Ding dong

My buddy Tara over at Two Lines on a Stick is an Avon lady. Because I like her so, I'm giving a little shout out for you to get your Avon stuff from her. She ships it to you fast, and you in turn are getting good stuff from a SAHM. I love that.

If you don't want to buy make up, you can always buy her really cool cards at her Etsy shop. She can do custom cards or announcements or calligraphy for you. A WAHM really.

Just sayin'.

Here's my loot from the Avon shop. I adore new makeup. I'm such a girl. Which is a huge change from when I was eight. I mean, I was a girl then too, but I was a girl who hated dresses and wanted to be the first female player in Major League Baseball. Which probably wouldn't have required that I wear any of this:













For the record, I wanted to play third base for the Phillies. Just like Mike Schmidt.

Goodbye, old girl. You were a good Volvo

The Volvo is gone. Sold. Taken away. No more.

My Volvo was the first thing I did to step away from my ex-husband. He didn't want me to buy it. I did anyway, telling him that I didn't ask to discuss it with him. He was driving a rental car, a new Maxima, being paid for by insurance, and loved it. He wanted to buy a new Maxima. Not a 12 year old Volvo. I refused to take out another car loan for him.

I got $4000 from the insurance company when some jackass totaled my car while it was parked in front of my house. It was my grandfather's car. My family had given it to me after he died because my ex had wrecked his car and not had it repaired. We needed a second car.

It was a Ford Contour. Not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it was paid for. It was 7 years old, and only had 11,000 miles on it. Granddaddy didn't go very far in it.

When it was totaled, I received far less money than the car was actually worth to me. That's the way it was though, and no amount of fighting with the insurance company could change that.

I had asked the Ex not to park it on the street. He did anyway. Some jackass plowed into it. And just like that, it was gone.

The smell of my granddaddy? Gone. The little pieces of him I would find in the glovebox or between the seats? Gone. My granddaddy's car was gone.

I was beyond livid. The Ex had already wrecked his Golf. For which I held the car loan and title. Now, the Contour was wrecked. In about a month from then, he would also wreck the Jetta, which I had just paid off about 4 months prior to that.

I was not about to get a new Maxima for a man who couldn't afford it and couldn't be trusted not to wreck it.

So I bought an old Volvo. Paid cash. Drove it with pride because it was paid for. I loved that car. It was more than a car. It was a turning point.

Buying that Volvo was the first step in my decision not to put up with the crap anymore.

In December of 2006, Guy bought me a new car. Something that I could fit my gear in and still close all the windows. Something that my keyboard could ride in and still be in its case. Something that we could take Lovely and Papa along in to gigs and still be able to haul my stuff. I accepted it begrudgingly.

It felt like I was giving up this independent streak. This piece of "piss on you, world" that had allowed me to come up for air in a drowning marriage. I was sad to give up driving my Volvo.

So I didn't. Not at first. I would still take her out for errands and such. But the more I drove the new Jeep, the less I needed to drive the Volvo. It was enough to just have it in the driveway.

But this week, I knew it was time. It was time to see her off to a new home. Guy wanted to salvage it, but that made me too sad. So I posted it on Craig's List (I know, I know, will I ever learn?), and asked for someone to come and save it from the salvage yard. I had people lined up around the block.

$350 later? My Volvo has a new home, and I have a new outlook.

Giving up that car to me signifies that I have given myself over completely to this new life. To me, it shows that I am 100% comfortable now being completely connected with Guy. Still an individual, but not completely independent.

It's like I finally understand what my mom told me so many times.

She wouldn't buy a piece of clothing if she thought my dad wouldn't like it. I thought when I was younger that it was because she didn't think for herself. Didn't stand up on her own two very un-feminist feet.

Now I know how wrong I was. She didn't wear something he wouldn't like because she loves him. It made her happy to make him happy. She liked the things that he liked. She trusted his opinions. And she valued what he thought of her. I get that now. I love Guy like that.

So goodbye, Volvo. You were a good car. You were a good move for me, but I don't need you anymore. I'm part of a team now.

And I'm desperately happy about that.

Verbal video

This morning, Bird popped off my breast and looked up at me. His eyes were wide and bright. His mouth puckered up into a little "O" shape and I smiled at him.

He cocked his head, squinted his eyes, and his mouth burst open into a huge smile.

I want to remember those few seconds for the rest of my life.

Shower the people you love with baby stuff

I totally just copied and pasted this post because it's more efficient that me trying to sum it all up. I can't tell you how much I adore Liz. You better believe I'll be showering her, and I hope that you will too. Baby Alice has lots of virtual auntie's out there, I know. Let's give her a huge warm welcome into the world!

Lizarita here. I’ll get right to it:

My good friend Liz and her family are going through some hard times (as we ALL have) and I got to thinking…”What can I do to help???” And then I read her comments and talked to her and came up with a solution: Liz’s Virtual Baby Shower. This baby shower will function in two parts: I’ll be heading up one side of the shower and Julie will take up the other side (see: below).

Since so many of you have graciously offered to pass along your gently used baby items, I was thinking that I could administrate this effort and make sure all the items are delivered safely and soundly to the house of h.

And for those of you that know me, you know that being bossy is what I do best so this is the PERFECT job for me. Ahem.

The Details:
If you have any gently used baby items that you would like to contribute, please send me an email to lizaritablogs AT gmail DOT com and I will tell you where to send your package.

In order to get the word out to as many of the good people on the Interweb as possible, there is a little contest involved. Create a post on your blog about the collection efforts and link to this post. Please let me know via email if you are participating. And feel free to grab a little blog bling while you’re at it! Please be sure to mention this contest in your post so others can join in the fun! A winner will be chosen at random.

The prize? Liz’s baby! (Kidding). I’m not sure what the prize is yet, but I can assure you that it will be FABULOUS!

Please keep in mind that Liz is having a GIRL so even though she would appreciate those navy blue corduroy overalls with the trains and planes on the front, her daughter would look kinda funny in them, so please refrain from sending them.

Thank you in advance for your kindness.

BUT WAIT!!! That’s not all! Some of you are thinking “Liz needs to get some NEW stuff, too!” and we thought the same thing…

And this is the second part of Liz’s Virtual Baby Shower:

Hi all—Julie from the calm before the stork here, and I’m helping to host the Brand New Baby Things side of Liz’s Virtual Baby Shower for those of you that want to hook a sister up with some new things.

After I read her recent post about money, or the lack thereof, I thought my awesome internet friend Liz—who so completely propped me up with her encouragement around the time of my baby boy’s birth not so long ago—could use a little mirth in advance of the birth of her daughter, Alice.

So here’s my extra little somethin’ offer as co-host of this interweb-wide giftie event. Not only will you pick up some sex-ay blog bling, but you’ll be entered to win one of my mugs. If you would like to purchase a little somethin’ somethin’, please check out her Babies R Us or Target registries, and be sure to drop by my place and leave me a comment letting me know that you’re in. I’ll draw a winner at random in early May, so stay tuned!

Baby Alice is due June 13^th and Liz is registered at Babies R Us under first name “Hilarities” and last name “Ensue” (registry# 86825422) and at Target as first name “Liz” and last name “Hilarities Ensue” (registry# 011003997423613).

And don’t forget to to post your blog bling (designed by the Always Fabulous, Carly)!

Totally faking it here

This would not be a picture from today. Because this is not what Bird did today. Except for when I ran two errands.

I can't sleep when the baby sleeps if the baby decides to only sleep in the moving car or in my Moby while I'm walking around Joann's.

I can see it now . . .

I'm the crazy lady in the back of the store, standing propped up against some soft spools of batting, trying to catch some zzzzzz's. Don't mind me, shoppers, and could you keep it down a little? I'm having a nap.


