Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Things My Husband Should Know-Take 2

Dear Husband,

If I tell you we need a new steamer, you should just hop along over to the vacuum store and bring one home.  Unless that is,  you want to do the cleaning...

The washer is not magic. It doesn't remove items from your pockets or set-in poop stains from onesies. Lets pretreat the laundry...or I could go shopping for replacements.

I am not your mother.  I do not cook like your mother. Chicken-it's what's for dinner.

I work a full time job too.  Then I come home to another one.

At that full time job, I'm on the clock all day-I won't be on yours.

It wouldn't hurt you to put your dirty clothes IN the laundry basket. Next to, under or 'in the general vicinity' doesn't count.  I'll just fold them back up and put them in your drawer.

Open your ears-or I will pierce them in your sleep. Speaking of sleep-shave that beard or I'm going to carve tribal symbols into it with the dog clippers while you're snoozing.

I do complain about you to my mom-but rest assured, she still likes you. Remember-she had to deal with me for 18 years...

I love how you manage to stay calm for me when the baby gets hurt and I'm jumping around the house-although I know you're freaking out  too-on the inside.

I love sneaking glimpses of you staring at Kin in awe of her.

I think it's darn cute to see you riding that bike trailer all over town with that big goofy grin on your face.

You cook better than me.  Thank you.

I appreciate that you come home to non-existent thoughts of dinner and just start making something in the kitchen instead of complaining.

We love you very much.


Your Girls

Friday, August 17, 2012

C-Section Mama (could be a trigger)

A birth plan.  Everywhere you read says to have one.  Our birthing class instructor said to forget it-as she went on describing how our birthing process would be would be if you were with such and such practice and had so and so doctor and went naturally, as well as with an induction and then also a c-section.  I, of course, stopped listening after she described my doctor and a natural birth.  I was 35+ weeks along and had been told for months that my baby's head was down and we were ready to go.  My doctor was amazing with natural births.  He supported my decision to try to go naturally, kept you calm, didn't let you tear, and even had you pull the baby out yourself.  I was so excited!  Clearly this woman sensed my stubborn personality because she very bluntly made the comment to me (in front of everyone in class) "Oh honey. You have control issues, don't you?  You're going to have to let that go."  I should have known then that I was in for it.

A little over a week later, as I was resting my feet after work, I felt a tornado in my gut. It hurt. I couldn't get comfortable. My ribs were crunched.  I couldn't breathe.  There were elbows flying everywhere down there!  After a few hours it stopped.  Whew!

We walked in to our sonogram appointment two days later. I was anticipating any crazy news I might hear.  'She's a BOY' or 'She's REALLY BIG'.  So when the tech nonchalantly mentioned that she was breech, I was obviously caught off guard. No. No. No.  Not my baby. I was numb. "The doctor told me she was in position," is all I said to her.  She slowly moved the wand below my belly button and, as she scrolled towards my ribs, pointed out all of her parts. "There's her head, and the spine, butt, and there are her feet." You've GOT to be kidding me. 'SHE WAS IN POSITION!' was all my head was screaming.  I wasn't sure what the purpose of this ultrasound was so late in the game anyway. Now I know.  He must have had a doubt.

I headed to my weekly appointment alone that afternoon, and to my surprise, my regular doctor was on vacation.  'Convenient,' I thought.  I was introduced to a new doctor.  So new that it was her first day.  "This is Dr. ***.  She may deliver your baby in a few weeks." 'WHAT?'  I didn't know this lady from a turnpike toll collector, and now she could possibly be delivering my BREECH daughter? No thank you.  "When she entered the room, she didn't even get the door closed before I was out with it, "She's breech.  We need to fix her."  Her reply, "Oh.  That's not good."  Lady, you are not making a good case for yourself.  My doctor wouldn't have missed a beat as he calmly told me, "We have time and we have options.  Relax.  Anything could happen."  And I would have relaxed-more so than I was then anyway. Instead,  I told her that I knew my doctor would attempt a version. (Emphasizing the 'my' so that she knew she wasn't my doctor.) She seemed disinterested in my plea.

Now I'm not going to say I went into the appointment with a clear head.  All of you mothers out there know how raging your hormones get when you are pregnant, and then throw all that news on top of it...I lost it.  Right there-right in front of that lady.  I told the nurse I didn't want to see that doctor again.  I mentioned skipping my next appointment if my regular doctor wasn't back in time-and I think I also told them I'd be making sure my husband took me to a neighboring hospital if she were on call when I was to deliver.  (Yeah-that was my crazy pregnant lady moment.)

