It's amazing to me looking back that I had even considered keeping up a blog (here or somewhere else) after Brianna was born. We barely have time to keep a semi-clean house and get healthy meals and maybe even have Frisky Time at least once a week (don't worry, this won't be a TMI post). But there are so many things I've wanted to share here, so I'm going to try to find some time to post now and then.
The most important change in my life over the past few months has been finally feeling better. Postpartum depression is a Bi-atch with Sucky Sauce on the side. It takes what should be the most magical, precious time in your relationship with your children and sucks away your will to really see life for what it is. Incredibly tough at times, a learning experience every single day, but so much wonder in every new thing they do and express and discover. Watching her joyfully grab her feet to play with her toes when they're finally freed from her pajamas helps balance the exhaustion of waking up every night at 4am.
For now, her world revolves around the fact that she has feet and hands and a mouth and can blow bubbles with her food and kick her legs like crazy, watching the silly things Andy and I do to keep her distracted when she's on the edge of a meltdown. These simple things are enough to make me utterly content as a mother almost all the time. And I am really, truly happy.
For now, the hardest moments come when I forget that she is blossoming into a person, and every day she will become a little more independent with her own agenda of what she wants to be doing and the means to make it difficult for me to push my own will on her. As tempting as it is to just think of her as a cute puppet who will go along with whatever I need (or want) to do, she lets me know when she's not happy with the plan. It doesn't mean I have to give everything over to her, but it helps to remember that she's not doing it to piss me off, and that there are times when picking my battles makes everything smoother for everyone.
(She's already working on the limp fish routine when I try to trim her nails. I can only imagine what it's going to be like when she has her first temper tantrum in the grocery store over something I'm not inclined to add to our grocery cart. Unless she wants Oreos, in which case we're also getting some peanut butter to dip them in.)
Going with the flow has become a touchstone for me. The more I fight to stick with my own vision of what's supposed to happen, the harder it is to make anything happen. Sometimes I just have to let it go and stop trying to expect how other people (people meaning a 6 month old, assorted relatives, and random drivers who won't get off their damn phones) will behave in my life. (Because that totally worked before, you know.) They're not doing everything with the express purpose of making my life hell, they're just doing what fits with their own plan. It doesn't have to be a reflection of me when I can't figure her out, because she doesn't even know what she wants. I just have to pause and remember that I'm doing the best I can with what I know and trying to figure out the things I don't know.
So for anyone out there wondering if they'll ever feel like themselves again, when they'll finally have that bubbly constant love other moms seem to have for their kids, why they can't turn off the harsh voice and just enjoy their family - it gets better. With a lot of help and support and self-reflection, I'm finally where I wanted to be when pregnancy was still just a dream.
If you don't feel like you're living, there are a lot of people who want to help. You just have to take the first step and let somebody know. Here are some websites that I found helpful, encouraging, and/or downright life-saving:
From the NIH, good descriptions of what you might be feeling and lots of great resources to look through for you as well as your partner.
A list of 14 tips to prevent PPD from Ask Moxie. These are still helpful even when you're in the thick of it, so check them out. Mostly I love her tone and approach. No holier-than-thou "you must do this!", just "do what makes it easier and more loving for everyone in your house right now, and what gets everyone the most sleep."
If breastfeeding is a priority, check out kellymom. Lots of great info that can help make breastfeeding less difficult/confusing/painful.
Dooce. She went through PPD and laid it all out there to help break down the stigma of mental illness. She's also funny as hell when she's writing about other stuff, and sometimes you need a good laugh.
It's a scary place to be. Please don't try to go through alone. You're not weak, you're not the World's Most Unqualified Mother, you're not a disappointment to your baby/your spouse/God/the cashier you always get on your weepiest trips to the grocery store.
You won't feel this way forever.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Dark Hours
Hi there! It's been awhile since I've posted anything, so if you're still reading my blog, you deserve a prize. Not that I can really give you anything, since all my time and energy goes into taking care of a baby and myself.
So. The real reason I've been out of commission here is that I was dealing with some really severe post-partum depression. It's a lot more common than most people realize, but that doesn't make it any less difficult. It's a horrible feeling to wonder if you love your child enough, or at all. But it's terrifying to realize that you think about hurting that child, and more so to realize in the darkest, most difficult moments that if you don't put her down right now, you will do something you regret.
It's not pretty, but it's the truth. I couldn't trust myself sometimes, and I'm thankful that those moments only came in the middle of the night when Andy could take over caring for her and then be my shoulder to cry on. I struggled a lot with these feelings and thoughts, and it only made me feel more inadequate as a mother. There's so much judgement for mothers who admit to being less than thrilled with parenting, and even more for those who don't know how to handle the challenges, but I feel it's important to be honest about this, even if it took me several weeks to share what I've been through.
After all the time we spent trying to get pregnant, I forgot to prepare myself for how hard the transition to motherhood would be. It's not just the sleepless nights, though that was one of my biggest triggers. It's also the insecurity of not knowing what she's trying to tell me with her cries, the fear that the mistakes I make (big or small) will have long-term consequences, and the sheer bewilderment of having a relative stranger running my life. I felt like I couldn't make her happy, but being a perfectionist, I had the completely unreasonable standard for myself that I should be able to figure what she wanted in the first couple weeks.
Life doesn't work like that though. It takes time to learn a baby's cries and cues, and even then, sometimes she's just crying to cry and there's nothing to do but soothe her until it runs its course or hand her off to someone else when you can't handle it anymore. Breastfeeding isn't strictly intuitive; there's a bit of a learning curve to get past the soreness and the leaking. And then there are the diaper changes where she pees all over the place before you can get the fresh diaper on, and then does it again two more times.
It should have been one of the most special times in my life, but I couldn't enjoy my daughter until she was almost 2 months old. I'd have brief periods of happiness, but the rest of the time I was struggling to live without being able to control how she behaved or change my environment to be more manageable. Eventually I learned to go with the flow, to not take it personally when she screamed, to recognize when I was approaching that border between rational response and losing it again. Weekly therapy has made all that possible. Medication also helped make it easier to accept the difficult moments even when I didn't have half the sleep I needed. So many people have told me that you get the hang of it around 3 months, and it seems to be true.
It's so much easier now, especially now that she only wakes up twice during the night, if at all. Life feels a lot better, though there are still hard moments when I have to walk away. I'm not sure where to take this blog now, though. I don't really have any interest in making this a "look at how cute my kid is! she has sunshine and rainbows coming out of her ass!" mommyblog (though I could do that somewhere else, since she has some spectacularly surprising stuff coming out of her ass sometimes). Yet there's not a whole lot to say about my ovaries or my hoo-ha at this point (sorry Hoozin, I just couldn't leave it alone). In about a year we'll be trying for kid #2, but until then there may be some radio silence. So tell me what you think. Should I start another blog, or should I just transform this yet again to reflect the newest stage of my life?
So. The real reason I've been out of commission here is that I was dealing with some really severe post-partum depression. It's a lot more common than most people realize, but that doesn't make it any less difficult. It's a horrible feeling to wonder if you love your child enough, or at all. But it's terrifying to realize that you think about hurting that child, and more so to realize in the darkest, most difficult moments that if you don't put her down right now, you will do something you regret.
It's not pretty, but it's the truth. I couldn't trust myself sometimes, and I'm thankful that those moments only came in the middle of the night when Andy could take over caring for her and then be my shoulder to cry on. I struggled a lot with these feelings and thoughts, and it only made me feel more inadequate as a mother. There's so much judgement for mothers who admit to being less than thrilled with parenting, and even more for those who don't know how to handle the challenges, but I feel it's important to be honest about this, even if it took me several weeks to share what I've been through.
After all the time we spent trying to get pregnant, I forgot to prepare myself for how hard the transition to motherhood would be. It's not just the sleepless nights, though that was one of my biggest triggers. It's also the insecurity of not knowing what she's trying to tell me with her cries, the fear that the mistakes I make (big or small) will have long-term consequences, and the sheer bewilderment of having a relative stranger running my life. I felt like I couldn't make her happy, but being a perfectionist, I had the completely unreasonable standard for myself that I should be able to figure what she wanted in the first couple weeks.
Life doesn't work like that though. It takes time to learn a baby's cries and cues, and even then, sometimes she's just crying to cry and there's nothing to do but soothe her until it runs its course or hand her off to someone else when you can't handle it anymore. Breastfeeding isn't strictly intuitive; there's a bit of a learning curve to get past the soreness and the leaking. And then there are the diaper changes where she pees all over the place before you can get the fresh diaper on, and then does it again two more times.
It should have been one of the most special times in my life, but I couldn't enjoy my daughter until she was almost 2 months old. I'd have brief periods of happiness, but the rest of the time I was struggling to live without being able to control how she behaved or change my environment to be more manageable. Eventually I learned to go with the flow, to not take it personally when she screamed, to recognize when I was approaching that border between rational response and losing it again. Weekly therapy has made all that possible. Medication also helped make it easier to accept the difficult moments even when I didn't have half the sleep I needed. So many people have told me that you get the hang of it around 3 months, and it seems to be true.
It's so much easier now, especially now that she only wakes up twice during the night, if at all. Life feels a lot better, though there are still hard moments when I have to walk away. I'm not sure where to take this blog now, though. I don't really have any interest in making this a "look at how cute my kid is! she has sunshine and rainbows coming out of her ass!" mommyblog (though I could do that somewhere else, since she has some spectacularly surprising stuff coming out of her ass sometimes). Yet there's not a whole lot to say about my ovaries or my hoo-ha at this point (sorry Hoozin, I just couldn't leave it alone). In about a year we'll be trying for kid #2, but until then there may be some radio silence. So tell me what you think. Should I start another blog, or should I just transform this yet again to reflect the newest stage of my life?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
The Postpartum Adventure
Brianna is now three weeks old. She's lost her wrinkly newborn look, and just looks like a tiny baby now (well, as tiny as you can look when you're roughly 10 pounds). She holds her head up on her own sometimes and loves to watch a toy that dangles from the arm of her car seat, which is where she goes half the time because she sleeps so well in there. Occasionally she'll give us smiles, though I'm pretty sure they're not happy smiles yet, just more of a "hey, I have muscles in my face, I wonder how to use them" expression, kind of like when she lifts her eyebrows and pouts her lips out after she finishes nursing. But while my mom would be happy to have me write about Brianna until my fingers fall off, I'm here to share what it's been like for me these past three weeks with all the gory details. Fair warning: it's not always gonna be pretty.
When I was still in the hospital, the biggest thing I had to face was how unbelievably tired I was. So tired I couldn't reposition myself in bed at first, and I pretty much slept if I wasn't nursing or cuddling with Brianna. Which made going to the bathroom all kinds of fun at first, since certain areas were understandably SORE. (Percocet is such a wonderful drug when you've just pushed something the size of a small cantaloupe out of your hoo-ha! Did I mention her head was 14.5 inches around? Oy-vay.) It was also slightly disturbing to have so much bleeding afterwards. Nine months without a period, and then it seems like my body wants to make up for lost time, with the added bonus of having to use pads. It's like being back in junior high, but instead of an egg baby to care for, I have an incredibly cute but demanding newborn. After a mere 36 hours, I am sent home with a sitz bath, water jug, and squirt bottle as parting gifts. We could have stayed longer, but I would probably have been going stir crazy, and the fold out bed Andy was in was not designed for fathers over 6 feet tall.
Since coming home, I'm still incredibly tired, but it's more because I only get 5 hours of sleep in little chunks, rather than the utter exhaustion of pushing out a baby in only 20 minutes. The first full day home, we had to take Brianna to the pediatrician, and I had never regretted having stairs so much as I did after dragging myself up and down and out and about, and repeat the next day because Brianna needed to be monitored for weight after loosing too much after birth before my milk came in. (What a way to feel like a parenting failure!) Gradually the stairs got easier, and by now I'm running back and forth without any issues. I've started up walking again too, though they're kind of pathetic, slow little strolls that leave me tired when it's warm out like it has been. Everyday I go further though, and I know eventually I'll get back up to a good pace and distance.
I had planned on using a walking routine to lose any baby weight that remained after Brianna was born, but thanks to a minimal weight gain throughout the pregnancy and the crazy metabolism brought on by breastfeeding, I've already lost it all. Plus an additional 17 pounds. I have no idea how I lost that much so quickly, but I won't complain. I'm not as swollen as I had been, so a lot of it was probably water. I'm not necessarily thinner than I was before getting pregnant, but I am back into my normal clothes, which feels fantastic but is a little frustrating at times because everything is shifted around from where it was before.
My belly has quite a bit of pooch with extra skin hanging around. It's gotten better than it was right after the birth, when it felt like a big soft sponge, but I'd like to at least have some chance of wearing a cute swimsuit this summer. The other big change is that my boobs are huge. Andy certainly has nothing but smiles when the subject comes up, but dear Lord, did I really need to gain three cup sizes? It seems to have been taken from my ass to fuel breastfeeding, which honestly, I'm kind of sad about. It was the one body part that stayed normal through the pregnancy, and I was generally pretty happy with the way it looked before. It helped balance out my figure and now I just look (quite literally) slightly deflated. I'm hoping things continue to reconfigure over the next few weeks, because this isn't exactly the body I imagined having as a new mom. Better in some ways, but disappointing in others.
You know what's not disappointing? Having my hair stop growing so much! Unfortunately it didn't happen overnight. In fact, those lovely postpartum hormones gave a sudden boost to my hair and nails. Nature isn't exactly selective about which hair gets the MiracleGro treatment, so any hairs that were already present starting growing like weeds, including my facial hair. After coming home from the hospital and having barely enough energy to shower, personal grooming was pretty low on my to-do list. Until I noticed that my hairs were longer than Andy's stubble. Yes, I had finally grown more hair than my husband and had gone past the title of Bearded Lady. I had starting looking like a college sophomore who tries to grow a goatee so his fake ID is more believable. The only reason I wasn't a completely lost cause is that I had waxed my upper lip recently enough that there weren't too many hairs trying to do a Chia Pet imitation. Otherwise Andy probably would have looked at me funny when I tried to kiss him. Needless to say, I promptly waxed and plucked my way back to delicate femininity, or as close as I could come to it in this hormone-addled state, and things have been much slower growing back in.
So even with all those hormones going crazy (and who knows what PCOS will do to keep things...unpredictable), I'm doing quite well physically for being halfway through the 6 weeks that it's supposed to take to feel back to "normal".
Emotional recovery is a whole other story though.
Baby blues have given way to something more. It's not something I'm ready to get into in much detail at the moment, but I am getting treatment. Some days are harder than others, but it's starting to get easier and I'm able to enjoy more of my time with Brianna, which wasn't happening much at first.
When I was still in the hospital, the biggest thing I had to face was how unbelievably tired I was. So tired I couldn't reposition myself in bed at first, and I pretty much slept if I wasn't nursing or cuddling with Brianna. Which made going to the bathroom all kinds of fun at first, since certain areas were understandably SORE. (Percocet is such a wonderful drug when you've just pushed something the size of a small cantaloupe out of your hoo-ha! Did I mention her head was 14.5 inches around? Oy-vay.) It was also slightly disturbing to have so much bleeding afterwards. Nine months without a period, and then it seems like my body wants to make up for lost time, with the added bonus of having to use pads. It's like being back in junior high, but instead of an egg baby to care for, I have an incredibly cute but demanding newborn. After a mere 36 hours, I am sent home with a sitz bath, water jug, and squirt bottle as parting gifts. We could have stayed longer, but I would probably have been going stir crazy, and the fold out bed Andy was in was not designed for fathers over 6 feet tall.
Since coming home, I'm still incredibly tired, but it's more because I only get 5 hours of sleep in little chunks, rather than the utter exhaustion of pushing out a baby in only 20 minutes. The first full day home, we had to take Brianna to the pediatrician, and I had never regretted having stairs so much as I did after dragging myself up and down and out and about, and repeat the next day because Brianna needed to be monitored for weight after loosing too much after birth before my milk came in. (What a way to feel like a parenting failure!) Gradually the stairs got easier, and by now I'm running back and forth without any issues. I've started up walking again too, though they're kind of pathetic, slow little strolls that leave me tired when it's warm out like it has been. Everyday I go further though, and I know eventually I'll get back up to a good pace and distance.
I had planned on using a walking routine to lose any baby weight that remained after Brianna was born, but thanks to a minimal weight gain throughout the pregnancy and the crazy metabolism brought on by breastfeeding, I've already lost it all. Plus an additional 17 pounds. I have no idea how I lost that much so quickly, but I won't complain. I'm not as swollen as I had been, so a lot of it was probably water. I'm not necessarily thinner than I was before getting pregnant, but I am back into my normal clothes, which feels fantastic but is a little frustrating at times because everything is shifted around from where it was before.
