more on momhood

Sometimes Brett and I say to eachother, "I can't believe we have a baby." It's true, I cannot believe we have a baby and I can't believe how cute she is (I'm not going to try to be humble, my kid is CUTE). I'm her only mommy and I will do right by her. She is a dream. My Maggie.


Having said that, I also cannot believe how much more fragile life seems these days. I worry about her health and well being frequently and feel like disaster is possibly waiting around the corner at all times. This is not healthy, and it's something I need to get control of. After she was born, I had some tough times and was occasionally over come by dark thoughts. Thought of horrible things happening to her and a fear of living a life without her. I am so in love with my baby that I don't think I could live without her. I think of parents who have lost their children and it floors me. Our neighbors lost two of their three children to a terrible, painful disease and I don't understand how they've survived the grief. You survive because that's what you do, but the pain must have felt unbearable. I have a tremendous amount of anxiety, and I think I've dealt with it by eating. I know, that sound so lame, but it's true. It's not like I'm paralyzed by fear, but I think that this sort of under the surface fear and anxiety over something happening to my daughter has taken me by surprise. I have always had anxiety issues, but this is new and I don't quite know how to deal with it. My general way to deal with anxiety is to eat, and so I have, but I didn't know why. But I really think that it's this anxiety over her. I don't know if this one warrants therapy, but I do know that it warrants exploration and perhaps a dose of reality. Hello parenthood, you're a whole new level of possible crazy, but I promise to take care of it for her.

News Flash . . .

Parenting is HARD. I know, it's shocking. But here's the thing, I knew it would be tiring and emotionally demanding to have a baby, but I got it totally wrong. I'm really not all that tired, and most of the emotion comes from how much I LOVE this child of mine. The thing that's hard is that it never stops. There are no breaks. It's constant and completely overwhelming at times. Especially because our child does not even sleep by herself, so there is literally no break. I'm not really complaining here, I'm not, because I wouldn't trade it for the world, but I am stopping to pause and say, "hey, this is different and kind of hard." There's a shit load of responsibility (DUH!) and that in and of itself is HARD. Every parent goes through it, and we are not special.

To that end, I need to take better care of myself because I am fatigued. We sleep great, it's just in a family bed. This is what works for us right now, because I'd rather get 8 hours of sleep with the baby, than 3 with her in her own bed. Plus, she's doing amazingly well, and why fuck with it? I know, I'm defensive, but seriously, you can't imagine the weirdness we receive in response to the knowledge that our baby sleeps in our bed. To each their own, but it's not that weird. Goodnight.

Now, since having this baby, my back and sciatica are screaming at me, and now my knees have started to hurt. I've lost the baby weight, but quite frankly, I really didn't gain that much anyway. The weight I have was here before the baby. The thing is that before the baby I was not lifting 18 pounds on a regular basis, and spending huge portions of my day on the floor and in contorted positions in response to an increasingly mobile infant. It's taking its toll and I need to get into physical shape so I won't need to replace all of my joints. It's ridiculous how old I physically feel. It's unnecessary too.

So . . . here we go with a health kick. And let's hope it's not a kick but an actual healthy forever. God help me, I sort of hate this, but I have to do it for me and my baby. I want to be a physically active mom and keep up with my baby and hopefully her babies. I don't want to be like my parents who cannot (for various reasons, not all their fault) babysit their grand-daughter. I want to feel good and feel energetic.

But how do I do this? Well first and foremost I have got to lose weight. I think that if I lost 20 pound I would feel markedly better, but if I lost 40 pounds I would feel terrific (not to mention probably look a lot better). But how do I do this? Eat less, obvs. The thing that makes me nervous about this is that I'm still 100% breastfeeding, which makes me hungrier than I could ever imagine. It's like having the munchies several times a day. If I don't eat regularly, I literally get sick. I feel dizzy, nauseous, all together awful. So how do I limit my caloric intake without compromising myself and my baby? Eat good food right? No more M&Ms and white bread and butter. So sad, but so necessary.

So, that's that. I have to publically declare that from here on out I am going to make a valid, valid, earnest attempt to get healthy. For my family. Hopefully it will be a HUGE success, but if things don't get off to a good start I may break down and joint WW or something. We'll see, but wish me well on this endevour, however easy it seems to some, it's not for me.

spouting about childbirth

I just have to interject in here (between the parts of my birth story) that the thing I learned about child birth is that there is no perfect birth. My biggest disappointment with pregnancy and childbirth was that there was a ton of misinformation out there and it really feels (at least it did to me) that you have to pick a side. You are either going natural or you are going medical intervention. It also seemed to me that both sides negated the worth of the other side and that was tough. I felt like my doctor did not ever listen to me regarding my wish for an epidural free labor, and I feel like our Bradley coach was a misinformed idiot who spouted a bunch of crap selling it as science. I'm not saying all Bradley teachers are like this, but our's was.

