I alone could supply twenty birds with enough hair balls to make expansive mcmansion nests. I mean serious nests with a separate wing for each egg. Post-pregnancy, something in my body changed and caused me to shed hair like crazy. Each time I wash my hair I create a hairball of enormous proportions, enough to clog many a drain. It might not be as noticeable or annoying for the average head of hair, but I have enough hair for four people which makes this a serious ordeal. It is kind of like having a golden retriever to clean up after without the benefit of his unconditional love. It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't constantly picking hairballs up off the floor and stray hairs off my shirt. And if the hairs that fell down my shirt didn't tickle me. I'm trying to manage my mane by wearing constant ponytails, but if I forget my ponytail holder at home, I'm leaving a trail of hair wherever I roam.
Moral of the story: Consider sporting a hairdo that helps manage the shedding stage post-pregnancy so that you can focus on your newborn instead of constantly sweeping up hair.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Labor and Delivery - Baby #2
For those of you who are into all the details, here goes...
Don't hate me.
It's not my fault that I have "easy" labor and delivery. I credit my genetics and healthy lifestyle.
And even though I say it was "easy", it was the hardest thing I've ever done.
The human body is an amazing thing. Shortly after having Ada, my mind wiped out all memories of the pain and all of the sucky part so that I don't remember delivery being nearly as bad as it was. I just remember I was able to handle it and I survived. I think, as Americans, we are influenced by so many movies and horror stories about labor and delivery that we really are uneducated when it comes to what actually happens and what we should expect. Hopefully, this little story will shed some light on how things could be, if you're lucky.
On Sunday morning, I woke up feeling funny. Not really sick, not really crampy, not really having contractions, but just knowing that this baby was getting ready. We went to breakfast and called our parents to put them on notice and have them start heading into the city so they would be here to watch Ada when the time came. I ate a light breakfast knowing that whatever I ate had a good probability of reappearing in the hospital in a manner I wouldn't be excited about.
Our parents planned to arrive that afternoon. Ada, Rick and I planned to take a walk around the block to get Ada to fall asleep. It turned into a two-hour walk that gave me a flip flop blister between my toes. Ouch. Really, I just kept walking in hopes that it would kick start my labor. We walked toward the hospital just in case my water broke mid-stride.
After the walk, I started having some really pathetic contractions. My mom arrived and the contractions continued. Rick's parents arrived and the contractions became measurable but still weak. At one point, they were four minutes apart but I was in no pain and knew they couldn't be doing much. Around four pm they stopped. Then they started up again but were eight minutes apart. I laid down to see if they would start up again. And I even took a shower knowing that it would be the only one I'd take for a day or two. The contractions eventually ramped back up to four minutes apart and we decided to go to the hospital to get checked out since my doctoress had said "come in when your contractions are ten minutes apart". I told her they started at 6 or 8 minutes apart with Ada so that never really happens for me, but I'd know when it was time. At about 7 pm, we arrived at the hospital and checked in. I didn't think I was ready to deliver but wanted to be checked out "just in case". The nurse checking us in thought I was going to be induced since I clearly wasn't in any pain. I was put into a triage room and asked all of the standard medical questions. A doctoress came to check me out and I was dilated to a two, maybe a three. She said she'd give me a few hours and come back to check how I was progressing. In the meantime, I read a book and Rick studied for his Architecture exams. Excitement in the triage room!
Around 9:30 the doctoress came back. I was dilated to four centimeters, but still not really feeling the contractions even if they were at four minutes apart. She asked how I was doing and I said, "I'm bored." Labor just wasn't progressing fast enough for me and I like to be efficient. She offered to speed things up by breaking my bag and giving me some medicine. I stopped her right there and explained that I wasn't in a hurry if breaking my bag meant starting the "he has to come out within the next 24 hours or we're going in to get him" clock and by "medicine" she meant pitocin. That's when the light bulb went on and she realized I wasn't kidding about doing this thing naturally. I just explained that I wasn't in a hurry and would like him to come on his own terms. I am an impatient person and Ada was a quick ramp up of powerful contractions with a fast delivery to top it off. She understood and then realized that it might be a good idea for me to go home for a few hours and come back when things got exciting. She consulted my doctoress, who explained that I am a rational, educated adult whom she trusts to have good judgement, and I live six blocks away from the hospital so sending me home would be the best course of action. Yes, I was in labor. Yes, the hospital sent me home.
At home, we got to rest, eat, and drink. My mom was on the couch, my in-laws were in our bed, and my good neighbor Kelly was out at a concert and staying with a friend so she offered us her place to relax in until it was time for the baby to make life exciting. After covering her couch with a waterproof mat and a towel, I laid down for a bit of rest. I ate a granola bar and drank some water, knowing both were likely to come up later. I just wanted to keep up my strength while not setting myself up for disaster as the night went on.
About two in the morning, my mom called us from fifty feet away--we were upstairs and across the hall--to say that Ada had a high fever. Great. Just what we needed. I'm in labor and my 2.5 year old is sick. Nice. We tried to give her medicine but it was crystallized so my mom and Rick's dad ended up walking to the store to get a new bottle of generic Tylenol since all of the children's Tylenol has been recalled. Ada refused to take the medicine and opted to sit on the couch and watch a movie instead. Rick and I retreated back to Kelly's for a bit more sleep before all of the excitement kicked in.
At three am, my contractions started to get more intense. We stopped by our place to tell them we were heading to the hospital and accidentally woke Ada up. She had just fallen asleep on the couch and threw quite the tantrum when we left. As we were getting into the car, we could hear her screams out the open window. Not the best way to head off to the hospital.
Just as luck would have it, as I was getting into the car I accidentally stepped down off the curb and landed my foot in a puddle of nasty water and soaked my shoe. Of course it was the foot I got the blister on so I was a little worried it would get infected. Thankfully, we were heading to a hospital...
Five minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. We parked in the parking garage and took the stairs -- another way of me trying to keep things moving, and I was avoiding the elevator since I had bad dreams involving elevators during my pregnancy. We checked back into the triage area and the doctoress examined me again. I had made it to a six and was indeed progressing nicely. They moved me to my own room and my contractions started to intensify. My whole body quickly started shaking from being so cold. I'm told that is a sign of the transition phase of labor and is a good thing. The nurse assigned to me just happened to be the woman who taught the birthing class we took before having Ada. It was so nice to have a friendly face helping us out, and it eased my mind knowing that she was a proponent of natural birth.
Things started to heat up and I was feeling the "urge to push". The doctoress checked me and I was dilated to a seven. A few more contractions and they checked me again. By this time, my contractions were quite strong. I wasn't able to talk during them or say much in between either. What little food was in my stomach decided it didn't need to be there anymore so I was really glad I hadn't had much to eat. I was kneeling on the mattress while leaning over the head of the bed since it had been raised to an upright position. The contractions were the most painful thing I've ever experienced. I'd try to let out a little yell but quickly refocused on trying to breath and rock my hips. The doctor came in to check me again and I was at an eight. I overheard her say to another doctor in the room that I didn't want to break my bag and I piped up to say at this point, I didn't care. If breaking the bag would move things along, then let's do it. There wasn't a fear at this point that breaking it would increase my risk of complications. They went to call my doctoress and get the utensil to break my bag. While they were gone, my nurse suggested that I try to let the bag break on it's own since that would be more natural way to do things. Breaking the bag would just intensify the contractions. That's really what I was hoping for so that I could speed up this process, move things along and get past the pain. About two more contractions came when I heard the click of street shoes in the hallway and assumed my doctoress had arrived. The doctors were conferencing in the hall when, all of a sudden I felt the urge to push. I told the nurse and magically, my bag of waters broke all on its own. The nurse shouted "Bag broke, strong urge to push" and immediately encouraged me to roll over so I could start pushing. Here I am thinking, "Really, I can push already? Sweet. I've got this. I'm having a baby." In the meantime, what sounded like five or six people swarmed into my room and commands were being shouted, gowns were being put on and people were taking their positions in preparation for me to have a baby.
At some point, there was a nurse's assistant touching my thigh during a contraction and I picked her hand up and moved it off my leg. She immediately apologized, having realized what she'd done. It seemed like a bitchy thing to do but I really didn't want her hand touching me and she just put it there absentmindedly, as if to say my being in labor was no big deal and this happens everyday. Well, maybe it does for them but I'm only doing this twice in my lifetime and her touching my thigh right then was not working for me.
Within seconds of rolling over to my back, they had my legs up on footpaddles for pushing. They explained how I needed to hold on to the outside of my thighs and pull them back as I pushed. I was to take in a big breath, hold it while bearing down and pushing the baby out toward the light over the doctoress' heads, all while tucking my chin. I couldn't get the rhythm right and kept putting my head back and breathing out all of the air like I had done for the other contractions. It took two contractions and about six pushes to figure out how to push correctly. Once I finally figured it out, they were quickly yelling "Push, push, push, push, push" and saying things like "I see a bald head." I think it took less than a dozen real pushes and he was slipping out of my body and magically landed on my chest all covered in goo, wrapped loosely in a towel. Awesome!
I made it. Ta da. I had a baby. That's when all of the warm fuzzy natural mommy drugs kicked in and the world became the happiest place on Earth.
Then it was time for them to do some stuff with the cord since we decided to donate the cord blood. That was annoying and time consuming but surely worth it in the end. Then I had to deal with the afterbirth and the doctoress' pushing on my stomach to get the uterus to contract and pass the placenta. Never a fun experience but okay since I had my new son on my chest.
And finally, the poking and prodding and numerous needle pricks that come with repairing a tear. I had a second degree tear with Ada and the same tear with Iain. It seems to take forever for them to sew it all up and numb the area and disinfect it and whatever else they do. At one point I was really tempted to ask, "Are you two yahoos almost done down there?" My patience for being messed with at that point in the process was non-existent. Did I mention I'm an impatient person?
Eventually they had me repaired and dressed in the fishnet disposable underwear that are beyond sexy and do a nice job holding in the ice pack and maxi pad. They weighed and cleaned the baby. Turns out that he and Ada both weighed 8.004 lbs. He was 21 inches long and she was only 20 inches. The sun was rising over the lake, a new day was just getting started, and it was time for me to cuddle up with my new munchkin and take a nap.
All said and done, it was a great experience and much easier than it could have been, and easier than I expected, but also so much harder than I remembered. I felt a bit traumatized afterwards and tended to get a bit bent out of shape when everyone kept saying "So we'll see you back here next year for your third?" or any comments regarding having more children. I made sure to ask my doctoress if it was her I needed to see about "closing down the factory for good" and she said we'd talk at my six week checkup. I think I'm more sensitive to the thought of having more kids since this pregnancy was so much harder than it was with Ada. They don't tell you that each consecutive pregnancy gets harder because 1)you're older 2)you're body is already stretched out and will stretch further and faster each time 3)you have a kid(s) to chase after and take care of while you are incubating the one in your womb and 4)that kid wants you to pick them up and do everything you've always done with them and might be quite adamant that you keep up.
