Feeding Time at the ...

I support breastfeeding. I support it for a million and one reasons. I support it so hard, people who use formula tend to avoid me. I understand the use of formula - it is, on occasion, necessary. I hate the companies and the industry. I'm hating the sin and not the sinners, got me? Look into the Nestle boycott and you'll catch my drift pretty soon. I firmly believe that there are better options.

So, the boy and I had a shaky start. Neither of my kids had a fabulous latch, at first. I think my nipples are too big. They just can't seem to get their tiny, newborn mouths around them. With Al, I bled so profusely the first week that her diapers were pink. I needed nipple shields to draw out my nipples. It was pretty awful. Atticus was worse.

He didn't nurse in the hospital. He'd try, but his latch was terrible. I'd pop him off and try it again, but he always had the dimple in his cheek and he made the clicking noise when he suckled. It's hard when you know what is supposed to be going on, but you just can't make it happen.




All the advice in the world will only get you so far. I have huge aereolas (TMI is something you should be used to at this point). There is no way he could get nearly all that boob flesh into his mouth. But we practiced. We also consulted with the midwife, the pediatrician, the visiting nurse, and a lactation consultant. We went to the drop-in lactation clinic too. Got nothing new, no better advice, just, "keep doing what you're doing." Apparently, despite what my children do, I do know what's supposed to happen and how to work towards it.

I tried something I'd never heard of before: I cut my nails really short and let him suck my thumb before giving him my breast. With my nail against his tongue, I could feel with the pad his soft and hard palates. I had to physically push my thumb into his mouth so that my thumb would be where my nipple was supposed to be for: A) optimal nursing, and B) my nipples to stop hurting. It took a few days of practicing like this for his latch to improve, but improve it did. It's still not as great as a lactation consultant would like, but no one thinks that he's starving to death. And I'm not sore anymore!

So, first week: crappy latch, lots of pain, lots of crying.
Second week: We fixed nearly all of that, but I came down with mastitis.

I had mastitis with Al. It was terrible. It was so poorly treated that I wound up with an abscess that required surgical draining (160cc of pus), and it needed to be packed every day for over a month until it had filled in. And I needed to keep nursing on that side through all of it if I wanted to retain function of that breast. After it was completely healed I weaned Al off that breast. She had never really liked nursing on that side anyway.

Same song, second verse. One week post-partum I got mastitis in the same breast. We had just fixed the latch problem and now this. I knew better what I was dealing with, so I wasted no time in getting a prescription for antibiotics and making sure I was getting care.

Here in VT, Visiting Nurses come to check in on moms and babies. With Al, I found it embarrassing. I felt the need to clean, take a shower, brush my teeth, and put on clean clothes when the VN was coming. That shit is exhausting three days post-partum! This time? I answered the door to my cluttered home with my breast hanging out of my stained nursing nightgown. And I didn't have mastitis yet!

She, Susan, came for a follow-up a week later because she knew I had concerns about the latch. She brought the baby scale and more pamphlets about milk making supplements and lactation clinics and Le Leche meetings. She took one look at my flushed cheeks and asked if I'd started antibiotics yet. She went to the pharmacy and picked them up for me! God Bless the Visiting Nurses!

Antibiotics... I give Al organic milk because it doesn't have hormones or antibiotics in it, and here I was feeding my brand new son nothing but milk with antibiotics in it. My rationalization: the cows are given chronic low-doses of antibiotics to try to keep them from getting mastitis. Mine was a short-term dosage to cure one bout of it. The cows are contributing to the resistant strains of infection so not supporting antibiotic laced cows is a statement to the industry. I needed to get better and the drug I was given has a low incidence of breastmilk transmission. Yay for fever fueled rationalization!

After the mastitis cleared up, we weaned off that side. Remember, no matter how painful it is, you MUST continue nursing on the infected side - always first, always longest - if you want the infection to clear up. Massage the breast to help with letdown. Warm compresses to help with the pain and congestion. And nurse, nurse, nurse. Pumping will also help, but it's not as effective at draining all the ducts as nursing. Also, some nursing positions are better at draining certain ducts. Cross-cradle, the most popular hold, only drains between 30-50% of the ducts. Football hold drains up to 70% of the ducts. Good stuff to know when trying to drain them all.