So very very very tired.

My life's work

In a few weeks, I'll have to start working again. Students will start coming back for their lessons. I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to it.

Really, as far as a work scenario goes, I've got it good. Students come to my house for their lessons. I've been teaching in the area long enough that I don't have to take students who don't do their work. I have the luxury of auditioning them and laying down some strict guidelines for remaining in my studio.

I love my kids (and Bach too!!!). Always have. Most of them have been with me for at least 5 years, some up to 10 years. They are not just my piano students, they are important people in my life. That is what drives me to continue. That and a 6'4" Mason & Hamlin sitting in my studio that I'm not finished paying for yet. Or for a few more years.

Today, I got an email from one of them, an adult student, asking if I was going to be ready to start teaching again next week. That will have given me 5 weeks off. I expressly told her before the baby arrived that I was taking at least 6 weeks. As of today, I'm thinking of taking 7 because of all the issues that we've been working through.

The email got under my skin, and I realized that for the first time, there is somebody that I want to put before my students. There is somebody who means more to me than anyone else ever will, and I want for people to realize that.

While I love teaching, and I love my students - Bird will always come first. I can do both; be a mommy and still teach. Plenty of women work longer hours than I do and are still mommies too.
But if I can't give him 6 or 7 work free weeks at the beginning of his life? That would be ridiculous.

Really though? I have my work. My heart's work. He's laying nestled on my left breast, sleeping peacefully on his boppy.

One month

Happy one month birthday, little dude. Thanks for not chomping my nipples off today. I greatly appreciate it. I had in mind to write you a heartfelt letter about the first month of your life, but then I realized that most of it would be about boobs and that didn't seem right.

I can tell you this. You are the most interesting baby I have ever met. I never thought a baby could be good company, but you are. You are fascinating. And when you smiled at me this week? Smiled without farting soon after? I melted. I was singing you the "Little Bird" song from the CD that your Auntie Bubblewench sent to you, and you broke out in the biggest grin for the first time.

And I fell completely in love all over again.

How many times will I do that? Once a day? Once an hour?

You are amazing.

Hey look, I'm crafty! He's wearing some baby legs that I made. With a sewing machine. Yay, me! Are you proud, Momma?

Because I can't believe it myself

At the pediatrician's office today:

Doctor: I don't see any signs of thrush.

Me: Are you sure? Because my breasts hurt so badly. Like I would rather be in labor again than have my breasts hurt this badly.

Doctor: And you're sure you want to continue breastfeeding?

Me: (after initial stun of question wore off) Absolutely I do, and I will.

Doctor: Well, they're your boobs, not mine.


OH MY DEAR GOD. He actually said those exact words to me. Perhaps I am still hormonally sensitive???

Or PERHAPS NOT?

Please. Weigh in. Would you be taken aback if your older than dirt pediatrician actually taunted you about your persistence in breastfeeding? And used the word BOOB? I mean, I use it all the time, but the letters M.D. don't follow my name either.

Let's discuss, shall we?

And you don't have to tell me to get a new pediatrician. It's already in the works.

Annoucement

Of course, if you live anywhere near us, I can highly recommend a fabulous photographer. Just click the announcement to see more of her work.

Confessions

As much as I like the co-sleeping . . .

As easy as it is to just roll over and nurse right where we are . . .

As much as I don't like thinking of Bird sleeping alone even if it's right next to the bed . . .

I miss being held through the night by my husband.

Reminders

Andria said it. It's strange how something so natural can be so difficult. But it is. Breast feeding has been very very hard. I keep reminding myself of all the reasons to continue. How good it is for Bird.

Then, there will be moments like these, after I nurse him. He pops off with milk still dribbling out of his mouth. His little lips smack and he squirms his way in just a little bit even closer to me. One of my favorite faces he makes involves the raising of his little blonde eyebrows followed by a quick nose wrinkle. Most of the time, I even get a smile or two from him.

As he falls asleep, propped up on the breast that just nursed him, I'm reminded of how good it is for me too. Good to be able to give him something no one else can. Good to bond with him.

Good to get to be his momma.

Finding peace. Keeping peace.

It's not so much about finding the peace. Talk to me at any random moment, and I'm perfectly fine about how things are going. Christopher has gained a pound since that day at the doctor's office. He is doing really well, and is a happy baby.

That is all that matters, really.

How I feel varies from hour to hour though. As whatever hormones are left in me have their way, and as the Reglan inhibits whatever dopamine it has to in order to help my milk production, and as the sleep deprivation messes with my emotions - as all these things come into play, it's hard to know how I really feel.

Yesterday, on the phone with Whymommy, I felt good. I was able to discuss where we were with things in a positive manner. Is my baby exclusively breast feeding? No. He has to have 4-6 ounces of formula a day in order to not be hungry. Am I doing everything I can humanly possibly do in order to increase production? Yes. I am nursing and pumping 90% of the time I'm awake. I'm taking my herbs. I'm taking my prescription. I'm drinking plenty of water and eating plenty of good food. I'm getting skin to skin with my baby. All of the advice. I'm taking all of the advice and doing it as much as I can.

Today, on the phone with my momma, I felt crappy. It bothered me that I had missed the crucial piece of information that regular, frequent nursings have to do with keeping my supply up as much as they have to do with feeding the baby. So when that doctor told me to alternate nursing with bottles? Leaving me to nurse only about 4 times a day and supplement the rest? He blew a hole in my supply. I didn't know then. I know now. I don't know how I missed it. I was just doing what he told me to do.

Right this moment, I'm okay again. My baby is full and growing. He is getting mostly breast milk, and who's to say that I might be able to have him exclusively on it again in a couple more weeks? It will be fine. I'm going to do whatever I can to have him be the healthiest baby he can be.

And thank God for the hands free pumping bra. Making this post possible. I wish I had it from the very beginning.

******************

We got the proofs for some beautiful baby shots back this weekend. If you would like the link to see them, shoot me an email and I'll send it to you.

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Gratuitous photo of the day


We think she likes him. Seeing as how she gets this huge grin on her face every time she gets to hold him? We think she likes him a lot.

Lovely is doing great with her new little brother. She has taken getting peed on during a diaper change in stride. She is becoming a pro at dressing him. And she is the best at walking him when he needs that constant motion to settle down.

She's an awesome big sister.

********************

Finally, I wish that I had opened comments on the breast feeding post. I forgot that while I couldn't handle anymore advice because I was on overload - I forgot that most of the time, people are just relating. Just understanding where you are and where you've been. Some times, they are right there with you, and some times, they have made it through where you've been and can remind you that nothing lasts forever.

So for those of you who took the time to email or comment on another post, thank you. It does help to know that I'm not alone. I hope that it helps to know you aren't either.

Day late but worth the wait

Happy Valentine's Day from a good looking guy. A Mini Guy, if you will.

We took the picture on Wednesday, just to make sure that we wouldn't miss wishing the Internets a Happy Valentine's Day on time.

That obviously didn't work. I am that behind these days.

But my half price dark chocolate peanut M'n'M's? Well worth the delay.

Hope you all had a wonderful Valentine's Day!!!

Thank you, Aunt Shelley, for our adorable bib!

Valentine for Guy

Dear Guy,

I could just buy a card or something. Tell you these things in person. Some times though, it doesn't seem like enough. Since there will be no big Valentine from me this year, and probably no candy hidden in the carport by your ex-wife, I thought I would just tell you a few things publicly. Things that make you the most wonderful husband in the world and me the luckiest woman.

When the doula took this picture, we did think it was a little crazy. She said we would be glad later. I'm glad now. This picture reminds me of how much you hold me up. How much strength you give me. For four some odd hours, you sat behind me, letting me labor on that birthing ball while leaning back on you. You sat through every contraction with me, rubbing my hair and holding me just tight enough to know that you were right there for me. I think this picture says so much about you, and I'm so glad she took it.