I felt ironically more unprepared for childbirth by taking the class and by discussing things at length with my doctor because I got a multitude of conflicting information. At no point did I feel confident in any choice because I felt like I could never get a straight answer. And maybe that's the problem right there. There just isnt' a straight answer and you just have to choose the course that's right for you. Go with your gut, and my gut told me early on that perhaps this doctor was not the doctor for me. But logically he was because he knew me, he knew my history, he had performed surgery on me the previous year and I sort of credited him for even getting my pregnant (Brett won't appreciate that line) because he helped me with endometriosis and I did get pregnant. But, I should have followed my gut. I'm not saying I would have found a doctor that was into the natural birth, but I certainly would have found a doctor that would have listened to me and talked to me about things like they were real options and not just propaganda from Mothering magazine (which I subscribe to by the by).

Who knows? I do wish things had gone differently. I do, I have to be honest about that, but I also don't, because my Magnolia is here and she is perfect. She is a dream. She is magic. I'm greatful for medicine and for talented surgeons and for anesthesia. I am greatful for baby monitors and relaxation techniques and bonding with my husband during those ridiculous Bradley classes. I am greatful that I have enough presence of mind not to completely drink the kool-aid and mostly I am greatful that I have this little family. A family that has not slept in nigh on 12 weeks, but a family nonetheless. I am not a religious woman, and truth be told, the experience of becoming a mom has made me even less religious (more on that maybe later) but I do believe that nature and the creation of life is some amazing shit. Mind blowing really. Having Magnolia has connected me to the world and to humanity in a way that I feel is a true gift. I am lucky.

END CRAZY TALK

gratuitous baby picture

Because I'm at work and miss her . . .

The Birth: Part one

So here we go with the birth story . . . I have to say that I haven’t really recounted this since it happened. Brett and I occasionally revisit it, but we try not to because the main lesson we learned from this experience is that the only important thing is a healthy and safe baby. We got that. I would like to shoot my pre-birth self who claimed that a "natural birth" was the right way to go. The right way is the way that keeps everyone safe and healthy.

My OB decided that he wanted to induce me because the baby kept having these slightly scary tachycardic episodes and he said that once I reached 39 weeks, I was full term and there was no reason not to get the baby out. I was so desperate to have this baby that I thought GREAT!
Thus, on November 17th, my official 39-week mark, Brett and I drove to the hospital with 192 bags of unnecessary luggage and checked in for my induction. I received Cervadil overnight, and then in the morning I got the BIG BAD Pitocin.

So we check in and make it to the delivery room, where we will be spending the night. I get to hang out in the actual delivery bed, and Brett gets to stay on this absurd pull-out couch thing. The room is HUGE and Brett and I are super excited when we see the receiving blankets laid out in the hospital bassinet. OH MY GOD, I think, this is really happening.

Our first nurse comes in and explains the Cervadil to me. It’s this weird tampon like thing that she has to insert in me, without any lubrication. Not painful, but not comfortable either. The nurse also told me that she would be putting in the IV and the external fetal monitors. There ends any potential for sleeping comfortably.

In goes the Cervadil, on go the “interventions” and hereby begins the long slow decent into madness.

Brett and I stayed up and watched The Office, followed by an episode of Dirty Jobs. We read a little bit, we talked a lot. We were excited. Our first nurse left and the night nurse came on. She asked me if I wanted anything to help me sleep. I declined.

We went to “sleep.” The night nurse came in 3,000 times to re-position the fetal monitors and help me readjust my position. Every time I had to go to the bathroom I had to get Brett to help me unplug the fetal monitor and lug my IV with me to the bathroom, wherein I had to pee in a “hat.” Sleeping did not really occur.

Come 6am it the doc on call came in to check me. I hadn’t progressed at all, so it was time to start the Pitocin. I also had to have IV antibiotics because I was positive for Strep B.
Nothing happened for a while, so they decided to break my water. That was not painful at all, but certainly weird. I had some fuzzy socks on and the doctor was strangely concerned about them getting wet. They did not. There was no meconium staining in the fluid, so all seemed to be fine.

The contractions sort of started, but nothing interesting. The doc came to check me again and this time he did it with meaning because that hurt like a mother fucker. I still wasn’t really progressing and there was some talk about how my cervix was doing something weird with the baby’s head. I still don’t really understand. Brett explained it to me and tried to show me with his hands, but I still had no clue. I guess he understands the female body better than I.
Anyway, time kept ticking along and we got a new nurse around 8am. I lovely woman named Rhonda. I heart Rhonda. Rhonda made this whole experience okay. For all of you out there who will someday have a baby in a hospital, I hope you get a nurse like Rhonda. Except for one thing . . . she was really really into me getting an epidural.

Now Brett and I were pretty adamant that I wasn’t going to have an epidural. Nope. Not for us. But then I got hooked up on a thousand IVs. I had one IV for fluid, one for Pitocin, one for antibiotics. Then there were the monitors that had to be on all of the time because of the Pitocin. Basically, I was strapped to the bed and could not really move around at all.
The not moving around thing was fine, until the contractions really started in earnest. They hurt (shocking, I know). One hit while I was on the way to the bathroom and therefore standing up. That was a lot easier to take, but once I had to return to the bed, they were really really painful.