Moral of the story: Labor and delivery stories aren't all bad. A lot of it is genetics. A lot of it is mental preparation, focus and controlled breathing. The rest is knowing what you can handle and what your options are. It isn't something to be taken lightly.
Don't hate me.
It's not my fault that I have "easy" labor and delivery. I credit my genetics and healthy lifestyle.
And even though I say it was "easy", it was the hardest thing I've ever done.
The human body is an amazing thing. Shortly after having Ada, my mind wiped out all memories of the pain and all of the sucky part so that I don't remember delivery being nearly as bad as it was. I just remember I was able to handle it and I survived. I think, as Americans, we are influenced by so many movies and horror stories about labor and delivery that we really are uneducated when it comes to what actually happens and what we should expect. Hopefully, this little story will shed some light on how things could be, if you're lucky.
On Sunday morning, I woke up feeling funny. Not really sick, not really crampy, not really having contractions, but just knowing that this baby was getting ready. We went to breakfast and called our parents to put them on notice and have them start heading into the city so they would be here to watch Ada when the time came. I ate a light breakfast knowing that whatever I ate had a good probability of reappearing in the hospital in a manner I wouldn't be excited about.
Our parents planned to arrive that afternoon. Ada, Rick and I planned to take a walk around the block to get Ada to fall asleep. It turned into a two-hour walk that gave me a flip flop blister between my toes. Ouch. Really, I just kept walking in hopes that it would kick start my labor. We walked toward the hospital just in case my water broke mid-stride.
After the walk, I started having some really pathetic contractions. My mom arrived and the contractions continued. Rick's parents arrived and the contractions became measurable but still weak. At one point, they were four minutes apart but I was in no pain and knew they couldn't be doing much. Around four pm they stopped. Then they started up again but were eight minutes apart. I laid down to see if they would start up again. And I even took a shower knowing that it would be the only one I'd take for a day or two. The contractions eventually ramped back up to four minutes apart and we decided to go to the hospital to get checked out since my doctoress had said "come in when your contractions are ten minutes apart". I told her they started at 6 or 8 minutes apart with Ada so that never really happens for me, but I'd know when it was time. At about 7 pm, we arrived at the hospital and checked in. I didn't think I was ready to deliver but wanted to be checked out "just in case". The nurse checking us in thought I was going to be induced since I clearly wasn't in any pain. I was put into a triage room and asked all of the standard medical questions. A doctoress came to check me out and I was dilated to a two, maybe a three. She said she'd give me a few hours and come back to check how I was progressing. In the meantime, I read a book and Rick studied for his Architecture exams. Excitement in the triage room!
Around 9:30 the doctoress came back. I was dilated to four centimeters, but still not really feeling the contractions even if they were at four minutes apart. She asked how I was doing and I said, "I'm bored." Labor just wasn't progressing fast enough for me and I like to be efficient. She offered to speed things up by breaking my bag and giving me some medicine. I stopped her right there and explained that I wasn't in a hurry if breaking my bag meant starting the "he has to come out within the next 24 hours or we're going in to get him" clock and by "medicine" she meant pitocin. That's when the light bulb went on and she realized I wasn't kidding about doing this thing naturally. I just explained that I wasn't in a hurry and would like him to come on his own terms. I am an impatient person and Ada was a quick ramp up of powerful contractions with a fast delivery to top it off. She understood and then realized that it might be a good idea for me to go home for a few hours and come back when things got exciting. She consulted my doctoress, who explained that I am a rational, educated adult whom she trusts to have good judgement, and I live six blocks away from the hospital so sending me home would be the best course of action. Yes, I was in labor. Yes, the hospital sent me home.
At home, we got to rest, eat, and drink. My mom was on the couch, my in-laws were in our bed, and my good neighbor Kelly was out at a concert and staying with a friend so she offered us her place to relax in until it was time for the baby to make life exciting. After covering her couch with a waterproof mat and a towel, I laid down for a bit of rest. I ate a granola bar and drank some water, knowing both were likely to come up later. I just wanted to keep up my strength while not setting myself up for disaster as the night went on.
About two in the morning, my mom called us from fifty feet away--we were upstairs and across the hall--to say that Ada had a high fever. Great. Just what we needed. I'm in labor and my 2.5 year old is sick. Nice. We tried to give her medicine but it was crystallized so my mom and Rick's dad ended up walking to the store to get a new bottle of generic Tylenol since all of the children's Tylenol has been recalled. Ada refused to take the medicine and opted to sit on the couch and watch a movie instead. Rick and I retreated back to Kelly's for a bit more sleep before all of the excitement kicked in.
At three am, my contractions started to get more intense. We stopped by our place to tell them we were heading to the hospital and accidentally woke Ada up. She had just fallen asleep on the couch and threw quite the tantrum when we left. As we were getting into the car, we could hear her screams out the open window. Not the best way to head off to the hospital.
Just as luck would have it, as I was getting into the car I accidentally stepped down off the curb and landed my foot in a puddle of nasty water and soaked my shoe. Of course it was the foot I got the blister on so I was a little worried it would get infected. Thankfully, we were heading to a hospital...
Five minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. We parked in the parking garage and took the stairs -- another way of me trying to keep things moving, and I was avoiding the elevator since I had bad dreams involving elevators during my pregnancy. We checked back into the triage area and the doctoress examined me again. I had made it to a six and was indeed progressing nicely. They moved me to my own room and my contractions started to intensify. My whole body quickly started shaking from being so cold. I'm told that is a sign of the transition phase of labor and is a good thing. The nurse assigned to me just happened to be the woman who taught the birthing class we took before having Ada. It was so nice to have a friendly face helping us out, and it eased my mind knowing that she was a proponent of natural birth.
Things started to heat up and I was feeling the "urge to push". The doctoress checked me and I was dilated to a seven. A few more contractions and they checked me again. By this time, my contractions were quite strong. I wasn't able to talk during them or say much in between either. What little food was in my stomach decided it didn't need to be there anymore so I was really glad I hadn't had much to eat. I was kneeling on the mattress while leaning over the head of the bed since it had been raised to an upright position. The contractions were the most painful thing I've ever experienced. I'd try to let out a little yell but quickly refocused on trying to breath and rock my hips. The doctor came in to check me again and I was at an eight. I overheard her say to another doctor in the room that I didn't want to break my bag and I piped up to say at this point, I didn't care. If breaking the bag would move things along, then let's do it. There wasn't a fear at this point that breaking it would increase my risk of complications. They went to call my doctoress and get the utensil to break my bag. While they were gone, my nurse suggested that I try to let the bag break on it's own since that would be more natural way to do things. Breaking the bag would just intensify the contractions. That's really what I was hoping for so that I could speed up this process, move things along and get past the pain. About two more contractions came when I heard the click of street shoes in the hallway and assumed my doctoress had arrived. The doctors were conferencing in the hall when, all of a sudden I felt the urge to push. I told the nurse and magically, my bag of waters broke all on its own. The nurse shouted "Bag broke, strong urge to push" and immediately encouraged me to roll over so I could start pushing. Here I am thinking, "Really, I can push already? Sweet. I've got this. I'm having a baby." In the meantime, what sounded like five or six people swarmed into my room and commands were being shouted, gowns were being put on and people were taking their positions in preparation for me to have a baby.
At some point, there was a nurse's assistant touching my thigh during a contraction and I picked her hand up and moved it off my leg. She immediately apologized, having realized what she'd done. It seemed like a bitchy thing to do but I really didn't want her hand touching me and she just put it there absentmindedly, as if to say my being in labor was no big deal and this happens everyday. Well, maybe it does for them but I'm only doing this twice in my lifetime and her touching my thigh right then was not working for me.
Within seconds of rolling over to my back, they had my legs up on footpaddles for pushing. They explained how I needed to hold on to the outside of my thighs and pull them back as I pushed. I was to take in a big breath, hold it while bearing down and pushing the baby out toward the light over the doctoress' heads, all while tucking my chin. I couldn't get the rhythm right and kept putting my head back and breathing out all of the air like I had done for the other contractions. It took two contractions and about six pushes to figure out how to push correctly. Once I finally figured it out, they were quickly yelling "Push, push, push, push, push" and saying things like "I see a bald head." I think it took less than a dozen real pushes and he was slipping out of my body and magically landed on my chest all covered in goo, wrapped loosely in a towel. Awesome!
I made it. Ta da. I had a baby. That's when all of the warm fuzzy natural mommy drugs kicked in and the world became the happiest place on Earth.
Then it was time for them to do some stuff with the cord since we decided to donate the cord blood. That was annoying and time consuming but surely worth it in the end. Then I had to deal with the afterbirth and the doctoress' pushing on my stomach to get the uterus to contract and pass the placenta. Never a fun experience but okay since I had my new son on my chest.
And finally, the poking and prodding and numerous needle pricks that come with repairing a tear. I had a second degree tear with Ada and the same tear with Iain. It seems to take forever for them to sew it all up and numb the area and disinfect it and whatever else they do. At one point I was really tempted to ask, "Are you two yahoos almost done down there?" My patience for being messed with at that point in the process was non-existent. Did I mention I'm an impatient person?
Eventually they had me repaired and dressed in the fishnet disposable underwear that are beyond sexy and do a nice job holding in the ice pack and maxi pad. They weighed and cleaned the baby. Turns out that he and Ada both weighed 8.004 lbs. He was 21 inches long and she was only 20 inches. The sun was rising over the lake, a new day was just getting started, and it was time for me to cuddle up with my new munchkin and take a nap.
All said and done, it was a great experience and much easier than it could have been, and easier than I expected, but also so much harder than I remembered. I felt a bit traumatized afterwards and tended to get a bit bent out of shape when everyone kept saying "So we'll see you back here next year for your third?" or any comments regarding having more children. I made sure to ask my doctoress if it was her I needed to see about "closing down the factory for good" and she said we'd talk at my six week checkup. I think I'm more sensitive to the thought of having more kids since this pregnancy was so much harder than it was with Ada. They don't tell you that each consecutive pregnancy gets harder because 1)you're older 2)you're body is already stretched out and will stretch further and faster each time 3)you have a kid(s) to chase after and take care of while you are incubating the one in your womb and 4)that kid wants you to pick them up and do everything you've always done with them and might be quite adamant that you keep up.
Moral of the story: Labor and delivery stories aren't all bad. A lot of it is genetics. A lot of it is mental preparation, focus and controlled breathing. The rest is knowing what you can handle and what your options are. It isn't something to be taken lightly.