Things went really well for a while. He's a restless nurser, which is really frustrating, but I've grown accustomed to it. Most of the time. It's annoying when he's crying or distracted, but that's what he does.

I can't pump. I've come to terms with that. Okay, that's a lie. Both of them. I can pump, I just get very little return. And I'm still working on being okay with that. I need to actually miss a feeding in order to get between one and two ounces of breastmilk. I also need to be looking at pictures of him while sitting in a quiet room. Please don't talk to me or look at me until I'm really going. And no heavy conversation that takes my mind off the baby or I'll dry right up. There was a really neat article in Midwifery Today about the Shy Hormone, that described this perfectly, but it's not freely accessible anymore (but you can buy or sample the book it's from here).

After the fall semester I had to give up nursing him in class. He's just too big and too noisy. He did really well for the first three months. Sleep, nurse, pee, sleep, nurse, poop, cry, coo, nurse, sleep... Having him in class was embarrassing (I was taking an undergrad class with kids I didn't know - I really stuck out with all the baby gear and the whimpering, sucking, pooping baby) but it worked. I am very grateful to my professor for being so supportive. He was obligated to accommodate me; he held Atticus and cooed at him while I packed my bag or dug for a paper. He cut me a little (just a little) slack on my in-class writings because the sudden silence would awaken Atticus and I'd have to quiet him before I could write. The professor I had been warned against as being tough and hard, was kind and supportive and cuddled my baby.

This spring, I needed to leave him home. As I can't pump, I needed to leave him home with a bottle of something other than breastmilk. He didn't like the cow's milk formula or the soy based stuff. Goat's milk saved the day. One four-ounce bottle twice a week shouldn't have freaked me out as badly as it did.

For weeks, my mother fed him a bottle while I was in class. Then one day I got home early. The bottle was made, I had pumped (nearly 2 oz!), so Mom handed me the bottle. I cried. I freaked out. It was antithetical to every fiber of my being. It's gotten a little easier each time...

He's getting a bottle a night now. An hour or two before bed Bryn makes up a 4-5 oz bottle and Atticus gulps it down like he's starving. But he usually leaves about a half ounce. Then he's content and sleeps for about four hours.

At this age (6 months) Alex has 6 teeth and was happily downing solids, but still a contented nurser. She was also consistently in the 50th percentile range for height and 25th for weight.

Atticus has no teeth, nurses fitfully, and is 75th percentile height, 10th for weight. And that's not consistent. He was 50th and 25th last time... I feel like I'm starving him. I know all about growth-spurts, my breasts, cluster-feeding, yada-yada-yada... My brain knows. My guts are in knots. So he gets a daily bottle to top him off. Is it hurting my supply? Probably. Will I give it up? Only if he wants to. So, no.

He's also started solids, which gives him solid poops (topic for another post). He loves sweet potatoes! So did Alex (and I, apparently). I turned Alex orange, she loved them so! And Mom did it to me too... I'll try not to do that to Atticus. He loves pears too. But not strawberries or bananas. Prune juice is okay, but not prunes. Not too keen on blueberry yogurt; but he loves Mum-mum's!

I wish nursing were easier for more women, including me. I love doing it when my breasts are full and he's content to nurse until he's full. I worry that he's working towards weaning. It will break my heart when it happens.

PPD Update

Back in November, I was diagnosed with PPD, but marginally. It's more like depression with a dose of newborn.

Babies are drains. Money, sleep, sanity, and any preconceived sense of self start circling that drain the instant the mother "recovers" from the post-adrenaline crash after the first kid is pushed into the world. It's not so bad with subsequent kids. Usually.

I became a better, stronger person with each kid. And, I think, a better mom. "Place the oxygen mask over your own mouth and nose before assisting others who may be travelling with you, including small children."

I told my physician about my success with a certain drug (and failure with others). Told him about the studies done on the drug's transmission through breastmilk. Told him I was okay with any risks it might pose, based on what I knew, but if he knew anything additional, we should discuss it. He went to consult with a colleague  who cited the studies I cited. Nothing new. I started on the lowest dose the next morning.