My belly has quite a bit of pooch with extra skin hanging around. It's gotten better than it was right after the birth, when it felt like a big soft sponge, but I'd like to at least have some chance of wearing a cute swimsuit this summer. The other big change is that my boobs are huge. Andy certainly has nothing but smiles when the subject comes up, but dear Lord, did I really need to gain three cup sizes? It seems to have been taken from my ass to fuel breastfeeding, which honestly, I'm kind of sad about. It was the one body part that stayed normal through the pregnancy, and I was generally pretty happy with the way it looked before. It helped balance out my figure and now I just look (quite literally) slightly deflated. I'm hoping things continue to reconfigure over the next few weeks, because this isn't exactly the body I imagined having as a new mom. Better in some ways, but disappointing in others.
You know what's not disappointing? Having my hair stop growing so much! Unfortunately it didn't happen overnight. In fact, those lovely postpartum hormones gave a sudden boost to my hair and nails. Nature isn't exactly selective about which hair gets the MiracleGro treatment, so any hairs that were already present starting growing like weeds, including my facial hair. After coming home from the hospital and having barely enough energy to shower, personal grooming was pretty low on my to-do list. Until I noticed that my hairs were longer than Andy's stubble. Yes, I had finally grown more hair than my husband and had gone past the title of Bearded Lady. I had starting looking like a college sophomore who tries to grow a goatee so his fake ID is more believable. The only reason I wasn't a completely lost cause is that I had waxed my upper lip recently enough that there weren't too many hairs trying to do a Chia Pet imitation. Otherwise Andy probably would have looked at me funny when I tried to kiss him. Needless to say, I promptly waxed and plucked my way back to delicate femininity, or as close as I could come to it in this hormone-addled state, and things have been much slower growing back in.
So even with all those hormones going crazy (and who knows what PCOS will do to keep things...unpredictable), I'm doing quite well physically for being halfway through the 6 weeks that it's supposed to take to feel back to "normal".
Emotional recovery is a whole other story though.
Baby blues have given way to something more. It's not something I'm ready to get into in much detail at the moment, but I am getting treatment. Some days are harder than others, but it's starting to get easier and I'm able to enjoy more of my time with Brianna, which wasn't happening much at first.
Friday, April 22, 2011
How to Have a Baby
As promised, here's the (overly elaborate) story of how Brianna arrived. I have a lot to say, so grab a snack and dig in!
Really, it began that Sunday when I started having some mild contractions early in the afternoon. They didn't really slow down or go away, so I started keeping myself busy. I made a batch of palacsintas (a Hungarian version of a crepe), which unfortunately weren't refrigerated while we were in the hospital, so I didn't get the joy of a nutella-filled palacsinta when I got home - phooey. I went for a walk and the contractions got stronger. I sat outside while my mom planted flowers for me and they kept going. Through dinner and a shower, more and more contractions, incredibly regular. For most women, that would be a pretty sure sign that labor has begun, since contractions are supposed to go away when you move or change position if it's false labor. But apparently I'm that weirdo who doesn't like to follow medical rules. I tried laying down and getting a nap in, and once again they went away.
For some reason, it was even more devastating than the last round. They hadn't been difficult to get through, but they weren't exactly a walk in the park. I had gotten myself emotionally ready to go through with everything, and then it all went away. I was starting to wonder how many more times I would go through getting my hopes up, working to stay comfortable, and then being stuck again. We needed to reschedule our next check-in anyway since my mom needed to be at Dulles about the same time as the next day's appointment and there was no way it was going to work out with rush hour traffic on the Beltway, so we made our way to what would have been my Week 40 check-in.
We get in and it turned out that I had dilated another centimeter, but it didn't feel like enough given what I had been through. A lot of people think a slow labor is easy, and while physically it wasn't too bad, I was emotionally drained. The midwife brought up the possibility of scheduling an induction, and I told her I would be fine with it even though I had been asking to have a natural birth. My mom joked before she left to discuss it with a doctor at the hospital that today would be great, and lo and behold, our wish was granted. Luckily, I had just enough presence of mind to suggest grabbing the hospital bags on our way out, so we were ready to go.
The doctor's office happens to be right next to the hospital, so within minutes we were in the labor and delivery admitting office and then getting checked out again by the midwife on call to decide if she was okay with admitting me. I had already known that I would need an IV for antibiotics, so really the question was whether I was okay with the effects of the Pitocin and needing to be continuously monitored. At the time, I thought I could handle it, so we decided to go for it.
At 5pm, IV #1 gets started and I don't know if it was the nurse or just how swollen I had gotten by the end of the pregnancy, but it hurt. A lot. And nothing is less reassuring than seeing your ass-kicking ICU nurse mother cringe at the job done on an IV. Motherly concern or professional surprise? Either way, I was pretty sure that at some point the pain of the needle jabbing my hand would distract me for better or for worse. More on that later.
The Pit gets started along with my antibiotics, and the nurse was kind enough to start me off at the lowest dose possible and kick it up periodically until my contractions seemed to be doing well on their own. For a couple hours, the contractions were easier than what I had been going through at home. And though we tried to hold it in, my mom and I got a good laugh hearing a woman across the hall yelling "Owie!" during some intense labor. There's just something comical about hearing something a toddler would use. She definitely was making it a lot harder on herself than it needed to be, with a lot of high pitched screams that cascaded throughout the unit. We joked about going in and offering some help, because she definitely sounded like she needed it.
Around 7pm, the shift changes and I meet Morgan, the nurse who will be helping us all night. She and my mom talked shop a bit, including how far she drives to get up to Alexandria since my mom was looking at moving closer, and she mentions that Books on CD make the drive easier. "I have one right now that's so good I drove the long way home and then kept circling the block trying to keep listening. It's really long though, and part of a series--" and I blurt out "Outlander?!" and we all collapse into a fit of raving and giggles because really, how can you not love the Scottish hotness that is Jamie Fraser? That was the first sign that I was going to love having her on my labor team. She also made a point of checking in with me before starting any nursing care to see exactly how I wanted things to go, which was really reassuring. She pretty much continued to be awesome the whole night.
Not too long after that, the Pit was strong enough to get some more serious contractions going, and though nothing was terribly painful yet, they had to keep backing down the dosage because apparently my body responds quite well to it with contractions back to back. Then my mom bumped the IV while helping me pee and you would have thought I had suddenly jumped to being ready to push with the chewing out I gave her. So when we get back out of the bathroom she asked Morgan to redo it (figuring she'd be a little more competent than her predecessor) before my next round of antibiotics was due. Unfortunately that happened to be the same time as the all holy run to Chipotle for all the nurses, and since I was her only patient and everyone else had 2, she was the one leaving (did I mention I couldn't eat solid food at this point, and my mom decides to add in an order for her own burrito? cruelty, I tell you!). In the meantime, someone else tries to get IV #2 started only to discover that my body was really not wanting to cooperate, so yet another nurse comes in to try it out. They get the needle placed, and all seems well with the world. Until Morgan gets back and tries to start the meds running again...and nothing happens. Because this needle didn't work either. Lovely. IV #3 finally gets going, but at this point I've been off Pit for an hour and the contractions have stopped almost completely. I'm feeling like a human voodoo doll, and poor Andy is nauseous because he hates needles but stays by my side so I can focus on him and stay calm through each stab with the needle. The midwife for the evening shift comes in at 10 to check me out and break my water, and I've only opened up another centimeter after 4 hours of Pit. Luckily, breaking the water seems to be the magic ticket, because things really start to take off.
For the next couple hours, things are intense. Really intense. I'm past the point where most of the labor aids we brought with us (a fountain, a birthing ball, and so on) are going to be helpful, but Andy keeps talking me through my breathing, staying right by my side. Eventually I figure out I'm getting through each surge by focusing on his face, eyes locked breathing right beside me so I can hold on to his strength. We kept going like that for a long time, his face inches away from mine, showing me all the love in the world, with the sound of waves in the background on a sound machine. There were a couple times that I was doubting myself, unsure if I could make it without something for the pain. But Andy told me "I know you're strong enough to do this, but if you want to get some medication, it's okay." And something about having the encouragement to go on and the permission to get relief if I wanted to gave me the strength to choose not to use the narcotics and keep going.
Then suddenly things pick up even more. I'm struggling to find a position that doesn't hurt, and now it's my mom talking me through each contraction, showing me the way through. But as I'm struggling and moving around, the monitor that I'm hooked up to keeps shifting, so the nurses can't keep tabs on my contractions or Brianna's heart rate. And this nurse (who should be renamed Wicked Bitch of the Hospital instead of Agatha) keeps coming in to adjust the straps and the sensors, and won't even let me get through some of the tougher contractions before diving in. With this kind of pain, I can only tolerate certain types of touch from people I know and love dearly, so a stranger coming in and getting in my space isn't exactly welcome. My mom had to actually swat her hands away a couple times when she simply wouldn't leave me alone. The only good thing to come out of what she did was that the Pitocin was turned down several times because of how closely the contractions were showing up on the monitor.
There are only so many times you can turn down a dosage before you hit the minimum the pump is capable of producing. I had reached that point, as low as the IV would allow but with contractions going full strength and right on top of one another, so there was a chance the IV would be capped off and I would be sailing on my own. I was desperate to get in the shower and try using the water and heat to soothe me, but when you're on Pit, the baby must be monitored because the heart rate can suddenly change for the worse, which is when C-sections tend to be needed. But just in case it might be doable, my mom asks if I can get into the shower since the Pitocin is getting turned off. Thankfully, the midwife was okay with it just one time until I needed to get round three of antibiotics, and then I would have to stay in bed. For 30 minutes, I would be free of the IV and those incredibly confining straps. I was so sick of the pressure they were putting on my belly that I was nearly in tears, begging to have them taken off but too afraid to rip them off myself.
After a fun round of "hide the IV in a glove smaller than my wrist" so everything stays sterile while I'm wet, I crawl into the shower. It was soothing to a certain extent, but the contractions were so intense at that point that it was all I could do to remain upright. They hadn't really slowed down much by that point, so I was still just shifting from one position to another by the time the next one started. The time seemed to pass quickly, and by the time I was sicking of being uncomfortable, it was time to get out.
The thing we had forgotten about from my false labor escapades is just much a shower can move things along for me. I keep struggling through each contraction, struggling to keep from absolutely losing it and dissolving into a puddle on the floor. My mom is talking me through each one, pushing me to keep ahead of the pain that's coming and regroup with the fleeting lulls between each contraction. Each time it feels like I'm near drowning, about to lose control, unable to swim to safety and nothing to grab to pull myself away from the overpowering strong current. At this stage everything is kind of hazy, but I remember counting random sequences of numbers between 4 and 9, distracting myself by making new patterns every time. Because that's how a math geek handles contractions, obviously.
I'm going along like that for what felt like ages but was probably less than a half hour when suddenly I have to go to the bathroom so badly it distracts me from the awful contractions. But nothing happens. And suddenly we realize that I don't need to go -- I'm wanting to push. I'm fighting the urge because surely I'm not there yet, panting to give myself something else to do, but it's all so instinctual that there's no way in hell that panting will last me more than a couple minutes. So I decide to test the waters and give a little push. Holy instincts, Batman! It hurts but it feels right, and seriously, it hurts a lot but if I don't push soon I might just go crazy.
My mom is yelling over her shoulder, "Uh, she's trying to push, Morgan! Call the midwife!" and suddenly everyone is moving a lot faster. The midwife comes in to check everything out and I'm not quite there, just a tiny lip of the cervix still sitting around Brianna's head. So she and Morgan get everything set up on the sterile table and I'm back up on the bed, bearing down every so slightly with each contraction because that's the only way I can handle the intensity of the urges.
Finally, just before 3am, everything is ready. Andy and my mom are at each leg, ready to support me when I'm not pushing, and I'm being told to start. I get into it with every ounce of strength in my body, getting as many as I can with each contraction and feeling things starting to stretch and burn. My mom is counting through each push for me, telling me that Brianna is crowning already, and then Andy is counting for me, back in his role of being my rock to hold on to. All of a sudden the stretching burn gives way to the greatest pain I have ever experienced in my life. It was like having every sunburn of my life condensed into one moment and wrapped around my hoo-ha. I'm trying to push despite the pain, but each one is more and more painful, and I let out an ear-splitting primal scream, because there is nothing else my body can do to convey the agony I was feeling. But before I can get carried away with another scream, the midwife gets my attention and tells me I need to push, and suddenly I am back on track.
Just a few more pushes and even more intense pain, and suddenly I am holding the most beautiful baby girl in my arms, tears streaming down my face as Andy and I see our daughter for the first time. She is absolutely perfect, like her daddy in so many ways, and we are instantly in love. From that moment on, everything but Brianna is a little bit hazy for me, but I do remember my mom cutting her cord, the wide eyed look she gave us as she nursed for the first time in my arms, and the tears in Andy's eyes when he held her. My mom gave us some alone time to get to know Brianna while she called everyone to share the news, and I can't imagine a happier way to spend the first couple hours of her life.
Everything was quiet in the room after the midwife and Morgan got me fixed up (a first-degree tear - no surprise with that short of a delivery) and settled, though when she went to get me back on Pitocin to help my uterus contract, the IV had blown AGAIN. So six needle pokes and three failed IVs left me with a shot in the ass instead, which was infinitely better than more IV. All in all, I don't know that I could handle another birth with continuous monitoring, but with the incredible support of my mom and Andy, I got through it and managed to do it without cursing, telling Andy I hated him, or threatening to kill someone.
Really, it began that Sunday when I started having some mild contractions early in the afternoon. They didn't really slow down or go away, so I started keeping myself busy. I made a batch of palacsintas (a Hungarian version of a crepe), which unfortunately weren't refrigerated while we were in the hospital, so I didn't get the joy of a nutella-filled palacsinta when I got home - phooey. I went for a walk and the contractions got stronger. I sat outside while my mom planted flowers for me and they kept going. Through dinner and a shower, more and more contractions, incredibly regular. For most women, that would be a pretty sure sign that labor has begun, since contractions are supposed to go away when you move or change position if it's false labor. But apparently I'm that weirdo who doesn't like to follow medical rules. I tried laying down and getting a nap in, and once again they went away.
For some reason, it was even more devastating than the last round. They hadn't been difficult to get through, but they weren't exactly a walk in the park. I had gotten myself emotionally ready to go through with everything, and then it all went away. I was starting to wonder how many more times I would go through getting my hopes up, working to stay comfortable, and then being stuck again. We needed to reschedule our next check-in anyway since my mom needed to be at Dulles about the same time as the next day's appointment and there was no way it was going to work out with rush hour traffic on the Beltway, so we made our way to what would have been my Week 40 check-in.
We get in and it turned out that I had dilated another centimeter, but it didn't feel like enough given what I had been through. A lot of people think a slow labor is easy, and while physically it wasn't too bad, I was emotionally drained. The midwife brought up the possibility of scheduling an induction, and I told her I would be fine with it even though I had been asking to have a natural birth. My mom joked before she left to discuss it with a doctor at the hospital that today would be great, and lo and behold, our wish was granted. Luckily, I had just enough presence of mind to suggest grabbing the hospital bags on our way out, so we were ready to go.
The doctor's office happens to be right next to the hospital, so within minutes we were in the labor and delivery admitting office and then getting checked out again by the midwife on call to decide if she was okay with admitting me. I had already known that I would need an IV for antibiotics, so really the question was whether I was okay with the effects of the Pitocin and needing to be continuously monitored. At the time, I thought I could handle it, so we decided to go for it.
At 5pm, IV #1 gets started and I don't know if it was the nurse or just how swollen I had gotten by the end of the pregnancy, but it hurt. A lot. And nothing is less reassuring than seeing your ass-kicking ICU nurse mother cringe at the job done on an IV. Motherly concern or professional surprise? Either way, I was pretty sure that at some point the pain of the needle jabbing my hand would distract me for better or for worse. More on that later.
The Pit gets started along with my antibiotics, and the nurse was kind enough to start me off at the lowest dose possible and kick it up periodically until my contractions seemed to be doing well on their own. For a couple hours, the contractions were easier than what I had been going through at home. And though we tried to hold it in, my mom and I got a good laugh hearing a woman across the hall yelling "Owie!" during some intense labor. There's just something comical about hearing something a toddler would use. She definitely was making it a lot harder on herself than it needed to be, with a lot of high pitched screams that cascaded throughout the unit. We joked about going in and offering some help, because she definitely sounded like she needed it.