Introducing Iain Kerr
Early Monday morning June 21st, at 6:11 to be exact, Iain Kerr joined our family to make us a foursome. At 8 lbs, and 21 inches long, the first thing he did outside the womb was pee on the doctoress who delivered him. Sorry about that Doc.
So far, so good. His name, Iain, is the Scottish version of Ian, pronounced E-an, and is a derivative of John. Labor and Delivery went well. I got through it without the help of any drugs or intervention, which, now that it's still fresh in my mind, was no easy feat. Natural birth isn't for everyone.Dad likes him.
Ada seems to be taking a liking to him. 
I'm thrilled to be done with pregnancy, childbirth, and maternity clothes. I'm excited to be able to enjoy my children and start the next phase of our lives together as a family. I have a feeling it is going to be a fun trip.Moral of the story: Bringing home a baby is an adjustment with many good memories to be made.
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Waiting Game
Will he come today? Tonight? Tomorrow? The next day? The day after that? Next week? Two weeks from now?
If only I knew...but I don't.
Waiting for baby to decide it's time to enter this world is a bit crazy. I don't think he's ready quite yet. I know I'm not ready quite yet either. Rick looked at me just last night and said, "We should probably pack a bag for you, huh." I just rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. What do we really need to take? Last time we had music and movies and clothes (for me and baby) and hot packs and books and all sorts of stuff. All we really wanted was snacks. The hospital had everything else and anything they didn't have, Rick or one of our three relatives in the waiting area could walk home six blocks to get. We did watch a movie the second night. And I might have read a book. But most of it went untouched.
The car seat is already in the car, as is the cord blood donation kit. I'll have my cell phone, as always--maybe an extra cell phone charger would be wise.
I've been advised by friends who just had their second to take:
If only I knew...but I don't.
Waiting for baby to decide it's time to enter this world is a bit crazy. I don't think he's ready quite yet. I know I'm not ready quite yet either. Rick looked at me just last night and said, "We should probably pack a bag for you, huh." I just rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. What do we really need to take? Last time we had music and movies and clothes (for me and baby) and hot packs and books and all sorts of stuff. All we really wanted was snacks. The hospital had everything else and anything they didn't have, Rick or one of our three relatives in the waiting area could walk home six blocks to get. We did watch a movie the second night. And I might have read a book. But most of it went untouched.
The car seat is already in the car, as is the cord blood donation kit. I'll have my cell phone, as always--maybe an extra cell phone charger would be wise.
I've been advised by friends who just had their second to take:
- The video camera - for when we introduce Baby Boy to Ada. Her reaction could be something to laugh about at her wedding someday.
- The Boppy - for nursing or propping the baby up when Ada does meet him.
- The camera - hello. Extra battery and memory card just in case maybe.
Surely I'll need yoga pants and a shirt to go home in. My house sandals that are goo-proof will be good for shuffling around the hospital room, and some socks in case my feet get cold. Being the crafty woman that I am, I hope to tuck away my current knitting project and whatever book I happen to be reading. I can only sleep so much and Rick will likely be busy going back and forth between the grandparents at our house with Ada, and the hospital room with me and BB. I might take an Ipod just in case. I considered taking Motrin and Tylenol this time since last time I think they billed me about $500 for pain killers when they were just over the counter drugs. But maybe they are higher doses or have codine -- ah, codine. My insurance is different this time too so maybe it won't be so bad.
I guess some clothes for the baby to come home in would be good too. We had a dozen outfits for Ada and in the end, we estimated way too big so that none of them fit and I have no idea what she wore home. I will try to pack those cute little hand mitts so he doesn't scratch himself (or me) while nursing.
At least I have things to think about while I wait for him to come. I can't say we are "ready" for him but we aren't "not ready" either. To get ready, Rick pulls out the pack and play, assembles the bassinet and we wash a load of baby clothes. I'm hoping to get to the baby clothes tonight or tomorrow, or even sometime later this week. And I'm not sure Ada will ever be ready or that we can prep her for any of it. We'll just wing it and hope for the best.
Moral of the story: Most babies come when the are ready. All you can do is try to be ready for them when they do, incubate and RELAX.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Novels Need Warnings
Men don't have the same issues women have when reading novels for pleasure.
This thought broadsided me last night as, here I am, super pregnant, hormonal, and trying to read for relaxation. My guard is down. I'm emotional. There are only so many things you can do to stay entertained while propping your swollen pregnant feet up on the couch after a long day. I've also got knitting, watching movies, and the occasional good TV show but most shows just had their season finales or I've given up on them. Surely those with cable can only handle so many episodes of Jersey Shore before wanting something to stimulate them intellectually. (That's funny if you know how brain dead of a show Jersey Shore is --so I've heard since I don't have cable and haven't ever seen it.)
For the majority of my entertainment, I've chosen to read novels. I read for pleasure, relaxation, and bookclub. Most of the books I read are recommended by friends or picked off the cart by the checkout desk at the library because I like the title and the cover. Superficial, I know. But there is no way of knowing, from the cover or even reading the blurb on the back or the reviews, that anything tragic will happen to the female characters in the book. I know the book has to have a climax and some sort of conflict to be successful as part of the whole plot. But can't we come up with a rating system like we have for the movies and explicit lyrics on music? Not that I need books to be censored or regulated, I just want a little prior notice and warning before I get into something that I'm not expecting and can't handle. It could be as simple as a small red or green checkmark on the cover to let me know it might do more than just pull on my heartstrings.
The reason I say this is a bigger issue for women is that many authors seem to use sexual abuse, rape, loss of a child, miscarriage, and loss of a lover as their conflict that makes the book interesting. That's great and fine and dandy, but I'd like to be forewarned as these are not issues taken lightly by a pregnant woman.
For instance, last night, I'm reading on the couch as Rick is putting Ada to bed. Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. It's a Pulitzer Prize winner and an International Best Seller. It's got to be good, right? There is no blurb on the back, just rave reviews. So I'm reading. Relaxing. Got my feet kicked up and a blanket tucked around me. Life is good. And then I get to the end of chapter one and am in tears. Spoiler Alert. Turns out, chapter one is about a couple who lose their baby three weeks before the wife's due date and it causes them to fall apart. Hello! I don't need to read that right now. NOT relaxing! I'm four weeks from my due date. Are you kidding me?
The book I read before this one was for bookclub. Shanghai Girls by Lisa See. Again, the blurb says these two sisters go through some tough times and this book is all about the bond between them. Sounds good. Spoiler Alert. It doesn't say anything about a rape scene during a violent war and one of the women having a baby in a shower room and the other having a stillborn and then being sterile after aforementioned rape scene. Hello! Not what I needed. I'm trying to relax here. My job is to think warm, fuzzy, happy thoughts as I incubate my delicate little bundle of joy as he grows and is nourished in the belly.
Men don't seem to be effected by this as much since they aren't the target reader for most of these novels, and sci-fi or war novels --which I'm making a gender biased statement here, I know-- are more typically male and, while I'm not an expert on them, I just don't see the characters in their standard novel choices being sexually assaulted and losing their wives at home to freak accidents that cause them inner turmoil. It just doesn't seem to work the same way when you play to men's emotional heartstrings. I'm not even sure how their heartstrings work or if they even have any.
Until I can find time to create some magical checkmark approval system to save emotional women from a few tears and unnecessary distress, I'll settle for being a bit more diligent in my choice of books when I know I'm more sensitive. Maybe I should stick to the Dan Brown and Janet Evanovich novels that tend toward mystery, action, comedy and more lighthearted fun.
Moral of the story: Consider having a friend pre-screen your reading selections while you are pregnant to avoid those that might send you into emotional areas you are better off avoiding.
This thought broadsided me last night as, here I am, super pregnant, hormonal, and trying to read for relaxation. My guard is down. I'm emotional. There are only so many things you can do to stay entertained while propping your swollen pregnant feet up on the couch after a long day. I've also got knitting, watching movies, and the occasional good TV show but most shows just had their season finales or I've given up on them. Surely those with cable can only handle so many episodes of Jersey Shore before wanting something to stimulate them intellectually. (That's funny if you know how brain dead of a show Jersey Shore is --so I've heard since I don't have cable and haven't ever seen it.)
For the majority of my entertainment, I've chosen to read novels. I read for pleasure, relaxation, and bookclub. Most of the books I read are recommended by friends or picked off the cart by the checkout desk at the library because I like the title and the cover. Superficial, I know. But there is no way of knowing, from the cover or even reading the blurb on the back or the reviews, that anything tragic will happen to the female characters in the book. I know the book has to have a climax and some sort of conflict to be successful as part of the whole plot. But can't we come up with a rating system like we have for the movies and explicit lyrics on music? Not that I need books to be censored or regulated, I just want a little prior notice and warning before I get into something that I'm not expecting and can't handle. It could be as simple as a small red or green checkmark on the cover to let me know it might do more than just pull on my heartstrings.
The reason I say this is a bigger issue for women is that many authors seem to use sexual abuse, rape, loss of a child, miscarriage, and loss of a lover as their conflict that makes the book interesting. That's great and fine and dandy, but I'd like to be forewarned as these are not issues taken lightly by a pregnant woman.
For instance, last night, I'm reading on the couch as Rick is putting Ada to bed. Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. It's a Pulitzer Prize winner and an International Best Seller. It's got to be good, right? There is no blurb on the back, just rave reviews. So I'm reading. Relaxing. Got my feet kicked up and a blanket tucked around me. Life is good. And then I get to the end of chapter one and am in tears. Spoiler Alert. Turns out, chapter one is about a couple who lose their baby three weeks before the wife's due date and it causes them to fall apart. Hello! I don't need to read that right now. NOT relaxing! I'm four weeks from my due date. Are you kidding me?
The book I read before this one was for bookclub. Shanghai Girls by Lisa See. Again, the blurb says these two sisters go through some tough times and this book is all about the bond between them. Sounds good. Spoiler Alert. It doesn't say anything about a rape scene during a violent war and one of the women having a baby in a shower room and the other having a stillborn and then being sterile after aforementioned rape scene. Hello! Not what I needed. I'm trying to relax here. My job is to think warm, fuzzy, happy thoughts as I incubate my delicate little bundle of joy as he grows and is nourished in the belly.
Men don't seem to be effected by this as much since they aren't the target reader for most of these novels, and sci-fi or war novels --which I'm making a gender biased statement here, I know-- are more typically male and, while I'm not an expert on them, I just don't see the characters in their standard novel choices being sexually assaulted and losing their wives at home to freak accidents that cause them inner turmoil. It just doesn't seem to work the same way when you play to men's emotional heartstrings. I'm not even sure how their heartstrings work or if they even have any.