Atticus' behavior has had no discernible change. I felt markedly better within two weeks. The last three weeks, I've had the flu and a stomach bug and I went away for three days. Medication was not a priority. Three days in Montreal would have been better medicated, I think. I'll start again in the morning.

It's nice to feel like me again.

Is this PPD?

I've been medicated for depression since 2001. I was taken off them before I got pregnant with Alex, and stayed off them until she was weaned at 27 months. I was taking them until I got the stomach flu at 10 weeks pregnant with Atticus and couldn't keep anything down. Knowing I have a history of depression, I have been seeing a brain care specialist for months now and everyone is monitoring me for Postpartum Depression (PPD).

I'm not sure, but I think I'm coming down with it.

Everyone, medical, thought I was doing really well. I haven't had an appointment to see anyone in nearly 2 weeks. This week, I feel like I'm falling apart. I'm not sure what happened...

I'm still doing the good mommy stuff. He's got clean diapers, no diaper rash. Feed on demand - started feeling guilty about the pacifier, so we're nursing more (An author I read recently described nursing as being nibbled to death by caterpillars. I enjoy it more than that, but I can see the comparison). Feeling guilty about not pumping, so I haven't put it away. It's still here in the living room. Staring at me.

My nipple actually split the last time I used it, so I have to get my guts up to put it to my breast again. The split has healed; but there's nothing like watching blood and milk getting sucked out of your body, threatening to contaminate the precious half ounce you did manage to pump over the last 40 minutes... Yeah. Pumping and me still aren't buddies. Alex was well fed. She was 90th percentile for length and weight, she was constantly nursing, and I could get maybe half an ounce after pumping for 30 minutes. Atticus... our nursing relationship is weird - I'll blog it later, but I'm sure it's feeding into this PPD thing. And the pumping is even harder this time.

Without a supply of milk for him, I have to take him everywhere. That includes class. My professor is really sweet about it. When Atticus was really wee, he'd sleep and nurse through class. As he's getting bigger, he's less quiet and our nursing relationship is more fraught, so I take him out of the room to nurse. I'm missing class. I'm so embarrassed. I know my course grade is suffering. But at least my professor let me stick it out.

Since Atticus was late and I got mastitis the second week, I missed the first two weeks of class. The other course I was enrolled in, I was told to withdraw. I had already missed too much. Since I was no longer on track to get all my coursework done, I am no longer graduating in May. I'm taking two courses in the spring and another two in the fall. Because I am no longer enrolled in the correct number of courses, some of my financial aid has been withdrawn. I can't make rent in December.

The financial aid thing is a bummer. Since Bryn and I got married (I kind of waited to marry him because of this), I'm not sure how eligible I am for financial aid anymore. I filled out my last FAFSA before we got married, and now it's not my last FAFSA. Keep your fingers crossed for us, folks.

Money shouldn't be that big an issue. Bryn is working darn near full time now. The hourly rate isn't awesome, but it's more than $10/hour and more than 30 hours per week. It's not much, but we can make it through - we get food stamps. We get more food stamps than I think is ethical, but we manage to spend every cent every month. On top of that I get WIC. But money is an issue. Alex's child support isn't getting paid, so I have absolutely no money in the bank. I haven't for months. If I need money, I have to ask Bryn. I can't so much as treat myself to a cup of coffee in a nice cafe. I can't get Alex new shoes. I can't get the oil changed in the car. I can't pay the gas bill or the electric. I can't do anything without asking Bryn for money. And the first thing he asks is if I've spent all of the money he transferred last time. I haven't had more than $10 in my account for more than a few days (waiting for autopay on my phone) since July. Bryn's birthday is next week. His first since we got married. Am I really going to spend his money buying him a present? Last year, without the child support, this wasn't an issue - I had my financial aid. This year? I just want to know that my bills are getting paid. Is it cold in here?

So, my thesis fell through, for a lot of reasons. I knew what I wanted to do; everyone on my committee tweaked it until I didn't really recognize it. I did the reading that they wanted and discovered that what they wanted was stupid (like I thought) and I couldn't make a five page paper, let alone sixty-five, about how stupid my thesis was. I still think my original idea would work, but now I can't prove it. No one wanted to read it. Thesis option has been scratched. Since I'm not writing a thesis anymore, I need to take more courses and take broader comprehensive exams. So we're here in Burlington for another semester, at least.

