisely, she saw a spinal surgeon yesterday to ask what can be done and let him know she wants to try to get pregnant.
He told her she was, under no circumstances, to try to conceive until she has her problem under control.
The way she explained it when she came into my office this morning was with only two words: “No babies.” Though she clarified a few minutes later, my eyes continued to well up with tears as I talked to her.
It sucks so much when we have no control. We try to plan, and hope, and dream, and in the end we must simply trust that God has a plan for us. I lost a child whom I loved in November. Yet that didn’t stop me from weeping for CM, whose body simply cannot handle a pregnancy right now.
Even my "hardened" heart was touched by a particular situation this morning, however.
It doesn’t work that way, people!
I’ve been talking with my co-worker, CM, over the past few days about her TTC plans. After much careful consideration, she and her husband had decided to start trying next month. Her situation is a bit unique: Because of severe endometriosis, she had one ovary removed and therefore only ovulates every eight weeks. So she was aware that trying to conceive could come with its unique problems.
However. For the past six months she has had terrible problems with sciatica, so terrible, in fact, that she has had to have four epidurals just to relieve the pain. Wisely, she saw a spinal surgeon yesterday to ask what can be done and let him know she wants to try to get pregnant.
He told her she was, under no circumstances, to try to conceive until she has her problem under control.
The way she explained it when she came into my office this morning was with only two words: “No babies.” Though she clarified a few minutes later, my eyes continued to well up with tears as I talked to her.
It sucks so much when we have no control. We try to plan, and hope, and dream, and in the end we must simply trust that God has a plan for us. I lost a child whom I loved in November. Yet that didn’t stop me from weeping for CM, whose body simply cannot handle a pregnancy right now.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Mom troubles
I write this post with some hesitation because I don’t want to turn this into a parent-bashing forum. But I just had a not-so-good conversation with my mom (on her birthday, no less), and I need to get my feelings on paper—so to speak.
My mom doesn’t work and she doesn’t have much going on in her life. Usually, her portion of our conversations revolve around other people’s lives. Just about every conversation includes at least one “cute” story about Little M, my brother’s 2-year-old daughter and my godchild. My mom sees her maybe once every week or two, but she absolutely loves being around her and thinks that everything she does is just the cutest thing in the world. And she shares these stories with me.
I usually don’t have much of a reaction to these stories. In truth, I get really sick of hearing about Little M and usually just hang on until we change the subject. But my mom isn’t stupid, and she has noticed I don’t show much interest in Little M. She told me today that it really hurts her and she feels like she has to censor everything she says.
I want to take this moment to urge you again not to bash my mom. I know I’m preaching to the choir here; I’m just trying to gain a little perspective.
Is my disinterest because of our infertility and pregnancy loss? Maybe—but I seriously doubt that if I have a healthy baby this fall, I’m going to be any more interested in hearing about the Adventures of Little M. I just don’t think I’m one of those people who gets off on hearing about other people’s kids—even my own family. And that makes my mom feel bad.
She told me that she has noticed my reaction and has tried to censor herself. Wait—so if she’s censoring herself, how many stories would she be telling me otherwise? I feel like if I show her encouragement, she’s going to talk my ear off with Little M stories. But if I don’t, she’s going to be incredibly hurt.
At this point, I don’t think I’m necessarily hurt by Little M stories; I’m just annoyed. My mom has turned into a cliché of a grandmother, and frankly, I’m disappointed.
I don’t know how to resolve this. Part of me thinks that I’m just being selfish and I need to get into a place where I care about more than just myself and my stories (of course, I LOVE talking about me; I’m my favorite subject!). Another part of me thinks I should just talk to my mom less. But I already tried that in January when I was overcome with grief over our less. I retreated like a turtle, my mom noticed and she was hurt by that lack of communication, too.
Augh! I can sit here and be mad at my mom for her reaction, but that’s not going to change the situation.
My mom doesn’t work and she doesn’t have much going on in her life. Usually, her portion of our conversations revolve around other people’s lives. Just about every conversation includes at least one “cute” story about Little M, my brother’s 2-year-old daughter and my godchild. My mom sees her maybe once every week or two, but she absolutely loves being around her and thinks that everything she does is just the cutest thing in the world. And she shares these stories with me.