Until I can find time to create some magical checkmark approval system to save emotional women from a few tears and unnecessary distress, I'll settle for being a bit more diligent in my choice of books when I know I'm more sensitive. Maybe I should stick to the Dan Brown and Janet Evanovich novels that tend toward mystery, action, comedy and more lighthearted fun.
Moral of the story: Consider having a friend pre-screen your reading selections while you are pregnant to avoid those that might send you into emotional areas you are better off avoiding.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Single Mom Syndrome
I've said it before and I'll say it again and again and again... I don't know how single parents manage to raise children on their own. Clearly they aren't "all alone" because I have reason to believe that is impossible. "It takes a village," and then reinforcements from a few neighboring villages sometimes as well.
My family always wonders why I'm not more excited about driving out to visit them every weekend and why I'm not up for road trips to visit relatives with Ada in tow. I'm not sure what life is like for them these days or what all they remember from back in the day when we were little, but packing up and traveling for a weekend is right near the bottom of the list of things I want to do on any given weekend.
Why?
Weekends are my time to play catch up and I can't do that while on the road or at someone else's house. I can only imagine it is much worse for single parents and families whose parents travel for work. There is a reason families only had one income back in the day and one parent stayed home. It is a full time job to run a household. I like to think I'm superwoman and can take care of the cooking, cleaning, laundry, parenting, incubating (albeit temporarily), and grocery shopping, all while managing our social calendar, working 25 hours a week, doing the bookkeeping for our condo association, and trying to maintain a life of my own including a monthly book club, occasional knitting club, and attempts to attend prenatal yoga. Not to mention learning how to cook, switching to more healthful food choices for my family, and all the hobbies I have that make me more like Suzy Homemaker than most (knitting, sewing, quilting, etc.)
Should be easy right?
As a two-parent family with an awesome husband who shares these responsibilities with his equally wonderful wife, sure, it could almost be manageable or, dare I say, easy. But once you throw in work travel or a crazy work schedule and deadlines that dedicate half of your family team to other efforts, what is almost easy together quickly becomes impossible and overwhelming on your own.
While this has been my year of The Compact, cooking and incubating, it has been Rick's year of professional architecture exams and work deadlines. And last month was the month of travel including four consecutive weekends home to the grandparents', with one of those extending tour days to include a drive to Minneapolis for a wedding.
That said, should it surprise me that my house is a mess every other day as I struggle to keep up with chores and Ada and sleep and putting in enough hours at work when my partner in all this is relegating to working a couple 14 hour days each week? Somehow I find time to worry that he may be burning out from too much work so I make it a priority to set aside time for him to play soccer and try not to nag him about his urgent need to study for the second of seven exams he needs to complete this year to become an official Architect. I also find myself limiting my social activities and sacrificing "me time" if it doesn't fit with his crazy schedule. That's all good until we hit a day, like we did earlier this week, when my body and mind just gave up and told the world to leave me alone.
Thankfully, Rick translated my desperation over the phone and came home to help manage Ada, the housework and his ailing pregnant wife. He made dinner, coerced Ada into eating the dinner I made her that she wouldn't eat for me. Entertained her while cooking for us both and managed to clean the kitchen and run the dishwasher to boot. All while I kicked up my feet on the couch with a good book in an attempt to de-stress and get the day's aches and pains from being 33 weeks pregnant to melt away. I'm lucky that he wasn't out of town on business and didn't have an urgent deadline to meet that night.
There comes a point in life, for me anyway, where enough is enough. I've hit it. I'm done traveling until after the baby is born and we are in a routine. People will just have to come see me. I've done lugging groceries into the house with a cranky two-year-old in tow because she's tired, hungry, or has to poop. We can grocery shop as a family, Rick can do it, or we can starve -- okay so having Peapod delivery our order is the real third option but you get my point. I'm going to four more yoga classes in the six weeks before the baby gets here, sooner rather than later in case he wants to come early, and Rick will just have to rearrange to make time for it. I'm going to try to get ahead on my workload and bank a few extra work hours, and hopefully do so while working from home more since my work setup isn't as nice on my body as my desk at home and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's the fact that I get up a lot more to move around at home and frequently sit with a heat pack on my shoulders. We'll see. It's all just a phases. This too shall pass.
Moral of the story: You can't raise a child alone so be sure to enlist the help of others. Know your limits, stick to them, and know that it is okay to say no.
My family always wonders why I'm not more excited about driving out to visit them every weekend and why I'm not up for road trips to visit relatives with Ada in tow. I'm not sure what life is like for them these days or what all they remember from back in the day when we were little, but packing up and traveling for a weekend is right near the bottom of the list of things I want to do on any given weekend.
Why?
Weekends are my time to play catch up and I can't do that while on the road or at someone else's house. I can only imagine it is much worse for single parents and families whose parents travel for work. There is a reason families only had one income back in the day and one parent stayed home. It is a full time job to run a household. I like to think I'm superwoman and can take care of the cooking, cleaning, laundry, parenting, incubating (albeit temporarily), and grocery shopping, all while managing our social calendar, working 25 hours a week, doing the bookkeeping for our condo association, and trying to maintain a life of my own including a monthly book club, occasional knitting club, and attempts to attend prenatal yoga. Not to mention learning how to cook, switching to more healthful food choices for my family, and all the hobbies I have that make me more like Suzy Homemaker than most (knitting, sewing, quilting, etc.)
Should be easy right?
As a two-parent family with an awesome husband who shares these responsibilities with his equally wonderful wife, sure, it could almost be manageable or, dare I say, easy. But once you throw in work travel or a crazy work schedule and deadlines that dedicate half of your family team to other efforts, what is almost easy together quickly becomes impossible and overwhelming on your own.
While this has been my year of The Compact, cooking and incubating, it has been Rick's year of professional architecture exams and work deadlines. And last month was the month of travel including four consecutive weekends home to the grandparents', with one of those extending tour days to include a drive to Minneapolis for a wedding.
That said, should it surprise me that my house is a mess every other day as I struggle to keep up with chores and Ada and sleep and putting in enough hours at work when my partner in all this is relegating to working a couple 14 hour days each week? Somehow I find time to worry that he may be burning out from too much work so I make it a priority to set aside time for him to play soccer and try not to nag him about his urgent need to study for the second of seven exams he needs to complete this year to become an official Architect. I also find myself limiting my social activities and sacrificing "me time" if it doesn't fit with his crazy schedule. That's all good until we hit a day, like we did earlier this week, when my body and mind just gave up and told the world to leave me alone.
Thankfully, Rick translated my desperation over the phone and came home to help manage Ada, the housework and his ailing pregnant wife. He made dinner, coerced Ada into eating the dinner I made her that she wouldn't eat for me. Entertained her while cooking for us both and managed to clean the kitchen and run the dishwasher to boot. All while I kicked up my feet on the couch with a good book in an attempt to de-stress and get the day's aches and pains from being 33 weeks pregnant to melt away. I'm lucky that he wasn't out of town on business and didn't have an urgent deadline to meet that night.
There comes a point in life, for me anyway, where enough is enough. I've hit it. I'm done traveling until after the baby is born and we are in a routine. People will just have to come see me. I've done lugging groceries into the house with a cranky two-year-old in tow because she's tired, hungry, or has to poop. We can grocery shop as a family, Rick can do it, or we can starve -- okay so having Peapod delivery our order is the real third option but you get my point. I'm going to four more yoga classes in the six weeks before the baby gets here, sooner rather than later in case he wants to come early, and Rick will just have to rearrange to make time for it. I'm going to try to get ahead on my workload and bank a few extra work hours, and hopefully do so while working from home more since my work setup isn't as nice on my body as my desk at home and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's the fact that I get up a lot more to move around at home and frequently sit with a heat pack on my shoulders. We'll see. It's all just a phases. This too shall pass.
Moral of the story: You can't raise a child alone so be sure to enlist the help of others. Know your limits, stick to them, and know that it is okay to say no.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Maybe Not Allergies
Ada's date with the Doctoress went well yesterday. The current theory is that she likely doesn't have allergies, but instead has cough induced asthma--which can be aggravated by allergies. She has always had issues with colds lingering in her chest and nasty coughs that hang around. I must admit it was tough to hear the word asthma in her diagnosis. No one wants their child to have to worry about the simple act of breathing, which actually is quite complex. Growing up, my friends with asthma were delicate. Always carrying inhalers. Bringing a nebulizer to sleepovers or leaving early. Not being able to come over to play if their friends had pets. It was tough. Luckily, what Ada has isn't a full blown type of asthma, but it could one day turn into that. Hers is a spasm in her chest that causes her to cough like crazy and then throw up. It is typically worse at night and occasionally bad in the mornings. And we think it coincides with the change in seasons. Hopefully, five days of a drug the Doctoress prescribed should break the cycle she's been in for four weeks now. If this medicine, with a puff of her inhaler before bed doesn't help, then we will try a stronger allergy medicine. We've been trying Zyrtec for two weeks with no luck so plan B involves Singular, a prescription strength allergy medicine. If these attempts fail, then we'll draw blood to have it allergy tested and see what plan C will be.
Through all of this, I've got some guilt about living in the city since the air quality here isn't the best for people with allergies or asthma. Hopefully it won't be an issue and if it is, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
The best part of all of this is that Ada is acting normal and almost completely unbothered by this illness unless she is coughing or throwing up, both of which are rare and short lived. The solution is quick, easy and treatment thus far hasn't been expensive. And I'm so thankful that she isn't contagious since that would just wreck complete havoc on all of our lives.
I'm hopeful this will work and will be thankful when she isn't throwing up all over her bedding at 10 pm when Rick is working late and it's my job, as an uber pregnant mom with a 36 lb child covered in vomit, to get her into the tub, wash her hair, change her bedding, get a new set of pajamas, and start a load of laundry when all either of us want to do is get some sleep. I'm optimistic that the end of all that is near.
Moral of the story: It's great to have a family doctor that you see consistently. You can build trust in them, and they know your medical history so they can see the big picture and start with all of the relevant information to get a proper diagnosis.
Through all of this, I've got some guilt about living in the city since the air quality here isn't the best for people with allergies or asthma. Hopefully it won't be an issue and if it is, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
The best part of all of this is that Ada is acting normal and almost completely unbothered by this illness unless she is coughing or throwing up, both of which are rare and short lived. The solution is quick, easy and treatment thus far hasn't been expensive. And I'm so thankful that she isn't contagious since that would just wreck complete havoc on all of our lives.