I love this shot for the pure unadulterated joy that is on your face. Holding your son for the first time, showing him off for that picture - you are completely elated, and I was so proud of both of you. Both my boys.










You listen to me. You don't dismiss my ideas as silly or too granola. When I said to you that I thought it was important for you to have skin to skin contact with Little Bird, you took your shirt off and did just that. I love that you provide the scientific balance to the natural approach I so long to have in raising our son. I love that you can gently discuss things with me, and that you accept things like skin to skin as important, maybe even just because I asked you to.





Lest you think I've gone completely sappy on you, I can remind you that I also love you because you are so stinkin' good looking. The two of you snoozing before we left the hospital just melted my heart. I think you are the best looking men in the whole world. Ever.




So these are some of the reasons I love you. It's not a fancy card or swell gift. I know it's not much. I know I've been really hard to deal with the past week. Or two. You have done an amazing job of balancing when to step in and intervene and when to let me work something out on my own. You have rescued me from my hormones. You have stuck by me when I thought we weren't going to be successful at breastfeeding. You have loved me. You have loved me like no one else ever could.

I hope that you feel the same way. I hope that I show you that I love you like no one else ever could.

Happy Valentine's Day, You. Thank you for this life we have.

Love,
Your littlest Shamoopie

What I thought would come naturally. Not so much.

In a rare moment of two handed typing, I find myself wondering exactly what I need to unload here. There is a post about breastfeeding that I have been sporadically working over the past couple of weeks. In general, it details all the outside obstacles that I have encountered while simply trying to feed my child. It lists the number of heath care professionals who have told me to just use formula. Use a pacifier. Switch to bottles.

It was quite a surprise to me.

What was an even bigger surprise is how I've had to try and convince not just everyone around me that breastfeeding is worth the effort, but how I've had to convince my own body that it's worth the effort.

After a week of engorgement, Christopher was hungry. This is why he was screaming. The poor child was hungry. He had not been able to get the milk I was producing. I had pumped to soften them. Run hot water over them. Placed hot packs on them before feeding. I thought he was eating. He was staying at the breast for an hour or more, but wasn't getting what he needed.

Let me tell you - sitting in a doctor's office and being told that you have been starving your child, and that is why he has been crying? He could have just taken a scalpel and cut my heart out.

And once again, I was told that I needed to start him on formula.

We haven't. We did start using the breastmilk I had in the freezer in bottles and alternated nursing and bottles to make sure he was getting enough to eat.

Then, something I never imagined would happen, happened. For some reason, my breasts decided they were no longer needed and went on vacation. I was pumping on Thursday to try and make his next meal, and got nothing. Not even enough to cover the bottom of a bottle. The girls were on strike.

I was ready to punt the pediatrician and the long list of every piece of advice I had received. Even the source of some of my biggest support emailed me to tell me that it was my own fault I had dried up. That she told me not to use bottles. I was beyond rational and spent the next long hours sobbing and panicking over my empty breasts.

I did what I should have done from day one before there even was an issue. I hired a lactation consultant.

Now, as often as possible, but at the very least, every 3 hours from start to start, we are feeding our child. Guy and I both. Baby at the breast until he empties them or pisses himself off trying. Then, the syringe and tubing at the breast with expressed breast milk until he is full.

Before, during, and after feedings, Christopher gets weighed. Guy helps position him and holds the syringe. He thaws and warms the milk. He changes the diapers in between. He holds Christopher after feedings so that I can then pump to encourage my breasts to start making milk again.

But he goes back to work again Monday, and I find myself wondering how I'm going to continue this on my own. I need four more hands. And I need to figure out how I'm supposed to sleep and keep this up.

And tonight, we will run out of expressed breast milk. As much as I know that plenty of babies have been raised on formula, and it isn't Satan's spit as some breast feeding advocates would have you believe? I don't want to feed my child formula. I just don't. I don't want good enough for him. I want the absolute best.

I know there is a lot of wisdom out there, but I'm turning off comments for this. I just can't bear another piece of advice right now. I swear to you that I've heard them all. The herbs, the pumping, the beer, diet, rest, prescriptions and everything else. Even my favorite piece of advice for how to get pregnant is back. Just relax. Oh please.

But I have a plan now and a lactation consultant that I trust.

So I'm just going to keep at it and know that you are silently cheering me on for this round.

Not surprisingly, it is time to go feed my child. If you could say a little prayer that the well isn't dry, I would greatly appreciate it.

In flood the doubts

Weaving in and out of the warm fuzzy posts is a post about a screaming baby. A post about a baby who is uncomfortable, hurt, upset, or angry about something. Something that I can only guess at.

Yesterday, Christopher spent all of his waking moments as screaming moments. By 2:30 AM, I was completely frazzled. I sat, rocking him in my grandmother's rocking chair, with tears streaming down my face and a voice running through my head saying,

"This was a mistake. You aren't cut out to be a mother."

Where does that voice come from? How can I fly from the safety of intuition to the despair of failure in less than 12 hours?

And now? My child is sleeping soundly beside me after a long night and a long day, and I wonder how I could let myself think such things.

Dr. Sears said something to this effect: It isn't your fault that they cry, and sometimes you can't stop them from crying. The best you can do is to not let them cry alone.

And so that's what I did. It didn't seem like nearly enough.

Intuition

I've spent the past week trying to learn how to do this thing called motherhood. Some parts of it come naturally. Others are being learned through trial and error. And still more is being learned through the advice of friends and family.

My parents are gone. Guy has gone back to work. It's just me and Christopher, and of course the pups during the day. It's quiet, and it's giving me the chance to get to know this little bird of mine. We are doing alright.

Sunday, we had a session with a newborn photographer. Lovely was with us too, so it was perfect timing to get some family shots as well. Thing is, Christopher decided that he would just be hungry or awake the whole time. No sleeping baby shots for us. He also let loose with the most poop I have seen come out of him yet - while he was naked. In my arms. I had handfuls of runny yellow brown poop. And I didn't mind. Amazing.


I didn't understand what people were telling me about just "knowing" how to be his momma. Before he was born, it was blind faither that you all knew what you were talking about, and that once he was here, I would suddenly get it. But you were right. Granted, I learn new things every day. I'm still unsure of a lot of things, but you were right. I do know how to be his mom.

I know when he needs to be picked up. I know that the sound of my voice is going to stop him from crying unless something is hurting him. I know that he much prefers the right boob over the left one. I know that he loves to sleep on either my chest or his daddy's chest, bundled up like a little peanut. I know that he hates to be hot.

Last night, I didn't know how to help him though. He was inconsolable for about two hours. We tried to nurse; we rocked; we walked; we bounced; we took off clothes and put them back on. Finally, we called the doctor. The 24 hour nurse talked me through his day and told me it was most likely his tummy and some wicked gas. She gave us some things to try, and within about 30 minutes, he was asleep. I let him sleep on my chest like a little peanut because I didn't want to risk putting him down and waking him up again.

As he lay there, finally consoled and content, I gently rubbed my face across the top of his head. It's so soft. It smells so good.

What I don't know, I can learn. There are family, friends, nurses, doctors, books, and the web to help provide me with information.

What I do know though, can't be taught. I understand that now. All the preparing I tried to do - all the reading and all the questions - they just won't teach you.

You know how to be a mother right when you become a mother. I get that now.

How Little Bird was hatched

I'm reminded more and more that this space, though shared with many, is still first and foremost a personal journal. So as I begin this journey through motherhood, I'll most likely drone on and on. Don't feel badly to skip some posts, come back later, or even just skim. I'm going to just record it all for the record.