I hate Burlington. Everything is more expensive than it needs to be. I have so few friends up here that I am surrounded by people and completely isolated at the same time. I am tethered to the house by my homework and the baby. Housework needs to get done increasingly by me now that Bryn is working so much. And no one just drops in. I miss having friends who would just drop by. I miss having friends I could drop in on. I don't know where a single one of my friends lives up here. Doesn't matter. They all have jobs too.

Family.
My mother moved up here! That was cool. She just finally got a job. Second day? She wakes up from a dead sleep with a sore throat. She gets to try again next week. I'm really worried. She has a history of absenteeism, and I don't want it following her to the new job. I worry about her health, but what is the English major going to tell the Registered Nurse?
My father still hasn't seen Atticus. He lives two hours away and hasn't made the trip. But he did write a check for his lifetime hunting and fishing license, so there's that. I haven't called him in months. Not even for his birthday. Daughter of the freaking year... I just hate the guilt-trips.
Bryn's mom... She came (from freaking Florida, Dad) to see Atticus; but she's gone home now.
Alex is awesome. Until she makes me want to throw her outside. The morning clothes argument. The afternoon homework struggle. The nightly bedtime battle. Thank God Nana lives nearby now.

Bryn. He's not a mind reader. He's a good man trying to make the best out of a bad situation. He works hard and he comes home tired and sore. I just want to curl up with him and let everything else go to hell. But he needs some alone time and time with his friends, and the baby and Alex need tending to...

I just wish I felt necessary. Bryn could handle the mornings without me if he got up earlier. And he could go to bed earlier if he weren't waiting up for me. I stress him out and make him worry; that's not contributing. I feed the baby. That's all I can do that Bryn can't do better on his own.

He knows that I'm not right. We just talked about it. He's been worried for three weeks now. I don't eat much. I don't hydrate. I shower on Wednesday and sometime during the weekend. I'm still going to class and getting all my homework done, but that's about it. The kitchen is gross. Mom being around has been helpful - she does dishes and laundry. She also holds the baby so I can do some stuff. But she isn't always here. And sometimes I need to go out.

Yesterday, I found myself running errands in three day old jeans and my hair was still in the ratty ponytail I'd put up the night before. I cleaned up a bit and took Al to caramel apple dipping, then ran home to start supper. Bryn got home, Al got home, and supper was still cooking. Then we had to leave for bowling with our resident advisors. Alex really wanted to go. We had promised... I took supper out of the oven and we went bowling.

It was nice getting out with everyone. And we weren't sitting in the dark ignoring each other. I didn't even score a 50... Bryn did really well. Alex did really well. I want to go again and prove that I can do better. I used to average between 150 and 175... But that was years ago.

I dropped Bryn and Al at home and went to a party. It was nice being out with people from the program (I guess I do know where one person lives...) and beyond. English people and queer folk were invited for board game night. I had to bring Atticus. I was dehydrated so I was confined to water. I was lousy at the board game and I was working on a headache, but I had fun. I think I talked too much. It's been a while since I talked to grown ups other than Bryn or Mom.

Today at a child's birthday party I think I was obviously not with it. The mom kept trying to include me in conversation and she smiled at me a lot. Alex's present was the smallest (and cheapest) and she specifically came over to compliment the game and thank me. I mean, I thought it was neat, but it wasn't that cool. And in hindsight, not a birthday party present. Too small, not showy enough. Al wasn't having much fun, which didn't help my mood. Store cake frosting gives Al a stomach ache, so she hates cake time. She's only ice skated once before, so falling down hurt but she was a trooper. I also failed to get her properly prepared. No hat, no gloves, no helmet. She got a loaner helmet. Remind me to check her for lice tomorrow. At the end of the party the mom thanked me for coming and hugged me. I nearly started crying. I was done. I'd nursed the baby twice, tended to Al's needs and whims, and comforted her poor feet, knees, and hands, stroked her ego and pointed out that no one finished their piece of cake. Al would not shut up most of the way home. I was so done. I just wanted to be done. I fell into Bryn's arms when we got home.

I wanted a nap. I hate that all I want to do is curl up in bed and watch Monsters Inc.