I'm hopeful this will work and will be thankful when she isn't throwing up all over her bedding at 10 pm when Rick is working late and it's my job, as an uber pregnant mom with a 36 lb child covered in vomit, to get her into the tub, wash her hair, change her bedding, get a new set of pajamas, and start a load of laundry when all either of us want to do is get some sleep. I'm optimistic that the end of all that is near.
Moral of the story: It's great to have a family doctor that you see consistently. You can build trust in them, and they know your medical history so they can see the big picture and start with all of the relevant information to get a proper diagnosis.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Pregnancy and the CTA
I've started to write about this before and how much I hate taking the El train when I'm pregnant during the winter because people can't tell I'm pregnant and rarely give up their seats for me. That and I have to walk up two flights of stairs or take an elevator sure to trap me until my due date, leaving me huffing and puffing or praying that the doors open when I arrive on the platform. And the whole feeling I get when the train is taking curves at speeds faster than I like just makes me think I'm going to be on the train that tips over and causes mass chaos. Will they tend to me first since I'm pregnant? Will the belly protect me from disaster? Am I more likely to be injured severely because no one gave me their seat? I'm too busy and stressed to deal with this crap.
So, I wised up and started taking the bus yesterday. It turns out, after some hunting on the CTA website, I can walk five blocks and go almost door to door with Ada's daycare instead of trekking to the El, huffing up 2 flights of stairs and being pissed that I don't get a seat. Sweet. I don't really like the bus, mainly due to all of the potholes and the jerkiness of the trip, but it is cheaper, faster, involves less walking, and doesn't involve stairs. The recording reminding passengers to give their seats up to passengers who are elderly or disabled, also includes "expectant mothers" which don't get promoted on the El. I feel like I've moved up in the transportation world just a notch.
And the CTA has a few new features that let me know when the bus will arrive at my stop so I don't have to wait so long, which I love. There is a bus tracker that works online for some routes, but I can't get my stupid blackberry to figure that out yet, and a "bus texter" feature where I can text a code and it tells me how far away the bus is from the stop. Love it.
I almost forgot to add that I really enjoy being able to thank my bus driver for the ride, too. I can say "good morning" when I get on, and "thanks" when I get off unlike having the El driver locked in a box at the front of the train with your only hope of communicating being that you accidentally hit the emergency button in the train car or happen to walk by his or her open window as they pull up to the platform. And instead of thinking the train will tip over and cause a mass catastrophe, I now dream about how, if I went into labor, the bus is already driving right by my hospital and could just run express, dumping people out that get off before the hospital so they could wait for the next bus, and taking the rest with us as they whisk me there mid-contractions. It's a much nicer daydream to have, and since the bus driver is now my friend since I said hello to him or her, it's all good. He's got my back. Ridiculous. I know.
Moral of the story: When it comes to public transit, know your options, and keep them open.
So, I wised up and started taking the bus yesterday. It turns out, after some hunting on the CTA website, I can walk five blocks and go almost door to door with Ada's daycare instead of trekking to the El, huffing up 2 flights of stairs and being pissed that I don't get a seat. Sweet. I don't really like the bus, mainly due to all of the potholes and the jerkiness of the trip, but it is cheaper, faster, involves less walking, and doesn't involve stairs. The recording reminding passengers to give their seats up to passengers who are elderly or disabled, also includes "expectant mothers" which don't get promoted on the El. I feel like I've moved up in the transportation world just a notch.
And the CTA has a few new features that let me know when the bus will arrive at my stop so I don't have to wait so long, which I love. There is a bus tracker that works online for some routes, but I can't get my stupid blackberry to figure that out yet, and a "bus texter" feature where I can text a code and it tells me how far away the bus is from the stop. Love it.
I almost forgot to add that I really enjoy being able to thank my bus driver for the ride, too. I can say "good morning" when I get on, and "thanks" when I get off unlike having the El driver locked in a box at the front of the train with your only hope of communicating being that you accidentally hit the emergency button in the train car or happen to walk by his or her open window as they pull up to the platform. And instead of thinking the train will tip over and cause a mass catastrophe, I now dream about how, if I went into labor, the bus is already driving right by my hospital and could just run express, dumping people out that get off before the hospital so they could wait for the next bus, and taking the rest with us as they whisk me there mid-contractions. It's a much nicer daydream to have, and since the bus driver is now my friend since I said hello to him or her, it's all good. He's got my back. Ridiculous. I know.
Moral of the story: When it comes to public transit, know your options, and keep them open.
Thank Goodness for Family Nearby
I've been so burned out this past 2 weeks since I got back from Minneapolis that I just needed some time to catch up... on sleep, housework, work, relaxation, and just un-bury myself. I'm writing this at 3 am so the sleep thing isn't working yet, but I'm optimistic.
In my burnout mode today at work, I figured out a way to have Rick's Aunt take Ada and our car out to Sycamore (she works downtown and commutes via the train usually) for the weekend. Ada's spending the night with Rick's parents, then going to see my mom and dad tomorrow to spend the weekend with them in Lake Geneva, and driving our car back here on Sunday for Easter brunch. I get 2 days of peace and quiet to get stuff done, albeit without a car. I have a massage scheduled, and don't have to travel for Easter, or cook even since my dad is taking us to Mon Ami Gabi. Whoopie. Too bad I can't sleep. I'm hoping that gets better tomorrow once I have a full day's worth of getting stuff done under my belt.
Of course, I have 2 deadlines next week for work and am nowhere near close to meeting them. Awesome! At least I can see the surface of my desk at home. And now that I don't have to chase, tickle, reprimand, cuddle, or entertain Ada for 2 days, maybe I can kick up my feet and relax the belly. It's been giving me more pain and I just fear the Dr telling me I have to "take it easy" or go on bed rest for a bit. I really don't know how people do that, but I sure don't want to have to find out. And I'm sure it isn't anything bad. Likely just a pulled groin muscle that I just have to deal with, but it still hurts and I'm exhausted.
Moral of the story: Live near family when you decide to raise children. You just can't do it alone.
In my burnout mode today at work, I figured out a way to have Rick's Aunt take Ada and our car out to Sycamore (she works downtown and commutes via the train usually) for the weekend. Ada's spending the night with Rick's parents, then going to see my mom and dad tomorrow to spend the weekend with them in Lake Geneva, and driving our car back here on Sunday for Easter brunch. I get 2 days of peace and quiet to get stuff done, albeit without a car. I have a massage scheduled, and don't have to travel for Easter, or cook even since my dad is taking us to Mon Ami Gabi. Whoopie. Too bad I can't sleep. I'm hoping that gets better tomorrow once I have a full day's worth of getting stuff done under my belt.
Of course, I have 2 deadlines next week for work and am nowhere near close to meeting them. Awesome! At least I can see the surface of my desk at home. And now that I don't have to chase, tickle, reprimand, cuddle, or entertain Ada for 2 days, maybe I can kick up my feet and relax the belly. It's been giving me more pain and I just fear the Dr telling me I have to "take it easy" or go on bed rest for a bit. I really don't know how people do that, but I sure don't want to have to find out. And I'm sure it isn't anything bad. Likely just a pulled groin muscle that I just have to deal with, but it still hurts and I'm exhausted.
Moral of the story: Live near family when you decide to raise children. You just can't do it alone.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Less Easily Embarassed
One thing I hate about pregnancy is the resulting incontinence. It's common among women and all doctors recommend doing kegels, kegels, and more kegels to strengthen the pelvic floor and prevent leaks. Nobody tells you these things until after you get pregnant and it is too late to go back. It wasn't bad during the first pregnancy, but I don't think I did enough kegels between pregnancies (Bad Amanda!) so I'm paying for it now.
With so much pressure on my tiny bladder, each cough or sneeze could cause a little leak. It used to be that I'd laugh so hard I'd pee. I wish that was the case and someday I'll get back to that point. Until then, you might notice that I cross my legs and pray that I've remembered to go to the bathroom recently each time I cough or sneeze. Poor Rick tries his best not to laugh at me, and I try not to cry or yell at him because it is funny...but in a sad way, not a ha ha way.
Some days I change underwear three or four times a day. Most days I don't have any problems at all. But if my allergies are acting up or I catch a cold, watch out.
Two weeks ago, we were walking back from a nice dinner out as a family and I happened to sneeze on the walk home. A big sneeze on a full bladder. Thankfully I was wearing black pants and only four blocks from home. That was by far the worst of it.
That episode encouraged me to now carry a backup pair of underwear in my purse. It happened to coincide with my recent trip to Minneapolis and it is always wise to travel with a change of underwear handy in case you lose your luggage. I learned that the hard way in Germany and went underwear shopping for both Rick and I within a few hours of landing. Not how you want to start a trip.
So now I carry nude underwear in my purse. It's just part of my normal purse contents. I think nothing of it. Or I thought nothing of it until we were at Costco this past Monday and Ada was sitting in the cart as I strolled through the frozen foods section. La la la. "What do you have there Ada?" I notice that she's managed to get into my purse in the seat next to her and pull out a pen and, of course, my nude underwear. Pre-Ada, I might have been slightly embarrassed. Post-Ada, it didn't even phase me. I quietly chuckled under my breath and stuffed them back into my purse... and zipped it up this time.
Moral of the story: Things you once found embarrassing, just aren't as bad once you've been exposed to a dozen people during labor and delivery. One of the many perks of having a child.
With so much pressure on my tiny bladder, each cough or sneeze could cause a little leak. It used to be that I'd laugh so hard I'd pee. I wish that was the case and someday I'll get back to that point. Until then, you might notice that I cross my legs and pray that I've remembered to go to the bathroom recently each time I cough or sneeze. Poor Rick tries his best not to laugh at me, and I try not to cry or yell at him because it is funny...but in a sad way, not a ha ha way.
Some days I change underwear three or four times a day. Most days I don't have any problems at all. But if my allergies are acting up or I catch a cold, watch out.
Two weeks ago, we were walking back from a nice dinner out as a family and I happened to sneeze on the walk home. A big sneeze on a full bladder. Thankfully I was wearing black pants and only four blocks from home. That was by far the worst of it.
That episode encouraged me to now carry a backup pair of underwear in my purse. It happened to coincide with my recent trip to Minneapolis and it is always wise to travel with a change of underwear handy in case you lose your luggage. I learned that the hard way in Germany and went underwear shopping for both Rick and I within a few hours of landing. Not how you want to start a trip.
So now I carry nude underwear in my purse. It's just part of my normal purse contents. I think nothing of it. Or I thought nothing of it until we were at Costco this past Monday and Ada was sitting in the cart as I strolled through the frozen foods section. La la la. "What do you have there Ada?" I notice that she's managed to get into my purse in the seat next to her and pull out a pen and, of course, my nude underwear. Pre-Ada, I might have been slightly embarrassed. Post-Ada, it didn't even phase me. I quietly chuckled under my breath and stuffed them back into my purse... and zipped it up this time.