Around 7pm, the shift changes and I meet Morgan, the nurse who will be helping us all night. She and my mom talked shop a bit, including how far she drives to get up to Alexandria since my mom was looking at moving closer, and she mentions that Books on CD make the drive easier. "I have one right now that's so good I drove the long way home and then kept circling the block trying to keep listening. It's really long though, and part of a series--" and I blurt out "Outlander?!" and we all collapse into a fit of raving and giggles because really, how can you not love the Scottish hotness that is Jamie Fraser? That was the first sign that I was going to love having her on my labor team. She also made a point of checking in with me before starting any nursing care to see exactly how I wanted things to go, which was really reassuring. She pretty much continued to be awesome the whole night.
Not too long after that, the Pit was strong enough to get some more serious contractions going, and though nothing was terribly painful yet, they had to keep backing down the dosage because apparently my body responds quite well to it with contractions back to back. Then my mom bumped the IV while helping me pee and you would have thought I had suddenly jumped to being ready to push with the chewing out I gave her. So when we get back out of the bathroom she asked Morgan to redo it (figuring she'd be a little more competent than her predecessor) before my next round of antibiotics was due. Unfortunately that happened to be the same time as the all holy run to Chipotle for all the nurses, and since I was her only patient and everyone else had 2, she was the one leaving (did I mention I couldn't eat solid food at this point, and my mom decides to add in an order for her own burrito? cruelty, I tell you!). In the meantime, someone else tries to get IV #2 started only to discover that my body was really not wanting to cooperate, so yet another nurse comes in to try it out. They get the needle placed, and all seems well with the world. Until Morgan gets back and tries to start the meds running again...and nothing happens. Because this needle didn't work either. Lovely. IV #3 finally gets going, but at this point I've been off Pit for an hour and the contractions have stopped almost completely. I'm feeling like a human voodoo doll, and poor Andy is nauseous because he hates needles but stays by my side so I can focus on him and stay calm through each stab with the needle. The midwife for the evening shift comes in at 10 to check me out and break my water, and I've only opened up another centimeter after 4 hours of Pit. Luckily, breaking the water seems to be the magic ticket, because things really start to take off.
For the next couple hours, things are intense. Really intense. I'm past the point where most of the labor aids we brought with us (a fountain, a birthing ball, and so on) are going to be helpful, but Andy keeps talking me through my breathing, staying right by my side. Eventually I figure out I'm getting through each surge by focusing on his face, eyes locked breathing right beside me so I can hold on to his strength. We kept going like that for a long time, his face inches away from mine, showing me all the love in the world, with the sound of waves in the background on a sound machine. There were a couple times that I was doubting myself, unsure if I could make it without something for the pain. But Andy told me "I know you're strong enough to do this, but if you want to get some medication, it's okay." And something about having the encouragement to go on and the permission to get relief if I wanted to gave me the strength to choose not to use the narcotics and keep going.
Then suddenly things pick up even more. I'm struggling to find a position that doesn't hurt, and now it's my mom talking me through each contraction, showing me the way through. But as I'm struggling and moving around, the monitor that I'm hooked up to keeps shifting, so the nurses can't keep tabs on my contractions or Brianna's heart rate. And this nurse (who should be renamed Wicked Bitch of the Hospital instead of Agatha) keeps coming in to adjust the straps and the sensors, and won't even let me get through some of the tougher contractions before diving in. With this kind of pain, I can only tolerate certain types of touch from people I know and love dearly, so a stranger coming in and getting in my space isn't exactly welcome. My mom had to actually swat her hands away a couple times when she simply wouldn't leave me alone. The only good thing to come out of what she did was that the Pitocin was turned down several times because of how closely the contractions were showing up on the monitor.
There are only so many times you can turn down a dosage before you hit the minimum the pump is capable of producing. I had reached that point, as low as the IV would allow but with contractions going full strength and right on top of one another, so there was a chance the IV would be capped off and I would be sailing on my own. I was desperate to get in the shower and try using the water and heat to soothe me, but when you're on Pit, the baby must be monitored because the heart rate can suddenly change for the worse, which is when C-sections tend to be needed. But just in case it might be doable, my mom asks if I can get into the shower since the Pitocin is getting turned off. Thankfully, the midwife was okay with it just one time until I needed to get round three of antibiotics, and then I would have to stay in bed. For 30 minutes, I would be free of the IV and those incredibly confining straps. I was so sick of the pressure they were putting on my belly that I was nearly in tears, begging to have them taken off but too afraid to rip them off myself.
After a fun round of "hide the IV in a glove smaller than my wrist" so everything stays sterile while I'm wet, I crawl into the shower. It was soothing to a certain extent, but the contractions were so intense at that point that it was all I could do to remain upright. They hadn't really slowed down much by that point, so I was still just shifting from one position to another by the time the next one started. The time seemed to pass quickly, and by the time I was sicking of being uncomfortable, it was time to get out.
The thing we had forgotten about from my false labor escapades is just much a shower can move things along for me. I keep struggling through each contraction, struggling to keep from absolutely losing it and dissolving into a puddle on the floor. My mom is talking me through each one, pushing me to keep ahead of the pain that's coming and regroup with the fleeting lulls between each contraction. Each time it feels like I'm near drowning, about to lose control, unable to swim to safety and nothing to grab to pull myself away from the overpowering strong current. At this stage everything is kind of hazy, but I remember counting random sequences of numbers between 4 and 9, distracting myself by making new patterns every time. Because that's how a math geek handles contractions, obviously.
I'm going along like that for what felt like ages but was probably less than a half hour when suddenly I have to go to the bathroom so badly it distracts me from the awful contractions. But nothing happens. And suddenly we realize that I don't need to go -- I'm wanting to push. I'm fighting the urge because surely I'm not there yet, panting to give myself something else to do, but it's all so instinctual that there's no way in hell that panting will last me more than a couple minutes. So I decide to test the waters and give a little push. Holy instincts, Batman! It hurts but it feels right, and seriously, it hurts a lot but if I don't push soon I might just go crazy.
My mom is yelling over her shoulder, "Uh, she's trying to push, Morgan! Call the midwife!" and suddenly everyone is moving a lot faster. The midwife comes in to check everything out and I'm not quite there, just a tiny lip of the cervix still sitting around Brianna's head. So she and Morgan get everything set up on the sterile table and I'm back up on the bed, bearing down every so slightly with each contraction because that's the only way I can handle the intensity of the urges.
Finally, just before 3am, everything is ready. Andy and my mom are at each leg, ready to support me when I'm not pushing, and I'm being told to start. I get into it with every ounce of strength in my body, getting as many as I can with each contraction and feeling things starting to stretch and burn. My mom is counting through each push for me, telling me that Brianna is crowning already, and then Andy is counting for me, back in his role of being my rock to hold on to. All of a sudden the stretching burn gives way to the greatest pain I have ever experienced in my life. It was like having every sunburn of my life condensed into one moment and wrapped around my hoo-ha. I'm trying to push despite the pain, but each one is more and more painful, and I let out an ear-splitting primal scream, because there is nothing else my body can do to convey the agony I was feeling. But before I can get carried away with another scream, the midwife gets my attention and tells me I need to push, and suddenly I am back on track.
Just a few more pushes and even more intense pain, and suddenly I am holding the most beautiful baby girl in my arms, tears streaming down my face as Andy and I see our daughter for the first time. She is absolutely perfect, like her daddy in so many ways, and we are instantly in love. From that moment on, everything but Brianna is a little bit hazy for me, but I do remember my mom cutting her cord, the wide eyed look she gave us as she nursed for the first time in my arms, and the tears in Andy's eyes when he held her. My mom gave us some alone time to get to know Brianna while she called everyone to share the news, and I can't imagine a happier way to spend the first couple hours of her life.
Everything was quiet in the room after the midwife and Morgan got me fixed up (a first-degree tear - no surprise with that short of a delivery) and settled, though when she went to get me back on Pitocin to help my uterus contract, the IV had blown AGAIN. So six needle pokes and three failed IVs left me with a shot in the ass instead, which was infinitely better than more IV. All in all, I don't know that I could handle another birth with continuous monitoring, but with the incredible support of my mom and Andy, I got through it and managed to do it without cursing, telling Andy I hated him, or threatening to kill someone.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Introducing Brianna Noelle
I made it!! Brianna Noelle was born Tuesday night without pain meds at 3:16am, weighing 8 pounds and 14 ounces and measuring 20 inches long (I got part of it right). I'll do another post with the whole story, but funny thing about pushing out babies, you're completely and utterly exhausted by the end of it and everything hurts for a few days. So enjoy the pictures and poke me if I don't get around to another post in a couple days.
Asleep at home
Swaddled up in the hospital
Cuddling with my beautiful girl
Exhausted but happy
Ready to go home
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Week 38 - Return of the TMI Happy Hour
Hi there! I bet you're just thrilled to be reading yet another post where I spew forth verbal diarrhea . I wanted to give everyone adequate notice for the squeamish and shy that today will be a lot of TMI, so don't say I didn't warn you. Let's get started, shall we?
So the biggest thing on my mind lately has been a certain tendency towards being Frisky, which makes me sound like a sex-crazed maniac. This is only partly true. There seem to be two things going on right now, not exactly mutually exclusive but they don't seem to work well together either. On the one hand, my body seems to be going "Get it now before you have to wait at least 6 weeks and make it work while sleep-deprived with leaky boobs!". That part is fine, I know how to handle that (obviously, or I wouldn't be in this...predicament). But on the other hand, I feel a certain amount of pressure to be Frisky to bring on labor. There's a certain amount of ironic symmetry in pushing to do this on a regular schedule after the routines we went through to get pregnant in the first place.
One of the things that couples complain about if they have trouble conceiving is that sex starts to feel like a chore instead of a fun and intimate expression of love. We never quite got there, but there were a couple times that a small glass of wine was needed to get things started, and right now I don't have that luxury available. I'm terrified that I'll start not looking forward to it, and then I'll be regretting not taking advantage of the opportunity when I was able to.
Ahem.
Enough about that. You know what else you probably never wanted to know about? The fascinating prospect of going to the bathroom! Most women have a fear of a tiny bit of, shall we say, involuntary bodily function during delivery. But your body does it's best to clear everything out of your system before you get anywhere near the pushing stage, generally the day before you go into labor. I have never been so excited by the idea of number two before, for the sole fact that it could mean the big day is imminent. Exciting stuff, I know. Also exciting is the slow break down of the mucus plug (which somehow hadn't come out yet despite dilating to 4cm), because it's so fun to have what looks like a shower snot rocket when you wipe. But it's a good thing, if more than a little strange feeling.
We met with the midwife yesterday and got some recommendations on DIY induction. Sex and acupressure topped the list (check, and trying it out). She also tried using some of the tricks of her trade, only to discover that I'm already so close to going into labor that she couldn't actually do any of them because my body was already there. In addition to being 4cm and 60% effaced, I'm also carrying fully engaged ("her head is basically at the gates of the luge") with bulging waters and my membranes have separated on their own. One good sneeze could be all it takes, though several rough coughs associated with the bronchitis I have had hasn't been enough to do it, so I guess I can take that option out of the running. Then again, how am I supposed to know the difference between peeing my pants and having my water break? I'm guessing they all feel the same when you have a sneezing fit, based on my previous experiences with the "spritz of joy".
But enough about me and everything else you never wanted to read about. The midwife estimated Brianna to be about 8 and a half pounds, pretty much on par with last week's ultrasound, so I'm guessing she's actually in the 8 and three-quarters range. We'll see though. Either way, she puts a lot of pressure on my pelvic bone, so I will be sooooooo happy to go into labor. I've been getting about 10 hours of sleep throughout the day because I'm so tired after carrying her around for the other 14, and that's still not enough time to ease the achiness. I'm just hoping for Brianna's sake that even if I go into labor by tomorrow morning that things take just long enough that she's not born on April Fool's Day, because that's just a sucky day to have a birthday. So right now we're shooting for April 2nd just after midnight. If you see a post about going into labor, it's probably not a joke, unless I'm feeling particularly punchy. Can't discount that possibility either.
So the biggest thing on my mind lately has been a certain tendency towards being Frisky, which makes me sound like a sex-crazed maniac. This is only partly true. There seem to be two things going on right now, not exactly mutually exclusive but they don't seem to work well together either. On the one hand, my body seems to be going "Get it now before you have to wait at least 6 weeks and make it work while sleep-deprived with leaky boobs!". That part is fine, I know how to handle that (obviously, or I wouldn't be in this...predicament). But on the other hand, I feel a certain amount of pressure to be Frisky to bring on labor. There's a certain amount of ironic symmetry in pushing to do this on a regular schedule after the routines we went through to get pregnant in the first place.
One of the things that couples complain about if they have trouble conceiving is that sex starts to feel like a chore instead of a fun and intimate expression of love. We never quite got there, but there were a couple times that a small glass of wine was needed to get things started, and right now I don't have that luxury available. I'm terrified that I'll start not looking forward to it, and then I'll be regretting not taking advantage of the opportunity when I was able to.
Ahem.
Enough about that. You know what else you probably never wanted to know about? The fascinating prospect of going to the bathroom! Most women have a fear of a tiny bit of, shall we say, involuntary bodily function during delivery. But your body does it's best to clear everything out of your system before you get anywhere near the pushing stage, generally the day before you go into labor. I have never been so excited by the idea of number two before, for the sole fact that it could mean the big day is imminent. Exciting stuff, I know. Also exciting is the slow break down of the mucus plug (which somehow hadn't come out yet despite dilating to 4cm), because it's so fun to have what looks like a shower snot rocket when you wipe. But it's a good thing, if more than a little strange feeling.
We met with the midwife yesterday and got some recommendations on DIY induction. Sex and acupressure topped the list (check, and trying it out). She also tried using some of the tricks of her trade, only to discover that I'm already so close to going into labor that she couldn't actually do any of them because my body was already there. In addition to being 4cm and 60% effaced, I'm also carrying fully engaged ("her head is basically at the gates of the luge") with bulging waters and my membranes have separated on their own. One good sneeze could be all it takes, though several rough coughs associated with the bronchitis I have had hasn't been enough to do it, so I guess I can take that option out of the running. Then again, how am I supposed to know the difference between peeing my pants and having my water break? I'm guessing they all feel the same when you have a sneezing fit, based on my previous experiences with the "spritz of joy".
But enough about me and everything else you never wanted to read about. The midwife estimated Brianna to be about 8 and a half pounds, pretty much on par with last week's ultrasound, so I'm guessing she's actually in the 8 and three-quarters range. We'll see though. Either way, she puts a lot of pressure on my pelvic bone, so I will be sooooooo happy to go into labor. I've been getting about 10 hours of sleep throughout the day because I'm so tired after carrying her around for the other 14, and that's still not enough time to ease the achiness. I'm just hoping for Brianna's sake that even if I go into labor by tomorrow morning that things take just long enough that she's not born on April Fool's Day, because that's just a sucky day to have a birthday. So right now we're shooting for April 2nd just after midnight. If you see a post about going into labor, it's probably not a joke, unless I'm feeling particularly punchy. Can't discount that possibility either.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Week 37 - Under Pressure
I've been really thrown off by the whole false labor situation, so this post is a bit late. I'm second-guessing myself about a lot of different things, and it's starting to wear on me a bit. Small twinges that made me wonder seem like something I need to ignore now, and I worry that I won't recognize when the real thing starts or I'll think something else is labor when it's not. The pain of my pelvis opening up (and trying to turn over in bed when I'm that sore) make me wonder whether I'll be able to handle labor without meds. It seems like this will go on forever, but then when I consider what I still need to do at work or at home it feels like I can't possibly get to everything in time.
Luckily, my mom was AMAZING with helping us get ready this week while she was here, so that oh-shit list is a lot shorter than it was before. The nursery is completely set up and just needs the wall decals put up. Our kitchen is half baby-proofed (we'll add door latches later). She was even generous enough to hire cleaners for us, and as sad as it is to admit it, our house hasn't been this clean since we bought the place. We still have to finish taxes and replace the shelves in our bedroom closet, but everything else is as ready as it can be. We would even have a little party to show off our clean house and adorable nursery except half our friends are going out to another party which we can't make it to because (a) too many stairs at their place and (b) I don't like to be more than a half hour from our hospital. I'm weird like that. But anyone who wants to crash our place is welcome to enjoy the cheese and alcohol-free wine we will probably be enjoying with a Burn Notice marathon this Saturday. There might even be yogurt to accompany the Michael Westin eye candy.