For the record, for my record, the very long birth story about about a very long birth.

Thursday morning, January 24, I got out of bed after a really terrible night’s sleep. Guy was already up. We ended up fighting, I was completely irrational, and I felt so badly that I cancelled my lessons for that afternoon. I took two hot baths that day, trying to make myself feel somewhat better. It didn’t occur to me that I was in labor.

That evening, Guy and I were resting on the bed. I was talking to my sister-in-law on the phone. We were discussing whether or not the menstrual type cramps I had been having were coming in regular intervals and could be contractions. As soon as we decided that I should think about timing them, I felt a pop and a little dampness. I told Sil that I thought my water just broke, and as I stood up, there was a gush.

We decided that I had in fact, been having contractions. Even though I had posted on my blog earlier that day that I was not in labor.

I called the doula to let her know, but we told her that we would be fine for awhile. We were hungry, and I had a ton to do because I had lay around all day and wasn’t ready to go to the hospital.

We went to our favorite Mexican restaurant and had some dinner. My contractions were much more distinct now, and as soon as we got home, we started timing them. They started coming about five minutes apart, but only in groups of four or five. Then, they would stop for about 15 minutes. After trying to sleep for a couple of hours, I needed to get up, breathe, and sway through the contractions. When I had almost an hour of regular contractions lasting a minute, I called the doula.

After I hung up the phone with her, I stopped having contractions. It was about 6:30 AM and my water had been broken for 12 hours.

When the doula arrived, she got me up and walking. We walked the dogs, I walked the stairs, I sat on the birthing ball, bouncing and rocking. Still nothing.

Guy said, “Let’s get your bag. We are going to the hospital.” I didn’t argue. Laboring at home had come to an end. A literal stand still. And the birth preferences we had carefully crafted and planned for Little Bird had to be put aside in order to get him here safely.

I was admitted to the hospital after stopping at my OB’s office and discovering that I was still only a fingertip dilated and 50% effaced. It was as if labor had never started the night before. The OB said that this was a worst case scenario with first time moms. I was disappointed that the pitocin domino had fallen, but I accepted it. Around 10:00 AM Friday morning, I was getting my IV and they were starting me on Pitocin by 10:30.

At first, the contractions were most bearable in the bed. I was able to continue talking through them until about 1:00 PM. At that point, the Pitocin had been turned up, and I needed to be up and moving through them. The doula set up the birthing ball by the bed for me and we worked on the ball to help me focus through each contraction.

The contractions that had a natural climb, peak, and decent were manageable. We vocalized and controlled my breathing through them. The Pitocin type contractions that started at the peak and just declined, giving me no ascent through which to focus really threw me for a loop and were much harder to endure.

Around 3:00, the Pitocin had been turned up some more, and something went wrong. My doula said that she counted seven contractions that all never ended before the next began. Yet we knew that it was too early for me to be in transition. I had just been checked, and I was hardly dilated to 2 centimeters.

Unable to focus and unable to tolerate the pain that had built for about 20 minutes, we had the nurse turn the pitocin back down and allow me to recuperate. We hoped that my own body would kick in and continue the labor process. Instead, it stopped once again. My water had been broken for 22 hours at this point.

At 4:00, we started the Pitocin over again. I labored on the birthing ball and standing up. Our nurse was going off duty at 7:00, and I really wanted to have made it to transition by then. She had been completely supportive of our decision to keep the labor and delivery as natural as possible. The monitoring was continuous, but she made it so that I could still move freely, and she didn’t panic when there was a drop in the baby’s heartbeat due to me swaying on the ball and moving the monitor.

Turns out, I wasn’t in transition by 7:00. I was about 3 centimeters dilated. My lovely day nurse was replaced by a nurse who very much wanted for me to go ahead and have a baby already. The night nurse did not like the records that she was left with for me. The monitoring, although continuous, was not completely accurate as it slid around my belly during my swaying and rocking. The night nurse was on a mission to get this baby out as soon as possible because my water had broken over 24 hours ago by then. Upon reflection, I can’t say that I blame her one bit.

The doctor on call for my delivery was the one doctor in the practice that Guy and I didn’t like. He was on call all weekend long, so there was no chance of seeing anyone else. The thing is though, I think he really did his best to let us continue to try for the natural birth that we wanted to have even though he would have rather us just fit into his typical day. He actually did let me
labor with only the pitocin and the intermittent monitoring until I hit that 24 hour mark past where my water broke. We knew that he didn’t agree with all of our decisions and couldn’t appreciate why I just wouldn’t get the epidural, let them turn up the pitocin and move on with things. While he didn’t agree, he did show us respect in our decision. That surprised me, and I appreciated it.

I don’t remember much from about 7:00 forward. My focus had to be 100% getting through the pain. Breathing, relaxing, preparing for the next contraction. Getting back in the bed was the worst. I asked the doctor to do my cervix check while I was on the birthing ball, but he told me he would probably hurt his back which I thought was funny since I seemed to be the one in agonizing pain. So into the bed I went. I had one contraction in the bed, and realized that I couldn’t take another. He did a quick check and reported that I was still about 3 centimeters.

Needless to say, we were becoming increasingly discouraged. What I didn’t realize at the time was that everyone else was becoming increasingly concerned. The doctor turned up the pitocin again and we persevered back on the ball.

For some reason, I had picked 10:00 for my goal time. That if I could make it to 10:00, then I could make it all the way through. When 10:00 came and went, I let myself start coming to grips with how incredibly tired I was. Another cervix check was coming up and I was dreading having to get back in the bed for it.

Once there, the contractions were coming faster, and after two of them, I knew I was done. I couldn’t lay still, sit still, or breathe at all through them. Our doula was doing her best to reach any sliver of me that she could. She later described it as though I was a cat who had been thrown into a pool of water. And I was.

I stared at Guy in between contractions hoping that he would say the word so that I didn’t have to. He did. I heard him ask how long it would take to get me an epidural. Twenty minutes. He told them to do it. It had become not just about pain relief, but about getting me out of the way so that the pitocin could be turned up and allow my body to do what it needed to do. Besides, I was scared of each oncoming contraction and had lost any ability to focus and relax. I knew this wasn’t good for the baby. And I knew that we had to help him get here soon.

By about 11:30 PM, I had my epidural. I had progressed to almost 5 centimeters. And then I slept. I remember telling some strange stories to the doula and the nurse. But mostly, I slept. Before I knew it, they were waking me up, telling me that I needed to be alert enough to push. I heard Guy tell the doula that she could go home if she wanted to, and thankfully, she declined. He didn’t know that she would also coach me through pushing. But she and I both noted that the experience was eerily turning into the strange dream I had the week before.

I remember struggling to wake up and feel like myself. I wanted to be completely present for the birth. I wanted to remember every moment of it. Experience it. That was the most frustrating part of the day. Whether it was the drugs or the exhaustion, I just couldn’t be as present as I wanted to be.

At 1:30 AM (now the 26^th, the day past his due date), I began pushing. My doula was right by my side ready to coach me, when all of the sudden, the nurse broke in with a “pushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpush.” Looking back, it was by far the funniest moment of the day. All three of us just looked at her as though she had lost her mind. I asked the doula to coach me, the nurse got the hint, and we were all square.

I requested the mirror. If I couldn’t really feel anything, I at least wanted to be able to see it. Aside from the view of my butt, it was incredibly cool. I could see his little head crowning. I could see it all up until the point when the OB joined us again. He came in, told me I was pushing all wrong (because I was inhaling and then exhaling in a measured way throughout the push and he wanted me to hold my breath through the push), and then rolled his eyes and shook his head when I didn’t change my method. I swear if I could have felt my legs I would have kicked him upside his head.