Moral of the story: Things you once found embarrassing, just aren't as bad once you've been exposed to a dozen people during labor and delivery. One of the many perks of having a child.
The Uncomfortable Phase
There are several phases of pregnancy. I have just entered that which I like to call the Uncomfortable Phase. My belly is significant. My body is stretching and sore. I'm not sleeping very well so I'm tired. My diet is super sensitive and still causes a good deal of heartburn when I eat poorly. I barely fit in a plane seat (and I'm not even big! What about big people? How do they do it?). Crossing my legs causes all sorts of trouble. My legs fall asleep when I sit for too long. Bending forward tends to make the belly mad. And I can't stay out late--not that I really ever could. My bladder has shrunk to nothing, and I tend to leak when I sneeze or cough. Ug.
Then there is the whole issue of the baby kicking me. A friend said it is like having a bag of microwave popcorn in your stomach for a few months. I agree. He is SO active. With Ada, it was so new and exciting, and I didn't notice the movements as much or until later on in the pregnancy. Now it is much more noticeable and annoying when I'm trying to get some sleep. I think first pregnancies are all so new and exciting and unknown that they are less annoying. I feel bad saying that this pregnancy is annoying, but it kind of is. It just isn't as easy. And I'm impatient and just want to fast forward to the whole part where I have the baby and we live happily ever after.
I will say that, today, holding my friend Alison's newborn daughter Ella, I was again reminded of why I've chosen to have a second child and go through this Uncomfortable Phase. I'm doing it for that little noise a baby makes when they sleep. That "ahhh, ahhh, ahhh" breathing noise. I vowed today that I will record it and save it forever and always. It is the most beautiful sound in the world to me. So calming and reassuring. Seeing her baby puts things in perspective. And it was nice to see Ada sitting there with baby Ella in the Boppy on her lap. Ada was good about being gentle with her and she pointed out Ella's eyes, ears and nose. She messed up her hair and touched her feet, but all in a loving and tender way. I think most parents fear their kids will reject the new baby and get violent so it was nice to see that Ada's first reaction to Ella was positive.
Moral of the story: It is hard work being pregnant. Find something positive to focus on to make it all worthwhile. I suggest that little "ahhh" noise a baby makes, and the peaceful faces they make when they sleep. That does it for me.
Then there is the whole issue of the baby kicking me. A friend said it is like having a bag of microwave popcorn in your stomach for a few months. I agree. He is SO active. With Ada, it was so new and exciting, and I didn't notice the movements as much or until later on in the pregnancy. Now it is much more noticeable and annoying when I'm trying to get some sleep. I think first pregnancies are all so new and exciting and unknown that they are less annoying. I feel bad saying that this pregnancy is annoying, but it kind of is. It just isn't as easy. And I'm impatient and just want to fast forward to the whole part where I have the baby and we live happily ever after.
I will say that, today, holding my friend Alison's newborn daughter Ella, I was again reminded of why I've chosen to have a second child and go through this Uncomfortable Phase. I'm doing it for that little noise a baby makes when they sleep. That "ahhh, ahhh, ahhh" breathing noise. I vowed today that I will record it and save it forever and always. It is the most beautiful sound in the world to me. So calming and reassuring. Seeing her baby puts things in perspective. And it was nice to see Ada sitting there with baby Ella in the Boppy on her lap. Ada was good about being gentle with her and she pointed out Ella's eyes, ears and nose. She messed up her hair and touched her feet, but all in a loving and tender way. I think most parents fear their kids will reject the new baby and get violent so it was nice to see that Ada's first reaction to Ella was positive.
Moral of the story: It is hard work being pregnant. Find something positive to focus on to make it all worthwhile. I suggest that little "ahhh" noise a baby makes, and the peaceful faces they make when they sleep. That does it for me.
First Cookies, Now Brownies, What Next?
I'm learning how to cook this year. Some days are better than others. I am not however, learning to bake. I feel like I know how to bake and do pretty well as long as I follow directions. And I'm proud to say I'm the only person in my family that can make my grandmother's divinity, which shocks even me since that's a candy and way above my level of expertise. I'm getting to a point where I don't think I should be allowed to bake when I am pregnant because I am just too distracted or forgetful. I don't know how baking is any different from cooking per say, but that distinction seems to be relevant for some untold reason.
For example, I'm always craving chocolate chip cookies. I made them a few months back and accidentally put in a whole stick of butter instead of half a stick and they came out flat and greasy, but still kind of good. Rick made a batch to make me feel better and, of course, they were perfect and fit to be sold at a bakery. He disgusts me. In my attempt three weeks ago I was determined not to foul them up...but I also wanted to get them cooked quickly so I could eat them since I'm doing my best not to eat the dough containing raw egg (raw egg = bad for baby). In my rush, I put the pans in the oven side by side and, according to my brilliant husband, caused all of the oven's heat to be trapped below the pans, thereby causing ALL of the cookies to burn on the bottom. I then proceeded to make my husband bake the second batch of that evening. Do you see the pattern here?
Last night, again, I gave in to my weakness and baked a batch of brownies. Triple Chocolate Ghirardelli brownies actually. Brownies happen to take much longer to cook-- 50 minutes versus less than ten for cookies-- and thereby make me even more impatient. Unfortunately, I forgot to add the egg to the brownie mix this time (Yes, I know it only needs three ingredients added to the mix--water, oil, and an egg--I just got distracted) and when Rick pulled them out of the oven as the buzzer went off, he looked at me like "How can you really screw up box brownies?" My response, "So the egg is important, huh." It isn't surprising that the second batch didn't come out until 10pm and I gave in to the temptation of the brownie mix -- raw egg and all this time -- before the brownies were done. Yeah, I admit I felt some guilt, but it was delicious. Then I forced myself to eat the first brownie when they came out even though I was headed to bed and had quenched my craving with the raw mix and some of the ruined egg-less pile of oily brownie mush that was the first attempt. Sad. So sad.
Moral of the story: Cravings while pregnant can lead to poorly executed cooking attempts. Be sure to have twice the ingredients a recipe calls for to prevent late night emergency grocery runs, and complete mommy meltdowns.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Pregnancy = Crazy
Recently, an old friend and his wife became pregnant. Shortly thereafter, he realized I write about motherhood and pregnancy and asked me to write a message to his wife imploring her to not act crazy toward him while her hormones are raging during pregnancy.
To my friend I say: Sorry bud, no chance of that ever happening.
Instead, my advice to expectant fathers goes like this:
Now that she is pregnant, your wife will be emotional, crazy, forgetful, moody, exhausted, needy, insecure, unsure of herself, exhausted, clumsy, forgetful, (see I'm already repeating myself as I type and I'm not doing it on purpose) and a million other emotions will take her prisoner for the next nine months. Once the baby is here, it could get better, but chances are that it will get worse first. Especially if she decides to nurse the baby as nursing mommy brain really turns to mush.
Some key phrases you as a husband should quickly incorporate into your daily conversations with your wife include:
I love you. (That should already be there but just in case it isn't and I really have to start at square one, it made the list.)
You're the most beautiful woman in the world. (ditto)
I love your changing body.
You are not fat. You're body is making room for the baby and some things are going to be more flattering than others. We just have to find something that flatters your new figure.
Everything is going to be just fine.
You're going to be a wonderful mother.
Slow down, relax, incubate.
Can I get you anything? (water, backrub, footrub, heating pad, foot rest, you're favorite mac and cheese from down the street that you crave)
If it is supportive and reassuring, it should be on this list. You get my point.
You're wife's body is going through an incredible transformation. Most men I know could not handle pregnancy, and if they could, it wouldn't be any better than we women handle it.
Pregnancy is not easy.
Just think about it. We try not to get pregnant for years until we are "ready" (whatever that means). Then we try to get pregnant and worry that we won't be able to. If it doesn't come naturally, there are layers of issues that come with that. If it does come naturally, we're still told not to count our chickens before they are hatched since the miscarriage rate is so high. Then we are bombarded with what to eat and not eat, how to exercise to stay in shape but not overexert ourselves and stress the baby. We have to go to doctor appointment after doctor appointment to get poked and prodded and weighed and measured. We take blood tests to screen for potential birth defects and have to nervously await the results. We then go in for ultrasounds to find out the sex of the baby, or not, and again make sure everything is in it's place. We hear horror stories about preemies, SIDS, postpartum depression and all that can go wrong with a pregnancy, not to mention how every mom we meet will volunteer her awful labor and delivery story just to prove that she's done something incredible, thereby scaring the pee out of us, literally -- because our bladders can now only hold so much and we have to go to the bathroom every five minutes.
And then there are the foods that we crave and the foods that we find repulsive. Our doctors are telling us to gain weight or not to gain too much weight when all we want to do is eat, or not eat.
And we sometimes have morning sickness or feel queasy, we get heartburn and other ailments. We, near the end of pregnancy, can barely walk/get off the couch/tie our shoes. Not to mention the leg cramps in the middle of the night, wild and crazy dreams and nights of restless sleep.
And do I even have to mention feeling fat and unattractive and worrying that we are no longer sexy in our husband's eyes? Or the fact that our wardrobe doesn't fit and we have to buy new things to wear, but we don't want to spend money on ourselves since we are saving up for the expense of having a baby. Then nothing fits once the baby is here and our body is completely changed, so we again need a new wardrobe, and have to dip into baby's savings.
Add to that the fact that you may or may not be working and have to decide if you are going back to work or not, and how you're going to make ends meet when you sit down with the family budget. Can you say stressful?
On top of that, you must consider that the baby is going to need a name and everyone has an opinion on what you should or shouldn't name the baby. Maybe there is family pressure to honor your twice removed great great uncle Elvis even though it totally doesn't sound good with your last name or his initials spell out something that he'll clearly be made fun of for his entire childhood. Can you live with that decision?
And what if you are having twins? It might be a two-for-one deal to some, but it terrifies the rest of us completely.
Briefly, let's chat about post-pregnancy. She'll doubt her mothering skills. She'll wonder if she should nurse, maybe feel like she's failed if she is unable to nurse (which she hasn't failed...sometimes it's just not meant to be and you need to be supportive of all of her choices.) Your friends may change now that you have a child and your social life might just go MIA for awhile. (Not everyone wants to talk poopy diapers over dinner you know.) Your sex life as you know it is over for at least 6 weeks until you get her doctor's clearance. And then who has time for sex? And how hot are you when you have spit up all over your shirt? Just you wait and see.