Rhonda kept telling me not to wait too long for the epidural. Then she told me that the anesthesiologist was making his rounds, and really we should grab him now, and basically it was now or never. At this point, I really felt like I could continue without an epidural, but it also seemed like maybe I couldn’t take this pain if it got much worse. I didn’t know what to do. I was totally confused and I felt like the entire hospital was going to make me get an epidural no matter what.

I got an epidural.

The anesthesiologist was hysterical. His name was Dr. Tooma for starters, and he was this very dorky, middle aged guy who was incredibly, perhaps overly, friendly. But thank god he was so nice, because that procedure is just weird. So weird. I don’t remember it being particularly painful, but it was very bizarre. However, I must say that after the epidural started it was bliss. Pure relief. For a few minutes.

After the epidural was in and I was comfortable (I have to say, it was wonderful) Rhonda suggested that Brett go get some lunch, and that I try to take a nap. She was going to go do some paperwork. I was left alone. Unfortunately, that’s when I had what they call a vasovagal attack in response to the epidural. My blood pressure dipped way down (I don’t remember the exact number, but it was frightening and all sorts of alarms started going off) and I pretty much passed out. I was also shaking severely because when your veins expand like that, you tend to get very cold. It was severe enough that they had to stop the epidural for fear that I would go into cardiac arrest and give me several epinephrine shots in my thigh. Brett came back from lunch and really wished he had never left, obviously. My blood pressure sort of returned, but then would go back down again. The baby was reacting not so well to this hospitable environment. This kind of thing can have severe consequences on the baby, so my OB (who arrived specifically for me) decided that it was time to get baby out. A C-section was imminent and Brett and I were both crying out of disappointment and fear.

Everything happened so quickly from then on. Brett was given scrubs and went to put them on. I already had a catheter in preparation for the epidural, but Rhonda needed to shave me. A few other nurses came in to get things ready, and in about 10 minutes we were on our way to the OR. Brett had to go wait in another room while they prepped me for surgery, and thus I was alone. I was so freaked out and I don’t think terrified really conveys what I was feeling. Thank god for Dr. Tooma. During a c-section the anesthesiologist stays up by your head and monitors how much anesthesia you need and how you’re reacting. So while they were prepping me he was telling me that he was going to take good care of me and that after the surgery he had a whole bag of “good stuff” and I could have whatever I wanted. He was like a drug pusher on the street, which I found oddly charming and hilarious. He also put a bunch of warm towels around my head (I was still shaking pretty violently) and called me his “babushka,” which is what my Polish grandma used to call me. I heart Dr. Tooma.

So, Dr. Tooma tested my pain level, and by test I mean he asked if I could feel it when my OB began slicing into my abdomen. Thank goodness I couldn’t feel it. Eek. Brett was brought in and seated next to me, a sheet was draped across my chest so that I couldn’t see anything.
Here’s the weird thing about c-sections, the baby is born like right away. I don’t know how long it was, but maybe 5 minutes and out comes baby. Brett was wearing a mask over his mouth and nose, so all I could see were his eyes. When the baby was being pulled out, Dr. Tooma asked if he wanted to watch. Brett stood up to watch and I watched his eyes, but I couldn’t see his mouth. Brett was so emotional that he couldn’t really speak, but I needed confirmation that everything was okay. I needed to see Brett smile or tell me something, but I couldn’t see his mouth and he couldn’t speak. That was the most terrifying moment for me. But soon I heard our baby cry and the doc and nurses said she was beautiful and healthy. Relief.

The NICU docs were standing by because of the vasovagal attack and as a result Brett did not get to cut the cord. That sucked. They checked her out and she received a very high APGAR score. She was fine, she was perfect, she was HERE. The nurses cleaned her up a bit, wrapped her in blankets, put a hat on her and brought her over to me. She was rooting like a champ and I was so desperate to nurse her that I could barely stand it. The docs were still working on me, but in all honestly, I couldn’t feel anything and I didn’t even care. I had my baby and all I wanted was to get out of the OR and get her onto my boob.

But they had to sew me up, so Rhonda, Brett and baby went out to the OR recovery room and waited for me. I cried and cried and smiled and cried and listened to the “thwump, thwump” as they stapled my stomach back together. Then they finally wheeled me out to Brett and our baby and there she was. Beautiful.

Rhonda handed her to me and helped me get her latched on to my breast and she immediately went to town, eating that good colostrum up. She was amazing. A real natural.
I was on top of the world. All that crap they say about only vaginal births give you that hormonal high is just that, crap. I was flying and so in love with my baby. The bonding hormones were coursing through my veins and I thought was going to burst with love and happiness. Brett, on the other hands, was not the beneficiary of such hormones and looked completely shell shocked. I don’t blame him.

And there ends part one. Part two will come soon enough, and includes such highlights as the nurses asking Brett to go “deal” with my mom because she was pestering them so much, and the night a very evil nurse told me that I wasn’t capable of feeding my daughter. Oh hospitals, they are so much fun.