Our last appointment was disappointing in a lot of ways. First off was the news that I was shut down like Fort Knox and shouldn't expect labor to start anytime soon. Then there was the news that my Group B Strep test came back positive, so I will have to have an IV of antibiotics when I arrive at the hospital. We were so thrown off by the news that I was no longer dilated or effaced that I didn't even think to ask about the test results, so hopefully we'll get more answers when we go in later today. (Yes, technically I'm 38 weeks already. You try doing regular blog updates when you have to pee every half hour and tell me how it goes while you search for more toilet paper.) On top of that, the OB ordered additional stuff to look at when we did the ultrasound, which made me paranoid that I would be induced early.
Luckily that probably won't happen. She still looks big, but they couldn't get her head measurement because she's so nicely engaged, which is a good sign for me. Her legs are going to be incredibly long though, unlike my stumpy limbs. That part comes from her daddy for sure. The placenta looks like it's still healthy and functioning as intended, so even if she gets bigger, an induction isn't recommended since it hasn't been shown to prevent C-sections. She's still thriving by all accounts and my pelvis should be wide enough to accommodate her, so according the perinatologist I might as well be allowed to start labor on my own. There are a couple of OBs who would be more open to them, so I'll do my best to avoid getting appointments with them over the next few weeks, but you never what will happen.
I've decided to make Friday my last day of working. I've been feeling so tired, and it just doesn't seem worth it anymore to go into labor exhausted so I can save a week or two with Brianna at the end of my maternity leave. Part-time work will let me extend my time home with her while keeping me sane, especially since I can work from home when I'm starting out instead of jumping straight into daycare. And this way I don't have to try to work when my mom comes back from her work week next Tuesday.
So how big was Brianna estimated at? Eight pounds, seven ounces. Thank God for this big bone structure of mine. I've never been so happy to wear a size 10 shoe, though I would be even happier if it didn't also come with extra width. Fred Flintstone's cross-dressing brother called, he wants his heels back. Anywho, enough of that tangent. Her lungs should be just about done maturing, though apparently another week to grow would be ideal. Her movements have slowed down quite a bit. Saturday, she scared the crap out of me by refusing to move until the afternoon when I ate two pieces of candy, drank a glass of cold water and a glass of cold juice, and put on some Queen. I'm pretty sure it's the Queen that did it, because just a couple bars into Under Pressure she started dancing around. Kind of a fitting song considering all the pressure she's putting on my pelvis. Now she just needs to stay put for a few more days until my mom comes back again, and then it will be perfect timing.
Luckily, my mom was AMAZING with helping us get ready this week while she was here, so that oh-shit list is a lot shorter than it was before. The nursery is completely set up and just needs the wall decals put up. Our kitchen is half baby-proofed (we'll add door latches later). She was even generous enough to hire cleaners for us, and as sad as it is to admit it, our house hasn't been this clean since we bought the place. We still have to finish taxes and replace the shelves in our bedroom closet, but everything else is as ready as it can be. We would even have a little party to show off our clean house and adorable nursery except half our friends are going out to another party which we can't make it to because (a) too many stairs at their place and (b) I don't like to be more than a half hour from our hospital. I'm weird like that. But anyone who wants to crash our place is welcome to enjoy the cheese and alcohol-free wine we will probably be enjoying with a Burn Notice marathon this Saturday. There might even be yogurt to accompany the Michael Westin eye candy.
Our last appointment was disappointing in a lot of ways. First off was the news that I was shut down like Fort Knox and shouldn't expect labor to start anytime soon. Then there was the news that my Group B Strep test came back positive, so I will have to have an IV of antibiotics when I arrive at the hospital. We were so thrown off by the news that I was no longer dilated or effaced that I didn't even think to ask about the test results, so hopefully we'll get more answers when we go in later today. (Yes, technically I'm 38 weeks already. You try doing regular blog updates when you have to pee every half hour and tell me how it goes while you search for more toilet paper.) On top of that, the OB ordered additional stuff to look at when we did the ultrasound, which made me paranoid that I would be induced early.
Luckily that probably won't happen. She still looks big, but they couldn't get her head measurement because she's so nicely engaged, which is a good sign for me. Her legs are going to be incredibly long though, unlike my stumpy limbs. That part comes from her daddy for sure. The placenta looks like it's still healthy and functioning as intended, so even if she gets bigger, an induction isn't recommended since it hasn't been shown to prevent C-sections. She's still thriving by all accounts and my pelvis should be wide enough to accommodate her, so according the perinatologist I might as well be allowed to start labor on my own. There are a couple of OBs who would be more open to them, so I'll do my best to avoid getting appointments with them over the next few weeks, but you never what will happen.
I've decided to make Friday my last day of working. I've been feeling so tired, and it just doesn't seem worth it anymore to go into labor exhausted so I can save a week or two with Brianna at the end of my maternity leave. Part-time work will let me extend my time home with her while keeping me sane, especially since I can work from home when I'm starting out instead of jumping straight into daycare. And this way I don't have to try to work when my mom comes back from her work week next Tuesday.
So how big was Brianna estimated at? Eight pounds, seven ounces. Thank God for this big bone structure of mine. I've never been so happy to wear a size 10 shoe, though I would be even happier if it didn't also come with extra width. Fred Flintstone's cross-dressing brother called, he wants his heels back. Anywho, enough of that tangent. Her lungs should be just about done maturing, though apparently another week to grow would be ideal. Her movements have slowed down quite a bit. Saturday, she scared the crap out of me by refusing to move until the afternoon when I ate two pieces of candy, drank a glass of cold water and a glass of cold juice, and put on some Queen. I'm pretty sure it's the Queen that did it, because just a couple bars into Under Pressure she started dancing around. Kind of a fitting song considering all the pressure she's putting on my pelvis. Now she just needs to stay put for a few more days until my mom comes back again, and then it will be perfect timing.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
....Or Not
That was what is known as false labor in medical terminology. I call it frustrating and confusing, but at least I have my mom here now. I just wish I didn't feel so down for misjudging it, and for being told that I was nowhere near labor at today's appointment.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
It's Happening....
Contractions have started. We're on our way to the hospital in about an hour or so. Looks like we're going to get that St Patrick's Day baby after all! Wish us luck and check back for updates and pictures.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Week 36 - Almost There
We made it through the week without too many more contractions. In 36 hours, she'll be officially full term and I can take a deep breath and welcome any signs of labor. (Oh hell, who am I kidding? I would welcome any and all signs of labor right now, but it's better for Brianna to get all the cooking time she deserves.) There were definitely some overly emotional moments over the weekend where I let anxiety get the better of me. It wasn't so much the fear of going into labor early that got to me. Rather, it was the emotional roller coaster of constantly looking for signals, reading into everything when I should just take it in stride and keep on living, and the tension between wanting to be done with the difficult side of pregnancy and knowing that it will be healthier for Brianna if I just give it time. A lot of it reminded me of the stress of infertility, the constant struggle of hoping everything works this time and the minor complaints like upset stomach and achy boobs will finally mean something great. It's nice to know that there is no disappointment with this though, just the anticipation of finally meeting our baby girl.
I finally feel ready for all of this to happen. Our bags are packed for the hospital and patiently waiting in the trunk. The bassinet is set up and waiting for her arrival. Tiny outfits are folded and stacked on the changing table while we wait to get the dresser built (and waiting with good reason, since the box weighs over 100 pounds and will probably get upstairs by being opened up and carried piece by piece). If we make it to Friday, we'll have the car seat inspected by the Sheriff's office for some extra piece of mind to be sure it's installed correctly. Plus, I have a nice work-from-home set-up that's letting me stay comfy while not burning any leave waiting for this to happen.
I have been informed by my family that some of my Monty Python references on here haven't come across all that well. Which just confirms my belief that I should entertain myself before going to the hospital by watching Eddie Izzard and other British comedy so Brianna will be quite familiar from an early age with all the material I will use to be an embarrassing mom when she's a teenager. Anyone want to join me for a marathon of Dressed to Kill, Holy Grail, and Coupling? We can even watch the Circus of the Epidural just to keep it labor related.
Brianna is probably seven and a half pounds now. She had hiccups earlier, and it took FOREVER for them to go away. Kind of unnerving to feel that rhythmic little bounce over and over so many times. She still hates extremely warm water, since every time I tried to get a hot shower to relieve hip pain, she got squirmy and unhappy and I got contractions. So, we'll probably avoid that one since it's just generally uncomfortable for everyone.
My belly button is flat now. It probably won't ever pop since I carry some extra "cushion" around my waist, but there's definitely nothing to it anymore. I guess this means I'm done, even without the turkey timer popping. The earliest signs of spring have arrived in DC, like buds appearing that will become cherry blossoms in a couple weeks and tiny leaves of green on the weeping willows along the Parkway. It's one of the prettiest times of year around here (impending tourist invasion aside), and now I just want a baby to complete it.
I finally feel ready for all of this to happen. Our bags are packed for the hospital and patiently waiting in the trunk. The bassinet is set up and waiting for her arrival. Tiny outfits are folded and stacked on the changing table while we wait to get the dresser built (and waiting with good reason, since the box weighs over 100 pounds and will probably get upstairs by being opened up and carried piece by piece). If we make it to Friday, we'll have the car seat inspected by the Sheriff's office for some extra piece of mind to be sure it's installed correctly. Plus, I have a nice work-from-home set-up that's letting me stay comfy while not burning any leave waiting for this to happen.
I have been informed by my family that some of my Monty Python references on here haven't come across all that well. Which just confirms my belief that I should entertain myself before going to the hospital by watching Eddie Izzard and other British comedy so Brianna will be quite familiar from an early age with all the material I will use to be an embarrassing mom when she's a teenager. Anyone want to join me for a marathon of Dressed to Kill, Holy Grail, and Coupling? We can even watch the Circus of the Epidural just to keep it labor related.
Brianna is probably seven and a half pounds now. She had hiccups earlier, and it took FOREVER for them to go away. Kind of unnerving to feel that rhythmic little bounce over and over so many times. She still hates extremely warm water, since every time I tried to get a hot shower to relieve hip pain, she got squirmy and unhappy and I got contractions. So, we'll probably avoid that one since it's just generally uncomfortable for everyone.
My belly button is flat now. It probably won't ever pop since I carry some extra "cushion" around my waist, but there's definitely nothing to it anymore. I guess this means I'm done, even without the turkey timer popping. The earliest signs of spring have arrived in DC, like buds appearing that will become cherry blossoms in a couple weeks and tiny leaves of green on the weeping willows along the Parkway. It's one of the prettiest times of year around here (impending tourist invasion aside), and now I just want a baby to complete it.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Week 35 - Shoot Me Now
As of today, I have four weeks and a day until my estimated due date. Which is absolutely crazy and more than a little scary. And right on cue to herald the end of my eighth month? Some serious Braxton-Hicks, which seem to be happen more often in the car and are more intense there. It seems to be a combination of being stressed (like when we're driving home at the end of the day) and having poor posture in general when we're in the car. By Friday they had gotten so bad that I went to bed and spent all afternoon and evening switching back and forth between my left and right side. (They got better eventually, but several times that night I was convinced that I would in fact go into labor in the next two weeks. More on that in a bit.)
By Saturday morning I wanted nothing to do with the bed, so I continued to take it easy by supervising in a comfy chair (lovingly provided by the Spanish Inquisition) while Andy did most of the work of cleaning our room. I think he would have mutinied if I hadn't also been set up at a table so I could sort through some of the crap that had accumulated all over the place. So now we have a clear floor and a clear desk, and even better? None of it was shoved in the closet. That would be the classic packrat coping technique, but we managed to find a home for everything or agreed to get rid of it. Goodwill is going to start recognizing our car and refuse to take our stuff.
Sunday was spent writing thank you notes for my first shower and getting taxes done. Woohoo, another refund. Not sure what we'll do with it this year, but last year it helped replace our roof. Maybe part of it will go towards some of the inevitable last minute "Oh crap, babies can't shop for themselves..." runs to Babies R Us for swings and diaper pails and the other things that we don't have yet but will be desperate for about 12 hours after bringing Brianna home.
In the midst of my impending doom of labor freakout over the weekend, I realized that while we do need some stuff still, a lot of them are gifts that just haven't arrived yet, and that by next weekend, we could theoretically be ready to bring home a baby. You know, as long as you look past the fact that we don't have diapers or a car seat. Or packed bags for going to the hospital.
Moodiness seems to be happening a lot lately. Last night I had round ligament pain from hell (quite literally - the devil showed up and made my uterus hurt, not such a nice guy that one) but didn't recognize it at first and called the midwives. I'm sure they think I'm a moron, and I went to today's appointment being that idiot who called over round ligament pain. Anywho, I was so overwhelmed and uncomfortable that I had a bit of a breakdown. Again. Poor Andy. All this on top of him having dental work and a headache yesterday. He's a real trooper, but we have finally decided that adventurous cooking (ie, let's make this up as we go along!) is out for the next several weeks. In fact, it might be out for a few months, because I don't think we feel like experimenting with a newborn on hand, unless we're feeling particularly crazy and so sleep deprived that it also sounds like a good idea to run around with our underwear on our heads. So, not likely.
Complaint #54,763 about pregnancy? I have to pee. All. The. Time. Middle of the night waddling to the bathroom is especially painful when your bladder is full and the hormones that loosen your pelvis are making it hard to stand up straight. It's gotten so bad that I'm starting to run out of toilet paper. Which means a trip to Costco needs to happen. However, that probably won't be happening for a couple days. Do you want to know why? Of course you do, this wouldn't be the TMI happy hour if I didn't tell you anything and everything about what's going on.
So at said appointment today, I got to hear the heartbeat as usual and measured rather large (39 weeks, but Brianna was sticking her butt out again so it's probably not that bad). Our midwife was a wee bit out of sorts because she had just had the pleasure of telling her previous (rather clueless) patient that she had a bulging abdomen because she was 20 weeks pregnant, not constipated. How anyone gets that far thinking they just need a good laxative, I don't know, but the midwife felt she had had her fair share of surprises today. She offered to check my cervix after doing the swab for Group B Strep, and after all the action my uterus has been getting, it sounded like a good idea to me. Good instincts on that one, because the surprises were not done for the day.
Y'all, I'm 4cm dilated already. 4 freaking centimeters! And 70% effaced to boot. I'm halfway through the easy-ish part of labor, and apparently those "fake" contractions were probably the real deal. If I get any regular contractions, I have to call the hospital even if they're several minutes apart. So I'm going to treat the next week like I'm on bedrest whenever possible. No Frisky fun-time. No standing over the stove cooking dinner. Still working, but not going back and forth between the adjacent buildings several times and staying off my feet. With my luck, the fire alarm will go off and I'll have to stand outside for awhile. And it will be raining.
Brianna is probably 7 pounds now, maybe 21 inches. We'll get a more definite answer when we go in for a yet another ultrasound, just to check her growth again since I measured so big. Right now it's just a waiting game as her lungs mature. Hopefully she'll stay tight for another week and continue to grow and be even healthier when she's born. It would be awesome to have a St. Patty's Day baby, or if she were born on the 21st (my grandma's birthday), that would be pretty cool too. With a full moon on the 19th, who knows what will happen. I'll try to update a little more often as things change through the week, so check here first if you're curious about our baby status.
By Saturday morning I wanted nothing to do with the bed, so I continued to take it easy by supervising in a comfy chair (lovingly provided by the Spanish Inquisition) while Andy did most of the work of cleaning our room. I think he would have mutinied if I hadn't also been set up at a table so I could sort through some of the crap that had accumulated all over the place. So now we have a clear floor and a clear desk, and even better? None of it was shoved in the closet. That would be the classic packrat coping technique, but we managed to find a home for everything or agreed to get rid of it. Goodwill is going to start recognizing our car and refuse to take our stuff.
Sunday was spent writing thank you notes for my first shower and getting taxes done. Woohoo, another refund. Not sure what we'll do with it this year, but last year it helped replace our roof. Maybe part of it will go towards some of the inevitable last minute "Oh crap, babies can't shop for themselves..." runs to Babies R Us for swings and diaper pails and the other things that we don't have yet but will be desperate for about 12 hours after bringing Brianna home.
In the midst of my impending doom of labor freakout over the weekend, I realized that while we do need some stuff still, a lot of them are gifts that just haven't arrived yet, and that by next weekend, we could theoretically be ready to bring home a baby. You know, as long as you look past the fact that we don't have diapers or a car seat. Or packed bags for going to the hospital.