The poor lady had no clue what she'd done.  She didn't do anything really.  I just wanted my doctor.  The one who made sure I was taking care of myself and the baby. The one who watched her grow, and the one I expected to be there to make sure she came into the world safely.  At the next appointment I had with him, I made him promise to be there. (Unfortunately for him, he was off duty on my due date-but he was there!)

I left the office sobbing.  The poor desk staff didn't know what to say as I tried to schedule my next appointment.  What do you say to a very pregnant lady who leaves her OBGYN appointment sobbing?  I wouldn't risk it myself.  I got to the car and called Mark. "My plan is ruined.  I CAN'T have a c-section.  And they are trying to let a stranger deliver her!"  I'm sure that Mark heard none of this-as I was sobbing through the entire conversation.  "Are you ok? Is the baby ok?  Are you hurt?" is all he asked.  Yes.  You could say we are ok.  It's just my feelings that were taking a beating. I hung up.

Over the next few weeks we tried it all.  I was obsessed with delivering her naturally.  This baby HAD to turn.  We did acupuncture.  Twice.  I put ice on my belly;  she seemed to like it and head butted it instead of turning around.  We played music near my butt.  Mark talked to her from below my belly button. I spent most of my time at home hanging upside down off of the couch.  Each ultrasound that followed showed the same thing. Breech.  Breech.  Breech.  "She's a stubborn one,"  each tech would comment.  (Wonder where she gets that...?)

I was mad, resentful, and exhausted.  We made a plan.  The doctor refused to check my cervix so as not to jumpstart labor.  He would let me go up to my due date to allow time for her to turn.  If I didn't start labor before, we'd have a c-section scheduled for my due date-the morning of we would attempt a version. If it was successful, he'd induce and deliver naturally right then.  If not, we would have to do a c-section.  Cool. If she wouldn't turn on her own, we would turn her. (Clearly, the c-section part of the plan escaped me.)  He warned that if labor started, it could be hard to turn her, but the overall rate of success with the version is about 50%.  That sounded like a glass half-full to me!

Two days before she was due, I had a sonogram.  Girlfriend was suddenly measuring big and I was low on fluid.  At my appointment following, the doctor sent me back for a non-stress test.  I passed with flying colors and with no contractions.  We were going to try to wait and follow the plan.

The next night, we had friends over to celebrate our last night as 'a couple', and the beginning of our life as 'a few'.  I was having aching back pains-but chalked it up to my last minute shopping spree-and the 30 extra lbs I was carrying.  The next morning, I was still aching, but assumed it was all nerves making my stomach upset. Plus, I was STARVING.  No breakfast for a non-pregnant Amanda is bad, so no breakfast for a pregnant Amanda is exponentially worse.  I took in the gorgeous fall colors and scenery as Mark drove to the hospital.  After all, I wanted to remember every second of today.  It was our baby's birthday.  The best day of our lives!

Once checked in and hooked up, we found out that my contractions were 4 and then 3 minutes apart.  Crap.  Labor.  A quick ultrasound verified her right-side-up position, and then there was the version attempt.  I say attempt because it was a fail.  Glass half empty.  I watched my doctor's hands guide my baby's small body around.  Her head passed a 90 degree turn...almost 180!!!...Then flip.  She wouldn't stay.  My uterus was contracting down on her. "Ok.  We are going in for the c-section," he said.  I absolutely lost it.  I was sobbing.  NOOOOO.  This was not supposed to happen. THIS WAS NOT A PART OF MY PLAN.  I was coming here to have my natural birth.  Now you are going to bring me into an operating room, strap my arms down, paralyze me from the chest down, put a curtain beneath my chest, (what are you doing down there?) and rip my baby from my womb?  I don't think so.  Clearly, my choices were limited at that point.  The baby was coming that day. No more waiting it out.  It was get her out safely or risk hurting us both.  I had to put my selfish plan and controlling nature aside and follow directions.  It wasn't just about me anymore.  I think that's when I first became a momma. It wasn't when they made that initial cut and her little foot popped out, it was when I put her over myself.  Isn't that what being a parent is all about?