Then she'll wonder if doing sign language is good for the baby, if the baby is developing on schedule, if his height and weight percentile are okay, if he is getting enough milk, if she should vaccinate the baby (YES, but do your own research to form that opinion), and if she should get a nanny or enroll in daycare. Her mother and your mother will be all over her parenting skills, and that advice my fall on thankful, or insulted ears. (Don't get me wrong, Dad may be in charge of many of the decisions, but that's still pretty rare and to those fathers, I feel your pain.)
I mean, seriously, you want me to be on your side and suggest your wife go easy on you? No chance in hell buddy. Not a chance.
Now go give her a hug and tell her she's the most beautiful woman in the world.
Moral of the story: Having babies is not for the weak or unstable. It is a daunting process on an emotional roller coaster that will change your world forever. Be supportive of one another, prepare as best you can, and know that it won't be easy, but it sure is rewarding.
To my friend I say: Sorry bud, no chance of that ever happening.
Instead, my advice to expectant fathers goes like this:
Now that she is pregnant, your wife will be emotional, crazy, forgetful, moody, exhausted, needy, insecure, unsure of herself, exhausted, clumsy, forgetful, (see I'm already repeating myself as I type and I'm not doing it on purpose) and a million other emotions will take her prisoner for the next nine months. Once the baby is here, it could get better, but chances are that it will get worse first. Especially if she decides to nurse the baby as nursing mommy brain really turns to mush.
Some key phrases you as a husband should quickly incorporate into your daily conversations with your wife include:
I love you. (That should already be there but just in case it isn't and I really have to start at square one, it made the list.)
You're the most beautiful woman in the world. (ditto)
I love your changing body.
You are not fat. You're body is making room for the baby and some things are going to be more flattering than others. We just have to find something that flatters your new figure.
Everything is going to be just fine.
You're going to be a wonderful mother.
Slow down, relax, incubate.
Can I get you anything? (water, backrub, footrub, heating pad, foot rest, you're favorite mac and cheese from down the street that you crave)
If it is supportive and reassuring, it should be on this list. You get my point.
You're wife's body is going through an incredible transformation. Most men I know could not handle pregnancy, and if they could, it wouldn't be any better than we women handle it.
Pregnancy is not easy.
Just think about it. We try not to get pregnant for years until we are "ready" (whatever that means). Then we try to get pregnant and worry that we won't be able to. If it doesn't come naturally, there are layers of issues that come with that. If it does come naturally, we're still told not to count our chickens before they are hatched since the miscarriage rate is so high. Then we are bombarded with what to eat and not eat, how to exercise to stay in shape but not overexert ourselves and stress the baby. We have to go to doctor appointment after doctor appointment to get poked and prodded and weighed and measured. We take blood tests to screen for potential birth defects and have to nervously await the results. We then go in for ultrasounds to find out the sex of the baby, or not, and again make sure everything is in it's place. We hear horror stories about preemies, SIDS, postpartum depression and all that can go wrong with a pregnancy, not to mention how every mom we meet will volunteer her awful labor and delivery story just to prove that she's done something incredible, thereby scaring the pee out of us, literally -- because our bladders can now only hold so much and we have to go to the bathroom every five minutes.
And then there are the foods that we crave and the foods that we find repulsive. Our doctors are telling us to gain weight or not to gain too much weight when all we want to do is eat, or not eat.
And we sometimes have morning sickness or feel queasy, we get heartburn and other ailments. We, near the end of pregnancy, can barely walk/get off the couch/tie our shoes. Not to mention the leg cramps in the middle of the night, wild and crazy dreams and nights of restless sleep.
And do I even have to mention feeling fat and unattractive and worrying that we are no longer sexy in our husband's eyes? Or the fact that our wardrobe doesn't fit and we have to buy new things to wear, but we don't want to spend money on ourselves since we are saving up for the expense of having a baby. Then nothing fits once the baby is here and our body is completely changed, so we again need a new wardrobe, and have to dip into baby's savings.
Add to that the fact that you may or may not be working and have to decide if you are going back to work or not, and how you're going to make ends meet when you sit down with the family budget. Can you say stressful?
On top of that, you must consider that the baby is going to need a name and everyone has an opinion on what you should or shouldn't name the baby. Maybe there is family pressure to honor your twice removed great great uncle Elvis even though it totally doesn't sound good with your last name or his initials spell out something that he'll clearly be made fun of for his entire childhood. Can you live with that decision?
And what if you are having twins? It might be a two-for-one deal to some, but it terrifies the rest of us completely.
Briefly, let's chat about post-pregnancy. She'll doubt her mothering skills. She'll wonder if she should nurse, maybe feel like she's failed if she is unable to nurse (which she hasn't failed...sometimes it's just not meant to be and you need to be supportive of all of her choices.) Your friends may change now that you have a child and your social life might just go MIA for awhile. (Not everyone wants to talk poopy diapers over dinner you know.) Your sex life as you know it is over for at least 6 weeks until you get her doctor's clearance. And then who has time for sex? And how hot are you when you have spit up all over your shirt? Just you wait and see.
Then she'll wonder if doing sign language is good for the baby, if the baby is developing on schedule, if his height and weight percentile are okay, if he is getting enough milk, if she should vaccinate the baby (YES, but do your own research to form that opinion), and if she should get a nanny or enroll in daycare. Her mother and your mother will be all over her parenting skills, and that advice my fall on thankful, or insulted ears. (Don't get me wrong, Dad may be in charge of many of the decisions, but that's still pretty rare and to those fathers, I feel your pain.)
I mean, seriously, you want me to be on your side and suggest your wife go easy on you? No chance in hell buddy. Not a chance.
Now go give her a hug and tell her she's the most beautiful woman in the world.
Moral of the story: Having babies is not for the weak or unstable. It is a daunting process on an emotional roller coaster that will change your world forever. Be supportive of one another, prepare as best you can, and know that it won't be easy, but it sure is rewarding.
Monday, January 25, 2010
I'm bringing clumsy back...
Justin Timberlake might have brought "sexy back", but I'm bringing clumsy back... in a big way.
I thought about keeping track of my clumsiness, just to prove a point...but then I realized that it would only depress me to know how bad it really is. This is what happens when I'm pregnant. Not only does my brain turn to mush such that when trying to tell Ada not to drop her doll in the toilet, I first call it the garbage, something else I now can't even remember, and finally get "potty" on the third try. Whew! Talk about needing to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N!
Even if I tried moving at a snail's pace, I don't think it would be of much help. Not even five minutes ago, I had a near miss between my elbow and my water glass--which is now permanently plastic whenever I am at home or at work due to my breaking 2 glasses last pregnancy (one at each place)--lucky for me this time, it just teetered and didn't topple. I wasn't so fortunate two nights ago when I knocked over the glass next to our bed with my pillow, or the day before that when I kicked it while trying to move Ada to the couch(that's what I get for putting it on the floor - I know), or the night before that when I, again, decided the top of my dresser--and what the heck, the whole wall and floorspace behind it--needed a nice dusting/cleaning/scrub down just before we tucked in for the night. Surely I'm just getting warmed up. I mean, I still have 22 weeks before this baby is born. Last pregnancy was so bad that a co-worker bought me a sippy cup for Christmas and I had a full roll of paper towels on constant guard at my desk. Beyond ridiculous.
And for some reason that is completely beyond me, pregnant or not, I can't seem to figure out how to stay focused on the refrigerator in-door water dispenser long enough to pay attention to when it is nearing the cup's full point and remove the glass from the door. Nine times out of ten (I kid you not) it overflows onto the floor. It's such a habit now that I just laugh and have a dishtowel permanently placed at the foot of the refrigerator. Sad. Poor Rick still puts up with me even though it drives him INSANE. Hey, at least that one kitchen floor tile is constantly clean, right?
And it isn't just water. Two nights ago I spilled a bowl of dry (thank goodness) cheerios all over the hallway when I was trying to balance them on an empty soup bowl, with a water glass in the other hand. I would have been fine had I not then used the hand balancing the cheerios to attempt to turn on the hall light. Damn multi-tasking and trying to be efficient! I then went on to curse Rick (sorry honey) for not noticing that I'm a total and complete nutcase, incapable of balancing all of these things and he should pay more attention to what he can carry back to the kitchen from the living room in an attempt to save my sanity. Sad part is, it's really only about 30 feet between the two rooms, if that. Not sure how "efficient" I really am, especially if you calculate in all of the spills I've had and the clean up time. Surely I'm negative overall.
Then there are all of the new bruises that just happen to appear when I'm pregnant. I run into doors, door handles, walls, door frames, bed frames, coffee tables, counter tops, and dining room tables. I hit myself with the car door, the front door, and the bathroom door (it's a small bathroom and the damn diaper laundry bin limits its range of motion, so there!). Either my hips widen (which I really don't think is the case) or my brain just shorts out (much more likely). And this time there is the Ada factor. So far this morning I've received a puffy lip, several blows to the face, chest, and abdomen, and surely others that I can't even remember. She doesn't quite have control of her body and, while we try to teach her not to hit, she's still learning and most of it is accidental. But put the two of us together and you've got trouble.
And why is it that she insists on scooting all the way back whenever she sits on my lap? She tries to sit, literally, on top of my belly and then slides down to my lap. That doesn't feel so good. It's like she can't get close enough so she just goes back as far as possible and hopes she ends up with a comfy seat.
Needless to say, I've got a long 22 weeks ahead of me. But at least I can take credit for making clumsy cool again -- or I can try.
Moral of the story: Pregnancy does all sorts of weird things to your body that you just have to adjust to. Slow down. Relax. Learn to laugh it off and accept that yes, you are crazy--but that's normal.
I thought about keeping track of my clumsiness, just to prove a point...but then I realized that it would only depress me to know how bad it really is. This is what happens when I'm pregnant. Not only does my brain turn to mush such that when trying to tell Ada not to drop her doll in the toilet, I first call it the garbage, something else I now can't even remember, and finally get "potty" on the third try. Whew! Talk about needing to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N!
Even if I tried moving at a snail's pace, I don't think it would be of much help. Not even five minutes ago, I had a near miss between my elbow and my water glass--which is now permanently plastic whenever I am at home or at work due to my breaking 2 glasses last pregnancy (one at each place)--lucky for me this time, it just teetered and didn't topple. I wasn't so fortunate two nights ago when I knocked over the glass next to our bed with my pillow, or the day before that when I kicked it while trying to move Ada to the couch(that's what I get for putting it on the floor - I know), or the night before that when I, again, decided the top of my dresser--and what the heck, the whole wall and floorspace behind it--needed a nice dusting/cleaning/scrub down just before we tucked in for the night. Surely I'm just getting warmed up. I mean, I still have 22 weeks before this baby is born. Last pregnancy was so bad that a co-worker bought me a sippy cup for Christmas and I had a full roll of paper towels on constant guard at my desk. Beyond ridiculous.