Moodiness seems to be happening a lot lately. Last night I had round ligament pain from hell (quite literally - the devil showed up and made my uterus hurt, not such a nice guy that one) but didn't recognize it at first and called the midwives. I'm sure they think I'm a moron, and I went to today's appointment being that idiot who called over round ligament pain. Anywho, I was so overwhelmed and uncomfortable that I had a bit of a breakdown. Again. Poor Andy. All this on top of him having dental work and a headache yesterday. He's a real trooper, but we have finally decided that adventurous cooking (ie, let's make this up as we go along!) is out for the next several weeks. In fact, it might be out for a few months, because I don't think we feel like experimenting with a newborn on hand, unless we're feeling particularly crazy and so sleep deprived that it also sounds like a good idea to run around with our underwear on our heads. So, not likely.
Complaint #54,763 about pregnancy? I have to pee. All. The. Time. Middle of the night waddling to the bathroom is especially painful when your bladder is full and the hormones that loosen your pelvis are making it hard to stand up straight. It's gotten so bad that I'm starting to run out of toilet paper. Which means a trip to Costco needs to happen. However, that probably won't be happening for a couple days. Do you want to know why? Of course you do, this wouldn't be the TMI happy hour if I didn't tell you anything and everything about what's going on.
So at said appointment today, I got to hear the heartbeat as usual and measured rather large (39 weeks, but Brianna was sticking her butt out again so it's probably not that bad). Our midwife was a wee bit out of sorts because she had just had the pleasure of telling her previous (rather clueless) patient that she had a bulging abdomen because she was 20 weeks pregnant, not constipated. How anyone gets that far thinking they just need a good laxative, I don't know, but the midwife felt she had had her fair share of surprises today. She offered to check my cervix after doing the swab for Group B Strep, and after all the action my uterus has been getting, it sounded like a good idea to me. Good instincts on that one, because the surprises were not done for the day.
Y'all, I'm 4cm dilated already. 4 freaking centimeters! And 70% effaced to boot. I'm halfway through the easy-ish part of labor, and apparently those "fake" contractions were probably the real deal. If I get any regular contractions, I have to call the hospital even if they're several minutes apart. So I'm going to treat the next week like I'm on bedrest whenever possible. No Frisky fun-time. No standing over the stove cooking dinner. Still working, but not going back and forth between the adjacent buildings several times and staying off my feet. With my luck, the fire alarm will go off and I'll have to stand outside for awhile. And it will be raining.
Brianna is probably 7 pounds now, maybe 21 inches. We'll get a more definite answer when we go in for a yet another ultrasound, just to check her growth again since I measured so big. Right now it's just a waiting game as her lungs mature. Hopefully she'll stay tight for another week and continue to grow and be even healthier when she's born. It would be awesome to have a St. Patty's Day baby, or if she were born on the 21st (my grandma's birthday), that would be pretty cool too. With a full moon on the 19th, who knows what will happen. I'll try to update a little more often as things change through the week, so check here first if you're curious about our baby status.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Week 34 - Relieved and Thankful
This past week has been a complete 180 from where I was last time I posted, and it's a really nice feeling. So many worries have been lifted off my shoulders, and I've been amazed at how generous and helpful people can be. A lot has happened, so here's the not-so-short story.
Last Thursday, we went to get the ultrasound done with the perinatologist. The verdict? Brianna's big, but not too big by just a hair. That day she was estimated at 5 pounds 8 ounces, which put her in the 87th percentile for size, and anything under 90th percentile is considered okay. This is great, because it means I won't necessarily be induced early and I have a better chance of starting labor naturally. The tech estimated that she'll be around 9 pounds at birth, but as I've been told, that's nothing my body can't handle thanks to my superbly over-sized bone structure (as evidenced by my huge feet). Everything looks healthy, all her organs seem to be doing well, and while she will have a bit of a belly according to the tech, she will also have long legs. So if there's a pool at the office for her size at birth, I'll go with 8 pounds 14 ounces and 22 inches.
Later that day we had our childbirth prep class, which focused on breastfeeding (and bottle feeding, for those who are choosing to go that direction). I am lucky enough to have a friend lending me a pump, so I can make this work even after I'm back in the office. My mom had a fairly easy time breastfeeding my little brother, and managed to do it until he was over a year old, but I have heard so many horror stories about latch problems, supply problems, pain and infections despite knowing several people who are really successful with it. It was nice to hear what causes those problems, so I can look out for them and have the best possible experience.
Then Saturday I woke up well before the butt-crack of dawn to fly out to California for a fantastic shower with my family and friends from the West Coast. It's amazing how helpful complete strangers are when you are obviously pregnant. I had so many offers of help, and only one or two people were brazen enough to touch my belly in the airports. I will say this though. Do not fly through Dallas if you are pregnant. The bathrooms are incredibly far apart and spaced exactly between the stops for the shuttle that goes around the airport. And then I thought I would be smart and use one of the disability carts that goes around knocking over the bags of unsuspecting travelers while it blazes past carrying the elderly and people unfortunate enough to have sprained an ankle two days before flying. Except I happened to choose the one cart that wanted to pick up everyone and their brother and then change direction several times. I could have walked all the way around all the terminals in the time it took the driver to finally get around to my gate. So, I didn't eat on my layover and my legs weren't fully stretched by the time I had to get back on board. All in all, it wasn't such a bad thing, since I actually had enough appetite after landing to thoroughly enjoy devouring an animal-style cheeseburger and chocolate shake from In-N-Out, and still eat well at the shower.
The shower was a bit of an explosion of pink, but beautifully so. My mom loves entertaining, and she pulled out all the stops for a high tea. Delicious food, pink and white tulips everywhere (I miss how early spring comes to California!), lovely tea, and not a bit of cucumber. I think she didn't believe me at first when I told her I wouldn't come if there any cucumber sandwiches, but threats of puking seemed to do the trick. It was wonderful to be surrounded by so many friends and family, and I'm almost overwhelmed by how generous everyone was. This baby is going to be the most adorably dressed little girl EVER. In fact, I got the same cute little cherry outfit in three different sizes, so she can be extra cute no matter how big she is. There were also some beautiful handmade clothes, like a tiny red bonnet my college roommate knit for her. So precious I almost can't stand it.
Since I was there for the whole weekend, I also got to spend a lot of time with my cousins and friends who had come in exotic locations like Seattle. There were plenty of Yo Mama jokes, and more than a few moments which will not be described to protect the less-than-innocent. Then there was the bath incident. My mom has one of those fancy whirlpool tubs that is also wide enough to accommodate my expanding belly, and I love being in water, so I decided to enjoy it while I could. And while it certainly was nice for me, I discovered that Brianna does. not. like. heat. I didn't notice it with the jets running, but as soon as the water was still I could see her twisting and turning, trying everything to get herself above the water level. I turned on my side to see what she would do, and I basically looked like an alien was trying to escape through my spleen because of the enormous bulge she made trying to get away from the heat.
Once she was calmed down, my family was entertained trying to put cold stuff on my belly to make her move. She must be just like me with the preference for cold over heat, since she didn't do anything. No movement. Nada. Either that, or she was on strike, which is possible given the stubborn streak that Andy and I both have. The fun ended when my mom thought a frozen steak would make her move, which was...not a good idea. Ever seen a pregnant woman surprised and surrounded by too many people? It wasn't pretty. The evening was redeemed by some excellent shrimp with pasta, which I haven't had much of because Andy hasn't been a fan. Plus ice cream for dessert, what's not to love?
The following morning was another far too early experience to fly home. Brianna doesn't seem to like landings or turbulence (though she's fine with takeoff), so I was practicing my breathing exercises to relax despite her punches and twisting around. The flight attendant who was facing me in a jumpseat thought I was having Braxton-Hicks and kept offering me ice. Eventually I got home, with a lovely knot in my back and sore collarbones from hunching my shoulders thanks to the guy next to me with no sense of personal space.
Another thing I got from the flight was a stomach virus. Oh goody! I hated to use another sick day instead of saving them for my maternity leave, but I needed it. I'm not sure that I'm totally over it, but I'm not feeling unwell enough to justify staying home, so work it is. The past two weeks it's been a back and forth dance of each of Andy or I being sick in turns, or on especially unlucky days, both being sick. I could really use a maid service right about now. Instead, we had contractors paint Brianna's room yesterday (light green for the walls and a yellow accent), and then we can really get into setting up her room. I was going to do before and after pictures, but...painting is already finished, so you'll just get after pictures.
Wednesday we went in for the sonogram on my boob, and that came back...okay, I guess? They couldn't see anything despite feeling the nodule, so it's not like I was imagining it, it just turns out that everything looks like healthy tissue. For now, it's a "keep an eye on it" situation, and if my OB/GYN gets worried about it, I can do a mammogram. Which I would really prefer to not do. Supposedly I could safely shield Brianna right now, but I'm just not worried enough by the lump to risk exposing her to radiation. Breastfeeding would also delay getting one done, since milk pretty much obscures everything. All in all, it's reassuring, but I would feel better at least knowing what the hell it is.
So, given that babies gain on average half a pound a week, Brianna is probably about 6 pounds now. Her fingernails are about to the edge of her fingertips, so she'll have those lovely newborn claws that require a manicure immediately. She seems to be in position for birth, with her butt prominently pushing out at the top of my belly. Who knows whether that's true or not, we'll find out at our OB appointment later today. Sleep is becoming problematic, since I wake up at least twice a night to pee and when I get back into bed my hips hurt and she's awake and moving. Fun. Nature's way of preparing me for feedings at midnight and 3am and 4am. She is quite fond of Queen, and loves to move around (in perfect rhythm, no less) whenever one of their songs comes on. I think the Rockabye Baby CDs are in our future, so Andy can get her back to sleep after all those feedings.
Last Thursday, we went to get the ultrasound done with the perinatologist. The verdict? Brianna's big, but not too big by just a hair. That day she was estimated at 5 pounds 8 ounces, which put her in the 87th percentile for size, and anything under 90th percentile is considered okay. This is great, because it means I won't necessarily be induced early and I have a better chance of starting labor naturally. The tech estimated that she'll be around 9 pounds at birth, but as I've been told, that's nothing my body can't handle thanks to my superbly over-sized bone structure (as evidenced by my huge feet). Everything looks healthy, all her organs seem to be doing well, and while she will have a bit of a belly according to the tech, she will also have long legs. So if there's a pool at the office for her size at birth, I'll go with 8 pounds 14 ounces and 22 inches.
Later that day we had our childbirth prep class, which focused on breastfeeding (and bottle feeding, for those who are choosing to go that direction). I am lucky enough to have a friend lending me a pump, so I can make this work even after I'm back in the office. My mom had a fairly easy time breastfeeding my little brother, and managed to do it until he was over a year old, but I have heard so many horror stories about latch problems, supply problems, pain and infections despite knowing several people who are really successful with it. It was nice to hear what causes those problems, so I can look out for them and have the best possible experience.
Then Saturday I woke up well before the butt-crack of dawn to fly out to California for a fantastic shower with my family and friends from the West Coast. It's amazing how helpful complete strangers are when you are obviously pregnant. I had so many offers of help, and only one or two people were brazen enough to touch my belly in the airports. I will say this though. Do not fly through Dallas if you are pregnant. The bathrooms are incredibly far apart and spaced exactly between the stops for the shuttle that goes around the airport. And then I thought I would be smart and use one of the disability carts that goes around knocking over the bags of unsuspecting travelers while it blazes past carrying the elderly and people unfortunate enough to have sprained an ankle two days before flying. Except I happened to choose the one cart that wanted to pick up everyone and their brother and then change direction several times. I could have walked all the way around all the terminals in the time it took the driver to finally get around to my gate. So, I didn't eat on my layover and my legs weren't fully stretched by the time I had to get back on board. All in all, it wasn't such a bad thing, since I actually had enough appetite after landing to thoroughly enjoy devouring an animal-style cheeseburger and chocolate shake from In-N-Out, and still eat well at the shower.
The shower was a bit of an explosion of pink, but beautifully so. My mom loves entertaining, and she pulled out all the stops for a high tea. Delicious food, pink and white tulips everywhere (I miss how early spring comes to California!), lovely tea, and not a bit of cucumber. I think she didn't believe me at first when I told her I wouldn't come if there any cucumber sandwiches, but threats of puking seemed to do the trick. It was wonderful to be surrounded by so many friends and family, and I'm almost overwhelmed by how generous everyone was. This baby is going to be the most adorably dressed little girl EVER. In fact, I got the same cute little cherry outfit in three different sizes, so she can be extra cute no matter how big she is. There were also some beautiful handmade clothes, like a tiny red bonnet my college roommate knit for her. So precious I almost can't stand it.
Since I was there for the whole weekend, I also got to spend a lot of time with my cousins and friends who had come in exotic locations like Seattle. There were plenty of Yo Mama jokes, and more than a few moments which will not be described to protect the less-than-innocent. Then there was the bath incident. My mom has one of those fancy whirlpool tubs that is also wide enough to accommodate my expanding belly, and I love being in water, so I decided to enjoy it while I could. And while it certainly was nice for me, I discovered that Brianna does. not. like. heat. I didn't notice it with the jets running, but as soon as the water was still I could see her twisting and turning, trying everything to get herself above the water level. I turned on my side to see what she would do, and I basically looked like an alien was trying to escape through my spleen because of the enormous bulge she made trying to get away from the heat.
Once she was calmed down, my family was entertained trying to put cold stuff on my belly to make her move. She must be just like me with the preference for cold over heat, since she didn't do anything. No movement. Nada. Either that, or she was on strike, which is possible given the stubborn streak that Andy and I both have. The fun ended when my mom thought a frozen steak would make her move, which was...not a good idea. Ever seen a pregnant woman surprised and surrounded by too many people? It wasn't pretty. The evening was redeemed by some excellent shrimp with pasta, which I haven't had much of because Andy hasn't been a fan. Plus ice cream for dessert, what's not to love?
The following morning was another far too early experience to fly home. Brianna doesn't seem to like landings or turbulence (though she's fine with takeoff), so I was practicing my breathing exercises to relax despite her punches and twisting around. The flight attendant who was facing me in a jumpseat thought I was having Braxton-Hicks and kept offering me ice. Eventually I got home, with a lovely knot in my back and sore collarbones from hunching my shoulders thanks to the guy next to me with no sense of personal space.
Another thing I got from the flight was a stomach virus. Oh goody! I hated to use another sick day instead of saving them for my maternity leave, but I needed it. I'm not sure that I'm totally over it, but I'm not feeling unwell enough to justify staying home, so work it is. The past two weeks it's been a back and forth dance of each of Andy or I being sick in turns, or on especially unlucky days, both being sick. I could really use a maid service right about now. Instead, we had contractors paint Brianna's room yesterday (light green for the walls and a yellow accent), and then we can really get into setting up her room. I was going to do before and after pictures, but...painting is already finished, so you'll just get after pictures.
Wednesday we went in for the sonogram on my boob, and that came back...okay, I guess? They couldn't see anything despite feeling the nodule, so it's not like I was imagining it, it just turns out that everything looks like healthy tissue. For now, it's a "keep an eye on it" situation, and if my OB/GYN gets worried about it, I can do a mammogram. Which I would really prefer to not do. Supposedly I could safely shield Brianna right now, but I'm just not worried enough by the lump to risk exposing her to radiation. Breastfeeding would also delay getting one done, since milk pretty much obscures everything. All in all, it's reassuring, but I would feel better at least knowing what the hell it is.
So, given that babies gain on average half a pound a week, Brianna is probably about 6 pounds now. Her fingernails are about to the edge of her fingertips, so she'll have those lovely newborn claws that require a manicure immediately. She seems to be in position for birth, with her butt prominently pushing out at the top of my belly. Who knows whether that's true or not, we'll find out at our OB appointment later today. Sleep is becoming problematic, since I wake up at least twice a night to pee and when I get back into bed my hips hurt and she's awake and moving. Fun. Nature's way of preparing me for feedings at midnight and 3am and 4am. She is quite fond of Queen, and loves to move around (in perfect rhythm, no less) whenever one of their songs comes on. I think the Rockabye Baby CDs are in our future, so Andy can get her back to sleep after all those feedings.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Week 32 - When You Give Birth, You'll End Up Living In A Van Down By The River
At this week's childbirth class, we got to learn about all kinds of interventions, what's considered routine at the hospital, and when each one might happen. I probably should have realized this beforehand, but it would have been useful to have some kind of warning about how intense the class would be. And how if you're prone to anxiety and worry, you shouldn't come to class unless you've had a xanax and a couple glasses of wine, because otherwise you'll convince yourself that EVERY intervention is inevitable and you're going to look like a power strip with all the cords and tubing coming off of you, and then you get to be crucified when you get a C-section because of a funny reading on the monitors. The pain meds were also discussed, which was probably meant to be reassuring to most of the women present, but any discussion, pictures, or descriptions of needles going into the spinal area gives me the heebie-jeebies, so it certainly didn't make me feel any better. Besides, I consider pain meds an intervention that I want to avoid unless I'm no longer able to function during active labor and won't have the strength to push when it comes time for that.