He told me he was going to do a “small episiotomy” and I asked him not to. I had seen how close we were. Christopher was almost there, and I just wanted to finish up and take the chance to tear a little. He put down the scalpel.

I didn’t look at the clock the whole time I was pushing. I just pushed and visualized everything opening up and letting him through. The doula continued to coach me, and Guy watched with a scientific fascination, walking back and forth to shmoop my head and tell me I was doing a good job and then check out what was going on down there.

At 3:56 AM, after 2 ½ hours of pushing, 33 ½ hours of labor, 4 ½ hours after my epidural, and at least 8 years of yearning, Christopher was born. He was a little wiggly purple dude who screamed his way into the world, but as soon as he landed on my chest, he was quiet. He struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, my eyes were the first thing he saw.

The goal was a healthy baby. That’s what we got. I couldn’t be happier.

February Perfect Post

Not too long ago, when I could still type with both hands at once, I came across a relatively new blogger. This is a woman who you read and wish you could just meet her for a drink somewhere. She's one of those bloggers who is able to remain personable right through the dehumanization of a computer screen.

Her post, Icebreaker, is an amazing piece of writing, leaving you breathless by the end.

I would pontificate more on it, but there's a baby that needs changing, and you really should just go read her words anyway.

See all the perfect posts for January here and here.

This is the reason why

I didn't know contentment until I picked up my crying child, only to find that being held was the only thing he needed. As he put his head to my chest and sighed out his last whimper, I melted into the complete fulfillment of life as it should be.

There are a million posts in my head and unfortunately 80 million gallons of milk in my boobs. I'll be back soon I hope. After the girls get under control.

So much for "just laying low" last week

I did not mean to tell a lie on Thursday. I promise.

Apparently, it is possible to be in labor and not realize it until your water breaks.

33 1/2 hours later though? I totally knew it was labor. I'm a quick study.

And you know what else I am?

I'm a mommy.

Welcome to the world, Little Bird. We're going to call you Christopher.











Of course there's more to the story, but I've fallen asleep no less than 18 times before finishing this little smidgen. Thank you so much for all the love, prayers, and congratulations. You all are the best.

So you don't wonder

I'm not in labor.

Just laying low and taking it easy.

Boobless

Thank God.

Pissy

If I have to have a category that I file posts under called, "Things I should keep to myself," perhaps I should do a better job of editing myself and find a better way to work out my feelings than this blog which has become a public place.

Pissy post has been deleted. I am now taking the advice of CGF and going to bake something. Step away from the computer. Thank you, CGF.

Sorry if you were subject to my onslaught of venom and frustration.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is the day.

I want nothing more than to get in my car and go sit with WonderDaddy tomorrow. Or stay at the house and play with the boys. Have a cup of coffee with the parents. Anything.

Just to be there.

All I can do though, is sit here and hold her hand virtually.

We've waited for this day for a long time now. Please go over and leave Susan a comment.

Better yet, I think it would be awesome if there were posts all over the blogosphere that wished her luck. All of them titled "Tomorrow."

Please? Just a quick post, link to her post, and title it "Tomorrow." Thanks.

Harmony In Motion
Two Is Now Three
Two Lines on a Stick
It's Not About That Anyway
Around the Island
A Mother's Musings
Anderson Family
Pretty Babies
I Can Fly, Just Not Up
The Further Adventures of SpaceMom
GoodyBlog
Lawyer Mama
Useless Ramblings
Tumble Dry
House of H
Fertile Mertile
What Works for Us
Mountain Momma
Dirty Laundry
Mamma Loves
Stimeyland
Slouching Mom
Motherhood Uncensored
My Life As It Is
Crib Chronicles
Karaoke Diva
Live from the Wang of America
Mom 22 Teens
A Bead a Day
The Estrogen Files
The Farm House Kids
The Dairy Wife
The Dana Files
Playgroups Are No Place for Children
Petroville
Daily Verses
Little Buggas
Sarah and the Goon Squad
Zone Family
Life with Our Little Ladies
Andria and Co.
"That" Psycho Family
Sassafrass
Ladybug & Lizards
Plans2Match
Miss Zoot
Nervous Girl
Mom, Ma'am, Me
I Can't Complain Anymore Than Usual
Mommy Dance
Slacker-moms-r-us
The Blogs of Life
Midwestern Mommy
Mommy to the Snugglebunnies
Hearts Wide Open
Baby Cubed
Sunrays and Saturdays
Chicken and Cheese
Her Bad Mother

For Liz

Alrighty then, Liz. You have been super patient. Here they are. All the way up to 38 weeks. I'm hoping we get to start seeing some of you and Alice soon.

Everyone is ready

Pupstar is just as ready for Bird to go ahead and come as I am.

She's been hanging in the nursery today.

Maybe it's a sign.

Haiku reflection on a new me

Guy and Lovely gave me a new mixer for Christmas. For 10 years, I have used my very basic Kitchen Aid 4 1/2 quart mixer for all my baking. I felt lucky to have a Kitchen Aid, but I knew that it was a little small for the amount and kind of baking I like to do.

There have been times that Guy has tried to talk me into buying the Professional 600 series mixer that I drooled over. The 6 quart one. Yum. But I just couldn't do it. I had a mixer that worked just fine. It seemed like such a frivolous purchase when I had something that already did the job.

Thank goodness for gifts. The new mixer is a power house, and I swear, I made the best pound cake I have ever made with it on its first run. The crust was absolutely perfect. The batter had room to breathe in that wonderful 6 quart bowl. I love it.

Since my old mixer didn't break, I couldn't see getting rid of it. It's a great mixer. So, we deemed it Lovely's mixer and set about teaching her how to bake.

Yesterday, I gave her a stack of cookbooks so she could pick out a cake to make.

She chose a Hot Milk Cake with Caramel Icing from the Jackson Junior League's Come On In cookbook.

Oh boy. I have never done caramel before.

We set our mixers up this morning and each made the cake. At the same time. Because I think the easiest way to learn it to get to do it yourself. We walked through the steps together and both had some really good looking batter to go into our respective ovens.

Tonight, we tackled the icing, but did it together instead of each doing a separate batch.

I am happy to report that it turned out beautifully. We were beyond proud of ourselves. We cut into Lovely's cake, that she made completely with her own two hands, and it was fantastic. My daddy would be in the kitchen with a fork, finishing off at least one of those cakes himself if he were here.

Now, if someone could just tell me how to clean caramelized sugar out of my cast iron skillet, I would be so thankful.

Tomorrow, we tackle some pajama pants with some cute pink flannel that her dad picked out for her. It's dadgum Home Economics 101 around here. From the woman who never considered herself very domestic. The woman who was going to be a rock star. Then the woman who was married to her job.

Y'all come by. I'll make you some biscuits. Things are different now.

************

Allowing for change
Allows you to find yourself
In comfortable skin.

Make sure you stop by and wish Jennifer safe travels and painless moving before she takes a Haiku Hiatus.

Countdown

Single digits. The counter on the left is in single digits. That doesn't mean a whole lot I suppose. It is only an estimated due date, after all. The fact that the word "February" came out of the doctor's mouth today did not slip past me. I heard it.

Someone else is in single digits. Whymommy, my dear Susan, is five days away from her surgery.

This has been floating around in my head all month, as I've been watching our respective countdowns. I thought there would be something poetic to say about it. Some sort of literary bit to compose.

But there isn't.

We just find ourselves both waiting.

And it does feel like we are both getting our second chances at the same time.

Grumpykins

I'm a grump. You can imagine why. Bird is teasing me.

This morning though? I'm so easily annoyed that I'm bitching at our local news show. Just talking to it, telling them how stupid they are.

