tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-319050342024-03-13T20:25:47.081-04:00Confessions of a Paranoid ParentThe inner thoughts of a stay-at-home mom who hopes talking to the computer will be at least a little more rewarding than chatting with a stuffed elephant.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.comBlogger255125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-3117005714798146702010-12-30T16:11:00.002-05:002010-12-30T16:49:26.229-05:00I'm baaaack!And boy, do I have a story for you!<br /><br />("you" of course, means the computer-driven bots that leave spam comments on this blog, since no real people will ever see this post). <br /><br />Since it's been a year since I last posted, I should catch you up on what's been happening here. The short answer is, "not much." Basically, we've been living our lives, enjoying our girls and looking forward to the future. I started thinking about going back to work, and we embarked on some major home renovations. A friend announced that she's having a third child, and both The Boy and I were able to express our heartiest congratulations, while both privately thinking "better you than me!" We're good at being a family of four, we like being a family of four, we are happy with two kids.<br /><br />You already know what's about to happen, don't you?<br /><br />Last week, we were in NJ for Christmas with my mom, and I felt lousy the whole time -- queasy and anxious. Naturally, I chalked it up to being with my mom (who could make anyone feel sick). Except that I still felt queasy after we got home. Add in the fact that I was about a week late, and I started thinking that maybe I should take a test, just for old time's sake. I already knew I wasn't pregnant. After all, I've been down this road before -- my period would be late, and a combination of wishful thinking and sheer delusion would drive me to the dollar store. Afterwards, sitting with the negative test in my hands, I'd feel like a jerk and promise not to do that ever again.<br /><br />But still, I had a test in my cabinet from about a year ago, so I figured it couldn't hurt. At least I'd be certain and would be able to move on. So I took it, and got the shock of my life: a faint pink line. It was so faint I had to make my sister come confirm it was there. Which she did, so immediately called the Boy and ordered him to bring me <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">FREDs</span>. <br /><br />When The Boy arrived home a half hour later with more tests, I immediately took another one, and the pee hadn't even finished crossing the window when a bright line popped up. <br /><br />WHOA. This is impossible! For those of you who maybe don't know my history, I am infertile. I lost one fallopian tube to an ectopic pregnancy three years ago, and the other is so scarred and twisted that three separate doctors had told me I would never again conceive without the help of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">IVF</span>. It is supposed to be physically impossible for me to get pregnant. And even if I did manage to somehow, miraculously, conceive, there was virtually no chance that the embryo would land in my uterus. I'd be looking at another ectopic for sure. <br /><br />But here's the kicker -- not only am I pregnant , but it is NOT ectopic. We had an ultrasound yesterday, and there is a tiny little sac right where it should be. Miracle piled upon miracle. <br /><br />At this point, it's way too early to determine whether this pregnancy is viable, but there is no particular reason to suspect it isn't. I'll go back in January for another ultrasound. And until then, The Boy and I will be trying to wrap our minds around becoming a family of five. <br /><br />Consider our minds totally blown.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-29278993200898999972010-02-04T14:37:00.002-05:002010-02-04T15:00:47.883-05:00Wrapping upIt's been what, like four months since I've posted here? I can't even imagine that there's anyone left reading (you know, out of the legion of fans I had before). Clearly, I'm not doing much blogging any more, so I think the time has come to wrap things up here. I figure I'll finish by tying off some loose threads:<br /><br />My sister is doing much better. She's properly medicated and has been very receptive to treatment. There are still things in her life that are difficult and bad, but overall, I'm so damn proud of her. She's doing her very best to pull her life together, and so far she's doing a bang-up job. I hope and pray that I never, ever get <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>call again.<br /><br />M, my M, is four years old now. She's smart and silly and cute and just all around great. She's old enough now that she has this whole secret life -- every day I ask her what she did in school, and she tells me she's keeping it a secret. And then, every few days or so, she'll say or do something that I had no idea she could do (draw a person, write her name, tell her lefts from her rights). She never fails to surprise, delight and exasperate me. <br /><br />E is turning one next week. She's a tiny little dynamo -- short and small, and in perpetual motion. She started walking about a month ago, and I never get tired of seeing her stagger around. There are a dozen moments a day with her that fill my heart with joy, and I am glad every day that we decided that having a second child was worth the (emotional and financial) cost. <br /><br />That said, E is definitely my last child (barring a miracle). As much as I love and adore her, The Boy and I both agree that, while a second child felt like a necessity for our family, a third child would be a luxury. And the resources that would go into that possible third would probably be better spent on the two we've already got. Add in the fact that I'm barely handling two, and we have a decision. One, I might add, that I'm actually 100% <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ok</span> with. It feels really nice to know that our family is complete. <br /><br />So that's the state of things here. Largely uneventful, just as I like it. Thank you to those people who have read this blog, especially through all of the "woe is me!" stuff. Just knowing you were out there got me through some really bad bits, and for that I am extremely grateful.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-79726396514085882842009-10-26T11:02:00.002-04:002009-10-26T11:14:14.753-04:00RecoveryThe good news is, my sister's ok (physically, at least). She swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills, but thankfully realized as she started getting sleepy that she really didn't want to die after all. So that's good, I guess.<br /><br />I went up on Saturday, first flight out in the morning, last flight home at night. It's awful -- she's stuck in the er at a kind of crummy-looking hospital, just sitting there until a bed opens up, possibly today. So yeah, three days of sitting in a waiting room, staring at the walls. How very therapeutic.<br /><br />At some point, I'm going to need to talk to someone about all this. Right now, I'm just struggling with the feeling that I should be there, even if it's just to stare at the walls together. But see, there are these kids, one of whom doesn't take a bottle and is still nursing. It's a catch-22. I can't take E to the hospital, but I can't really leave her, either. So I'm stuck with daytrips when I can arrange babysitting, and even those I'm hoping don't leave E to wean early. And then I feel guilty that I'm thinking about things like that when my sister is going through hell. I should be dropping everything to be there, doing whatever it takes, right? <br /><br />I don't know. I'm a mess right now. (a thoroughly non-suicidal mess, just in case anyone thinks that I'm sounding worse than I am.) I hope that once we figure out where she's going to be long term, things will get clearer and easier.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-66210162403714966792009-10-23T16:59:00.002-04:002009-10-23T17:03:08.823-04:00wordlessmy sister tried to kill herself today. Thank heavens, she failed. But I've been on the phone woth the hospital trying to get information for almost an hour no, with no help. I cannot talk to anyone right now, so I'm posting here. i just needed to get that out.