PIctures!

Hey, I had a baby a while ago!

Oh, HI! Guess what . . . my baby is 10 weeks and 2 days old. How did that happen?

Also, it's a lot of work to have a newborn! So much work that nothing else gets done (including updating one's blog).

Anyway, Magnolia Rose was born November 18, 2009 at a healthy 6 lbs. 12 oz and 20.5 inches. She was born via c-section and mom and babe did well from the get go. The worse part is that I am at work and therefore have no pictures available for posting. Not to fret, they will be incorporated shortly.

Being a mom is completely awesome and ridiculous and heart expanding and heart wrenching and utterly exhausting (especially now that I'm back to work). Let me assure you that this baby is loved and cherished and AMAZING.

Birth story to come one day too . . .

Still ever so pregnant

And apparently I might stay this way for a while. I got all excited about my dilation and mucus plus (never thought I'd type that statement) and then it turns out that it's totally normal to be all dilated for weeks, and perhaps my mucus was more the result of an internal exam and nothing to get worked up about. Of course, I got worked up.

Then again, whatever, this is my first baby and will allow myself a few transgressions into the world of overly excited.

I still don't really know if what I'm feeling is, or has ever been, a Braxton-Hicks contraction. I suspect that yes, I've had these contractions, but I can't really tell when it's her moving, or when it's a contraction. The past couple of nights though, I've felt some serious tightness all over my uterus and that has got to be the contractions. It think. Christ, this shit is not as easy to identify as I feel it should be.

I have also pretty much outgrown ALL of my maternity clothing. Now my shirts don't quite contain my enormous belly, and I routinely flash a bit of lower abdomen to the poor unsuspecting stranger. I have also made a possibly permanent enemy of pants. I abhor spending any time in pants. The maternity ones just don't stay up for shit, and obviously there are no other options at this time. I spend most of my days in some variation on the yoga pant. In fact, on Friday I actually wore flannel pajama pants to the office, but I disguised them as part of my costume (pregnant lady in her pajamas, obviously) so it was fine. Plus, the were candy corn pajama pants.

Nevertheless, I am epically uncomfortable and I would like to go into labor as close to my due date as possible because I really would like NOT to go back to work before Christmas, I am ready now. In fact, I'm so uncomfortable that Brett and I went out and bought an enormous recliner yesterday. It's so big and poofy that it kind of looks like a Muppet. I love it. I fell asleep in it last night and let me assure you, I don't normally fall asleep easily these days. Plus, it's a rocker recliner, so it will be crazy useful for rocking baby. Yippee.

And now I must go attend to my ice cream. We had a very healthy dinner of a vegetable stir-fry, so I believe ice cream must be had to make up for the lack of fat and cholesterol.

And so it begins

I know this doesn't mean it's going to happen soon, but as of yesterday I'm 1.5 cm dilated and definitely losing my mucus plug. AHHHHH!!!!!

Okay, will remain calm and return to job at hand, which would be actual job.

Any of you mommies out there dilate at 36 weeks and lose your plug this early too? Tell me your stories in gory detail.

P.S. I just goggled "mucus plug" and you should definitely not do this, because there are pictures. Just saying. Be wary. Also, there are 12,000 ways to spell mucus and I have no idea which way is correct.

Angst

My dad is on a train right now, venturing down our way for the first time in about two years. We give him a break on this lack of visits because he has “the cancer,” but it is kind of ridiculous that he’s never even been to our house before and he only lives a six hour drive away. Nonetheless, I am excited to see him and spend the weekend with him.

He has been exceptionally great about this whole baby thing. He’s very excited to be a grandpa, but is also very supportive of us. This is opposed to the rest of my family who is making me sort of sad. My sister has given very little indication that she is even aware that I am pregnant. She has no interest in coming up here to see the baby and every time I talk to her it’s like she’s forgotten that I’m pregnant. I thought it might have something to do with my getting pregnant before her (she’s five years my senior) but I kind of don’t think that’s even an issue. I think she just basically doesn’t care. It’s weird because we’re very close. The only thing she seems to care about is dogs, because when our dog was sick a few weeks ago, she called twice a day to check on him, but with humans apparently she cannot be bothered. Gah.

Also, my mother. Oh my mother. She is mostly great about the whole thing, except for the fact that her primary concern is winning the grandparent race to see the child first. No one else is competing but her, mind you. My in-laws are coming on January 1st (at our request) and while my dad is coming down for the birth, he is primarily coming to help us out. My mother is very concerned about where she stands compared to my father and it makes me want to NOT call her when I go into labor. I know that’s cruel, but I cannot deal with people who stress me out when I’m dealing with giving birth.

There are several other things that are completely freaking me out these days:

1. The fucking flu. I’m all vaccinated (even the H1N1, though the stupid nurse started squirting it out of the needle before putting it in my arm, so perhaps I have a useless dosage coursing through my veins? Add that as a stressor too) but still concerned about it and worried that Brett will get it, or somehow the baby will not get any protection from me.