They were all over the Wintery Mix that we would have this morning. Last night, they went as far as to say that we would have about 2 inches of snow this morning. Granted, it would melt before lunchtime, but 2 inches of snow for a couple of hours is better than nothing.

Now, we have a muddy backyard, a very sad Lovely, and nothing but rain at 34 degrees.

And the weather people? Not apologizing. They are just covering their butts with pictures of some snow flurry that happened at 4:00 AM about an hour north of here.

They could just say they were wrong. It would be far less annoying.

Circle of life and our beloved fatso pig

We sat at the dinner table tonight with books and papers on labor and delivery. Seeing how Lovely may be with us during Little Bird's arrival, we wanted to help her understand the stages of labor and what would happen during delivery.

The basics were covered. The basics of labor and delivery and the basics of our plans. She asked a couple of questions, looked at a couple of the books with us, and we were done. If she thinks of anymore questions she said she would ask us later.

It was very cool to sit and discuss the beginning of life as a family. Birth. The arrival of Little Bird.

After the conversation, we cleaned up the kitchen and I took some laundry upstairs. Lovely was in her room changing the batteries in her Nintendo. I knocked on her door with some clean clothes for her to put away.

"I haven't checked the pig in a couple of mornings since you've been here. Is he doing okay?"

She said that she hadn't checked on him this morning either. We noticed his water was getting low, and I went over to get the bottle.

Hershey was laying in the back of his pen where his Timothy hay made both a bed and a feast for the fatso pig. His eyes were open, but he was very still.

A couple of days ago, Lovely and I had Hershey out for some guinea pig loving. I gently pointed out that the lump on the back of his neck had gotten significantly larger since the last time she was home. I said that I was worried Hershey wouldn't be with us much longer.

I didn't think that it was a matter of days.

Hershey is gone. He died in his favorite spot in his cavi condo. Guy said he had checked on him this morning and he was still with us. Sometime during the day, Hershey left this life. Only after eating 99% of the giant bed of hay though.

I cried more than anyone. I don't know why I loved that little pig. I've never been a rodent person. When he unexpectedly moved in here, from Lovely's mother's house, he squeaked his way right into my heart. He would rattle his cage and squeak at me as I worked on my sewing in the next room, as I changed Lovely's sheets, or put away towels in the linen closet.

"Get in here, woman, and give me some damn yogurt treats!"

He was a demanding little pig.

The setter loved him. Pupstar wanted to eat him. Gibson also drooled over him.

Lovely loved him. He was hers. He survived her parents' divorce with her and followed her into her new part-time home. Her father bought that pig for her, and she loved him.

I got a box, a funky hand towel with pom poms on the end of it, and Lovely suggested making a bed of hay for him. We did. Guy placed Hershey on his bed of hay one last time and wrapped the towel over him.

We said our words over Hershey's last resting place, wrote notes to him on the box, and said good bye.

Starting our night with birth. Ending our night with death.

It was a full evening.

We will miss you, fatso pig. You were much loved.

I don't know nothing about no babies

It's not that I'm ready for Bird to come. I'm not sure that I am. I kind of like having him right here with me all the time. I kind of like having him poking at me and squirming about. He is certainly easier to take care of now than he will be in a couple of weeks.

But I'm getting anxious that he is alright. I'm getting anxious that he is out of room. He doesn't move like he used to, and although I know that it is because he can't, I still worry. I still count his movements and give him a gentle rub to make sure he responds. He always does, but I still worry.

My Sil told me that the worry starts when you find out you are pregnant and just continues on forever.

My biggest worry now though, is that I won't know how to be a mom. What if I can't figure out how I'm supposed to love this little guy?

I've never been the nurturing type. The other day, one of my younger students, a sixth grader, was having a meltdown over her least favorite contest piece. Some days, I'll listen, offer a tissue, and try to be understanding. Last week? I just looked at her and told her she would have to wait until after her lesson to cry because we didn't have time to deal with it today. I told her I was sorry she was frustrated, but she just had to pull it together so we could get our work done.

Looking back, that was harsh. She did respond and pull it together, but I find that it is more in my nature to be very matter of fact with children and not at all coddle them. I have always been in the camp of children being little people, not just children.

I believe that the best thing I can teach a child is independence. How to do it themselves. I teach my students how to learn on their own, not how to play each piece. I teach them how to problem solve, not how to recite back a bunch of notes. I want them to grow up to be pianists and musicians who understand on their own what it is they are doing.

I also believe that in teaching a child how to do things for themselves, you instill in them confidence. By telling my students that I believe they can do it on their own, they start to believe it too. And then they can. They can accomplish things on their own simply because someone told them they could and gave them the tools to do it.

It doesn't feel like any of those beliefs or my natural instincts are maternal. It feels like the opposite. I'm anxious that I will expect too much from my child too soon.

He will be helpless.

I haven't dealt with helpless before. Not well, at least. And that makes me more than a little nervous.

I have good support though, and when I talked about this with Guy last night he said,

"You won't be alone taking care of the baby."

He's right. He will be here to help, and he knows what he's doing more than I do. That is a huge comfort.

Just hashing some things out here before they show up in my dreams again.

Last night, I dreamed I had the slipperiest baby ever and that it just slid right on out and I caught him myself.

It was a much shorter dream because I barely slept. Every time I would fall asleep I would immediately wake myself back up again by snoring like a gorilla.

And that makes me want for Little Bird to go ahead and come. Because I'm already exhausted.

Up for interpretation

There is this dream that I keep having lately. It has various details, but some of the basics are the same. The one I remember most vividly starts out with me going into labor at home.

When Guy arrives home, he isn't the Guy I know, but instead, he is a large Hispanic man who works as a janitor. It is still Guy, but it isn't. And I can't understand a word he says because all he speaks is Spanish.

From there, I wake up in the hospital to find that I had already had the baby. He looks like a blond haired, blue eyed Cabbage Patch doll and never blinks. He won't have anything to do with breastfeeding.

I can't remember any of the birth. When I ask Guy about it, he just continues to speak Spanish to me. Then, I realize that we had forgotten to call the doula when I went into labor. There is no one to tell me about my labor and delivery. When I get up from the bed, I find that I have an incision across the bottom of my belly that was most certainly from a c-section, but everyone insists that I didn't have one.

Things are a little sketchy after we leave the hospital. We have some errands to run, and I don't know what happened to the baby. All I know is that I thought I kept losing him, but it always turned out that someone else was just taking care of him for me. Whenever I tried to get him back, they would turn me away telling me that they had it covered and I should just go on and get done what I needed to get done. I just wanted them to give him back to me.

That's it. The recurring dream. I don't think it's hard to interpret.

I obviously have some anxiety that I haven't consciously worked through. Then again, I don't feel anxious during the day. I feel excited. I guess I should spend a little time though, on the glaringly obvious fears I still have.

It's probably very wrong to be amused at myself for being so ridiculous and for having such transparent dreams. Makes me feel quite silly.

I'm officially ready for him to be here so I can start worrying about him in person. Face to face.

Haiku Friday

One for Bird . . .

I am so tired
Little Bird's not even here
Need to get some sleep.


One for Momma . . .

Momma's chemo works
Her ca125
Is down even more.


One for Lovely . . .

I love track out time
Hanging with my Lovely girl
Gonna learn to sew.


More haiku goodness over at Jennifer's place. Check them out. Even better yet, join in! 5-7-5 is a piece of cake.

Not even cohesive enough for a post title

I am so boring. Baby baby baby. If I could think about something else to write about, I would. Just when I think I have though, Bird gives me a good deep dig into my ribs and reminds me that I am supposed to be obsessed right about now.