The c-section itself wasn't terrible.  Ok. I hated it. It's not for everyone.  However, I suggest you prepare yourself for a c-section just in case.  1 in 3 births occur this way for various reasons.  I wasn't too prepared for what was happening.  I knew they would numb me...but I didn't associate this with the idea that my very-active-that-day baby would seemingly cease movement.  (I just couldn't feel it.)  I freaked out (imagine that!) and they quickly got her vitals up on the screen by my head.  They did a good job of distracting me through the surgery-to the point where I was making wise-cracks.  "Hey-am I covered down there?  She's not coming out that area anymore!"  and chiming in with "Where are we going for lunch?" as the staff discussed their afternoon plans.

I got the spinal at 11:11 on 11/11/11.  And then she was here.  7 lbs, 7 oz and 19 inches long at 11:32 am. It all went very quickly.  Mark was wide eyed and open mouthed and didn't answer when I asked if she was ok.  (Hey! Is she here?  Is she ok?  Is she a girl?  Is she over 9 lbs?) She didn't cry.  She gurgled. And then I knew.  We did it.

I wish I could say that they placed her into my arms and she hasn't left my sight since, but that would be a lie. C-section babies need a little extra care.  The birth canal does amazing things for a baby that a c-section doesn't.  The nurses did their thing and finally brought her over to me.  I was strapped down, so all I could do was kiss her.  I wanted to hold her, to count her digits, to figure out whose ears she had, to comfort her after that terrifying entry into the world, and to let her know her mommy was here and loved her.  Instead, I settled for a nuzzle.  I rubbed my nose on hers and told her, 'Happy Birthday baby. I'm your Mommy. I love you.'

Then they took her.  She and Mark were taken to the 'nursery' for a bath while I was stitched up.  It seemed like forever.  Worse yet was the recovery room.  I was wheeled there and basically left alone. It was a daze.  I was alone.  No baby. No  husband. No more belly.  (and no breakfast)  What the heck just happened?  There was a socially inept volunteer stationed at the foot of my bed.  He kept his back to me and would try to make random conversation. "So you had a baby?  That's cool.  My wife had one too."  I refused pain meds-knowing they'd keep me longer to monitor my condition if I took them.  I HAD to get to that room.

So now I am one.  A c-section mama.  1 in 3 births.  Branded for life (or until my hospital agrees to do a v-back).

To say I was traumatized may be a little strong, but the way my hormones were raging, it's how I felt.  And unfortunately, that's my memory of the whole process.  I cried-a lot.  I actually cried to the point where Mark asked me to talk to the doctor about postpartum depression. I did.  I cried as I told the nurse.  I'm glad I did though, because as I came out with it, the whole emotional mess that I was came out too.  It felt good to tell someone on the outside.  Someone who didn't see Kinley every day and think that I was being stupid for not just being grateful that she was here.  '"I love my baby," I said, "and I would never ever ever want to hurt her.  I am happy with her.  I just feel cheated. I feel like they ripped my baby out and gave her to me. I didn't get to have her.  Then they stole her away and left me alone.  I'm so mad."  Then came the joyous words, "Oh honey, that's completely normal.  It's very normal to mourn a c-section.  It wasn't what  you'd planned.  You only need to be worried if you have thoughts of hurting yourself or her or if it persists past the six week period." Ahh!  I'm normal. She gave me some phone numbers in case and sent me on my way.  I never called those numbers, but I did reach out to other c-section mommas.  I asked questions and expressed emotions.  I cried a little when I needed to, and then eventually, I cried less and less.  The crying soon stopped.

And that's why it's taken so long for me to write this.  40 weeks to the day.  The exact amount of time I grew Kinley in the safety of my womb-sharing the secret of her life between just the two of us.

But when I look at this wonderful ball of 9 month old, I am coming to realize that it doesn't matter how she got here.  The point is: she's here.  In all reality, those first couple of hours apart haven't weakened our bond. (not that I would know of anyway.)  She still knows I'm her Momma and that I love her.  On a plus note, that time after her birth was a way of letting Mark in on our little secret.  He was finally able to experience some of what I had for 9+ months-and for that I am grateful.  I'm sure it's a memory for him that I'll never come close to understanding.

Recently, Kinley has learned how to nuzzle.  She leans right in and rubs her nose back and forth across mine-sometimes like a crazy person, and sometimes very gently.  She's letting me know she is here and she's my daughter.  I'm her mommy and she loves me.  Now, she can comfort me.

Our First Nuzzle

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Things My Husband Should Know-Take 1

Dear Husband,

Yes, it's nice to be home with the baby all day, but it is exhausting.  I cannot sit and enjoy a cup of coffee as I browse Pinterest all day as you may think I do. That is why I try to do it when you are home.