<br /><br />It's like waiting for godot. "We can't help you here. Please hold. Please hold. Pleasehold. She's in critical, can't tell you anything. You can't find out information on a critical patient. Ok, when she leaves critical, who do I talk to? We can't give you any information then, either. You need to be here."<br /><br />Am looking for flights now, but can't possibly get there until tomorrow (with E in tow). Oh, god.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-28600352416967337902009-09-10T13:27:00.004-04:002009-09-10T13:46:49.098-04:00Broadway BabyWhen I was little, I loved listening to Broadway musicals. It started with Annie, of course (wasn't every kid who grew up in the Suburbs surrounding NYC in the late 70s/early 80s obsessed with Annie?). But, spurred on by my involvement in a singing group, I was soon belting along to Grease, Chicago and Bye Bye Birdie. I never thought about what the words meant, I just sang. It wasn't until college that I learned what half of the things I'd so gleefully sung about actually meant.<br /><br />I assumed the same would be true with M. I made her a mix CD recently of "princess music," consisting largely of songs from Disney movies. But I had some room on the CD, so I snuck in my favorites from Annie, Hairspray and Bye Bye Birdie. I (correctly) figured she'd like the music. My big mistake, however, was in assuming she'd just listen and maybe sing along without thinking about what the words mean. My folly has led to some interesting lines of questioning:<br /><br />"What's a hard-knock life, Mommy?"<br />"Why are their lives hard?"<br />"What's an orphan?"<br />"But why don't orphans have Mommies and Daddies? Are they dead?"<br />"Are you half and orphan, since your daddy is dead?"<br />"Are you going to die?"<br />"when you go back to work, will I be an orphan?"<br /><br />"What's a flasher?"<br />"Why does that girl's mom tell her 'no'"<br />"Why doesn't her mommy want her to dance on TV?"<br />"Can I dance on TV?"<br />(she also, incidentally, insists that the Tracey who sings "You Can't Stop the Beat" is a different girl then the one who sings "Good Morning, Baltimore," because they sound different.)<br /><br />"Why are they on the phone?"<br />"Why are they singing on the phone?"<br />"but WHY?"<br /><br />Seriously, if I'd know she was actually going to <span style="font-style: italic;">listen</span> to the songs, I'd never have put them on the CD. The point was to get her to stop talking in the car, not to open up new and uncomfortable lines of questioning. <br /><br />At this point, I'm just glad she's never heard any of my Avenue Q <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cd</span>.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-90286436292477636542009-08-03T15:35:00.002-04:002009-08-03T15:53:39.204-04:00StuffJust quick updates:<br /><br />1. The baby is crawling. Not army-crawling, which she'd been doing for a while now, but actual, hands-and-knees crawling. I tell you, it's very funny to see this little tiny thing (she weighs 14.5 pounds at a week shy of six months) crawling. Plus, she's super proud of herself, so as she moves, she'll look up at me and crow. Adorable.<br /><br />2. I'm back on some kind of diet -- since E was born, I've gained back all but 10 of the pounds I'd lost. Part of the reason is that I dove back into bad habits -- eating chocolate all day every day, for instance. So I've banned candy from the house and will be refocusing. I'm not fool enough to think I'll lose any weight, I just want to try not to gain any more before I end up gaining everything back.<br /><br />3. My body continues to play with my head. Gr.<br /><br />4. Two of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">IRL</span> friends, both of whom I like very much, are in a fight with each other. Each has privately confided in me, so I know both sides of the story. Aside from feeling dishonest because I haven't disclosed to either one that the other has spoken to me about the problem, I'm kind of frustrated because I feel like I should fix it. Mostly, it's been a problem of miscommunication combined with oversensitivity on both sides (seeing offense where none was meant). Unfortunately, I don't know how to fix it without betraying one or more confidences. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Gargh</span>. I'm not good at this kind of thing.<br /><br />5. M continues to be a fantastic big sister. She adores E, who adores her right back. It's so nice to see the two of them playing so well together. Nice, that is, until M decides that she's big enough to pick up the baby and carry her around or move her to a different spot if M deems that E's too close to something M doesn't want her to touch. If there's a scarier phrase in the English language than "don't worry mommy, I''m moving the baby," I don't know what it is.<br /><br />6. We're starting E on solid foods. So far, she hates rice cereal, will tolerate oatmeal, and doesn't really seem to like anything else. Mostly, she just doesn't like to eat because (a) mealtime means she's confined to a high chair, and there's nothing E hates more than being confined, and (b) I won't let her steer the spoon all by herself. If this keeps up, I fear that we're going to dealing with a very picky eater. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">That'll</span> be a new experience, because M was a great, non-fussy eater from day 1. I've been very spoiled.<br /><br />7. That said, if I place a plate of cheerios on the floor, E is about as happy as she can be. She LOVES cheerios, and if she can eat them while crawling around, so much the better. <br /><br />8. I know this because I got tired of E picking carpet fuzz off the floor and trying to eat it. I finally figured that if she was so hungry, I'd give her something more nutritious than polyester to eat. So I put down a plate of cheerios, just to see what would happen. She devoured them with glee.<br /><br />9. Am I a bad mom for feeding my 5-month-old on the floor like a dog?Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-13249762695789676652009-07-14T09:17:00.003-04:002009-07-14T09:18:42.525-04:00WTF?Not pregnant (duh). No period. But I've been crampy, it's been a week now that my breasts have been sore, and I've been spotting.<br /><br />What the heck is going on here?Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-61933445887166582832009-07-10T16:49:00.002-04:002009-07-10T17:01:40.411-04:00My Body is Messing with my HeadDid I ever tell you all that, when E was born, I asked the doctor that did the c-section to take a look at my remaining tube and tell us what she thought? No? Well, I did (ask, I mean). And then I felt bad, because she came into our room the next morning looking terrible, and hemmed and hawed and clearly thought she was delivering the terrible news that I am, indeed, infertile. We quickly reassured her that we knew that already, and that we were just checking in the hopes that, I don't know, maybe the tube had decided to become straight and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">unscarred</span> while I was pregnant. But it hasn't, and that's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span>. I think The Boy and I are both happy with the two kids we've got, and have come to terms with the fact that we won't have a son (heck, even if we did have a third, who's to say it wouldn't be another girl? Which, I hasten to add, we'd be fine with. I adore my girls and am glad that they are who they are). <br /><br />Anyway, I know I can't conceive. I know this. And still, my body's messing with me. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Specifically</span>, these last few days I've been noticing that my breasts are sore. And so, even though I know that the chance I could be pregnant is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">infinitesimal</span>, I'm still seriously considering buying a test. So far, I'm holding out, because I figure it's more likely that my period is getting ready to return and I'd feel like an asshole if I tested then got my period the next day.<br /><br />But serious, when am I done with this? When will I really, truly accept the fact that we're done, there are no more kids coming, and that I will not be pregnant again? 'Cause I'd like to skip to that time, please. I have better things over which to obsess.