I usually don’t have much of a reaction to these stories. In truth, I get really sick of hearing about Little M and usually just hang on until we change the subject. But my mom isn’t stupid, and she has noticed I don’t show much interest in Little M. She told me today that it really hurts her and she feels like she has to censor everything she says.
I want to take this moment to urge you again not to bash my mom. I know I’m preaching to the choir here; I’m just trying to gain a little perspective.
Is my disinterest because of our infertility and pregnancy loss? Maybe—but I seriously doubt that if I have a healthy baby this fall, I’m going to be any more interested in hearing about the Adventures of Little M. I just don’t think I’m one of those people who gets off on hearing about other people’s kids—even my own family. And that makes my mom feel bad.
She told me that she has noticed my reaction and has tried to censor herself. Wait—so if she’s censoring herself, how many stories would she be telling me otherwise? I feel like if I show her encouragement, she’s going to talk my ear off with Little M stories. But if I don’t, she’s going to be incredibly hurt.
At this point, I don’t think I’m necessarily hurt by Little M stories; I’m just annoyed. My mom has turned into a cliché of a grandmother, and frankly, I’m disappointed.
I don’t know how to resolve this. Part of me thinks that I’m just being selfish and I need to get into a place where I care about more than just myself and my stories (of course, I LOVE talking about me; I’m my favorite subject!). Another part of me thinks I should just talk to my mom less. But I already tried that in January when I was overcome with grief over our less. I retreated like a turtle, my mom noticed and she was hurt by that lack of communication, too.
Augh! I can sit here and be mad at my mom for her reaction, but that’s not going to change the situation.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Da, da, da....
I have either adopted a very healthy new life philosophy, or I have painted myself into a corner.
If all proceeds as planned/hoped/anticipated, I have about 18 weeks left at my current job. I plan on submitting my notice while on maternity leave and returning to freelance writing January-ish.
I have started brushing off everyday annoyances as non-issues, telling myself it doesn’t matter all that much because I won’t be around long enough to suffer any potential consequences. For example:
My co-workers seem to be closer to each other than they are to me? Ah well—in about four months I won’t have much contact with them anyway.
My boss appears to trust my colleague more than she trusts me? Ah well—I don’t plan on staying in this position, anyway.
My numbers have slowly been sliding? Ah well—by the time anybody tries to do something about it, I’ll be gone.
This does eliminate a lot of stress. But I’m also aware that I’m slipping into an attitude of complacency—and that doesn’t really fit my personality.
I have felt this way before. When M and I got engaged in June 2004, we planned a wedding for April 2005. We knew I would be moving two hours from my apartment to his house, and thus quitting my job (of which I had tired). I even told my boss I would be leaving, and because I was also leaving my profession I stopped caring what the powers that were thought of me. Ironically, shortly before I left I got my best performance review ever.
Don’t get me wrong—I do, indeed, care very much about my future. But most of the things that are on my mind right now (building a successful part-time career; finding appropriate, occasional childcare once I get settled in that career; building a new social network) are things I simply can’t address for another six months. So instead I plug along, with no real drive to accomplish anything fantastic at my current employer.
I felt this way last October, too. Then the rug got pulled out from under me and I was forced to view my job in a new light as I realized I was going to be here for longer than I had thought. That change in plans was almost as devastating as losing Zach.
Have you ever become a slacker because you knew your current situation wouldn’t last long?
If all proceeds as planned/hoped/anticipated, I have about 18 weeks left at my current job. I plan on submitting my notice while on maternity leave and returning to freelance writing January-ish.
I have started brushing off everyday annoyances as non-issues, telling myself it doesn’t matter all that much because I won’t be around long enough to suffer any potential consequences. For example:
My co-workers seem to be closer to each other than they are to me? Ah well—in about four months I won’t have much contact with them anyway.
My boss appears to trust my colleague more than she trusts me? Ah well—I don’t plan on staying in this position, anyway.
My numbers have slowly been sliding? Ah well—by the time anybody tries to do something about it, I’ll be gone.
This does eliminate a lot of stress. But I’m also aware that I’m slipping into an attitude of complacency—and that doesn’t really fit my personality.