Don't ask me how the day was.  You can tell by the extent of my disarray.  Am I showered? Then we had at least a mediocre nap.  Is there make-up on my face?  Probably a little longer of a nap.  Is my hair done, or is it tied up on top of my head in a wet knot?  Am I wearing sweats or jeans? And if it's sweats-are they the same ones as yesterday?  The higher up on the disheveled-o-meter, the quicker you should back out of the house and return with a bag of Oreos.

Bathing the baby is not helping me out or giving me a break when you keep calling me in the room to see how cute she is splashing (although she is VERY cute).  Leaving a trail of her clothes and a soggy diaper on the bed doesn't fare well in your favor either.

DO NOT QUESTION MY DAILY COFFEE INTAKE. Cookies, too, for that matter.

When I leave the baby alone with you, it's not a reason to take her to your parent's house.  You can do it.  You better do it.

On your way out the door, it's not wise to suggest that I weed the garden 'when you get a chance today'.  I'll change the locks.

It irks me that I'm on my hands and knees all day entertaining the baby, but when you come home and I'm hoping you'll take over for a bit, instead you give her a kiss, pat her on the head, and stick her in the pack-and-play.  I want to punch you.

I adore how Kin freaks out when she hears the dogs go crazy when you come home.

Kinley roams the house with me all day yelling 'Dada?' into each room we enter.

She also recognizes your picture now.

When you call and I put you on speaker phone, she practically licks the phone trying to kiss you.

I love that you love to show her off and brag about her all the time.

I appreciate your supporting my shopping initiatives when it comes to Kinley. Thanks. ;P

We love you very much.


Your Girls

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Pinterest Week 3 and 4 and maybe 5...

A Pillowcase shirt for Mommy

I made this the same way as the dress for Kin-only bigger.

Another Dog Gate

A Onesie and T-shirt

This was my first attempt at stitching this way.  I'd like to say it wasn't a fail, so if you are looking for a product that has the appearance that your three year old made it, then this was a success. Don't worry-I'll keep at this technique.

Chalkboard Wine Glasses

Ok. So I cheated.  I made these for a friend's bachlorette party, but I procrastinated a bit. I ended up using pre-made chalkboard paint.  I bought keychain rings and little monogramed charms with everyone's initial on them.  They were a pain to hook around the stem-and I lost a couple of nails in the process-but they came out cute!  I attached tulle in her color-and a white 'veil' for her glass. Her mom's had blue and white.

Ruffle Butt Onesie

Not my finest work, but the ruffle butt was the important part, and I DID IT!  This was made for a friend whose baby was born on the day of Olympic opening ceremonies.

Smorgastarta Cake 

for Mark's birthday.  Homemade bread-YES, I did this from scratch!  Layers of cucumber and shrimp and avocado and crab, iced with a cream cheese/sour cream mixture, fresh parsley,  topped with the insides and Old Bay.


I really need to put more care and attention into my sewing projects.  They came out ok-from a distance.

The Big Fall

So they say it's bound to happen, but I swore it wouldn't happen to me. Kinley fell off of our bed. It's about 2.5 feet and she missed the frame and somehow escaped injury. She didn't have a mark on her.  She sleeps really well in her bed-usually-but she's had a wicked cold and had been up every couple of hours to nurse. The sleep she has been getting has been broken and restless.  She's flailing and tossing and moaning and wheezing and coughing and sneezing.  It's been miserable.  So she fell asleep nursing in the middle of Mark and I and woke up around 3:15.  My groggy and exhausted self went to roll her over to the other side and she jerked her body over. I remember desperately reaching for her and I was practically on my feet by the time she hit. I have the chills just thinking about it.  Kinley barely reacted (which is scary in itself) and cried more when I got loud then she actually did from the fall. Her whimpering lasted all of 30 seconds an then it was playtime for her. (I broke the rule of 'no talking to or playing with the baby in the middle of the night-and definitely no lights on,)  Mark stayed very calm because he knew I wouldn't. (Later, he told me he was on the verge of freaking out.  Well played, Sir.)  We broke out the Google searches. 'My baby fell off the bed!' 'baby falls' 'baby head injuries' 'signs of injury/concussion in an infant'.  I called my mom.  (Bet she loved that middle of the night blast.) We checked her over vigorously. Were her pupils dilated, was there any swelling? bleeding? bruising? rug burn? a torn cuticle?  She was fanny fluffing, so Mark suggested that I change her diaper to make sure there was no bleeding from an injured organ.  We found nothing. She was fine. We were lucky.  We were VERY lucky. I guess they make baby bones soft for people like us.  But, clearly, I haven't slept well since.