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-85693526153765807342009-07-07T15:22:00.003-04:002009-07-07T15:33:53.278-04:00OopsWow! I can't believe it's been over a month since I've posted. Life's been busy, what with the little one deciding that lying still is for chumps and the big one forsaking naps completely. <br /><br />First, the little one: She'll be five months old this week. She remains rather easygoing, but at the same time absolutely hates being still. About the only time she complains is when she can't move around, either because she's strapped into her carseat or had run herself into a corner. Most of the time, she's happiest on the floor, where she creeps around, chewing on anything she can reach. She particularly likes the furniture, and has been known to take a casual tour of our family room, grazing first on the coffee table, then crawling over to the entertainment center for the entree, ending up at my computer chair for dessert. <br /><br />She also loves paper and other chokeables. For instance, here's a list of things I have taken away from the baby just in the last hour (and yes, all of this indicates that I really need to clean up in here): <br /><br />The newspaper<br />Three different hair elastics<br />Two pens, an index card, a tape flag and the packaging for the cards and tape flags (these were not lying around; I was working on a project on the floor and she raided my lap desk).<br />A child-safety outlet plug<br />M's hairbrush<br />a clothes hanger<br /><br />Anyway, the baby's sheer mobility takes my breath away on a regular basis, and drives M plain up the wall. E's been army-crawling for at least a few weeks now, and has recently learned how to get up on all fours. She hasn't quite figured out how to coordinate her legs and arms for actual crawling (normally, she just rocks back and forth until she ultimately flings herself facefirst into the floor), but I know it's coming.<br /><br />Meanwhile, M has gone and taught herself how to swim. She is now, for the record, a better swimmer than I am. It's crazy.<br /><br />So, it's fair to say we're having a good time these days. There isn't much in the way of downtime, but the girls do a great job of keeping me amused, which is of course the whole reason for their existance.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-11451607321283173002009-05-28T11:22:00.002-04:002009-05-28T11:35:23.831-04:00MurderSo, I drop M off at preschool this morning, and there's a small gaggle of moms clustered around one of the cars, peering under it and looking concerned. After I brought M in, I decided to give in to the nosiness and see what was going on. There was a copperhead snake hiding under the car -- apparently, it had crossed the parking lot right in front of one of the moms, then found a place it liked and was taking a nap two feet from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">preschool's</span> playground.<br /><br />I'll admit, my first reaction was "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">oooh</span>, cool! A snake! Let me see!" I've never seen a snake outside of a zoo before, so I was kind of curious. But as it was pointed out that copperheads are poisonous, I remembered that M would be the first kid to try to hug <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">snakey</span> should it ever venture onto the playground. Not so good. Clearly, the snake needed to move <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">faaar</span> away from the kid-infested area.<br /><br />We called animal control, but they said that (a) it'd cost $150 for them just to come out, (b) it would take them at least an hour to get there, and (c) someone would have to stay and "babysit" the snake, because they'd charge extra if they had to search for it. So, lord forgive me, I mused out loud that maybe it'd be better if the mom whose car it was simply, oh, moved her car forward a foot or two and --ahem-- ended the problem. <br /><br />So that's what we decided to do. One of the other moms queued her car up behind to do the actual rolling, and I was positioned between the snake and the playground with a garden rake, just in case he decided to make a break for the playground. Which, of course, he did. So I beat him to death. And then I burst into tears. I've never killed anything larger than a spider before (and even then, I feel a little guilty), and killing the snake was horrible. It didn't mean any harm and it couldn't fight back.<br /><br />Ugh. I feel terrible and guilty and wrong. I keep telling myself that it could have bitten M or any one of the other kids at school, but it's really not helping.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-10245752282846130032009-05-18T17:14:00.002-04:002009-05-18T17:29:48.644-04:00How things changeE is three months old now, and in many ways, it seems like she's just slotted effortlessly into our family. The schedule hasn't really changed much -- she's so easygoing that I can basically tote her around wherever we would normally go, and she'll do fine. And again, because she's easy, it definitely doesn't seem like there's much more work to do around the house (except for laundry. Adding one little person to the family seems to have added an avalanche of laundry). <br /><br />However, there have been some changes on our lives (aside from the extra happiness of having a much-wanted, long-awaited bundle of cute hanging around). For one thing, my house is a mess. I feel like I should be getting back into the swing of things, but finding the time and energy to clean is proving difficult. More precisely, finding the time to clean at the same time I have the energy to do so is rough. M doesn't actually nap anymore, so my time is limited either to when she's in preschool (excluding travel time, I have 2.5 hours 2x a week) or when E is sleeping and M is watching <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">tv</span> or something. This happens surprisingly infrequently, and my preschool time is usually filled with errands and such. So the place is messy. Insanely so, even for me. I've really got to figure this out before the health department gets wind of us.<br /><br />Of course, since I don't have time to do more than the most basic chores, many of my "me-time" activities have fallen by the wayside, too. As you may have noticed, there's barely any time for blogging these days. And I've gone from reading 3-4 books a week to being lucky to read one book a week. Heck, it's a miracle if I read one <span style="font-style: italic;">magazine</span> a week these days.<br /><br />Actually, the only leisure time activity that still claims as much time as it used to is, shamefully, television. That's the big indulgence for both The Boy and I. By the time we get both kids to sleep at night, it's usually close to 10 pm, and we're both shot. I know I could get a lot of chores done each night, but I just can't. It's almost all I can do to stay awake for an hour or two staring at the tube. <br /><br />The funny thing is, as "busy" as things are, I don't feel busy. By and large, our days pass pleasantly, with lots of trips to the park or long meanders around the neighborhood. When M is busy, I get to spend time playing with E (who, for the record, can roll over both ways now, a trick she learned when she was still only two months old!). I manage to cook real dinners every night, and clean up a little bit here and there. And then the day is over and we do it all again the next day. It's a nice life, full of love and cuddles and laughter and play and heaps and heaps of joy. So it's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span> that I'm drowning in clutter, right?Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-72566085417104351372009-04-30T16:18:00.002-04:002009-04-30T16:23:36.563-04:00It's the little thingsI bought new shoes today. Two pair, in fact. I don't think I've ever bought myself two pairs of shoes at once, and it felt incredibly decadent. <br /><br />Even better? They were <a href="http://shop.crocs.com/pc-33-4-prima.aspx?outlet=true">these</a> crocs and <a href="http://shop.crocs.com/pc-421-4-alice.aspx?outlet=true">these</a>, and I paid only $10 a pair. Now I'm sitting here admiring my pretty new shoes and contemplating whether I really need to go back to the store and collect more shoes in more colors. I can find somewhere to wear teal ballet flats, right?Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-27543107480652198202009-04-28T11:23:00.003-04:002009-04-28T13:00:40.091-04:00PenultimateThis one's for Rachel, who asked for a post about nursing:<br /><br />Since M was born, I've had a love/hate thing going with nursing. I had a really hard time nursing M for the first four months -- I was in pain every single day, and the two of us just really seemed to have a hard time getting it right. I think M was well over four months old before I ever dared to nurse in public, let alone without a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">boppy</span> or the My Breast Friend pillow.<br /><br />For those first few months, we weighed M every few days and kept meticulous track of how often and how much she ate. I pumped pretty much every day, usually twice a day, just to make sure my supply would be adequate. I was miserable, but not quite miserable enough to quit. Instead, I told myself every day that if at the end of the day i really couldn't do it anymore, then the next day I'd go and buy some formula. That permission to stop somehow made it much easier for me to keep on going.<br /><br />And then, suddenly, things worked out. Nursing wasn't hard anymore, and I wasn't in pain anymore. From that point, nursing became a matter of convenience more than anything. It had become easier to pull up my shirt than it was to prepare bottles. M was happy, I was happy, and there we stayed. <br /><br />I didn't start out with the intention of nursing beyond one year -- in fact, I'd been of the camp that thought "if the child is old enough to ask <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">fo</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">r it</span>, she's too old to be nursing." But once M turned one and showed no sign of interest in weaning, I figured it was fine to keep at it. Yes, she could ask to "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">nuss</span>," but that turned out to be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ok</span> with me. She was on solid foods, of course, so we no longer needed to nurse in public, but it was something both of us enjoyed at home. To the best of my memory, she probably nursed about four-five times a day -- definitely before nap, before bed until she was about 13 months old (at which point we weaned her to a bottle of milk), and usually at least once in the middle of the night.<br /><br />I seem to recall that from about 16-21 months, I halfheartedly attempted to wean M. I followed Dr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Sear's</span> advice on weaning, which amounted to "don't offer, don't refuse." That didn't work so well, as M (like her mom) never, ever forgot to ask to eat. That was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ok</span> with me, though, because though I would have been fine if M had weaned, I didn't particularly care that she was still nursing.<br /><br />Finally, though, our fertility situation became such that I had to wean M. We decided to start a cycle of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">clomid</span> in October 2007, which meant that M needed to be weaned by the time she was 22 months old. So I stepped up my efforts -- when M would ask to nurse, I'd explain that my breasts were empty. To my surprise, that seemed to work (though my memory here could be faulty. I know I discussed weaning on this blog, so if you really want to know what happened, you might check my archives for September and October '07).<br /><br />Once I did decide to wean M, I was shocked at how easy it was. I think I'd given myself a month to wean completely, but it only took a week or two. <br /><br />With E, nursing has been easy from the very first moment. I had some pain for the first few weeks of her life (and a brief period of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">vasospasms</span>), but nothing like the pain I was in with M. Plus, E latched really easily and was much sturdier at birth than M was. I've barely used the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Boppy</span> pillow at all, and only use the Breast Friend pillow when I want my hands free to do something else while E nurses. Instead, E literally eats on the run, either in the Ergo while we're out and about, or just in my arms while I do other things around the house. With M, I think I spent the majority of her first three months on the sofa, just nursing (and watching TV) because I felt like nursing required all of my focus. With E, if I'm not doing something else while she's eating, I feel like I'm being a slacker. <br /><br />E's attitude towards nursing is also totally different from her sister's. M was definitely a comfort nurser. Every time she was sad or hurt or upset, she would turn to my breasts for comfort. E does not. When she got her two-month shots, she did not want to nurse. She was pissed off, and wanted to scream it out! E's attitude certainly requires a little more imagination and effort on my part than M's did, since I can't just rely on using my body as a handy pacifier. On the other hand, it's nice that E is a little bit more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">independent</span>, even at this age.<br /><br />I don't know how long I'll end up nursing E. I suspect it will depend largely on her. As with M, I'm in no particular hurry to wean, especially since I know E's my last baby. I'll be interested to see if she's as avid a long-term nurser as her sister was.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-27109549123273357772009-03-23T17:01:00.002-04:002009-03-23T17:04:10.405-04:00Look Everyone, No Hands!Ok, this two-kids thing isn't exactly hard, but it is intense. The girls seem to be staggering their needs so that I never have too much on my hands at once (with the exception of the fact that the second I start nursing E, 8 times out of 10, M will head straight for the bathroom, thus ensuring that I'll have to come clean her up rather than focusing on the baby). However, this also means that I have about 1 hour a day when I don't have one or the other of them demanding immediate attention. I've been using that hour for such frivolities as showering, cooking, cleaning and otherwise trying to pretend I still have a grip on my household responsibilities. So, not much posting here, at least until I figure this out a little bit better.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-74342548431953537692009-03-16T15:52:00.002-04:002009-03-16T16:06:05.771-04:00Fashion Mavens, I Need Your HelpUsually on this blog, I give way more information about myself than anybody needs. I know this. And I also talk somewhat incessantly about how I'm fat, but I've always been cagey on exactly how fat. But now I need some advice, so here we go with the details.<br /><br />I'm 5ft4 on a tall day, and I wear somewhere between a 20-24, depending on the clothing manufacturer and style. My body is definitely pear-shaped. I have smaller (proportionally) arms and chest, but a big belly and a huge bottom. Most of all, I have tree-trunk legs. Even when I was skinny, my legs looked fat. I don't really have ankles, and since I've been fat, much of that weight has actually settled in my thighs and calves. Seriously, my calves have a larger circumference than the thighs of the normal-sized people I know.<br /><br />For this reason, I rarely wear skirts, but I do love nice, floaty dresses. Every spring I develop a hankering for them. I never actually buy or wear dresses, because I have absolutely no desire to cause traumatic blindness in everyone I encounter. But now Old Navy (pretty much the only place I shop anymore, despite my well-documented love/hate relationship with them) is carrying <a href="http://oldnavy.gap.com/browse/product.do?cid=15292&pid=633413&scid=633413032">these</a>, and I kind of want one. They're nice and long, and would cover up most (if not practically all) of my legs. And their empire waistlines seem like they'd be pretty forgiving of my belly. <br /><br />On the other hand, these dresses make even the models look like they're hiding something. On a short, fat, girl, wouldn't it just look like I was wearing a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mumu</span>? Or worse, a housecoat, like Edna in Hairspray? And also, do you think these would be inappropriate for the park or a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">playdate</span>? It's been so long since I've departed from my uniform of jeans or khakis with a v-neck t-shirt that I honestly have no idea how to wear anything else. <br /><br />Help me, people who know how to dress. You're my only hope.