I have felt this way before. When M and I got engaged in June 2004, we planned a wedding for April 2005. We knew I would be moving two hours from my apartment to his house, and thus quitting my job (of which I had tired). I even told my boss I would be leaving, and because I was also leaving my profession I stopped caring what the powers that were thought of me. Ironically, shortly before I left I got my best performance review ever.
Don’t get me wrong—I do, indeed, care very much about my future. But most of the things that are on my mind right now (building a successful part-time career; finding appropriate, occasional childcare once I get settled in that career; building a new social network) are things I simply can’t address for another six months. So instead I plug along, with no real drive to accomplish anything fantastic at my current employer.
I felt this way last October, too. Then the rug got pulled out from under me and I was forced to view my job in a new light as I realized I was going to be here for longer than I had thought. That change in plans was almost as devastating as losing Zach.
Have you ever become a slacker because you knew your current situation wouldn’t last long?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
In which I become a stereotype
I'm almost embarrassed to write this post.
Because, you see, in writing this post, I take a big step toward becoming a member of the Mommy Club. And while the club in question is a group I have desperately wanted to join, I also know what it's like to be on the outside looking in. I am especially sensitive to my readers who still are on the outside looking in.
However. I need some advice, and this is the easiest way I can think of (thank you all so much for your advice on snacks; I am slowly moving toward a slightly healthier diet, although ice cream is still my downfall).
We are in the process of registering and had picked out a highchair we thought would be great. However, after reading some of the reviews online, I'm not sure which ones to believe. Have any of you had experience with this highchair? And if you haven't, could you recommend a great, plastic (not wooden) highchair that's available at T.arget or Bab.ies .R U.s?
Because, you see, in writing this post, I take a big step toward becoming a member of the Mommy Club. And while the club in question is a group I have desperately wanted to join, I also know what it's like to be on the outside looking in. I am especially sensitive to my readers who still are on the outside looking in.
However. I need some advice, and this is the easiest way I can think of (thank you all so much for your advice on snacks; I am slowly moving toward a slightly healthier diet, although ice cream is still my downfall).
We are in the process of registering and had picked out a highchair we thought would be great. However, after reading some of the reviews online, I'm not sure which ones to believe. Have any of you had experience with this highchair? And if you haven't, could you recommend a great, plastic (not wooden) highchair that's available at T.arget or Bab.ies .R U.s?
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Food, glorious food
I have a problem: I can’t stop eating.
Yes, I’ve gotten to the point in my pregnancy where I’m concerned again about how much weight I might gain. I had this concern last time around, too, and I had thought that as long as I had a healthy baby this time, weight be damned.
Except.
I’m not a very healthy eater. Pre-pregnancy, I wasn’t bad: Although I love sweets, I was usually able to limit my daily snacks and I exercised semi-regularly. Now, however, my cravings are taking control of my life, and I’m concerned that that will mean I gain much more weight during pregnancy than I should.
Women rarely talk about their weight or size. However, if I can’t talk about it here, where can I, right?
I’m five feet, five inches. Pre-pregnancy #1, I weighed somewhere in the mid-130s. If I remember correctly, I weighted 137, then lost 2 pounds during my first trimester food aversion phase. Before I delivered Zach, I had gained 8-10 pounds. After losing some of the pregnancy weight, I settled at 139. I was happy with the number, but not the size; my weight settled around my mid-section and I had to move up a size in pants.
I am now 21 weeks along in pregnancy #2 and I’ve gained 14 pounds. That’s still within the limits I find on Dr. Google (albeit the upper end of those limits), but the informational paragraphs always say, “as long as you’re eating a healthy diet, don’t worry about the weight you gain.” Um. Do you consider a handful of mini-Reeses cups each afternoon, a healthy serving of ice cream each night, and the occasional mini bag of popcorn in between a healthy diet?
Yes, I do eat healthy things, like salads and string cheese and granola bars and cereal and soup, but I can’t seem to stop snacking. Chocolate is my enemy! I cut up some celery last night and stuffed it with peanut butter in hopes of offering myself a healthy alternative, but I can’t help it—when I’m bored or at a loss, I snack.
What do you do to curb your cravings? What are your favorite healthy snacks? (And no, I DON’T like cottage cheese!)