Doctor visit today. Lost a pound and a half. Declined the cervix check again - would rather be surprised if something is happening now. Bird is still head down and squirmy. My lovely NMD ladies tell me that the weight loss is indicative of something about to happen. Interesting.

It at least inspired me to finish boxing up the Christmas stuff that had just made its way into the guest bedroom. I need a new tub. Even after all the stuff I got rid of this year, I still need a new tub. Dang.

Guy is singing the blues now. Not because he is blue though. Just because he got a new Robben Ford book. I love to listen to him.

Haven't heard back from the photographer yet. I emailed him today. Told him how disappointed I was, but that we would like to try again. Tried to be very diplomatic about it. We'll see.

Alright. Time to give Canape a little advice.

Papa wants to get Bird a cradle. We have a moses basket, so I'm wondering if all we really need is a stand for it. Papa really wants Bird to have Guy's cradle, but that's a whole other ridiculous story. I feel sure that Guy will have the things back from his childhood one day anyway, but it's not worth the trouble right now. So he has come up with this idea of buying a new cradle.

The thing is, I don't want him to think we don't appreciate what he wants to do for the baby. I just don't want him spending a bunch of money on something we don't really need. On the other hand, if it's what he wants to do, who am I to stop him from doing it?

There is a balance I think in letting people do something for you because it makes them feel good, and stopping them from doing something because it is not necessary. I don't know what that balance is. Is the gift to make him happy? Or do we let him know that we appreciate it but don't really need it?

Thoughts? Opinions? Weigh in here for me. What would you do? Let him buy an expensive cradle or ask him to just get a stand for the moses basket?

Certainly not an ad for SanDisk memory cards being that they are complete pieces of crap apparently

Guy and I had some pictures done in mid December. Couple shots and maternity shots. We didn't have a wedding, so there are no wedding pictures. We wanted some good pictures, so we hired this guy to take some.

It was a gamble. His work is really quite good, but he had never done maternity shots before. We didn't want the heart around the belly button shot anyway, so we opted to go with him for his portraiture.

When he asked if we needed the pictures before the holidays, we said "no." What I didn't figure into that was him waiting until now to actually take said pictures off the memory card and try to load them.

Email tonight said this:

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news about the photos..."

They are ruined. Something about the memory card and noise and whatnot. There are no pictures. He wants to come and reshoot them this weekend.

Here's where the not hiring a maternity photographer is coming back to bite me in my ever expanding ass. There is a HUGE difference between a 34 week pregnant woman and a 38 week pregnant woman. I am enormous. Shirts don't cover my belly. My face is starting to swell. I don't glow anymore, I just flat out sweat. I'm no longer in the mood to cuddle up to Guy and smile for a camera.

And by the time I am in that mood again? I won't be pregnant anymore, and I will have missed my chance at having maternity shots of this pregnancy with Little Bird.

My friends have told me tonight to let him come back. Get the pictures. That I will regret it if I don't. I know they are right. But something just doesn't feel authentic about it.

It was such a good day. We had just brought Gibson home. The house was all decorated for Christmas. Guy and I had snuggled in that morning and skipped church to get ready for the photographer. The light was right. The mood was light.

I just don't know that it can be recreated. I certainly don't trust him anymore.

He should have checked those pictures that day. Even if he didn't clean them up and get them to me until now, that would have been fine. But he should have checked them that very day. Stuff happens. Things break. Equipment malfunctions. Fine. But to have waited this long to find out? For all he knows, I've already had this baby. I should email him and tell him I have and see what he says.

I've at least decided not to email him back tonight. I tried, but I couldn't keep myself from typing things that I shouldn't say. Especially if I decide to have him come back. Having him come back after calling him all sorts of adjectives that might come before moron probably isn't a great idea.

Take your best shot

Remember this little guy? Of course, how could you forget. He seems to be all I talk or think about these days.

I've been a little too gunshy to start a baby pool yet. Seeing as though he could come at any point now, I thought it might be fun.

Just click on the picture of Little Bird, and you will be taken to the location of the gamble.

We know he is a boy. My due date is January 25, and I'm a first time mom. That's all the hinting you get.

There will be an awesome prize for the winner. Don't ask what it is. I don't know.

I'll attempt to move this to the sidebar too, for those who come along later and want to play.

Go on and have a guess!

Banned from yoga

Guy decided that I should not return to my yoga class until after the baby is born. I protested until he reminded me that I had tripped over the same dog bowl three times in less than five minutes.

And he reminded me that I have to pull up onto the bed with help from him or one of the four posts.

And then he reminded me of the 12 pencils that he picked up off of the floor when he cleaned up the music studio last week. Because I dropped them and just left them there. Because it was easier than bending over to pick them up.

I suppose he has a point or two.

Stand by me, stand by us

I've been trying to figure out what to write all day. There was this post that I was going to write on Saturday about my friend, my hairdresser, Trish. The post, in my head, was going to be about how this time last year, I would go see Trish at least one a week. Her chair at the salon was my safe haven.

I was so depressed. So very sad. With Trish, I could show up as real as I needed to. She would trim, color, and wax my woes away for the morning. She would make it all better for the time being, and gave me so much support after we lost the baby. I leaned on her and leaned hard.

Friday, I went in for some color, and thought about these things. Thought about how grateful I am to have Trish. Thought about this post that I was going to write.

Then she goes and outdoes herself.

There was this conversation we had about a baby shower. I told her about the amazing group of women that had thrown me a shower from the corners of the country. Still, to this day, I can't find the words to express how incredible that felt. I just couldn't believe it.

It is hard to describe, but after my divorce, there was a definite pruning of friends. Not necessarily by my choice, but most certainly for the best. As Guy has so delicately put it, "You're not so great at making friends." No. No, I'm not always the best judge of a healthy friendship.

In short, there just wasn't really anyone that was going to throw a baby shower out of my remaining few IRL friends. There were good reasons, and having pruned the friendship tree of all the rotten apples a couple of years ago, I knew not to take it personally. The timing and circumstances were just so.

But Trish. After all she already had done for me. All that leaning she put up with, she just did the unbelievable.

A shower. A surprise. At her salon, the very place which had been my sanctuary this time last year. Spouses were included, which was very cool. Even Gibson got to come along. There were lasting friends, who Trish pulled together and had pitch in to give Bird a welcoming party. Everyone brought something. They got there early to help her decorate. They stayed and helped clean up. It was a very cool group effort (like my NMD darlings), and Guy and I felt very very loved.

Again, I find myself at a loss for how to accurately describe how lovely it was. How good it felt to be surrounded by my favorite people here in this city I've made my home. How important it was to have those who have chosen to stand by me, be there to welcome the child that I had almost given up on.

When we were all leaving, my dear friend Dr. L said to me with tears in her eyes, how happy she was that this was happening. I smiled back and said that it had been a long time coming, hadn't it? She smiled back and said yes, it had.

See, the ones that stuck around - those friends who decided I hadn't lost my mind when I blew up my life and started piecing it back together again - they see the difference. The ones that didn't just judge me, they are the ones who know how indescribably lucky I am to have been given this chance. Granted this life. The ones who knew me before know what could have been.

I don't take a single stitch of it for granted.

Today, I especially don't take Trish for granted. Or anyone else who was involved in helping us welcome Little Bird yesterday. He's a lucky little dude to have such good aunties and uncles.

Haiku holiday

I was a bad girl and skipped haiku-ing over the holidays. You all kept up so well, and I enjoyed reading them. Now, I will join you again.


******
Gibson, you poor boy
We are always coming back
You are safe at home.

Rescue Remedy
Isn't really helping you
Separation angst.

Gibson, you sweet boy
You're in your forever home
I wish you knew that.

********

Poor big love. Gibson has severe separation anxiety. He has to stay in his crate when we are gone. We can't trust him in the house, and supposedly, he is "crate trained." We don't know what the foster family thought that meant.