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-41763501456569585122009-03-13T09:10:00.003-04:002009-03-13T09:17:17.861-04:00Back on the diet busI knew it was too good to last. I've gone a little crazy since E was born (plus, I've been super-hungry), and so I've stopped losing weight and started gaining again. So, it's back to dieting for me. I think I'm going to go back to following (loosely) the GD diet, with some adjustments for the fact that I'm no longer pregnant (less fatty red meat; more fruits and veggies). Some aspects of the diet were quite difficult for me to adjust to at first (particularly the "wait at least two hours between meals/snacks instead of continuously stuffing your face all day" part), but I'm thinking they were also the wisest advice for someone like me. <br /><br />I'm also taking things slow this time around. I have about 65 pounds to lose, and I'm giving myself at least three years to do it. In fact, my only goal for the rest of 2009 is to lose 14 pounds. I think (I hope?) it's possible that I can do that in the next 9 months.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-10507183083963118682009-03-11T17:59:00.001-04:002009-03-11T18:19:35.374-04:00No Good DeedDuring my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">IVF</span> cycle (a year ago now), I ended up, as so many do, with more drugs than I needed. Specifically, I had an entire, unopened 900-unit vial of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">follistim</span> left over, and the clinic wouldn't take it back. It sat in my fridge for almost a year, just in case we needed it.<br /><br />As my due date approached and I started thinking that we may well actually have the baby, the presence of that vial started bugging me. If you haven't done <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">IVF</span>, then you should know that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Follistim</span> is very expensive. As in, hundreds (possibly a thousand) dollars for one little vial. I knew there were people out there who hadn't yet been as fortunate as we'd been, and who could really use what I had.<br /><br />So, I posted a message on an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">IVF</span> group to which I belong. I had extra drugs, whatever could I do with them? As expected, I soon heard from two women, both of whom were paying for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">IVF</span> out of pocket and both of whom really, really wanted my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">follistim</span>. I gave it to the first woman who responded. I would not, of course, be charging her for the drug, but we did agree that she'd reimburse me for my shipping costs, especially as it would need to be shipped overnight (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Follistim</span> needs to be refrigerated).<br /><br />I lovingly packed up that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Follistim</span> box with several ice packs and a nice little note full of well-wishes, and sent it to the middle of nowhere (seriously, this woman lives so close to the back of beyond that the guy at the UPS store later called me to tell me he wasn't sure the town to which I was sending it even existed). Because she lived in a rural area and because I was shipping overnight, the shipping costs were exorbitant -- I'd been expecting to pay $20, $30 tops, but instead I spent over $70 to give her my drugs. <br /><br />I tracked the package, and confirmed that she got it. She, in turn, told me she'd sent out the check. A few days later, she emailed me to tell me her envelope had been returned, so I re-sent her my address and she claimed to have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">remailed</span> the check. <br /><br />That was in mid-January. About two weeks later, I emailed her asking if maybe her check had been returned again, as I hadn't received it. She claimed it got lost in the mail, and that she'd send me a replacement via <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Fedex</span> overnight. An entire month later, I still haven't received her check, and now she won't answer my emails. In the meantime, she continues to post to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">IVF</span> group -- my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Follisitim</span> worked for her, and she's now happily pregnant. <br /><br />I have to say, at this point, I'm well and truly mad. I don't begrudge her the hundreds of dollars in drugs, but it really bothers me to have spent nearly $100 that I could have used on other things, and now she can't even be bothered to reimburse me. And for some reason, it's worse because her cycle worked. I think if she'd gotten a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">BFN</span>, I would have let the issue slide completely, because why torment her? But she appears to be as happy as a clam right now, even as she fails to recognize the stranger who had a small part in making her happiness possible. <br /><br />The mean, nasty part of me is tempted to call her out publicly, by posting to the group that I still haven't been paid. But what if she's telling the truth? What if, through no fault of her own (and as thoroughly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">farfetched</span> as it seems), three separate checks sent by two different carriers have failed to make their way to me? Even more, what if she really is in financial dire straits, and the $70 that's an annoyance to me is her family's grocery money this week? I don't dare call her out without better information, but I'm still really mad. So I'm writing about it here, feeling angry and impotent and frustrated.<br /><br />Any ideas? What would you do?Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-66974578996203860512009-03-02T14:23:00.002-05:002009-03-02T14:36:54.378-05:00ChangesToday I'm 3 weeks post-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">partum</span>, and I find myself needing to get <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">reacquainted</span> with my body. Seriously, I'm changing on a daily basis these days. It's so weird!<br /><br />First, I must have told you all a time or 10 that I didn't gain any weight with E's pregnancy. In fact, my final weight (at my last appointment, anyway) had me down 1.5 pounds from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">pre</span>-pregnancy. I assumed that meant I could expect to see the scale dip 10-15 pounds under my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pre</span>-pregnancy weight once E was born and things started to normalize. <br /><br />Instead, as of this morning, I am down a whopping 34 pounds! I know a lot of it is fluid loss, but it's still pretty exciting to get on the scale in the morning and see numbers I haven't seen in at least 3 years. It's definitely keeping me motivated to avoid going back to my previous bad food habits, though I will admit that I'm not being perfect (how could I be, when it's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cadbury</span> Mini Egg season?) It's also a little difficult because I seem to be ravenous a lot of the time, but I'm determined not to gain weight again like I did after M was born. I'm looking at these 34 pounds as a gift to spur my larger weight-loss efforts, and I don't want to just squander that gift. <br /><br />Second, I find myself rather more well-endowed than I used to be. This shouldn't really be surprising, since most women's chests get larger when they're pregnant or nursing; but it's never happened to me before. When I was skinny, I was barely an A cup. As I got fatter, I went up to a B, and that's where I stayed through all of my pregnancies and through 2 years of nursing M. Now, however, I'm a full C, bordering on D. And I kind of like it. I hope it sticks around for a while. <br /><br />All in all, things are going pretty well for me, self-esteem wise. Make no mistake, I'm still fat (it'll take me another 70 pounds to get comfortably into the healthy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">BMI</span> range), but I'm skinnier than I've been in years. Plus, with my new rack, the rest of me actually looks a little thinner. For the first time in years, I feel like a healthy-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ish</span> weight is within my grasp. I'm clinging to that belief as I try to maintain this momentum. <br /><br />And in the meantime, I've banned Mini Eggs from the house. I just can't be trusted not to eat an entire bag in a day.