Yes, I’ve gotten to the point in my pregnancy where I’m concerned again about how much weight I might gain. I had this concern last time around, too, and I had thought that as long as I had a healthy baby this time, weight be damned.
Except.
I’m not a very healthy eater. Pre-pregnancy, I wasn’t bad: Although I love sweets, I was usually able to limit my daily snacks and I exercised semi-regularly. Now, however, my cravings are taking control of my life, and I’m concerned that that will mean I gain much more weight during pregnancy than I should.
Women rarely talk about their weight or size. However, if I can’t talk about it here, where can I, right?
I’m five feet, five inches. Pre-pregnancy #1, I weighed somewhere in the mid-130s. If I remember correctly, I weighted 137, then lost 2 pounds during my first trimester food aversion phase. Before I delivered Zach, I had gained 8-10 pounds. After losing some of the pregnancy weight, I settled at 139. I was happy with the number, but not the size; my weight settled around my mid-section and I had to move up a size in pants.
I am now 21 weeks along in pregnancy #2 and I’ve gained 14 pounds. That’s still within the limits I find on Dr. Google (albeit the upper end of those limits), but the informational paragraphs always say, “as long as you’re eating a healthy diet, don’t worry about the weight you gain.” Um. Do you consider a handful of mini-Reeses cups each afternoon, a healthy serving of ice cream each night, and the occasional mini bag of popcorn in between a healthy diet?
Yes, I do eat healthy things, like salads and string cheese and granola bars and cereal and soup, but I can’t seem to stop snacking. Chocolate is my enemy! I cut up some celery last night and stuffed it with peanut butter in hopes of offering myself a healthy alternative, but I can’t help it—when I’m bored or at a loss, I snack.
What do you do to curb your cravings? What are your favorite healthy snacks? (And no, I DON’T like cottage cheese!)
Monday, May 19, 2008
Preparations
I am now reaching that point in my pregnancy at which I have little else to talk about, really, except for baby preparations. While fear is always present, it’s no longer foremost in my thoughts.
If you are at a bad place right now, it’s probably best for you to take a break from reading my blog because it’s just going to cause more pain.
That said…
I have been reading the B.aby Bargains book, and boy, is it a wake-up call! I had no idea, for example, that the expensive quilts often sold in bedding packages are not at all necessary. Or that you don’t really need to register for dozens of onesies. M and I already spent an evening registering at T.arget for the easy stuff, and we plan on dragging a friend who’s “been there, done that” to B.ab.ies R U.S. in a couple of weeks to help us register for the rest of the stuff. There are so many choices to make!
One thing I don’t plan on doing, however, is hunting through rummage/garage sales—even though ‘tis the season. One of my friends is absolutely thrilled about all the hand-me-down baby clothes she got from a couple of neighbors who were cleaning out their homes. I, however, don’t think I’ll be needing anything until the baby is about a year or older. We are blessed to have many friends, family friends, neighbors, relatives, etc. who just love giving baby gifts. And between the showers and post-birth gifts, I think we’ll have more than we need for clothes, equipment and toys. (Actually, I’m kind of disappointed that my friend has all the clothes she needs, because what am I going to get her for a baby gift when her daughter is born?)
If you are at a bad place right now, it’s probably best for you to take a break from reading my blog because it’s just going to cause more pain.
That said…
I have been reading the B.aby Bargains book, and boy, is it a wake-up call! I had no idea, for example, that the expensive quilts often sold in bedding packages are not at all necessary. Or that you don’t really need to register for dozens of onesies. M and I already spent an evening registering at T.arget for the easy stuff, and we plan on dragging a friend who’s “been there, done that” to B.ab.ies R U.S. in a couple of weeks to help us register for the rest of the stuff. There are so many choices to make!
One thing I don’t plan on doing, however, is hunting through rummage/garage sales—even though ‘tis the season. One of my friends is absolutely thrilled about all the hand-me-down baby clothes she got from a couple of neighbors who were cleaning out their homes. I, however, don’t think I’ll be needing anything until the baby is about a year or older. We are blessed to have many friends, family friends, neighbors, relatives, etc. who just love giving baby gifts. And between the showers and post-birth gifts, I think we’ll have more than we need for clothes, equipment and toys. (Actually, I’m kind of disappointed that my friend has all the clothes she needs, because what am I going to get her for a baby gift when her daughter is born?)