The whole thing probably wasn't helped by the appointment we had that same day, in which I learned that I get to have another ultrasound, but this time with a perinatologist in a high-risk diagnostic center. Uh, say what? Apparently this is just to get a specialized growth estimate to see if she's growing too fast, but use the words high-risk and alarm bells tend to go off with me. Andy and I were discussing whether this was going to be worth doing from a financial standpoint, and I explained to him that if Brianna was growing faster than she should, that it would be better for me to be induced a week or two early than to risk a C-section after 40 weeks if she became too large for my pelvis. Which also meant my head was wrapped around those two possibilities for my labor experience going into class, which really didn't help things. To top it all off, she was breech lay, so she definitely hasn't dropped. If she stays like that or goes back to that at every appointment, we'll get to go back to the high-risk center so the perinatologist can attempt an external version, also known as poking and prodding to get Brianna pissed off enough that she turns on her own. [Spell-check thinks I want to call the specialist a paleontologist, but if she goes so overdue that I need one of those, then I think I'll take a C-section after all, thank you very much.]
Adding to the general unease of the day, I asked the doctor about a little lump I had found in my breast, and after feeling it and asking a couple questions about my bra, tells me to stop wearing underwire bras and gives me a referral to get a sonogram of my boob. I was hoping I would get a nice reassuring response like "Oh, that's just [insert innocuous explanation that makes me feel silly for bringing it up in the first place]. You'll be fine." Instead, I have been given the death sentence of having to wear a grandma bra (good-bye sex life and supported breasts, hello sagginess and over-obvious nipples) while being told that an underwire-free bra is actually more supportive anyway. She lied. I got some this weekend, and my poor boobs are definitely an inch or two lower now. It's like a bad sports bra with less mesh, so I have a bit of a uniboob too. I ordered a nursing bra while I was shopping, so we'll see what that turns out to be like.
Bitching aside, there are a few things that are reassuring. When I'm on the external monitor, I can keep using a birthing ball or sit in a chair instead of being forced to lay down. Continuous fetal monitoring isn't standard, and neither is an IV. Internal exams are done every few hours or when the toleration of contractions seems to change, since that tends to signal a changing phase of labor. I can take Primrose Oil to avoid going overdue, and I can try acupuncture (which is covered by my insurance) to jump-start labor as well. No matter what, I won't have to go through having my membranes stripped, because they just don't do it since it's rarely effective. There is always a doctor and a midwife on shift, so I won't have anyone rushing me because they want to make it home in time for dinner. Just hand me off to the next attendant and we'll all be fine.
Brianna is now almost 4 pounds and 19 inches long, though I guess I'll have a more official estimate on Thursday. She still has room to move around, but it's definitely more cramped. A couple days ago, she was kicking me so hard that you could see the outline of her foot on my abdomen, and let's just say I'm pretty sure she'll have my feet. Sorry Little One, I guess we should have gone with Bigfoot as your nickname after all. She's putting on more fat and her skin is becoming less translucent (the pregnancy books aren't doing a good job of convincing me that I'm not just incubating an alien). Last night Andy had his hand on my belly to feel what she was up to, and he gave a little squeeze to get a better idea of what part he was feeling. Well, she kicked back. Not a sharp kick, just a little playful movement in return. So he did it again, and she moved against his hand again. It was so sweet seeing him get so excited to feel her move in response to something he did, especially on Valentine's Day. Just a few more weeks to go!
The whole thing probably wasn't helped by the appointment we had that same day, in which I learned that I get to have another ultrasound, but this time with a perinatologist in a high-risk diagnostic center. Uh, say what? Apparently this is just to get a specialized growth estimate to see if she's growing too fast, but use the words high-risk and alarm bells tend to go off with me. Andy and I were discussing whether this was going to be worth doing from a financial standpoint, and I explained to him that if Brianna was growing faster than she should, that it would be better for me to be induced a week or two early than to risk a C-section after 40 weeks if she became too large for my pelvis. Which also meant my head was wrapped around those two possibilities for my labor experience going into class, which really didn't help things. To top it all off, she was breech lay, so she definitely hasn't dropped. If she stays like that or goes back to that at every appointment, we'll get to go back to the high-risk center so the perinatologist can attempt an external version, also known as poking and prodding to get Brianna pissed off enough that she turns on her own. [Spell-check thinks I want to call the specialist a paleontologist, but if she goes so overdue that I need one of those, then I think I'll take a C-section after all, thank you very much.]
Adding to the general unease of the day, I asked the doctor about a little lump I had found in my breast, and after feeling it and asking a couple questions about my bra, tells me to stop wearing underwire bras and gives me a referral to get a sonogram of my boob. I was hoping I would get a nice reassuring response like "Oh, that's just [insert innocuous explanation that makes me feel silly for bringing it up in the first place]. You'll be fine." Instead, I have been given the death sentence of having to wear a grandma bra (good-bye sex life and supported breasts, hello sagginess and over-obvious nipples) while being told that an underwire-free bra is actually more supportive anyway. She lied. I got some this weekend, and my poor boobs are definitely an inch or two lower now. It's like a bad sports bra with less mesh, so I have a bit of a uniboob too. I ordered a nursing bra while I was shopping, so we'll see what that turns out to be like.
Bitching aside, there are a few things that are reassuring. When I'm on the external monitor, I can keep using a birthing ball or sit in a chair instead of being forced to lay down. Continuous fetal monitoring isn't standard, and neither is an IV. Internal exams are done every few hours or when the toleration of contractions seems to change, since that tends to signal a changing phase of labor. I can take Primrose Oil to avoid going overdue, and I can try acupuncture (which is covered by my insurance) to jump-start labor as well. No matter what, I won't have to go through having my membranes stripped, because they just don't do it since it's rarely effective. There is always a doctor and a midwife on shift, so I won't have anyone rushing me because they want to make it home in time for dinner. Just hand me off to the next attendant and we'll all be fine.
Brianna is now almost 4 pounds and 19 inches long, though I guess I'll have a more official estimate on Thursday. She still has room to move around, but it's definitely more cramped. A couple days ago, she was kicking me so hard that you could see the outline of her foot on my abdomen, and let's just say I'm pretty sure she'll have my feet. Sorry Little One, I guess we should have gone with Bigfoot as your nickname after all. She's putting on more fat and her skin is becoming less translucent (the pregnancy books aren't doing a good job of convincing me that I'm not just incubating an alien). Last night Andy had his hand on my belly to feel what she was up to, and he gave a little squeeze to get a better idea of what part he was feeling. Well, she kicked back. Not a sharp kick, just a little playful movement in return. So he did it again, and she moved against his hand again. It was so sweet seeing him get so excited to feel her move in response to something he did, especially on Valentine's Day. Just a few more weeks to go!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Week 31 - Attack of the Heartburn, and Why You Shouldn't Tempt Fate
So far, I've had a relatively easy pregnancy, all things considered. People would ask, "Are you dealing with this? Is that giving you a hard time?" And in my infinite foolishness, I would respond with "Oh no, that hasn't been a problem at all. I guess I'm just lucky!" Well, Murphy's Law tells us that this is an excellent way to immediately be bombarded with something.
And that something is Heartburn. With a capital H. And fireworks, and 27 out-of-tune tubas. Because that is just how over the top and obnoxious Heartburn has been lately. I had minor problems with heartburn after eating marinara in the first trimester, but we figured it out pretty quickly, I stayed away for the most part, and eventually I ate it again without problems. But we had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner last weekend because it sounded really good. Big mistake. Heartburn all night, and because it was the only option for Monday's lunch, I took leftovers. Which meant more Heartburn. Then the next night I made a Latin-spiced chickpea dish and tasted one of the chickpeas to be sure I got the seasoning right. I discovered that I might have put a tad too much cayenne in, and immediately was graced with more Heartburn. So it looks like our menu rotation will be changing soon to take out the spicy and/or acidic stuff, at least for the next two months. Which is no fun, because I love spicy food.
In other news, the Cinnabon was FABULOUS. Absolutely delish, especially washed down with a perfectly sweet-tart lemonade. Until it gave me heartburn. Luckily, that craving has been nicely satisfied, so I think I'll be good until I go home to California in a couple weeks. Either way, I'll be having my mom's cinnamon rolls, or failing that, a Cinnabon at the airport. And I get to have In-N-Out when I arrive, which is just awesome. A double-double animal style, paired with a chocolate shake. So. Damn. Good. And I can have it without worry because the 3-hour glucose test came back okay. One of the levels came back high, but that just means I have to be careful with what I eat instead of stabbing myself every few hours.
Brianna is now a whopping three and a half pounds and measures around 18 inches, give or take a smidge. Her brain is in high gear development, so I'll be loading up on eggs and flaxseed now (Omega-3's: nature's wonder food). She's filling out and getting fat on her body so she can keep herself warm, which means she'll look less and less like a hairy Bigfoot when she's born. What she might look like instead is a synchronized swimmer. As she gets bigger, she has less room to move, so I'm getting less of the big kicks (good for my bladder) and more sweeping and stretching motions. One night it felt like she was practicing somersaults and then gave a rousing rendition of YMCA.
We're starting to wonder if she's dropped now since she's in the head-down position most of the time. There seems to be a bit more room in my chest, and my belly seems a little low. Or it could just be that with her being head first she keeps her legs tucked more often than not, and I just carry low in general. But I'm definitely having to pee way more often. Sometimes every hour, occasionally even more often. Sleeping is becoming a pain because I wake up every couple hours and have to hoist myself out of bed despite the fact that my hips are stiff. She's putting a lot of pressure on my pelvis too, which doesn't help with the hip situation and makes it feel like I have a bowling ball resting on my cervix. Which is scary when I think about it, because I know her weight is going double, if not quite triple. It's going to be a long two months.
And that something is Heartburn. With a capital H. And fireworks, and 27 out-of-tune tubas. Because that is just how over the top and obnoxious Heartburn has been lately. I had minor problems with heartburn after eating marinara in the first trimester, but we figured it out pretty quickly, I stayed away for the most part, and eventually I ate it again without problems. But we had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner last weekend because it sounded really good. Big mistake. Heartburn all night, and because it was the only option for Monday's lunch, I took leftovers. Which meant more Heartburn. Then the next night I made a Latin-spiced chickpea dish and tasted one of the chickpeas to be sure I got the seasoning right. I discovered that I might have put a tad too much cayenne in, and immediately was graced with more Heartburn. So it looks like our menu rotation will be changing soon to take out the spicy and/or acidic stuff, at least for the next two months. Which is no fun, because I love spicy food.
In other news, the Cinnabon was FABULOUS. Absolutely delish, especially washed down with a perfectly sweet-tart lemonade. Until it gave me heartburn. Luckily, that craving has been nicely satisfied, so I think I'll be good until I go home to California in a couple weeks. Either way, I'll be having my mom's cinnamon rolls, or failing that, a Cinnabon at the airport. And I get to have In-N-Out when I arrive, which is just awesome. A double-double animal style, paired with a chocolate shake. So. Damn. Good. And I can have it without worry because the 3-hour glucose test came back okay. One of the levels came back high, but that just means I have to be careful with what I eat instead of stabbing myself every few hours.
Brianna is now a whopping three and a half pounds and measures around 18 inches, give or take a smidge. Her brain is in high gear development, so I'll be loading up on eggs and flaxseed now (Omega-3's: nature's wonder food). She's filling out and getting fat on her body so she can keep herself warm, which means she'll look less and less like a hairy Bigfoot when she's born. What she might look like instead is a synchronized swimmer. As she gets bigger, she has less room to move, so I'm getting less of the big kicks (good for my bladder) and more sweeping and stretching motions. One night it felt like she was practicing somersaults and then gave a rousing rendition of YMCA.
We're starting to wonder if she's dropped now since she's in the head-down position most of the time. There seems to be a bit more room in my chest, and my belly seems a little low. Or it could just be that with her being head first she keeps her legs tucked more often than not, and I just carry low in general. But I'm definitely having to pee way more often. Sometimes every hour, occasionally even more often. Sleeping is becoming a pain because I wake up every couple hours and have to hoist myself out of bed despite the fact that my hips are stiff. She's putting a lot of pressure on my pelvis too, which doesn't help with the hip situation and makes it feel like I have a bowling ball resting on my cervix. Which is scary when I think about it, because I know her weight is going double, if not quite triple. It's going to be a long two months.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Cinnabon Escapade
So in my excitement over wanting cinnamon rolls, I hit publish instead of save, and didn't notice it right away. Instead of editing the post, I'll share with you the exciting adventure that was Tuesday afternoon.
So cinnamon rolls got me thinking, the absolute best place to get a cinnamon roll is Cinnabon. That gooey filling and almost-but-not-quite underbaked dough, slathered with enough cream cheese frosting to cover a dozen carrot cake cupcakes and give you an instant cavity. Oh yes. I wanted one. So I pondered and considered the merits of getting the satisfaction of a perfect sugarcoma-inducing Cinnabon against said sugar-coma that was sure to come, and realized this would be a really, really bad idea if my glucose testing numbers came back high. So I came up with the logical conclusion to share it with Andy so he can have a sugar-coma too and called him to beg him to take me to the mall to get one on our way home from work.
Being the logical person that he is, he reminds me that the Cinnabon might have been closed, so maybe check before we drive out there. I giddily spring over to the Cinnabon website and discover that not only is there no longer one open at the mall, there also aren't any within a 10 mile radius of our house (which is ridiculously far in DC), unless you count the airport one. Defeated by distance, I sadly emailed Andy to tell him that he wouldn't have to stop. My one consolation was the possibility of getting one when I flew out to California next month.
My crushing disappointment was soon over when I remembered that the Cinnabon is outside of security at Sacramento airport, so I might get lucky with Reagan too. A quick search of the interactive map to the goodness available in Reagan (recently checked out to see dinner options for my sister's flight back home) revealed that Cinnabon was in fact, within my reach. Mere steps from the doors in Terminal B.
I put on my best persuasively cute voice and called up Andy to tell him my fantastic find and gee, the airport is right on our route home and it's just inside the doors and I could run in real quick to just get a little something. CINNABON, honey! Can't you feel my excitement?! Being the sweet husband that he is, he agrees and eventually we head home while I'm salivating like a dog with rabies.
As would be expected, the other route we would take home were I not obsessing about my impending cinnamon roll has no traffic while our path is full of morons who can't figure out the difference between the gas and the brake. But we bravely soldiered on, rolling slowly (and suddenly braking as people decide to change lanes last minute) towards the yellow brick road to satisfaction. Eventually we get to the airport, and I tell Andy to drop me off at these doors, that looks like roughly where I want to go but I'll meet you downstairs because oops, we're at ticketing, and that's definitely not right.
I find an elevator right inside and go down two floors. To baggage claim. Which clearly isn't right because there is no food here. I walk along trying to see if the stores mentioned on the map are perhaps further down. Nope. I keep going until I find another escalator and head back up to the next floor. Ah yes, there's the overpriced bookstore by which I had oriented myself on the map. It must be right past this. Okay, maybe a little further. Okay, I guess this store is bigger than I thought. For the love of God, how big is this place, I just want to find the....oh, there it is.
I saunter up the counter, wallet in hand for the procurement of utter deliciousness. A counter which is devoid of any human presence. I glance around wondering if the person just ran off to do...something, and then I saw it. That cheery little sign announcing "We'll return at 5!" It was 4:47 according to the Arrivals board, but I really didn't want Andy to go crazy driving in circles. And of course, my cell phone was dead, so I couldn't just tell him I would be waiting.
Defeated and thoroughly lacking in Cinnabon goodness, I trudged back out to the pick-up zone. Luckily I had timed that part perfectly, and he drove up immediately, with a confused expression for my lack of Cinnabon. So I still haven't had Cinnabon, though we're planning on going shopping today at a mall that has one. With my luck, they will run out and I just have to make my own damn cinnamon rolls.
So cinnamon rolls got me thinking, the absolute best place to get a cinnamon roll is Cinnabon. That gooey filling and almost-but-not-quite underbaked dough, slathered with enough cream cheese frosting to cover a dozen carrot cake cupcakes and give you an instant cavity. Oh yes. I wanted one. So I pondered and considered the merits of getting the satisfaction of a perfect sugarcoma-inducing Cinnabon against said sugar-coma that was sure to come, and realized this would be a really, really bad idea if my glucose testing numbers came back high. So I came up with the logical conclusion to share it with Andy so he can have a sugar-coma too and called him to beg him to take me to the mall to get one on our way home from work.