2. Daycare. We’re still waiting to roll off waiting lists and if we don’t get into a place I have no idea what we’ll do. Perhaps I’ll smuggle her into my office and just keep my door shut all day and play music really loud.

3. The dogs and what exactly we will do with them when I go into labor because our hospital is an hour away and it could very easily be Thanksgiving when all of the neighbors and friends will be either out of town or entertaining. I’m hoping we can rely on my dad, but that definitely means that mom will be pissed, but she’s just not very reliable.
Money because we need a new car and we need to pay for daycare (should we get into one) and somehow the thought of being a brand new mommy and the only bread winner is just a tad overwhelming at times.

4. Labor and fears thereof. Pain. Not being able to go natural and disappointing myself and my husband (and having to show up at the freaking birthing class reunion as the only one to get an epidural). I know this should not be a concern, as I should only be concerned for a healthy baby, but I’m being honest in my stupidity.

5. The general worries of not being a good enough mom. I assume this is natural, but every night when I go to sleep and look over the bassinet and think about the fact that soon there will be a tiny infant there who’s life is entirely in our hands makes me feel like the rest of this shit just doesn’t really matter. I just want to do right by our baby.

Baby Names

I'm on Swistle's baby name blog today! How fun is that!

pumps and nazi's, in that order pretty much

Hi. Don't have any new pictures for you. Working on it. Our camera is being difficult and I would really like a new one before baby, but I keep bleeding money due to purchase of such as things as breast pumps. For the love, these pumps are expensive. I know, they are well worth it and I finally (after agonizing over it for literally months) pushed the "purchase" button.

I did a lot of research before buying mine, and while everyone sings the praises of the Medela, I did not go with that particular model. Instead, I went with the Ameda because it was recommended by every lactation consultant I've talked too (which would be all of two) and a very normal, nice, big boobed lady in my LLL group. And yes, I've joined the breast feeding nazi's and so far, well I haven't seen anything particularly alarming about their behavior. They've been nothing but helpful and nice and I'm going to rely on them pretty heavily once baby is here and I need help with breastfeeding. Plus, I need some Mama friends, and many of these ladies I can see being friends with.

I also joined another Mama group, which is ridiculous seeing as I haven't even given birth yet, but I'm desperate for friends who are also moms because none of my friends have kids yet. Well, one just had her first 6-weeks ago, but she lives in California, so what good does that do me? Another one just found out she was pregnant, but is not due for 7 more months, so again, what good? I need me some mommy friends. I am stalking moms. I am crazy. If you have a child and live in the general vicinity of Northern Illinois, watch out if you see me at Target or the grocery store, I may come after you.

BELLY!

Here I am at 28 weeks. Obviously this was six weeks ago, but we haven't taken a picture for a while (mostly because I'm all "NO! PICTURES!"). Also, no make-up and the hair has lost all semblance of a "style" because it grows like a weed and I can't afford weekly hair cuts. Tonight we have to get all fancied up so that Brett can be inducted into an honor's society (I shout "nerd!" because I am jealous as I was never invited into any type of society) so perhaps we will take a picture in our finery (finery means the last remaining dress that fits me and the maternity tights that sported a hole after minutes of wearing but I refuse to buy new ones because it is highway robbery!).


Also, thanks for the book recommendations! Off to the library ASAP. And down with J. Up.

Still pregnant

I’m just going to jump into this thing as though it hasn’t been several months since I last stopped by. Okay? Okay.

Here I am, six short weeks before my due date. We are (about 98% sure) having a baby girl and in general, this pregnancy has been about as normal as can be. There are no red flags and all is progressing well. As far as we (including the medical folks involved) can tell, this baby is healthy and there is no reason for worry. And yet, I worry, because I am about to be a mom and that is what mom’s do. I love this baby with all my being, and I am so anxious to hold her that it’s practically all I think about or dream about. The first time I hold my baby, the millionth time I hold my baby, I cannot wait.

I am huge. Not overly huge, but certainly huge. I carry this belly around 24 hours a day, and yet when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or see a picture Brett has taken of me, I am chronically astounded. I cannot believe how rotund my mid-section is. I am not remotely upset by this; instead I am exceedingly proud of my belly and will miss it. Aside from the fortune of having my new born in my arms, I will miss being pregnant. This is not to say that I am not miserable for a good portion of the day, for I certainly am, but I do enjoy all the thrills of being pregnant and doing this thing that only us womyns can do. It’s exhausting, uncomfortable, sometimes entirely unpleasant, but also it’s pretty awesome. Also, I like being able to bring her wherever I go and am so not thinking about the day I have to return to work and leave her at home. I like taking her with me.

Our goal is a “natural” birth. That is, one with no pain medication and as little intervention as possible. We took the class, Brett has a card in his wallet indicating that he is a “certified coach,” and I am appropriately motivated to DO THIS. However, I have no idea what “this” is going to be like and I just hope that whatever happens, I wind up with a healthy baby and that I too am healthy and that this is enough. I do NOT want this to be about the birth, but about the baby and this family: Baby, Me and Daddy. That’s all that needs to matter.