Monday, May 12, 2008
The conversation killer
I think I must get some kind of high out of causing trouble. Several times over the past week, people (mostly family members) have made reference to the fact that I’m pregnant on Mother’s Day. As in: “Happy Mother-to-Be Day!” or “Next year you’ll be able to celebrate Mother’s Day” (that one came from my Grandma). Each time, rather than letting it go, I decided to remind the well-wisher that I’m not just a mother-to-be; I’m already a mother. My child is just in heaven.
Cue an awkward silence, then a lot of blustering and back-pedaling.
Then, while I was talking with my brother (who is expecting a baby in August), he was babbling about how they might be moving this summer, and he might be getting a new job, but the only “definite” in their family is that they’ll be having a baby. I briefly considered, then decided to go ahead with what I wanted to say, regardless of the potential tastelessness of it. “Well, B,” I said, “you know, nothing is ever definite.” Fortunately, he had the grace to be embarrassed for forgetting his audience, rather than being pissed off at me for suggesting that his baby might die.
In my hormonal state, I appear to have lost my “social filter.”
Cue an awkward silence, then a lot of blustering and back-pedaling.
Then, while I was talking with my brother (who is expecting a baby in August), he was babbling about how they might be moving this summer, and he might be getting a new job, but the only “definite” in their family is that they’ll be having a baby. I briefly considered, then decided to go ahead with what I wanted to say, regardless of the potential tastelessness of it. “Well, B,” I said, “you know, nothing is ever definite.” Fortunately, he had the grace to be embarrassed for forgetting his audience, rather than being pissed off at me for suggesting that his baby might die.
In my hormonal state, I appear to have lost my “social filter.”
Friday, May 9, 2008
Good news
I got exactly what I wanted this morning—a very routine, quick ultrasound. To quote the peri: “I’m trying really hard to make this baby look bad, and I just can’t.”
I called my mom and finally told her it’s a boy. Because I was in the office and close to my other co-workers, I was very matter-of-fact in telling her that the news was good. I think she was disappointed that I didn’t sound more excited. I tried to explain to her that I’m better than excited—I’m content. To reference my last post—it was a very 0-type ultrasound. Which sounds bad, but it’s actually very good. I’ve been so sick of the roller coaster. Breathless, nervous anticipation, followed by either the highest of the highs or a crashing low. Instead, I’m even-keeled—and ready to start actually making some preliminary preparations. I’m aware that bad things can still happen, but I’m at least calmer for now.
I called my mom and finally told her it’s a boy. Because I was in the office and close to my other co-workers, I was very matter-of-fact in telling her that the news was good. I think she was disappointed that I didn’t sound more excited. I tried to explain to her that I’m better than excited—I’m content. To reference my last post—it was a very 0-type ultrasound. Which sounds bad, but it’s actually very good. I’ve been so sick of the roller coaster. Breathless, nervous anticipation, followed by either the highest of the highs or a crashing low. Instead, I’m even-keeled—and ready to start actually making some preliminary preparations. I’m aware that bad things can still happen, but I’m at least calmer for now.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Huh?
Last night at Bible study, talk turned to babies (which is natural, since two out of the five people there were pregnant, and two more were expectant fathers). In the prayer requests, I mentioned my mild apprehension about Friday’s ultrasound (which, by the way, is the one in which the peri is able to see the chambers of the heart; at the 15-week ultrasound, he simply wasn’t able to do the full anatomy scan). B, the other expectant father, said he wonders what the “Big Ultrasound” is like the 2nd or 3rd time around. It must not be very exciting at all, he said—“OK, there’s the heart, the liver, the bladder, etc.” Not nearly as exciting as the first time!
Let me stop mid-story for a second. B and his wife, A, have become good friends of ours over the past year. They’ve been very sensitive since we lost Zach, and we’ve all been very open about how we’re feeling. That said, B is more the stereotype of the typical “clueless guy” when it comes to babies. He’s also (several times) expressed his disappointment that they’re having a girl.