Mark and I set up new routines for middle of the night wake-ups and sick babies and talked about how even more careful we have to be with the wiggle worm.  As if I weren't anal enough...bring on the Crazy New Mom title.

Since then, I've had plenty of people share their 'dropped baby' stories with us-including a tumble Mark took himself-so I figured it was important to share mine. More importantly, I'd like to share some of the information we found helpful in assessing the situation.  Prevention-wise, we've all heard it.  Don't leave a baby unattended on a raised surface-not even for a second.  Next-put that baby behind bars.  You'll sleep better and so will she.  Google gets enough middle-of-the night hits-you don't need to be adding to them!

When to Call 911

Oh! That Dr. Sears

The Mayo Clinic

Some of this information seems a little traumatic just reading it, but it's good to know ahead of time-for worst case scenarios.  I hope you never need it.

And so we survived our first fall in one piece and handled it as a family-continually turning into moms and dads.

On a positive note, one good thing that came from this experience was that since we were all wide-eyed and bushy tailed at 4 am, we were able to catch some more Olympic coverage.  Go team USA!

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Is it the Moon?

As I sit here chugging down my second cup of coffee today, I'm left wondering if there is any amount of caffeinated beverage that can get me through this blessed little day. It's hard to remember why I'm so grumpy when her little bright-eyed face-complete with toothy grin-is staring back at me at 6:30 am, but, oh wait, yes, I've remembered.

To sum it up, Kinley has been a gremlin since Monday.  I'm not sure why, and at this point, I'm not sure it matters.  I just want my little Spinkle back. We had a very busy weekend visiting a new baby in the hospital, going to the fair, Daddy being gone studying a lot and PASSING his final Series 7 test! (whoop!), visiting with Grandma and Grandpa, and Daddy's birthday party.

On Monday, the little sprout had a fever.  Honestly, should could have picked up something anywhere.  The hospital is primed with germs and sickness. She could have gotten some sort of goat flu at the fair, and our house was packed with people-all of whom wanted to kiss all over that adorable little face-and, really, who could blame them? Did I mention that she was swapping spit (pacifiers) with one of her little Ethans? "This makes sense," I thought.  "We'll get through this little snafu and we'll be on our way."  FAIL.

The fever passed by late Monday night, but her horns have not yet fallen off.

She's tired, but won't sleep, playful, but won't play, hungry, but won't eat.  She wants to nurse. A lot and all the time.  After a two hour marathon last night, I was on the verge of tears. My back hurt, my boobs hurt, and I was drained in every way possible.

In my little head, I have 'Look Who's Talking' moments, during which I imagine the little darling's thought processes.

"Why not give Mommy one more magical night of seeing me every hour on the hour?  She'll be going back to work soon, and I think she'll appreciate my efforts at more time with me!" And so last night was the worst yet.

This is the tough part about babies.  Obviously, she cannot tell me what's wrong, and I don't expect her to.  (Although it would.be.AWESOME.)

Therefore, I've compiled a REAL list of what the malfunction could be:
1.  A growth spurt. She's coming up on 9 months so it makes sense.
2.  She loves me.  She can't get enough of me.  Isn't separation anxiety supposed to rear it's ugly head about
     now anyway? (I should stop here and just go with it.  Nothing wrong with tooting your horn every once  
     in a while.)
3.  Teething.  Good lord-stop the teething!
4.  A cold or bug.  She's had a sort-of dry cough and slightly runny nose.  But could that be the teeth? Her  
     fever is gone anyway...
5.  Gas.  Isn't this always the go-to?
6.  The moon.  I've always been a skeptic when it comes to blaming behavior on the phases of a sky high
     glowing object, but as I log years as a Kindergarten teacher under my belt, my cynicism towards people
     with this rationale has slowly been diminishing. So as I woke up for the zillionth time last night and    
     noticed that that blaring light that was coming through my drawn curtains was not from the rising sun
     (no people-it was 2:45 in the morning), but from the alarmingly full moon dangling above my house, I
     convinced myself that I am raising a wolf. (It would explaining the barking, growling, and biting, too.)

As much as I'd like to believe it's rationale number 2, it has become clear that the moon has taken over my happy,  sleeping through the night doll-baby.  So speaking of tooting horns, I think for now I'll just shine hers up.  She might as well look cute while tearing up our world!