I just am so anxious for the time to be here, where I am in labor and we are officially on our way to holding our baby. I keep imagining the moment where she emerges and I really think I might die of emotion (and relief). I truly cannot imagine how big this moment is going to be and perhaps I’m over dramatizing, but I kind of don’t think so. This is the single most ridiculously amazing thing that I have ever endeavored to do and I fully believe that it will be emotionally all consuming and I want to have all my faculties about me for this.

Everyone tells me to “sleep now.” Yup, sounds like something you should say to a woman about to give birth, but you know what, this is the most useless piece of advice. Obviously I sleep as much as I can now, but that is already limited by my physical shape. My hips ache all night long, which keeps me up; I have to go to the bathroom, on average, five times a night, which obviously disrupts my sleep; and I still have to go to work and carry on with a life that will not stop for my discomfort. Thus, to all those “friends” of mine with their advice, SHUT IT.

Finally, I am in desperate need of more books to read. Brett requires a lot of study time these days, and due to the smallness of our house and the fact that we had to turn the study into the nursery, I can no longer watch TV much at all for it will disturb his studies (not something that concerns me, I am happy to oblige). However, that means that I now read, a lot. Problem is that I don’t know what to read. So tell me, what are some good books? I recently finished John Krakauer’s newest book (awesome and upsetting) and am now knee deep in the Witches of Eastwick because somehow I managed to have never read anything by John Updike. But, um, what next? Help a pregnant lady out?

entering controversial territory

I am so very annoyed with a certain book I’m reading right now that I don’t know quite what to do about it. You see, I have always fully intended on receiving an epidural during labor. I still do, but because I like to be over prepared, I signed my husband and I up for birthing classes using the Bradley method. The teacher recommended that I read a book entitle Husband-Coached Childbirth, written by Dr. Bradley himself, who developed the Bradley method way back in the 1940’s.

I fear I have made a mistake investing in this book.

I’m sure that the breathing techniques I will learn, and the coaching techniques that Brett will learn will be helpful, but I can’t quite stomach the premise the dear Dr. Bradley gives us. You see, he begins his book talking about being raised on a farm and witnessing many a farm animal birth and wondering why those births seemed so pleasant and unassisted, where as human births need assistance and seem a lot more painful. He thinks it’s because we are not listening to our animal instinct. I think he should have watched PBS a little bit more.

I, admittedly, have not studied biology since (embarrassingly) high school, but I do know a couple of things: (1) Human babies have enormous heads, way bigger proportionally than any other mammal; and (2) Humans stand upright and therefore our pelvises had to change shape and size as opposed to animals who walk on all fours. These two factors make human childbirth a very different experience than any other animal. A much more difficult experience, in fact. You know where I learned this? Watching Nova, that’s where.

I also happen to know that many a time, cows need help in the birthing process. In fact, my husband was part of a calf birth that required the use of scary looking chains and I’m betting that that poor cow would have preferred the aid of an epidural and was not silently breathing, but instead mooing her pained head off.

All in all: F you Dr. Bradley.

DONUT

I just ate a donut and it was about the best thing I have ever had in my life. For about a week now, my appetite has increased. I’m a bit nervous about this, because not only do I not want to gain a lot of weight with this pregnancy, but I’m also not supposed to. The doc thinks I’d be fine with the lower end of the weight gain range, and while that’s sort of embarrassing to hear in front of your husband, it’s fine. I mean, if you saw me, which you have, in pictures, you probably wouldn’t say I was obese, but you know, I’ve got some meat on my bones. Also, in case I haven’t brought this up enough already, my boobs are the size of boulders, mountain sized boulers. All in all, I am a sturdy woman and am in no threat of wasting away if I don’t eat a donut.

However, I am hungry. So hungry. What I should do is actually bring healthy snacks to work so that I don’t eat the donut, but that would entail an actual trip to the grocery store, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s grocery shopping. So boring.

I guess I’ll just make up for it with a very healthy lunch and then cringe when I get on the scale at the doctor’s this evening.

We’re having our 12 week ultrasound/sonogram thing tonight and I’m nervous and excited. So nervous because I am a worrier and I worry that something has gone wrong in the past 3 weeks. There is no reason for my worry, I just like to keep it slowly simmering under the surface. I’m excited because we will hopefully hear a heart beat and get a good glimpse of the baby, which never gets old.

In a few months, when the baby is here, I’ll be so excited that I no longer have to have a wand stuck up my vagina, or gel slathered over my belly in order to look at my baby. That will be nice.

I talked to my uncle last night, the crazy one married to the aunt who was less than congratulatory upon hearing the pregnancy news. Anyway, he lectured me about responsibility and that OUR LIVES WILL CHANGE FOREVER. Why do people do this? As if we don’t know. Oh my God, my eyes are still sore from all the rolling they were forced to do during that conversation. Of course, the man was drinking a gin and tonic during the conversation, which was, no doubt, not his first. I have a special family.