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-34111213221857860082009-02-16T15:35:00.002-05:002009-02-16T15:39:33.494-05:00BlissE is one week old today, and I swear, I have never met a calmer, happier baby. She eats, she sleeps, she cries briefly if she needs a diaper change or we put her in the car seat, and she snuggles. I am blown away at how happy and sweet this past week has been. Of course, I still haven't been alone with both kids for more than an hour at a time (my in-laws, bless them, are taking shifts to come up and be with us because The Boy went back to work this morning), but still, things are good. <br /><br />I think all babies should be second babies.<br /><br />I"m working on the birth story,but the downside to having wonderful supportive help at all times is that I also lack privacy at pretty much all times, so maintaining this blog is a challenge. Things should be back to normal(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ish</span>) in a week or so.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-4127215854354705202009-02-12T08:31:00.009-05:002009-02-25T18:14:03.935-05:00The Birth StorySo, I have a lot to say. I've written about 20 posts in my head in the last week, but today's the first time I've had a chance to sit down and type. I figure I'd better get the birth story up first. Warning, there's a fair amount of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">TMI</span> here...<br /><br />I woke up around 2:00 Monday morning (the 9<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span>) and needed to use the bathroom. When I was done, I stood up and, well, there was still stuff coming out. I thought it was probably just some leftovers from the way the baby was pushing on my bladder and cleaned myself up again. Then it happened again. At that point, I figured out that my water had broken. Unfortunately, there was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">meconium</span> in it, which freaked me out because I always thought that means fetal distress.<br /><br />So I woke up The Boy and he called the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">doula</span>. The plan was for her to come over and we'd head right to the hospital (our plan to wait as long as possible before heading in went out the window when I saw the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">meconium</span>). The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Doula</span> (R) would stay with M until my mother-in-law could get here, then she'd come meet us at the hospital.<br /><br />Made all of the phone calls, then called the hospital to let them know we were coming. The nurse calmed me down about the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">meconium</span>. She said that I did need to come in, but that it's totally normal for full-term babies to have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">meconium</span> in the fluid and that the baby was most likely just fine.<br /><br />So when R got here, we decided just to wait for my MIL. By this time, it was nearly 3 am, and I'd started having contractions. Nothing too bad or intense, but they were becoming fairly regular. I drank a coke in the hopes of waking the baby, since I was still pretty paranoid that she was in trouble and I hadn't been feeling her move. The little stinker kept right on sleeping.<br /><br />Got to the hospital around 4 am and headed to triage. The resident came in and told me they'd do an exam with a speculum to see if my water really had broken. Her nurse lifted up my gown, saw the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">chux</span> pad underneath me and said "we have a gross rupture, you won't need the speculum," then proceeded to look horrified and apologized about 5 times for using the word gross. I assured her that I knew she wasn't calling me gross, and we all laughed. They hooked me up to the monitor and there was E's heartbeat, strong and healthy as ever. They also checked me and said I was 1-2 cm, the baby was at -2 and and my cervix was still quite thick.<br /><br />So, on to the room. By this time, the contractions were getting stronger, but still totally doable. The attending on duty told me they'd give me 4 hours or so to labor on my own, then check to see if I was making any progress. So that's what we did for the next four hours, as the contractions got stronger and closer together. The Boy and R were great, giving me <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">counterpressure</span> and focal points and everything I needed to get through the contractions.<br /><br />At around 8:30 am, they checked again. 100% effaced, and 3-4 cm! We were progressing exactly as we were supposed to. I spent the next few hours trying different positions and places, getting through the contractions. Ultimately, I liked either hanging onto The Boy or leaning over the birth ball, which was on the bed, during contractions, then sitting down in the rocking chair in between. I also tried the shower, but frankly, it didn't help that much.<br /><br />And then the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Megas</span> began. I'd have a contraction, but instead of ending, it would just kind of ramp down to about 50% intensity for a few minutes before a "new" contraction would start. Whereas before I had a minute or two to sit and regroup between contractions, now I couldn't move. The pain never went away long enough for me to do anything but keep doing my deep breathing/moaning in between then yell for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">counterpressure</span> as the new peak began. This went on for about 45 minutes, until the L&D nurse noticed that I never seemed to stop contracting. She told me it wasn't normal and called the attending.<br /><br />And I should say right here, thank heavens for my L&D nurse, D. She was absolutely amazing, from beginning to end. She was totally supportive of my wish to go natural; in fact, she said she was really excited to be with me because most of her moms get epidurals early on. She was able to help us realize that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Megas</span> were a bad thing and to get us help.<br /><br />So anyway, the attending came in and checked me, and I was at 7.5 cm! Unfortunately, he decided I was actually only about 75% effaced, not 100% as he'd previously told us. He agreed with the labor nurse that the mega-contractions weren't normal, and he offered me a shot of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Terbuteline</span> (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">sp</span>?) to try to space them out. I took it gratefully, and it kicked in in a few minutes. Not only did I start getting breaks between contractions again, but the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">terbuteline</span> also made the contractions I did have a lot less intense. I was able to sit, breathe and talk, and celebrate the fact that I was getting close to transition.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Terbuteline</span>, unfortunately, is both a quick-acting and quick-clearing drug. I got a good 45 minutes to an hour of relief, but then another mega-contraction began. This time, I got the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Terbuteline</span> about 30 minutes into it, but the drug took much longer to work -- it was at least another half hour before I got any relief. In the meantime, I literally could not speak, even "between" contractions. Things just never backed off to the extent that I could do anything besides hang onto my ball for dear life and moan. By this time, I was feeling a little panicky -- I desperately wanted some relief, but could not even muster the words to ask for it.