Thinking that B had just inadvertently stuck his foot in his mouth, I explained that while, yes, an ultrasound can be exciting, that’s not the purpose. The purpose is to rule out potentially bad things. I have no excitement for Friday’s ultrasound, I told him—just excitement for it to be over.
The thing is, he still didn’t get it. He kept on repeating that by the 2nd or 3rd time, it must be getting kind of old. His wife, I think, understood my point (and I wonder what their conversation was like during the car ride home!), but I felt like I was talking to dead air.
Unfortunately, I think I explained it best to M—after everyone had already left: If an ordinary day is a 0, with an exciting day at a +10 and a devastating day at a -10, then B was thrilled that he had a +10 day when they had their 20-week ultrasound. Our 20-week ultrasound was a -10 day. I am fervently hoping for a 0 day on Friday. B, however, hates the idea of having 0 days for the rest of his ultrasounds to come. His idea of boring is my idea of excitement. Just to have avoided a -10 day actually makes it a +10 day for me!
Did you get all of that?
Of course, talking to M was like preaching to the choir. He, too, was kind of irked at B for insisting on his argument—especially considering the company he was in. I’m having a hard time letting go of the conversation and reminding myself that B didn’t mean to hurt us; he was just being ignorant and naïve. It makes me very, very glad, however, that I have such a sensitive guy for a husband! Even before our experience, he would have “gotten it,” and if he accidentally stuck his foot in his mouth with a friend, he would be furiously backpedaling to try to make it up to them.
(And by the way, I’m really not in as much of a tizzy about Friday as I sound. I’ll just be very glad when it’s over.)
Let me stop mid-story for a second. B and his wife, A, have become good friends of ours over the past year. They’ve been very sensitive since we lost Zach, and we’ve all been very open about how we’re feeling. That said, B is more the stereotype of the typical “clueless guy” when it comes to babies. He’s also (several times) expressed his disappointment that they’re having a girl.
Thinking that B had just inadvertently stuck his foot in his mouth, I explained that while, yes, an ultrasound can be exciting, that’s not the purpose. The purpose is to rule out potentially bad things. I have no excitement for Friday’s ultrasound, I told him—just excitement for it to be over.
The thing is, he still didn’t get it. He kept on repeating that by the 2nd or 3rd time, it must be getting kind of old. His wife, I think, understood my point (and I wonder what their conversation was like during the car ride home!), but I felt like I was talking to dead air.
Unfortunately, I think I explained it best to M—after everyone had already left: If an ordinary day is a 0, with an exciting day at a +10 and a devastating day at a -10, then B was thrilled that he had a +10 day when they had their 20-week ultrasound. Our 20-week ultrasound was a -10 day. I am fervently hoping for a 0 day on Friday. B, however, hates the idea of having 0 days for the rest of his ultrasounds to come. His idea of boring is my idea of excitement. Just to have avoided a -10 day actually makes it a +10 day for me!
Did you get all of that?
Of course, talking to M was like preaching to the choir. He, too, was kind of irked at B for insisting on his argument—especially considering the company he was in. I’m having a hard time letting go of the conversation and reminding myself that B didn’t mean to hurt us; he was just being ignorant and naïve. It makes me very, very glad, however, that I have such a sensitive guy for a husband! Even before our experience, he would have “gotten it,” and if he accidentally stuck his foot in his mouth with a friend, he would be furiously backpedaling to try to make it up to them.
(And by the way, I’m really not in as much of a tizzy about Friday as I sound. I’ll just be very glad when it’s over.)
Monday, May 5, 2008
To nest or not to nest?
In reading about a few other pregnant bloggers who are nesting, I am reminded of my own conflicting urges.
It is so, so hard for me to let go and assume that things are going to go well unless told otherwise. It’s especially hard, since this Friday is the Big Bad Ultrasound.
It was at the last Big Bad Ultrasound that everything started to go to hell. Four days later, it all really did go to hell.
Let’s put on our logic hats: We’ve already found out that this baby doesn’t have the same problem Zach did. However, I had fear at this moment in my pregnancy last time and I didn’t even know what bilateral renal agenesis was. The fact is, there are still plenty of terrible diagnoses that could greet us when we walk into the ultrasound room in four days.