Almost lunch time

Last night Brett and I went to bed while it was still light outside. Brett wound up with a sinus infection and is on these nasty antibiotics that ravage his insides, and I am simply tired, all the time.

I read about 3 pages of my book and promptly feel asleep. All went according to plan until midnight when my body woke me up with THE WORST GASTROINTESTINAL PAIN OF MY LIFE. I was literally moaning in agony. I was also very worried because it felt a lot like cramps, which you know, aren’t a good thing to feel when you’re 11 weeks pregnant. I was a little bit freaking out, which I am wont to do, and in my midnight stupor, I sort of didn’t know what to do. Then it occurred to me that perhaps I should go to the bathroom. That’s when things really got interesting, and painful, and luckily it was all over in about 20 minutes. But oh my God, that was painful and awful and I can’t think of what I ate that would cause that level of distress because my entire diet consists of starch, apples and a few slices of Jarlsburg cheese for protein. Seriously, that’s it. I have the world’s worst diet right now.

The only thing I can think is that one of the perks of pregnancy is chronic constipation, and maybe my body just got so sick of being backed up that it orchestrated a very dramatic exit strategy. I don’t know. I’ll ask the doc on Thursday when we have our 12 week appointment. According to Dr. Google, it’s normal and fine and the baby was not harmed in the event, but mama sure was!

In other news, I want to make out with our new fence. A crew of four very skilled, very non-English speaking men spent all Friday putting our fancy new fence up. They did one hell of a job. I love it. It really highlights the fact that the rest of the yard is in poor shape, but at least we’re on our way to making it pretty. We basically spent the entire weekend shopping for the yard and plotting our strategy for Operation-Out-Do-Thy-Neighbor. We literally spent $200 on various seeds, sprays and lawn patches. Between our daily garden center sprees and the $3,100 dollar fence, our yard to soon to be worth more than the actual structure of the house. That’s fine, I think Brett would spend every moment outdoors if he could anyway.

Oh and the worst thing, which I had almost pushed out of my mind, is that fact that my car required $617.00 worth of stupid repairs yesterday. Is there anything worse than car repairs? No. In fact, we’ve decided that this is the final repair for the old girl. As much as I hate the idea of a car payment, that $617.00 is about two of them, so I’m sorry, but if anything else goes wrong, it’s good-bye Hyundai that has seen me through 5 states, 7 addresses and my first stab at adult life, and hello to something shiny and new. She just has to make it through the summer. Please!

Today is Okay

Today I am feeling GOOD. Like really good. A little nauseas, but nothing I can’t handle.

Yesterday was just plain old stupid. Brett was a total sweetheart of course, and after he read my email he offered to drive to my office (an hour away) just to give me a hug. Obviously that would have been ridiculous, but it was nice to hear nonetheless.

In other baby related business (for there is no other now), we have recently begun telling all of our friends about our pregnancy and mostly it’s been all positive. I mean, it has been all positive, but I do have one friend who has been trying to get pregnant for over two years. She and her husband have been seeing a fertility specialist for over a year and she’s had all sorts of procedures, tests, taken numerous medications, and nothing has worked. I was kind of nervous to tell her I was pregnant because, well, if I were her it would be kind of difficult to hear that your friend got pregnant on the first try. This is especially annoying since one of our other good friends is also pregnant and all of her siblings have recently had babies.

I called her the other night and just blurted it out, because I am tactful like that. She was congratulatory, but really didn’t want to hear much about it. I understand. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for her and I really wish she could have some good news. She’s got a great life in general and a career she loves, which is something I don’t have, but not being able to get pregnant must be incredibly frustrating. Especially when everyone around you seems to be knocked up.

It’s funny the way some people react to the news. My aunt, for example, who is a little bit crazy to begin with, had the worst response out of all informees. She has no children of her own and because of this, is particularly invested in the lives of my sister and me. She is also married to a complete wack job. I mean, truly, a man with some problems. Anyway, when I told her she said, “Are you sure you want to do this?” Um, excuse me? Is that not the stupidest response ever? I mean, I’m telling you when I’m 10 weeks pregnant, I think that choice portion of the pregnancy is pretty much over, and also, YES, of course I want to do this you mean cow.

Sorry, I didn’t realize how angry I was about that comment. But truly, why do people say the things they say? Even if you think it’s a bad idea, just be happy for me and leave your judgment for behind my back.

On the lighter side, I am recently obsessed with, of all things, Toaster Strudels. I crave them in the morning, and I try not to have them every day because they’re, you know, bad for you. However, the idea of a healthy breakfast often makes me want to cry. In fact that idea of vegetable in general makes me want to cry. I have had salad twice since becoming pregnant, and both times I’ve gotten sick and puked. I have no issues with fruit, in fact I find apples, strawberries and grapes absolutely delicious, but vegetables are evil. Good thing I can stomach the vitamins.