<br /><br />Finally, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Terbuteline</span> kicked in, and I announced that I wanted my epidural RIGHT NOW. Again, my L&D nurse was wonderful -- she knelt down, looked me in the face and told me she was concerned -- she said I was handling the individual contractions just fine, but that it seemed to her that I was tensing up and worrying about what was going to happen, as opposed to what was actually happening at any given moment. She was right, and I knew that, but I still wanted the drugs. My rationale was that if another mega started, I wouldn't be able to ask for help, so I'd rather have it in place before that happened. To their credit, The Boy, the nurse and R all realized I was serious and were very supportive. They called the doctor to let him know I wanted the epidural.<br /><br />When the doctor came in, he checked me and told me I hadn't made any progress at all since my last check (that had been at around 1:00 pm, and it was now around 4:00 pm). He told me he thought I had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">cephalo</span>-pelvic disproportion and that I should skip directly to a c-section. He also started outlining all of his concerns that I would rupture, because I was laboring for so long and so hard and not making any progress, and he decided to tell me about all of the ruptures he'd seen and the babies he'd seen die. I didn't know it at the time, but behind my back, The Boy and R were rolling their eyes at Dr. Doom. Frankly, I didn't care -- I knew he was full of shit (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">cephalo</span>-pelvic disproportion is a fancy way of saying "we think the baby is too big for you to get her out," and I know damn well it's a crap diagnosis that's often pulled out when a mom takes longer than average to progress during labor), but the only thing in the entire world that I cared about at that point was making the pain stop. I asked if I couldn't just get the epidural and see what happened (figuring that if I needed a c-section, I'd get an epidural anyway, so I had nothing to lose), but he explained that this hospital doesn't use epidurals for c-sections, but rather spinal blocks. He agreed to leave us alone for a little while to make our decision.<br /><br />The following 20 minutes or so were, no kidding, some of the most difficult ones of my life. Rationally, I knew there was no reason I couldn't keep trying to deliver the baby vaginally. I knew that each individual contraction wasn't so bad. I also knew that it was really <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">ok</span> that I hadn't progressed in a few hours -- labor often slows or stalls when a woman is feeling panicky (as I was), and I figured the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Terbuteline</span> was also making my contractions less effective. At the very least, I figured, the epidural would help me deal with the mega-contractions and we wouldn't have to use any more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Terbuteline</span>.<br /><br />However, at that point, I was very close to being beyond rational thought. All I could think about was the pain and my fear of another mega-contraction. Plus, The Boy had spoken to the doctor and had been assured that at this hospital, it was policy not to separate the baby from her parents unless absolutely necessary -- at the very least, The Boy would be able to stay with her at all times. Since the main reason we wanted a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">VBAC</span> in the first place was not wanting to be separated from the baby like we were with M, this knowledge made the c-section very seductive. The pain would be over, the baby would be safely out in a matter of minutes, and we'd be able to keep her with us. Finally, I knew that if I had an epidural, I'd need to wait for two other women in line ahead of me to get theirs before I got pain relief, and at the time I believed that I'd have the c-section very shortly after we made the decision. So, we decided to go with the c-section.<br /><br />No sooner had we made the decision, of course, than we learned that both of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">ORs</span> were full at that point, and it would be an hour before we actually got the c-section. Boy, was I pissed! But there was nothing we could do -- I took it one contraction at a time and made the doctor promise to check me again before I got wheeled back, because if I'd made progress than I'd skip the c-section and keep trying for a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">VBAC</span>.<br /><br />At around 5:00, it was time to go - the doctor checked me and told me I'd only progressed another half a centimeter, so we went forward with the section. I walked to the OR and they gave me the spinal. Within minutes, I was feeling great -- I couldn't feel anything at all below my breasts, and for the first time in a good 6 hours, I wasn't in pain. It felt wonderful. I did end up getting sick at one point, and since I had a cold and was totally flat on my back, my nose stuffed up to the point where i couldn't breathe at all. But it wasn't so bad, and the OR staff could not have been kinder. They brought The Boy in and got started.<br /><br />It seemed to take forever, but finally, she was out. My memory of the moment is a little fuzzy -- I remember them holding the baby up, but all I could catch was a glimpse of her leg before they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">brought</span> her over to the warmer for evaluation. At that point, she let out her first cry, and I absolutely lost it. I couldn't stop crying and laughing. My girl was here, safe and alive. I think that, until she was born, I really hadn't let myself believe that she'd be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">ok</span>, so the feeling of relief and joy was overwhelming.<br /><br />While they stitched me up, we watched them evaluate E, clean her up and take her footprints. Then the pediatrician held her up and guessed that she weighed 7 lbs, 15 oz. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">I was</span> pretty impressed -- she was off by less than two ounces (so much for that 37 week ultrasound that estimated her at 8 lbs 12 oz, huh?). Eventually, they wheeled me into the recovery room and handed E to me. She began to nurse almost immediately. It was amazing -- we were allowed to keep her with us for an entire 24 hours before we finally decided to relinquish her for her first bath.<br /><br />Overall, my birth experience wasn't what I had hoped, but it really doesn't bother me at this point. I'm quite proud that I made it to 7.5 cm without any <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">pictocin</span> or pain relief. And while the c-section wasn't ideal, at least I know I wasn't bullied into it. I knew darn well that the reasons the doctor gave for recommending the c-section were bogus, but I also knew that whatever happened, it was my decision. I think that's why having had a c-section isn't bothering me much. This time around, I was able to make an informed choice. From one perspective, I suppose it seems like I gave up or sold out (and, well, I kinda did), but that's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">ok</span>, too. I can honestly say I'm comfortable and satisfied with how things shook out, and that's not a small thing.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-11368657837656184142009-02-11T16:26:00.000-05:002009-02-11T16:29:12.458-05:00She's Here!Just dropping in to say that our wonderful, perfect daughter, E, arrived on Monday afternoon. My water broke at 2:00 am, and she was born via c-section at 5:50 pm. She weighed 8 lbs exactly and was 20 inches long. She nursed like a champ 20 minutes after she was born, and has been doing wonderfully ever since.<br /><br />I'll write full details later, but for now I should say that we are all fine; great, even. The c-section wasn't my first choice, but I'm definitely ok with how things shook out.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-48319641497404460732009-02-08T14:17:00.004-05:002009-02-08T14:28:08.928-05:00Nope, not yet.But you know what? It's ok. I've decided to be a little bit zen about it. If the kid's not ready to come, she just isn't. Nothing I can do (short of pictocin, of course) is going to force her to come before she's ready. (Oh, and Rachel, my doula did suggest acupuncture, but The Boy is skeptical, and since I'm both cheap and needle-phobic, we decided not to pursue it. I may change my mind tomorrow). <br /><br />In the meantime, it's in the 70s and sunny out today. I dare anyone to be anxious or worried on such a day. Even better, my in-laws took M last night so The Boy and I could have a night of uninterrupted sleep (we've all had colds, so we've all been awake a lot). We slept "late" (until 8:30), then took our time reading the paper, then ran some errands. Just being outside and feeling the sun on my face is like a balm. It reminds me of the spring to come, and of my favorite time of year here in NC. And no matter what, come spring, this child will be here (well, barring horrible and tragic things). Today, I'm choosing to focus on that positive note instead of freaking out over my still-pregnant state. <br /><br />(which is not to say that I won't be back to my normal freaking-out self tomorrow, of course).