But when we leave him, he panics. Shelter nightmares? Fear of family leaving him forever? I don't know, but I wish we could make it go away.

We are trying. Safe word to put him in the crate. Leave for only 10 minutes. Come back and let him out only if he's quiet. Don't make a big deal out of leaving or returning. But in the meantime, we still have to leave him sometimes. Guy has to work. I have errands to run. And poor Gibson doesn't think we are ever coming back.

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For more Haiku, go follow this link. For a haiku that will make you cry, go visit Labugga. She wrote a very special haiku for me today.

For me and Bird.

Because today, we are at term.

Thank you, LA.

In case it hadn't struck you yet

Today is Thursday.

And Whymommy didn't have to have chemo today.

This is the bestest Thursday in quite awhile.

Mutual respect

Yesterday I had my first of the weekly doctor's visits. Saw my least favorite doctor. Declined the cervix check (dude, it is closed tight, and Bird is hanging way up there, I don't need your jelly fingers to tell me that). Had only one question for him.

After he palpated my tummy and told me that Bird was head down and would most likely stay that way I asked, "Can you tell which direction he is facing?"

His reply?

"That's not important right now."

This is the same guy who when I asked a couple of months ago about eating and drinking during early labor and wearing my own clothes instead of a hospital gown replied,

"You aren't going to want to do that."

Um. I know you're a doctor and all, and that's great. But could you please answer my stinking questions? I can respect you and your knowledge a whole lot easier if you stop acting like a pompous ass.

You see, it is this attitude that annoys me most at the doctor's office. My OB, the one that I normally see, doesn't do this. She answers the question. I appreciate that.

The doctor I saw last week was in a huge hurry, which considering it was the day after Christmas and she was most likely the only one there, is understandable. We took in our birth plan that day and showed it to her. Asked if there was anything that she saw that sent up a red flag where the hospital policy was concerned. The only thing was the IV. Even though the birth plan passed out by the OB's office says that IV's will be given on an individual basis and that not everyone will need one, she said that I at least need to have an access point.

That's fine. I understand. I mean the whole reason for going to the hospital is for the "what if something happens" idea. And if something happens, they are going to want to have IV access ready and waiting. I get it, and I'll budge on that one.

When she got down to the infant care section though, she said that they would need to take the baby and put him under the warmer instead of leaving him with me and letting the nurses do the APGAR right on my chest.

I explained to her that I was incredibly keen on immediate skin-to-skin contact and immediate breast feeding. Before any of the other was to happen.

Then she told me that he had to go to the warmer. So I asked her why, thinking maybe there was some medical something I didn't know about that I needed more information on.

Not so much.

She told me, "You aren't warm enough. The baby needs the warmer."

I calmly (and hopefully respectfully) explained to her that I was plenty warm, and that babies were born and survived without warmers all over the world.

She disagreed, and I smiled and told her that I heard what she was saying, but that a mother's chest is absolutely warm enough for her newborn. We left it at that. Agreeing to disagree.

What gets my goat is that she couldn't just say, "Gee, it's so much easier for the nurses if you will just let him go to the warmer for 90 seconds, get weighed and measured, and then get him right back. They are used to that routine." I would be almost willing to budge just because they asked nicely.

But trying to give me some crap about babies having to be in a warmer for survival? Please.

And herein lies what I think is the final dilemma about the birthing process for me.

I respect the doctors and nurses. They have been through countless hours of school and training to do what they do. Their goal is to have a healthy mother and baby at the end of the day. I think they deserve the utmost of respect.

On the other hand, they will also be looking after countless other women that day. Countless other patients. And they will be on a schedule and in a routine. It is likely that they will want me to just behave and do everything like everyone else does. And there are some things I would like to do differently. Things that are important to me, but will not fit into their routine exactly.

The dilemma is then, how do you let them know that you aren't trying to disrespect them or second guess everything they are doing, but that for at least an hour after he is born, assuming that everything has gone smoothly and as planned, that I want him on me. On my skin. Before a full bath. Before anything. One hour. Our hour. I think it is that important.

I suppose a mountain of baked goods for the nurses station isn't out of the question. And there will be Guy and the doula.

Really though, if you get down to the heart of it, it is a mutual respect thing. I want to show respect to the doctors and nurses, but you know what?

It would be damn nice if they showed some respect to me as well. Straight answers. Respecting a decision that hasn't been made without lots of learning. Understanding that although I am a first time mom, I am not an idiot.

Our hospital boasts delivering 7,000 babies a year. Surely I can't be the only mother who has some definite opinions about certain things.

Post Script

This next paragraph is taken from the latest weekly email newsletter sent out by the hospital where we will be going:

If your birth is uncomplicated, plan to spend a quiet hour or more holding and getting to know your new baby skin-to-skin, on your chest, with a light blanket over both of you for warmth. Research suggests newborns allowed 70 to 80 minutes of undisturbed skin-to-skin contact with their mothers right after birth sleep more, cry less, and are less stressed than infants who are held briefly (for 15 to 20 minutes), then separated for washing and dressing. If you plan to breastfeed, nursing your baby during this time will help you to get the best start possible.

So as I was saying . . .

Too funny

This made my day. Snort.

Only the fried pickles are still there, by the way. Whymommy and I escaped years ago. Virtually unscathed I might add.

Heh. Thanks for the laugh, Kristen!

Seven and five memes

I'm not a resolution maker. However, having finally caught up on my blog reading even if I had to skim some, I would like to stay more up to date with things and the people I care about in this community.

That includes answering memes and awards in a timely fashion. I've been a rude blogger lately, and that is going to change.

I don't promise though, that I won't cheat and do two memes in one post. Heh.

Emily, the fantabulous editor of Props and Pans and author of Fenicle, tagged me for a seven random facts meme. I've been tagged for this before, but we know what happened there. I was just rude. Sorry about that.

1. I have expensive tastes and a tight wallet. The two contradict each other all the time. Consequently, I would rather have one pair of expensive jeans that fit really well than 5 pairs of cheapo's that don't. On the other hand, nothing gets me more stoked than a good bargain.

2. I have never liked the way I look more than I do now while I'm pregnant.

3. Dogs like me.

4. Cameras don't.

5. I would rather have a bare wall than hang something on it that wasn't made by an artist. Preferably one I have met.

6. There's an unworn wedding dress hanging in my guest bedroom.

7. I love whole milk.

I'm tagging, well, I think most everyone I know has been tagged for this, but I can't remember. I'll tag, and if you've done it, don't feel like you have to repeat it. Kimmie, because she needs a distraction. Amy, because she doesn't need a distraction, but I figure she has learned a lot about herself lately. How about another fellow preggo at The Vessel? It's not seven, but it's the best I can do right now. If you ladies care to play along, just link back to here, list your 7 random things, and then tag seven additional bloggers. Let them know by leaving them a comment. Or cheat and just tag three.

The next meme is from Imstell. Here are the rules:

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Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.

• Share 5 random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog. or

• Share the 5 top places on your "want to see or want to see again" list. or

• Share 5 things you never pictured being in your future when your were 25 years old.

Tag a minimum of 5, maximum of 10 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.

Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

The tagees have a choice of which they want to do.

************

I'm choosing the 5 things I never pictured being in my future when I was 25 years old.

1. Being pregnant.
2. Being a part-time stay at home mom.
3. Being married to a man who lights my fire.
4. Never pictured my daddy as someone who would need such care so early in his life.
5. Wouldn't have thought the recording and performing I do would be in the new age genre rather than the rock genre.

For this, I tag Whymommy, Girl, Bubblewench, the most awesome Hat Maker ever, and Tara.

Amen. Thus endeth the memes.