Have a happy weekend. Brett and I are going on a proper date tonight involving dinner out and a viewing of Hugh Jackman and my secret boyfriend from Friday Night Lights. Yippie!

Feelings

I’m having a rough day today. I spent my hour long commute fighting off tears and now that I’m at the office I’m continuing my reign of crazy. Just to illustrate, there are window washers here and I started crying when they came in to wash the windows in my office because my desk is such a mess that they couldn’t even get to the windows to wash them. These gentlemen didn’t even speak English and couldn’t explain to them why I was upset. I suppose that even if they did speak English it would be difficult to explain the crazy to them.

If only I was showing already so folks would sort of give me a break, maybe.

I don’t even know what’s wrong, except everything. Last night I couldn’t sleep because our dog is on antibiotics and they make his stomach upset and he puked on the bed. Brett got upset and there was some stress and then I was AWAKE with the stress. I am very sensitive to the STRESS of every living being in our house. Apparently Bear now bit open his scab on his rear end wound and bled all over the other blanket that he didn’t puke on. I feel so sorry for him, and also STRESSED because I know it upsets Brett and that makes me anxious. Also, there is only so much laundry a family can tolerate.

I am crazy.

Brett called this morning and we had a chat about aforementioned dog issues and I couldn’t even tell him anything honest, so I had to email him. I had to email my own husband the truth about my STRESS and propensity to cry and not sleep. I just couldn’t do it live and in person because I was afraid that he would just get annoyed with me or exacerbated or just wouldn’t care. My husband is a very kind man, so that would probably not be the response, but this is the anxiety level I’m talking about.

I had to email my own husband with a statement of feelings. What?

Then again, we do sometimes have to write things down, even when I’m not hormonally crazy because we both have a hard time getting our words out sometimes.

I’m just feeling really raw and also swollen as my finger fat is puffing out above my wedding ring and my face is now the size of an overripe pumpkin.

This is why I like reading about babies and watching “A Baby Story” on TLC. It reminds me of why my body is doing this and why my heart is 10 sizes too big and all together too sensitive.

The Dictator

I know, I've been all sorts of dead to the Internet world for months, and now I'm back with a vengance. But we were keeping this whole baby thing very very quiet, and now we're allowed to talk about it, so I'm alive with the sound of my own typing.

Here's the thing, I love that I'm pregnant. Love it! I have never been more happy about anything in my whole life. However, I am physically miserable. Every day I feel like crap and, I didn't know it was possible, but I hate my body more than ever and I'm not even showing yet. Thus, it is remarkable that I'm still all sunshine and flowers. I must really want this kid.

I have taken to calling the fetus (it's a fetus now, according to "What to Expect") "The Dictator." It dictates things after all, from what I eat to the fact that I now nap on a regular basis, which is completely NOT something I would normally do.

Maybe the name will change over the course of the pregnancy, but right now it's The Dictator.

Brett has been great, though he's been sick with one thing after another himself, so he's not exactly cheerful these days. Poor guy. Also, with both of us not feeling tip-top, the house is looking like a project for that dude on Oprah that clears out clutter. It's bad. However, we did break down and contract a fence installation for the back yard. This was HUGE because Brett prefers to do things himself, but with all the projects we have going on and the fact that we're both struggling, paying for the work seemed the prudent thing to do.

BORING.

The dogs have been exciting in a very unfortunate way. Millie, the little poodle, was diagnosed with and underdeveloped vulva in the summer of 2007. Some lady dogs have this problem, and it causes incontinence when she sleeps. We had it under control with daily estrogen supplements, until we went to Texas in March and boarded the dogs at the vet. Ever since then she's had almost nightly accidents. We took her back to the vet and they did an exam and x-ray and found nothing. We've basically decided that it's like some sort of PTSD as a result of us leaving her. She is nothing if not incredibly sensitive and very very attached to her humans. Thus, we are trying to cure her of it like it's a behavioral problem and not a physical problem, because apparently that's what it is. She now has to wear this little denim diaper to bed, and when I get up to pee for the fourth time in a single night I will take her outside. So far so good, but odds are that just by writing this I am jinxing us.

Bear, our pomeranian, was not to be outdone. Last Thursday, I was at the office when Brett called to indicate that Bear had "a problem." I was about to leave early because I had come down with a cold and on top of the nausea it was just too much to take. When I got home I saw that Bear had a bloody rear end. Cue freak out and call to the vet. They couldn't get him in for a few hours, so I sat with him wrapped in a towel on the couch. Poor little guy. When the vet finally did get him in they took one look at him and said that he had an abscessed anal gland. Yummy! A week later, he's still on the mend with a very nasty looking butt wound and some high test pain killers and antibiotics.

We love them anyway. It's all good training.

Brett's got exams next week, and eyes so blood shot he looks like he's permanently stoned. I will be very happy when next Thursday comes and he is done with his last exam and we have our final doctor's appointment of the first trimester and hopefully we will hear a strong and healthy heart beat.

The Dictator needs some sort of carbohydrate now. Ta ta.