And for some reason that is completely beyond me, pregnant or not, I can't seem to figure out how to stay focused on the refrigerator in-door water dispenser long enough to pay attention to when it is nearing the cup's full point and remove the glass from the door. Nine times out of ten (I kid you not) it overflows onto the floor. It's such a habit now that I just laugh and have a dishtowel permanently placed at the foot of the refrigerator. Sad. Poor Rick still puts up with me even though it drives him INSANE. Hey, at least that one kitchen floor tile is constantly clean, right?
And it isn't just water. Two nights ago I spilled a bowl of dry (thank goodness) cheerios all over the hallway when I was trying to balance them on an empty soup bowl, with a water glass in the other hand. I would have been fine had I not then used the hand balancing the cheerios to attempt to turn on the hall light. Damn multi-tasking and trying to be efficient! I then went on to curse Rick (sorry honey) for not noticing that I'm a total and complete nutcase, incapable of balancing all of these things and he should pay more attention to what he can carry back to the kitchen from the living room in an attempt to save my sanity. Sad part is, it's really only about 30 feet between the two rooms, if that. Not sure how "efficient" I really am, especially if you calculate in all of the spills I've had and the clean up time. Surely I'm negative overall.
Then there are all of the new bruises that just happen to appear when I'm pregnant. I run into doors, door handles, walls, door frames, bed frames, coffee tables, counter tops, and dining room tables. I hit myself with the car door, the front door, and the bathroom door (it's a small bathroom and the damn diaper laundry bin limits its range of motion, so there!). Either my hips widen (which I really don't think is the case) or my brain just shorts out (much more likely). And this time there is the Ada factor. So far this morning I've received a puffy lip, several blows to the face, chest, and abdomen, and surely others that I can't even remember. She doesn't quite have control of her body and, while we try to teach her not to hit, she's still learning and most of it is accidental. But put the two of us together and you've got trouble.
And why is it that she insists on scooting all the way back whenever she sits on my lap? She tries to sit, literally, on top of my belly and then slides down to my lap. That doesn't feel so good. It's like she can't get close enough so she just goes back as far as possible and hopes she ends up with a comfy seat.
Needless to say, I've got a long 22 weeks ahead of me. But at least I can take credit for making clumsy cool again -- or I can try.
Moral of the story: Pregnancy does all sorts of weird things to your body that you just have to adjust to. Slow down. Relax. Learn to laugh it off and accept that yes, you are crazy--but that's normal.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Prenatal Yoga
This past Monday I started doing prenatal yoga with a group of moms who happen to mostly be due around the same time as me, or within about a month. I've found it to be quite a challenge to sign up for a prenatal yoga class in the city that meets at a time that works with my schedule and is easy to get to. The one I finally found happens to meet at an infertility center. It shouldn't have been a surprise to learn that out of the nine pregnant women in the room, four were having twins. Yes. That means 13 babies for 9 mommies. And one of the women is due a day after me. And two moms having twins are best friends and due within a week of each other. Bizarre, I know.
So now I'm a little sore, and a bit more relaxed, and excited to go back since it is a good group of moms and I really enjoy the instructor. I just hope that this time, when I come home all relaxed and rejuvenated from a nice yoga session, we don't have to go to the ER to get anything removed from Ada's nose.
Moral of the story: Yoga when pregnant is good for the mind, body, and soul, not to mention the calming effect it has on stress levels and there is that tiny benefit of focused breathing practice which comes in handy during labor. All around, good stuff. (Did I mention we get a cookie at the end of class?)
So now I'm a little sore, and a bit more relaxed, and excited to go back since it is a good group of moms and I really enjoy the instructor. I just hope that this time, when I come home all relaxed and rejuvenated from a nice yoga session, we don't have to go to the ER to get anything removed from Ada's nose.
Moral of the story: Yoga when pregnant is good for the mind, body, and soul, not to mention the calming effect it has on stress levels and there is that tiny benefit of focused breathing practice which comes in handy during labor. All around, good stuff. (Did I mention we get a cookie at the end of class?)
Friday, January 8, 2010
Resolution and Pregnancy Update
So tired. Oh so tired. Just want to nap.
This will be short since Ada just went down for a nap, which means it is time for me to nap too.
New Year's Resolutions:
So far, it's 8 days into the new year and I haven't bought anything except food. And I'm reusing what I've got. And I have an appointment to pick up some quilting fabric I am getting from a fellow freecycler so the compact is in tact. -Albeit my book club is a bit concerned that I have gone crazy because the whole idea of not buying anything new for a year just blows them away. It made for a really great discussion this past week though --which was needed since Up In The Air by Walter Kirn left much to be desired.
Cooking:
Monday was a cooking marathon. I went to Costco and learned how to shop Costco and find good deals on whole wheat pasta, organic canned tomatoes, and even bought some quinoa. We then chopped, diced, and sauteed, and I learned to make a mirepoix to create a yummy pasta and bean soup. And we cooked up the quinoa and added some beans, tomato, avocado, hard-boiled eggs and a vinaigrette to make a delicious lunch salad. So yummy. Then we reorganized my kitchen cabinets to make my pantry more efficient and accessible. Love it. And Sarah even emailed me a homework assignment using all of the contents in my pantry to make a black bean soup. I hope to get to that tonight or tomorrow. Then we'll be back at it Monday with Spaghetti Bologonese.
and the pregnancy update...
Little to report. I'm getting bigger. Now moved into my maternity wardrobe. Tired. Having the weirdest dreams, so much so that I'm wondering if I ever accidentally did acid at some point in time or, if anyone has ever studied the similarities between hormones during pregnancy and chemicals in the brain induced by drugs. (Seriously, a big brown bear bit me in my parents front yard. Ada and Eva got kidnapped. And I can't tell you how many times I've been attacked, chased, or otherwise pursued. SO beyond weird.) Picky about what I'm eating. Repulsed by smells. And my favorite... unable to complete thoughts, finish sentences, or come up with common words like "dishwasher" "basket" or "door". It's awesome. Did I mention the headaches? Yeah. I've had several hangovers without having touched a drop of alcohol in my pregnancy... and yes, I'm hydrating.
Moral of the story: All is well and I'm too busy living life in the new year (and napping) to write about it.
This will be short since Ada just went down for a nap, which means it is time for me to nap too.
New Year's Resolutions:
So far, it's 8 days into the new year and I haven't bought anything except food. And I'm reusing what I've got. And I have an appointment to pick up some quilting fabric I am getting from a fellow freecycler so the compact is in tact. -Albeit my book club is a bit concerned that I have gone crazy because the whole idea of not buying anything new for a year just blows them away. It made for a really great discussion this past week though --which was needed since Up In The Air by Walter Kirn left much to be desired.
Cooking:
Monday was a cooking marathon. I went to Costco and learned how to shop Costco and find good deals on whole wheat pasta, organic canned tomatoes, and even bought some quinoa. We then chopped, diced, and sauteed, and I learned to make a mirepoix to create a yummy pasta and bean soup. And we cooked up the quinoa and added some beans, tomato, avocado, hard-boiled eggs and a vinaigrette to make a delicious lunch salad. So yummy. Then we reorganized my kitchen cabinets to make my pantry more efficient and accessible. Love it. And Sarah even emailed me a homework assignment using all of the contents in my pantry to make a black bean soup. I hope to get to that tonight or tomorrow. Then we'll be back at it Monday with Spaghetti Bologonese.
and the pregnancy update...
Little to report. I'm getting bigger. Now moved into my maternity wardrobe. Tired. Having the weirdest dreams, so much so that I'm wondering if I ever accidentally did acid at some point in time or, if anyone has ever studied the similarities between hormones during pregnancy and chemicals in the brain induced by drugs. (Seriously, a big brown bear bit me in my parents front yard. Ada and Eva got kidnapped. And I can't tell you how many times I've been attacked, chased, or otherwise pursued. SO beyond weird.) Picky about what I'm eating. Repulsed by smells. And my favorite... unable to complete thoughts, finish sentences, or come up with common words like "dishwasher" "basket" or "door". It's awesome. Did I mention the headaches? Yeah. I've had several hangovers without having touched a drop of alcohol in my pregnancy... and yes, I'm hydrating.
Moral of the story: All is well and I'm too busy living life in the new year (and napping) to write about it.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Bun #2 is in the Oven
At 14.5 weeks, I'm happy to announce that I am, once again, pregnant and quickly achieving a belly. Bye bye skinny jeans, hello maternity wardrobe. Hello aches. Hello restless sleepy nights. Hello exhaustion. Hello stomach aches and heartburn. Hello crazy dreams that make me think I'm being chased, attacked or eaten by a bear. (WTF? Those can just stop.) Hello picky eater. Hello baby.
This seems like a logical followup to my previous "Loss" entry. Unlike the last time, I feel good about this pregnancy. I'm already past the 12 week mark that was so yucky last time. I've gone in for my blood work. I've heard the speedy little heartbeat of this little monkey. And I've had two mini ultrasounds to make sure all is well and I'm not having twins. (Thank goodness!)
I've told our families, co-workers, most of our friends -- unless you're reading it here... sorry about that.
Ada still doesn't have a clue what's coming to rock her world near the end of June. No idea. She still wants to be carried everywhere and jump on my belly and just can't understand why I won't let her. I just hope that #2 is equally good as Ada has been to us. Specifically, a good sleeper, good eater, and most importantly, in good health. Oh, and I hope they get along, but I guess we'll just deal with that when the time comes.
So get ready. That's what I have in store for 2010. And I'm SO excited! I guess I'm really alternating between excited and thinking "What in the heck are we doing? How are we going to manage two little monsters? What have we done?" It's going to be a great year.
Moral of the story: I'm pregnant!
This seems like a logical followup to my previous "Loss" entry. Unlike the last time, I feel good about this pregnancy. I'm already past the 12 week mark that was so yucky last time. I've gone in for my blood work. I've heard the speedy little heartbeat of this little monkey. And I've had two mini ultrasounds to make sure all is well and I'm not having twins. (Thank goodness!)
I've told our families, co-workers, most of our friends -- unless you're reading it here... sorry about that.
Ada still doesn't have a clue what's coming to rock her world near the end of June. No idea. She still wants to be carried everywhere and jump on my belly and just can't understand why I won't let her. I just hope that #2 is equally good as Ada has been to us. Specifically, a good sleeper, good eater, and most importantly, in good health. Oh, and I hope they get along, but I guess we'll just deal with that when the time comes.
So get ready. That's what I have in store for 2010. And I'm SO excited! I guess I'm really alternating between excited and thinking "What in the heck are we doing? How are we going to manage two little monsters? What have we done?" It's going to be a great year.
Moral of the story: I'm pregnant!
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