Being the logical person that he is, he reminds me that the Cinnabon might have been closed, so maybe check before we drive out there. I giddily spring over to the Cinnabon website and discover that not only is there no longer one open at the mall, there also aren't any within a 10 mile radius of our house (which is ridiculously far in DC), unless you count the airport one. Defeated by distance, I sadly emailed Andy to tell him that he wouldn't have to stop. My one consolation was the possibility of getting one when I flew out to California next month.
My crushing disappointment was soon over when I remembered that the Cinnabon is outside of security at Sacramento airport, so I might get lucky with Reagan too. A quick search of the interactive map to the goodness available in Reagan (recently checked out to see dinner options for my sister's flight back home) revealed that Cinnabon was in fact, within my reach. Mere steps from the doors in Terminal B.
I put on my best persuasively cute voice and called up Andy to tell him my fantastic find and gee, the airport is right on our route home and it's just inside the doors and I could run in real quick to just get a little something. CINNABON, honey! Can't you feel my excitement?! Being the sweet husband that he is, he agrees and eventually we head home while I'm salivating like a dog with rabies.
As would be expected, the other route we would take home were I not obsessing about my impending cinnamon roll has no traffic while our path is full of morons who can't figure out the difference between the gas and the brake. But we bravely soldiered on, rolling slowly (and suddenly braking as people decide to change lanes last minute) towards the yellow brick road to satisfaction. Eventually we get to the airport, and I tell Andy to drop me off at these doors, that looks like roughly where I want to go but I'll meet you downstairs because oops, we're at ticketing, and that's definitely not right.
I find an elevator right inside and go down two floors. To baggage claim. Which clearly isn't right because there is no food here. I walk along trying to see if the stores mentioned on the map are perhaps further down. Nope. I keep going until I find another escalator and head back up to the next floor. Ah yes, there's the overpriced bookstore by which I had oriented myself on the map. It must be right past this. Okay, maybe a little further. Okay, I guess this store is bigger than I thought. For the love of God, how big is this place, I just want to find the....oh, there it is.
I saunter up the counter, wallet in hand for the procurement of utter deliciousness. A counter which is devoid of any human presence. I glance around wondering if the person just ran off to do...something, and then I saw it. That cheery little sign announcing "We'll return at 5!" It was 4:47 according to the Arrivals board, but I really didn't want Andy to go crazy driving in circles. And of course, my cell phone was dead, so I couldn't just tell him I would be waiting.
Defeated and thoroughly lacking in Cinnabon goodness, I trudged back out to the pick-up zone. Luckily I had timed that part perfectly, and he drove up immediately, with a confused expression for my lack of Cinnabon. So I still haven't had Cinnabon, though we're planning on going shopping today at a mall that has one. With my luck, they will run out and I just have to make my own damn cinnamon rolls.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Week 29 - Here We Go Again
It seems the third trimester is just a bit of a repeat of the first. The last few days have brought a return of morning sickness and constant peeing. It's a good thing we buy toilet paper at Costco because I would be running out on a weekly basis at the rate I'm going. And I know it's only going to get worse. Our childbirth class (which is awesome, more on that in a sec) showed us diagrams of what the body looks like at various stages of a pregnancy, and it's a little cramped now but at full term... it won't be pretty. I honestly have no idea how I am going to be eating, breathing, or going to the bathroom. And even when she drops, it will just get worse for my poor tiny bladder. But at least I'll be able to breathe!
The class is going great. Our instructor is a labor and delivery nurse who gets just the right blend of entertaining and informative. And she put out Oreos at our first class, which made her my hero for the week. There are 8 other couples in the class, due dates spread late March to mid April and a fairly even mix of boys and girls. There's one other couple who are aiming for an all natural birth, but I think I'm going to get good information about what kind of complications are more common with my doctor's office and what they tend to do to handle them, which also means we can make better choices to keep things as close to all natural/no interventions as possible. The relaxation techniques have been pretty good, we even used them after my glucose testing freak-out last week and it helped a ton. Some the breathing rhythms aren't really doing it for me, so that may take some trial and error to get me from what sounds like hyperventilating to just a slightly uptempo deep breathing pattern.
As for the glucose test, I found out from the nurse that my numbers had been just barely over the limit of what's considered normal, so chances are, with the improved diet and exercise I was maintaining the week before going in for round 2, I will be fine. (Thanks for the advice, Randi!) I'm a lot less worried, though I'll keep up with the better food since there really isn't any reason not to. I can afford to go with whole wheat flour and brown rice instead of the refined (and cheaper) stuff, and it's pretty much the same to cook with. Ideally we'll make it a change that sticks. It's a lot easier to keep it up when I have the choice to stray a bit instead of feeling forced to be good all the time. Now if I could just get my appetite back, I'd be set. Hard to say my diet is good or bad when nothing sounds good. Not even nutella, and that's clearly cause to go to the ER because something MUST be wrong with me. I had a baked potato for dinner last night, so I'm not starving, but when I checked my weight at the doctor's office, I had lost a couple pounds. Not good. Maybe I'll go back on my morning sickness diet of cereal and bean burritos for almost every meal. Not together though, I would never eat something that weird in one meal. It's not like I eat cinnamon rolls and pickles together.... oh wait. I have. Nothing says your pregnancy taste buds are weird like being able to surprise an ultrasound tech. Dammit, now I want cinnamon rolls.
The class is going great. Our instructor is a labor and delivery nurse who gets just the right blend of entertaining and informative. And she put out Oreos at our first class, which made her my hero for the week. There are 8 other couples in the class, due dates spread late March to mid April and a fairly even mix of boys and girls. There's one other couple who are aiming for an all natural birth, but I think I'm going to get good information about what kind of complications are more common with my doctor's office and what they tend to do to handle them, which also means we can make better choices to keep things as close to all natural/no interventions as possible. The relaxation techniques have been pretty good, we even used them after my glucose testing freak-out last week and it helped a ton. Some the breathing rhythms aren't really doing it for me, so that may take some trial and error to get me from what sounds like hyperventilating to just a slightly uptempo deep breathing pattern.
As for the glucose test, I found out from the nurse that my numbers had been just barely over the limit of what's considered normal, so chances are, with the improved diet and exercise I was maintaining the week before going in for round 2, I will be fine. (Thanks for the advice, Randi!) I'm a lot less worried, though I'll keep up with the better food since there really isn't any reason not to. I can afford to go with whole wheat flour and brown rice instead of the refined (and cheaper) stuff, and it's pretty much the same to cook with. Ideally we'll make it a change that sticks. It's a lot easier to keep it up when I have the choice to stray a bit instead of feeling forced to be good all the time. Now if I could just get my appetite back, I'd be set. Hard to say my diet is good or bad when nothing sounds good. Not even nutella, and that's clearly cause to go to the ER because something MUST be wrong with me. I had a baked potato for dinner last night, so I'm not starving, but when I checked my weight at the doctor's office, I had lost a couple pounds. Not good. Maybe I'll go back on my morning sickness diet of cereal and bean burritos for almost every meal. Not together though, I would never eat something that weird in one meal. It's not like I eat cinnamon rolls and pickles together.... oh wait. I have. Nothing says your pregnancy taste buds are weird like being able to surprise an ultrasound tech. Dammit, now I want cinnamon rolls.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Feeling a Bit Down
I was all set to right up the Birth Plan Version 2.0, but this afternoon I found out that I didn't pass my one-hour glucose test and need to go back in for a three-hour test. I'm taking it really hard for several reasons, most of which are a tad silly, if not downright absurd. I know most women who do the three-hour test do pass it, but this time I'm really anxious.
Part of this is probably that I felt kind of cocky after the last round of tests at 16 weeks. Ha, you silly doctors, I'm totally doing fine and there was no need for me to do this obnoxious test. But clearly I'm not doing so well now (in no small part due to candy from Christmas, I'd wager), so I get to go in and get my blood pulled every hour while I get crabby sitting in the waiting area. Oh, the joy. Compared to how I smoothly everything went that time, I just feel like a failure for not taking better care of myself, even though it's just a simple test at this point and not a definitive diagnosis.
So by now I've convinced myself that I do have gestational diabetes, which is the bigger part of my anxiety at the moment. I saw my mom go through it with my little brother, and I'm really not looking forward to anything that involves poking my finger to get blood several times a day. I also know that I would really struggle with the dietary restrictions, though in some ways it would be simple enough. I'm just so used to saying, I feel like having xyz, and if it's not too bad for me or at least has something to offer by way of nutrition (like the hot chocolate that has a serving of calcium), enjoying it. I don't do well feeling constrained, so I'd likely need help just figuring out how not to crave more sugar as a result of restricting myself. A coworker was trying to reassure me by saying "What's really the worst that would happen because of this?" and all I could come up with was "No more chocolate! How would I live?!"
Having GD would also be problematic for Brianna and I as the due date gets closer. Babies of moms with GD tend to grow bigger too fast, so I'd probably have to be induced early, which I really, really wanted to avoid. I'd probably have to go in for more ultrasounds (some of which Aetna has refused to pay, which sucks because I wasn't expecting to pay out another $300 on top of our expected bill) and go in more frequently to see the doctors. Then there's the whole immediately after birth situation, where Brianna could have a serious drop in blood sugar after she's no longer getting my too-high blood sugar levels and then suddenly getting her own blood to circulate. Long term, we'd both be at higher risk for regular diabetes.
So yeah, I'm in a kind of unhappy anxious mood. I don't like having to wait to get a final answer, but because of several work commitments most mornings, I will be waiting to retest until Friday and then probably won't hear back until the following week. The birth plan will probably get up here at some point...but definitely not tonight.
Part of this is probably that I felt kind of cocky after the last round of tests at 16 weeks. Ha, you silly doctors, I'm totally doing fine and there was no need for me to do this obnoxious test. But clearly I'm not doing so well now (in no small part due to candy from Christmas, I'd wager), so I get to go in and get my blood pulled every hour while I get crabby sitting in the waiting area. Oh, the joy. Compared to how I smoothly everything went that time, I just feel like a failure for not taking better care of myself, even though it's just a simple test at this point and not a definitive diagnosis.
So by now I've convinced myself that I do have gestational diabetes, which is the bigger part of my anxiety at the moment. I saw my mom go through it with my little brother, and I'm really not looking forward to anything that involves poking my finger to get blood several times a day. I also know that I would really struggle with the dietary restrictions, though in some ways it would be simple enough. I'm just so used to saying, I feel like having xyz, and if it's not too bad for me or at least has something to offer by way of nutrition (like the hot chocolate that has a serving of calcium), enjoying it. I don't do well feeling constrained, so I'd likely need help just figuring out how not to crave more sugar as a result of restricting myself. A coworker was trying to reassure me by saying "What's really the worst that would happen because of this?" and all I could come up with was "No more chocolate! How would I live?!"
Having GD would also be problematic for Brianna and I as the due date gets closer. Babies of moms with GD tend to grow bigger too fast, so I'd probably have to be induced early, which I really, really wanted to avoid. I'd probably have to go in for more ultrasounds (some of which Aetna has refused to pay, which sucks because I wasn't expecting to pay out another $300 on top of our expected bill) and go in more frequently to see the doctors. Then there's the whole immediately after birth situation, where Brianna could have a serious drop in blood sugar after she's no longer getting my too-high blood sugar levels and then suddenly getting her own blood to circulate. Long term, we'd both be at higher risk for regular diabetes.
So yeah, I'm in a kind of unhappy anxious mood. I don't like having to wait to get a final answer, but because of several work commitments most mornings, I will be waiting to retest until Friday and then probably won't hear back until the following week. The birth plan will probably get up here at some point...but definitely not tonight.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Week 27 - Getting Excited
Last week I had a moment of temporary panic as Andy pointed out that I was almost into my third trimester...and we had done practically nothing to get ready for the baby (hence last week's post about preparations). So I ordered several books (a couple were recommended by my CNM, another recommended in a forum, and the last one had been lent to me previously but I wanted a copy I could write all over and mark up for my own purposes) and they arrived on Friday. I pretty much spent the entire weekend leafing through them and getting a boatload of crap out of the office so we could turn it into a nursery. It was so overwhelming to start working in there, because it had basically become the room we just shove stuff into when it doesn't have a place, and I burst into tears after my second time getting popcorn peanuts all over the floor trying to empty boxes. Eventually we worked through most of the room and got a ton of stuff taken care of. And I'm not kidding about how much crap we removed. The equivalent of 4 Hefty bags of trash and another bag or two of stuff for Goodwill. We're working at getting over our pack-rat tendencies so I don't become a candidate for Hoarders, which I've never watched but the idea of the show itself is enough to creep me out so in actuality we're probably okay. Run-on sentences today, much?
Anywho, after all that reading I'm actually looking forward to going through labor and giving birth instead of being afraid of the big what-ifs. I have a much better sense of all the possibilities that might come up, so I can build a more detailed birth plan. For one thing, I feel better educated (just from the quick look-throughs) to know what I'll want to do if I get into a situation that I was hoping to avoid. After looking through everything, I can pass off the books to Andy and say "Read this chapter, especially right here, and don't bother with the other section because we already know who our doctor is and where I'm delivering." And then I can use my super-power of obsessiveness to make us talk it over even more and make sure he's comfortable with everything in the birth plan and run through it with the doctors too to make sure they won't have any issues with making it happen.
A couple of funny thoughts after looking through those books. For starters, it would be fantastic if these books got updated every decade or so. There's something creepy about seeing pictures of a couple used for illustrative purposes and joking with Andy that it could be my dad... and then calling my mom just to double-check. I'd like to think that these books aren't something my parents might have used when I was born... over twenty years ago. It's hard not to laugh at some of the fantastically '80s-style mustaches, but I also know that a lot of the practices that were discussed as "possible in some parts of the country but going out of favor in others" aren't even done any more. What else might I be missing by not having something current to look through? Then again, the last update of What to Expect includes the possibility of being shaved and given an enema before birth, which hasn't been standard for quite some time, so we'll probably be just fine. I guess they just have cover their bases for women giving birth at Podunk Hospital in No Man's Land in the South.
The other interesting thing about looking through the different books is seeing how they approach the same issues, the descriptions they use, and the positions they take on different issues. I figure if the same things come up again, I should pay attention because there's no bias here, just the truth. It makes it a lot easier to imagine what it will be like when I have a couple of points to base a comparison off of and to recognize where I'll stand on some issues based on how much I've agreed with the rest of the points. One of the books is extremely firm in it's anti-drug stance, and while that is my goal, I also like to know what the best pain relief option will be for me to rest up and get back to a minimal intervention birth in case I become exhausted well before I'm actually ready to push. Side note: I will probably need to bring in the patented Allie Brosh improved pain chart. Much better to reference a scale that means something if I'm in pain similar to a bear mauling.
Luckily we have our childbirth prep classes starting this week, which are supposed to cover some relaxation techniques, what to expect in general with the birth process, and possible interventions needed at the hospital. I think the most useful part of it is going to be getting familiar with the routine practices my office uses so I can include my feelings about them in my plan. It will also be great to meet some other parents who will have kids the same age as Brianna, and most of them will be first time parents as well. I also get to go in for my third trimester glucose tolerance test, where I drink syrup and get blood pulled after an hour. Hopefully I'll get enough figured out between the classes and meeting with the doctor (an OB/GYN this time) that I'll have a good birth plan to post on Friday.
Brianna is now two and a quarter pounds in weight, and measures almost 9 and three-quarters inches crown to rump or about 15 inches full body length. I notice all 15 inches the most when she seems to stretch out and press me from both ends. It's a great way to figure out how she's positioned, even if it does occasionally feel like I'm carrying an octopus instead of a human. She's also perfected giving me a 1-2 punch, which Andy got to feel yesterday. Her taste buds are fully formed, and it's possible that she might react to the foods I eat if they're spicy or pungent. I haven't really noticed this yet, but we're planning on a fusion style stir-fry with chipotles for dinner this weekend. If you hear any screams from my general vicinity, you'll know that Brianna is apparently not a fan of spicy food.
Anywho, after all that reading I'm actually looking forward to going through labor and giving birth instead of being afraid of the big what-ifs. I have a much better sense of all the possibilities that might come up, so I can build a more detailed birth plan. For one thing, I feel better educated (just from the quick look-throughs) to know what I'll want to do if I get into a situation that I was hoping to avoid. After looking through everything, I can pass off the books to Andy and say "Read this chapter, especially right here, and don't bother with the other section because we already know who our doctor is and where I'm delivering." And then I can use my super-power of obsessiveness to make us talk it over even more and make sure he's comfortable with everything in the birth plan and run through it with the doctors too to make sure they won't have any issues with making it happen.