<br /><br />Now off to get some more "exercise" by doing some triple-coupon shopping. This is what passes for recreation here in my world, folks. Try not to expire from the excitement of it all. :-)Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-29728136112570757812009-02-06T08:31:00.002-05:002009-02-06T08:44:54.114-05:00Back in the CageSo, today's my due date, and this kid isn't anywhere near ready to come out (for those who keep track of such things, still 1 cm, 50-60% effaced, baby hasn't engaged yet). So I find myself back at square 1, choosing between a possibly-dangerous induction and a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fervently</span> unwanted c-section. <br /><br />That's not to say that all of the doctor-changing angst has been for naught. To their credit, the practice I switched two has been really great about explaining exactly why it's a bad thing that I am about to be post-dates. Nobody has so much as whispered concerns about the baby's size; rather, the concern is that post-dates babies, especially those of gestational diabetics, are at a much increased risk of sudden and unexplained (and therefore unpreventable) fetal death. The risk is still small -- <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">somewhere</span> between 4 8 out of 1000 for a well-controlled GD like me, but it does still exist, and I can't really blame the doctors for wanting to do anything possible to eliminate that risk. <br /><br />Still, I can't say as I'm happy right now. While the greatest part of me is mindful of exactly how lucky we are even to be having this beautiful, healthy little girl, there is a small part of me that wants to lay down on the floor and throw a temper tantrum. I just wanted one thing about having this second child to work out like we'd dreamed, you know? I really wanted the chance to learn from the mistakes we made from M's birth, and to see if my body was indeed capable of doing something normal and right for once. I guess we know the answer now. <br /><br />All is not totally lost. We are probably going to try for the induction, but even if we can't do that, the c-section isn't until next Thursday (the 12<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">th</span>). There still remains a chance, however remote, that I will go into labor by myself before then. To that end, I'll be taking M to the mall and marching around for hours to encourage the child to drop, then doing all of those other "natural induction" things that they say could help. I figure I have nothing to lose at this point.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-5924726193100004492009-02-02T14:03:00.002-05:002009-02-02T14:19:32.860-05:00I'm going to be pregnant forever, but that's not necessarily a bad thingWell, still pregnant over here. I've had tons of contractions that are a mite too painful to be called Braxton-Hicks, but nowhere near intense enough to be considered real, but they're sporadic and clearly not signs of actual labor. Seems like this kid is settling in for the long haul.<br /><br />And I think that maybe I'm ok with that. All weekend, she was super-squirmy , which I love. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she's responding to me when I rub my belly in the general vicinity of her bottom or when I speak to her. Plus, she's big enough now that the rolling of my belly is visible from across the room. I love feeling and watching her move, even when she's head-butting my cervix. <br /><br />Plus, M has kicked up the love for baby Dep (yes, she still calls her that). First thing every morning, she comes into our room and kisses the baby hello. This is something I didn't teach her to do, because frankly, I think it's kind of creepy (in an endearing kind of way). She also tickles and hugs my belly, and keeps telling Dep that it's time to come out. It's super-cute, and I fear that this devotion will end as soon as Dep is a real, crying human being who is taking Mommy's attention. <br /><br />And finally, the longer this kid stays in, the longer we have to brainstorm names for her. Right now, we have three names on the list, each of which we loved at one point but are no longer that crazy about. I keep hoping that a fit of inspiration will strike and we'll come up with the perfect name -- classic, lovely, normal-ish, and with lots of nickname possibilities so that she can choose what she wants to be called someday. But seeing as The Boy's top choices still include such gems as Winifred, Penelope, Esme and Gwendolyn, I don't see any new names coming down the pike that we'll agree on. (not that there's anything wrong with these names. They're perfectly fine for anyone who is not my kid). And in fairness, I should point out that I'm attracted to my fair share of strange names -- for a while, I was trying to convince The Boy that Aiofe (pronouce Ee-fa) was a perfectly reasonable middle name.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31905034.post-39046682547956406912009-01-31T11:03:00.003-05:002009-01-31T11:33:09.343-05:00False AlarmWoke up yesterday morning sick as a dog. Made The Boy stay home from work, MIL came and got M. Started having contractions (tiny little ones) around 10 am, but they were sporadic. In the meantime, I couldn't keep food or liquids down to save my life.<br /><br />By 6 pm, I'd had two really good stretches of strong, evenly-spaced contractions. Still clearly early labor (didn't hurt much), but we thought something was happening. But we sent the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Doula</span> home because we figured we'd be in for the long haul.<br /><br />8:00pm, I went in to go to sleep, and did manage a short nap. But I noticed that I was again having contractions regularly, and these were definitely of the painful variety (though not incredibly so). I waited until 9:00, then called The Boy. He came in and timed them for 1.5 hours, and sure enough, every 3-5 minutes, lasting around a minute each! So we called the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">doula</span> back.<br /><br />By 12:30 am, the contractions hadn't stopped. They'd been steady and consistent for a good 4 hours, so we decided to head into the hospital.<br /><br />Got to L&D, got strapped in to the monitor (me contracting all the while), and the resident checked me. One centimeter. ONE <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">F'in</span> CENTIMETER! False labor, so we got sent home, still contracting all the while.<br /><br />Got home around 4:30 am, and went straight to bed. Seems like the contractions stopped the second my head hit the pillow, and they haven't started again. So now we're feeling sheepish and silly, and calling back everyone on our list to say no, sorry, we're really not in labor. Oops?<br /><br />The good news is, the doctors at the hospital could not have been kinder or more compassionate. They told me we absolutely did the right thing by coming in, and that they could see that I really was having good contractions. They also let me go home, which is a huge deal to me. They said that they could keep me there, but then everybody would start getting antsy and we'd all be tempted to do things to move labor along, which (a) isn't necessary, and (b) and they know we don't want. That's such an amazing statement on a few levels -- first, that the doctors on call actually read my birth plan, and second, that they were completely respectful of our wishes. Both The Boy and I left feeling sheepish, but also really confident that we made the right decision in switching hospitals. That right there is the silver lining that practically dwarfs the cloud of feeling silly for thinking we were really in labor.Paranoidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15941403343831583259noreply@blogger.com0