All of you glass-is-half-full people out there probably wish you could smack me off side of the face for being so paranoid. But I must admit that after we found out about Zach, I felt like a fool for ever believing this could actually work out. After all, I told myself last October, we’ve made it halfway through the pregnancy. Aren’t we practically home-free?
So now, every happy, hopeful thought is brought screeching to a halt when I remind myself what could happen.
I, like so many of you out there, had started cleaning and organizing and doing varied preparations for another member of our household. I hadn't gone so far as to pick out bedding, but M had installed an organizer in the "guest room" closet and I had cleared two shelves in our hall closet. Those shelves have gradually been re-filled over the past six months.
I have an all-afternoon inservice with the larger communication team my department is a part of. I’m sort of helping to lead this workshop. I would love to wear a gorgeous new top from JCPenny, but because of the way this top is cut, I would be making a rather “pregnant” statement to a bunch of people I barely know and probably inviting conversation about my current state. What if it all goes away?
Also concerning that particularly lovely top—I had vowed I wouldn’t wear my JCPenney clothes until after the ultrasound, because they can more easily be returned (and are rather more expensive than my other tops). What if I don’t need maternity clothes after this week?
I was practically giddy after getting together with my in-laws on Sunday. Before we left, my MIL showed me a list of people she’d like to invite to a shower and speculated turning one shower into two at the end of August/beginning of September to make it more intimate. TWO SHOWERS? FOR ME? Except, that’s so far away. So many bad things can happen between now and then…
I wish I could talk about my fall due date without adding all sorts of “ifs.”
It is so, so hard for me to let go and assume that things are going to go well unless told otherwise. It’s especially hard, since this Friday is the Big Bad Ultrasound.
It was at the last Big Bad Ultrasound that everything started to go to hell. Four days later, it all really did go to hell.
Let’s put on our logic hats: We’ve already found out that this baby doesn’t have the same problem Zach did. However, I had fear at this moment in my pregnancy last time and I didn’t even know what bilateral renal agenesis was. The fact is, there are still plenty of terrible diagnoses that could greet us when we walk into the ultrasound room in four days.
All of you glass-is-half-full people out there probably wish you could smack me off side of the face for being so paranoid. But I must admit that after we found out about Zach, I felt like a fool for ever believing this could actually work out. After all, I told myself last October, we’ve made it halfway through the pregnancy. Aren’t we practically home-free?
So now, every happy, hopeful thought is brought screeching to a halt when I remind myself what could happen.
I, like so many of you out there, had started cleaning and organizing and doing varied preparations for another member of our household. I hadn't gone so far as to pick out bedding, but M had installed an organizer in the "guest room" closet and I had cleared two shelves in our hall closet. Those shelves have gradually been re-filled over the past six months.
I have an all-afternoon inservice with the larger communication team my department is a part of. I’m sort of helping to lead this workshop. I would love to wear a gorgeous new top from JCPenny, but because of the way this top is cut, I would be making a rather “pregnant” statement to a bunch of people I barely know and probably inviting conversation about my current state. What if it all goes away?
Also concerning that particularly lovely top—I had vowed I wouldn’t wear my JCPenney clothes until after the ultrasound, because they can more easily be returned (and are rather more expensive than my other tops). What if I don’t need maternity clothes after this week?
I was practically giddy after getting together with my in-laws on Sunday. Before we left, my MIL showed me a list of people she’d like to invite to a shower and speculated turning one shower into two at the end of August/beginning of September to make it more intimate. TWO SHOWERS? FOR ME? Except, that’s so far away. So many bad things can happen between now and then…
I wish I could talk about my fall due date without adding all sorts of “ifs.”
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Back to work
It’s a really sad thing when, an hour and a half into your first day back at work after vacation, you reach for the Tylenol.
Ah well. At least I know they missed me here at the office.
Our trip to the UK was wonderful. Here are a few tidbits:
The Good--While we were at Edinburgh Castle, there was a lot of pomp and circumstance surrounding the Queen’s 82nd birthday, including a full Scottish military band and a 21-gun salute. It was very, very cool.
--We both loved driving around amongst the scenery in the Scottish Highlands.