A couple of funny thoughts after looking through those books. For starters, it would be fantastic if these books got updated every decade or so. There's something creepy about seeing pictures of a couple used for illustrative purposes and joking with Andy that it could be my dad... and then calling my mom just to double-check. I'd like to think that these books aren't something my parents might have used when I was born... over twenty years ago. It's hard not to laugh at some of the fantastically '80s-style mustaches, but I also know that a lot of the practices that were discussed as "possible in some parts of the country but going out of favor in others" aren't even done any more. What else might I be missing by not having something current to look through? Then again, the last update of What to Expect includes the possibility of being shaved and given an enema before birth, which hasn't been standard for quite some time, so we'll probably be just fine. I guess they just have cover their bases for women giving birth at Podunk Hospital in No Man's Land in the South.
The other interesting thing about looking through the different books is seeing how they approach the same issues, the descriptions they use, and the positions they take on different issues. I figure if the same things come up again, I should pay attention because there's no bias here, just the truth. It makes it a lot easier to imagine what it will be like when I have a couple of points to base a comparison off of and to recognize where I'll stand on some issues based on how much I've agreed with the rest of the points. One of the books is extremely firm in it's anti-drug stance, and while that is my goal, I also like to know what the best pain relief option will be for me to rest up and get back to a minimal intervention birth in case I become exhausted well before I'm actually ready to push. Side note: I will probably need to bring in the patented Allie Brosh improved pain chart. Much better to reference a scale that means something if I'm in pain similar to a bear mauling.
Luckily we have our childbirth prep classes starting this week, which are supposed to cover some relaxation techniques, what to expect in general with the birth process, and possible interventions needed at the hospital. I think the most useful part of it is going to be getting familiar with the routine practices my office uses so I can include my feelings about them in my plan. It will also be great to meet some other parents who will have kids the same age as Brianna, and most of them will be first time parents as well. I also get to go in for my third trimester glucose tolerance test, where I drink syrup and get blood pulled after an hour. Hopefully I'll get enough figured out between the classes and meeting with the doctor (an OB/GYN this time) that I'll have a good birth plan to post on Friday.
Brianna is now two and a quarter pounds in weight, and measures almost 9 and three-quarters inches crown to rump or about 15 inches full body length. I notice all 15 inches the most when she seems to stretch out and press me from both ends. It's a great way to figure out how she's positioned, even if it does occasionally feel like I'm carrying an octopus instead of a human. She's also perfected giving me a 1-2 punch, which Andy got to feel yesterday. Her taste buds are fully formed, and it's possible that she might react to the foods I eat if they're spicy or pungent. I haven't really noticed this yet, but we're planning on a fusion style stir-fry with chipotles for dinner this weekend. If you hear any screams from my general vicinity, you'll know that Brianna is apparently not a fan of spicy food.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Week 26 - Deep Thoughts Today
It never amazes me how many things we have to do to prepare for the great transitions in our lives. The unknown of setting off independently as adults. The merging of lives in a marriage. The new responsibilities that come with parenthood. The quieting down and relaxation of retirement. Each one brings an utter shift of priorities, dreams, goals, and routines, something new to navigate. A whole new identity.
Some of the things we do to prepare are mundane, and some involve profound decisions. Sometimes the decision to simply make the leap (or not) is the most monumental in the whole process. There are so many details, great and small, to see to and decisions we could not anticipate having to make. Some transitions are brief and simple, or thrust upon us with little time to prepare, while others we look forward to and plan for our entire lives. Each person lives through these moments uniquely, and how much time we have to prepare is a huge influence on the experience. I'm glad that my little girl has been a long time coming. I don't like to be pressured when facing new situations. I want time and space to approach things at my own pace, weigh my options, and procrastinate if I just feel like it (sadly, I do that a little too often). It's overwhelming at times, knowing I have register for stuff for Brianna's room and make a birth plan, and explain to the questioning why I don't want this or that.
I wonder how many of the details and decisions I've made for Brianna will still feel important to me during labor or year from now, or 20 years from now when she's grown up. Will I care whether or not I managed an unmedicated birth? Which exact shade was used to paint her room? Who holds her and soothes her the first time she wakes up in the middle of the night? So many of the details from our wedding seemed important at the time, the things we had to get right or risk not having the perfect day. Some things did make the day for me, like my bouquet with my dad's cross tucked among my favorite flowers. But I didn't need to waste so much time trying to place everyone just so at tables to ensure a good time was had by all and no fights broke out. I'm wise enough now to see that some things just don't come to pass the way we expect them to and to make plans knowing they will probably change. It makes it easier to accept the fluid nature of life, but it doesn't really help with the anxiety of decision making.
Despite the pressure of everything left to do, I can't help but think that these preparations are, to some extent, a way to channel the love and excitement we feel for this little girl we've never met. I'm feeling so introspective today because I've been touched by the experience of a woman in an online community I participate in. She had many problems early in her pregnancy and eventually found out that her daughter had a chromosomal abnormality and her life expectancy was, quite literally, slim to none. Knowing what she might be facing, she decided to carry on in the hopes that she might have just an hour with her baby. Eventually the big day came and the birth was fine. She got to have two full days with her daughter before she finally passed away. She was as prepared as one can be when you know time is short but don't know just how short it will be. I can't even fathom the kind of strength it takes to prepare for an unknown that ranged in possibility from never seeing your daughter alive to celebrating at least one birthday, if you're lucky. The funeral was held today for little Avery, and many of us in the community have worn bright colors (at her request) to honor the brightness and love this little girl brought to so many lives in such a short time.
Though it feels incredibly selfish to say so, I feel blessed to know that my daughter is growing well. I have a job that lets me put my child first without ruining my career, and a husband who wants to support me in every way possible and is even willing to indulge some of my irrational requests. I had the foresight to save enough money to cover my entire maternity leave, so I won't have to choose between paying bills and spending time with my daughter (at least as far as FMLA will cover). I have family and friends offering up all kinds of help. No matter what, I will never be alone as I go through this journey.
By now, Brianna weighs at least 2 pounds and measures about 9 and a quarter inches crown to rump. Basically, she's a chuck roast, as the ever inspiring What to Expect book put it. Baby. It's what for dinner. (sorry, I had to go there after such a deep/dark post.) Her eyes are open now, but so far the pigment in her irises hasn't formed enough to tell what color eyes she will have (probably green though, with my greenies and Andy's blues). Her heartbeat is supposed to be strong enough that someone could hear it just by listening with an ear pressed against my belly. We haven't tried it yet, but she's kicking enough that Andy can feel it even if he just has his back to my front in bed. She also kicks so hard that sometimes you can see my stomach move because of it. It looks like I have the hiccups, but really it's just her. Just one more week, and it will be down to the last trimester. I hope I have enough time for everything.
Some of the things we do to prepare are mundane, and some involve profound decisions. Sometimes the decision to simply make the leap (or not) is the most monumental in the whole process. There are so many details, great and small, to see to and decisions we could not anticipate having to make. Some transitions are brief and simple, or thrust upon us with little time to prepare, while others we look forward to and plan for our entire lives. Each person lives through these moments uniquely, and how much time we have to prepare is a huge influence on the experience. I'm glad that my little girl has been a long time coming. I don't like to be pressured when facing new situations. I want time and space to approach things at my own pace, weigh my options, and procrastinate if I just feel like it (sadly, I do that a little too often). It's overwhelming at times, knowing I have register for stuff for Brianna's room and make a birth plan, and explain to the questioning why I don't want this or that.
I wonder how many of the details and decisions I've made for Brianna will still feel important to me during labor or year from now, or 20 years from now when she's grown up. Will I care whether or not I managed an unmedicated birth? Which exact shade was used to paint her room? Who holds her and soothes her the first time she wakes up in the middle of the night? So many of the details from our wedding seemed important at the time, the things we had to get right or risk not having the perfect day. Some things did make the day for me, like my bouquet with my dad's cross tucked among my favorite flowers. But I didn't need to waste so much time trying to place everyone just so at tables to ensure a good time was had by all and no fights broke out. I'm wise enough now to see that some things just don't come to pass the way we expect them to and to make plans knowing they will probably change. It makes it easier to accept the fluid nature of life, but it doesn't really help with the anxiety of decision making.
Despite the pressure of everything left to do, I can't help but think that these preparations are, to some extent, a way to channel the love and excitement we feel for this little girl we've never met. I'm feeling so introspective today because I've been touched by the experience of a woman in an online community I participate in. She had many problems early in her pregnancy and eventually found out that her daughter had a chromosomal abnormality and her life expectancy was, quite literally, slim to none. Knowing what she might be facing, she decided to carry on in the hopes that she might have just an hour with her baby. Eventually the big day came and the birth was fine. She got to have two full days with her daughter before she finally passed away. She was as prepared as one can be when you know time is short but don't know just how short it will be. I can't even fathom the kind of strength it takes to prepare for an unknown that ranged in possibility from never seeing your daughter alive to celebrating at least one birthday, if you're lucky. The funeral was held today for little Avery, and many of us in the community have worn bright colors (at her request) to honor the brightness and love this little girl brought to so many lives in such a short time.
Though it feels incredibly selfish to say so, I feel blessed to know that my daughter is growing well. I have a job that lets me put my child first without ruining my career, and a husband who wants to support me in every way possible and is even willing to indulge some of my irrational requests. I had the foresight to save enough money to cover my entire maternity leave, so I won't have to choose between paying bills and spending time with my daughter (at least as far as FMLA will cover). I have family and friends offering up all kinds of help. No matter what, I will never be alone as I go through this journey.
By now, Brianna weighs at least 2 pounds and measures about 9 and a quarter inches crown to rump. Basically, she's a chuck roast, as the ever inspiring What to Expect book put it. Baby. It's what for dinner. (sorry, I had to go there after such a deep/dark post.) Her eyes are open now, but so far the pigment in her irises hasn't formed enough to tell what color eyes she will have (probably green though, with my greenies and Andy's blues). Her heartbeat is supposed to be strong enough that someone could hear it just by listening with an ear pressed against my belly. We haven't tried it yet, but she's kicking enough that Andy can feel it even if he just has his back to my front in bed. She also kicks so hard that sometimes you can see my stomach move because of it. It looks like I have the hiccups, but really it's just her. Just one more week, and it will be down to the last trimester. I hope I have enough time for everything.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Week 25 - If This Keeps Up, We'll Be in Trouble
Why would we be in trouble? Because Brianna has started an interesting...habit. She has developed an intuition for knowing when I'm going shopping. And she seems to celebrate it. By kicking my bladder. It starts before we're even out of the car. She just seems to know that we're about to go walking around and gets so active. Hell, she even gets excited when I'm shopping online. And it happens so often that it's half joke between Andy and me now. But only half because it is so spot on. After all, the first time I felt her move was while we were shopping at Costco. And every time we go back, she gets excited again. I guess I better start saving now and figuring out how to teach her good financial habits.
The day before Christmas Eve (historically my bad luck day), we were on our way home from work and planned on stopping at the grocery store when she learned the kicking-my-bladder trick. Even better, she figured it out while we were on a street with speed bumps. Fantastic. So in between the bumps jostling me and making me need to pee, I get a well timed kick. Gee thanks. I'm grimacing like the dog does when she tries to itch under her harness and sort of grunting because I don't want to alarm anyone with an exclamation to make the Boondock Saints proud (if you've never seen it, there's a scene where they manage to use variations of the word fuck 9 times in about 5 seconds, 246 times in the entire 108 minutes).
Which Andy takes as me smiling and laughing. No dearest, let me poke your urinary tract FROM THE INSIDE and you tell me how you like it. I bet you won't be laughing. She managed to keep up that new trick when I went out shopping again to pick up stocking stuffers for Andy. Because she's smart like that. However, I suspect my facial expression while waiting in line and the quite visible bump helped me get another register open. So, two points to Brianna for helping Mom, but minus one for kicking her the whole time.
[And about that day before Christmas Eve bad luck thing: I have sprained my ankle, had a locksmith break my car's back window, had pneumonia, gotten a parking ticket for being 5 minutes late, and assorted other crap. Generally not a good day for me.]
Anywho, we went in for our doctor's appointment on Monday. The midwife we met was really funny, but a couple of the things she did struck me as sort of...unprofessional, I guess. Nothing made me uncomfortable, but it rubbed Andy the wrong way. And then she moved my due date back to the 7th and argued with us about it being changed before. So something is funky. Either someone is not saving the notes correctly, or the date was changed back by the previous doctor based on the results of my ultrasounds, and she didn't tell me. It's the one problem with having a team of providers instead of a single doctor or midwife. I like knowing I'll be covered not matter what, but I don't like having to reintroduce myself to someone new at every appointment. Hopefully that will be less of an issue now that I've met most of them. I'm also hoping that since the next appointment is with the doctor who originally prescribed the clomid, she might be able to give us a definitive answer on the date. I know it isn't that big a deal since babies don't come on schedule (one friend's adorable daughter being the exception), but when April 14 rolls around, I think it will matter a lot if they start trying to schedule an induction. Or maybe Brianna will surprise us and come early. You never know.
So technically, I am actually 26 weeks and four days right now, but for the purposes of this post, let's assume we're talking about last week. Brianna would weigh over a pound a half and measure 9 inches crown to rump. She also has open nostrils now so she can practice breathing (not that I can breathe through my nose...everything is so swollen I sound like a tea kettle). She can grab her feet and curl her hands up into tiny fists, which probably explains some of the movements I've been feeling. Not a kick against me, and not a turn. Just moving. Her vocal chords are functional and she can get hiccups. The hiccups are really distracting, especially the ones she got in the middle of the Christmas Eve service we went to. She also didn't like the organ music all too much, a feeling I sympathize with. As for me, I still have a belly button for the moment. I've gone from being able to stick the end of my index finger in up to the first knuckle, to not quite getting the nail on my pinky finger in. Anyone want to take bets on when it will go?
The day before Christmas Eve (historically my bad luck day), we were on our way home from work and planned on stopping at the grocery store when she learned the kicking-my-bladder trick. Even better, she figured it out while we were on a street with speed bumps. Fantastic. So in between the bumps jostling me and making me need to pee, I get a well timed kick. Gee thanks. I'm grimacing like the dog does when she tries to itch under her harness and sort of grunting because I don't want to alarm anyone with an exclamation to make the Boondock Saints proud (if you've never seen it, there's a scene where they manage to use variations of the word fuck 9 times in about 5 seconds, 246 times in the entire 108 minutes).
"Why does everyone want to torture me?"
[And about that day before Christmas Eve bad luck thing: I have sprained my ankle, had a locksmith break my car's back window, had pneumonia, gotten a parking ticket for being 5 minutes late, and assorted other crap. Generally not a good day for me.]
Anywho, we went in for our doctor's appointment on Monday. The midwife we met was really funny, but a couple of the things she did struck me as sort of...unprofessional, I guess. Nothing made me uncomfortable, but it rubbed Andy the wrong way. And then she moved my due date back to the 7th and argued with us about it being changed before. So something is funky. Either someone is not saving the notes correctly, or the date was changed back by the previous doctor based on the results of my ultrasounds, and she didn't tell me. It's the one problem with having a team of providers instead of a single doctor or midwife. I like knowing I'll be covered not matter what, but I don't like having to reintroduce myself to someone new at every appointment. Hopefully that will be less of an issue now that I've met most of them. I'm also hoping that since the next appointment is with the doctor who originally prescribed the clomid, she might be able to give us a definitive answer on the date. I know it isn't that big a deal since babies don't come on schedule (one friend's adorable daughter being the exception), but when April 14 rolls around, I think it will matter a lot if they start trying to schedule an induction. Or maybe Brianna will surprise us and come early. You never know.
So technically, I am actually 26 weeks and four days right now, but for the purposes of this post, let's assume we're talking about last week. Brianna would weigh over a pound a half and measure 9 inches crown to rump. She also has open nostrils now so she can practice breathing (not that I can breathe through my nose...everything is so swollen I sound like a tea kettle). She can grab her feet and curl her hands up into tiny fists, which probably explains some of the movements I've been feeling. Not a kick against me, and not a turn. Just moving. Her vocal chords are functional and she can get hiccups. The hiccups are really distracting, especially the ones she got in the middle of the Christmas Eve service we went to. She also didn't like the organ music all too much, a feeling I sympathize with. As for me, I still have a belly button for the moment. I've gone from being able to stick the end of my index finger in up to the first knuckle, to not quite getting the nail on my pinky finger in. Anyone want to take bets on when it will go?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