--We sat in on two pub quiz nights while we were in Keswick (England’s Lake District) and spent some time getting to know the locals—our ultimate goal when we’re traveling overseas.
--Our last night in the UK, we were in London and got to see the only show playing on Sunday night—King Lear at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. It was very cool. Yes, my feet hurt after standing for three hours (we bought standing room tickets) but it was up both our alleys.
The Bad--We ended up leaving Chicago 15 hours after we were supposed to. Our first flight was cancelled due to “an ability to fly over water.” (?) Fortunately, my parents live in Chicago; they picked us up and we spent the day with them. We were all boarded on our second plane, only to be told that the coffee maker malfunctioned, they had to drain all the water out of the plane and they had to find a different plane for us. Our flight was delayed by four hours.
There was a good reason we had scheduled a day flight; I simply cannot handle night flights. I can’t sleep on the plane and I get anxiety attacks about my inability to sleep. We ended up on a night flight, and sure enough, the combination of discomfort, anxiety and hormones reduced me to a sobbing mess on M’s shoulder. Simply put, I had a meltdown.
I will never fly A.meri.can Airlines again.
--During our nine-day trip, we had two flat tires—partly due to the fact that we were both trying to get used to driving on the other side of the car, and partly due to the fact that near the end of our trip, a driver crossed over the center line of a VERY narrow road (apparently, they have a lot of these in the UK), M swerved to avoid him and ended up blowing out a tire on the rocks by the side of the road. Good times, good times.
--After several days of feeling fetal movement before our trip, I simply stopped feeling it for about a week. By the end of that time, I was convinced we were dealing with another Dead Baby. Fortunately, things kicked back into action again (so to speak) a few days ago.
* * *
Unfortunately, M had to fly out for a four-day work trip this morning—less than 24 hours after we got back—but we’re doing OK. We’re kind of overwhelmed by the number of things we need to do over the next couple of weeks, but I prefer being busy to being bored. Back to reality!
Ah well. At least I know they missed me here at the office.
Our trip to the UK was wonderful. Here are a few tidbits:
The Good--While we were at Edinburgh Castle, there was a lot of pomp and circumstance surrounding the Queen’s 82nd birthday, including a full Scottish military band and a 21-gun salute. It was very, very cool.
--We both loved driving around amongst the scenery in the Scottish Highlands.
--We sat in on two pub quiz nights while we were in Keswick (England’s Lake District) and spent some time getting to know the locals—our ultimate goal when we’re traveling overseas.
--Our last night in the UK, we were in London and got to see the only show playing on Sunday night—King Lear at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. It was very cool. Yes, my feet hurt after standing for three hours (we bought standing room tickets) but it was up both our alleys.
The Bad--We ended up leaving Chicago 15 hours after we were supposed to. Our first flight was cancelled due to “an ability to fly over water.” (?) Fortunately, my parents live in Chicago; they picked us up and we spent the day with them. We were all boarded on our second plane, only to be told that the coffee maker malfunctioned, they had to drain all the water out of the plane and they had to find a different plane for us. Our flight was delayed by four hours.
There was a good reason we had scheduled a day flight; I simply cannot handle night flights. I can’t sleep on the plane and I get anxiety attacks about my inability to sleep. We ended up on a night flight, and sure enough, the combination of discomfort, anxiety and hormones reduced me to a sobbing mess on M’s shoulder. Simply put, I had a meltdown.
I will never fly A.meri.can Airlines again.
--During our nine-day trip, we had two flat tires—partly due to the fact that we were both trying to get used to driving on the other side of the car, and partly due to the fact that near the end of our trip, a driver crossed over the center line of a VERY narrow road (apparently, they have a lot of these in the UK), M swerved to avoid him and ended up blowing out a tire on the rocks by the side of the road. Good times, good times.
--After several days of feeling fetal movement before our trip, I simply stopped feeling it for about a week. By the end of that time, I was convinced we were dealing with another Dead Baby. Fortunately, things kicked back into action again (so to speak) a few days ago.
* * *
Unfortunately, M had to fly out for a four-day work trip this morning—less than 24 hours after we got back—but we’re doing OK. We’re kind of overwhelmed by the number of things we need to do over the next couple of weeks, but I prefer being busy to being bored. Back to reality!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)