I have an appointment with my brain care specialist on Tuesday. Bryn and I think I need to go back on medication. I've been worse, but we need to get this now. Two or three weeks ago would have been better, but you work with what you've got.

If it were just the situational stuff, I'd be perfectly entitled to being down. Having just had a baby... why does that make me feel guilty about being down? I've always advocated for PPD selfcare, awareness, acceptance and love. It's hard to do it for myself.

August 27, 2012 1:07am

Less than 20 hours after my water broke my baby boy came into the world.

I woke up at 5:30 thinking I had wet the bed. It wasn't wet, but I went to the bathroom just in case. I uncleanched my Kegel and there was a gush of fluid. I made no mess! I woke up Bryn and despite not having contractions to speak of and Martha's advice to rest, we were both awake and making sure we had everything we needed all packed up.

Boo woke up easily and we got her dressed and ready. My contractions got harder and regular at about 5 minutes apart. We called the midwife again and headed to the hospital.

En route I called and texted everyone who needed to know. My mom would meet us there. Bryn's mom was concerned for me but wanted to know how Bryn was holding up. Bryn's sister was MIA. This was not good. She was on Boo Duty. Turned out she was in class and would meet us at the hospital ASAP after class was done.

As it was a Sunday morning, there was no one at registration or information. I'm glad we had toured the hospital recently; we found the Birth Center without a problem.

I wasn't much more dilated than I had been on Friday, but I was 75% effaced. I walked. I sat. I watched TV with Boo. I played Uno. Bryn took me for a walk in the hospital proper. We looked at the art on the walls. We looked at the pretty garden. I didn't want to go out; it was too hot. We walked down the ramp towards the cafeteria and took the stairs back up. And we did it again. I tried to squat, but it just didn't feel right and I couldn't get back up. I wasn't getting anywhere. We talked about Pitocin.

I let the Pitocin conversation marinate for four hours.

I was at 2 cm at 11 am
I was at 2 cm at 3 pm
I agreed to the Pitocin at 7 pm

I resisted the Pitocin because it felt like failure. It felt like I was conceding. I was agreeing that I could not birth a child without medical intervention. My body, as rounded and feminine as it was, could not, on its own, give birth to a baby. I was also agreeing to a needle in my arm, a monitor on my ample waist, and a monitor for the baby. Instead of the happy-hippy ideal I had envisioned, I was getting a medicalized, monitored, machine-that-goes-ping birth. I'm not sure which I found more demoralizing, the failure of my body or the loss of my dream.

If I had been happy with Alex's birth, I may not have fought so long. As it was, I felt anger every time I thought about her birth. Artificially ruptured membranes, Pitocin, machine-that-goes-ping, IV fluids, episiotomy, and not seeing her for an hour after her birth all equaled me hating the birthing process - which was why I went with a midwife this time. To avoid all of that. The midwife nudged in the early afternoon, and then we flat out talked about it. Then I cried to Bryn about it.

Then I saw the worry and pain in his eyes during my contractions and when he saw the disappointment in my eyes every few hours when I was given the news that I hadn't dilated any further. I saw the worry and pain I was feeling reflected in his eyes and I knew that I needed the drug.

At 7:30 pm my drip was started.

This is when it was suggested that I labor in the tub. Hooked up to an IV stand, two elastic belts, hand itchy, contractions every three minutes is not when I would consider it to be the perfect time for a bath. Midwives are weird that way.

I was in the tub for less than an hour, shifting positions every few contractions, when I was told I had to get out of the tub. ...first you want me in the tub, now you want me out of the tub... I resisted just about everything the midwife asked me to do. Every position change was delayed by a couple of contractions. My main fear was that I would be mid-shift and a contraction would hit. I was afraid of being in an awkward position and being that much more uncomfortable if I was caught off guard like that.

At about 11:30 pm I was finally dilated to 9 cm.
At 12:30 am I had my midwife up to her elbow pushing my cervix out of the way while I was blowing instead of pushing. I really wanted to push. I mean, if you have never been in labor you will never know the difference between wanting to do something and needing to do something. There is a difference between wanting to push and needing to push. That line is filament thin and once broached, being told you can't makes one slightly homicidal.


At one point my midwife told me to try being on my knees. Suddenly, I felt really good about where everything was going. This was the position of my dream! I wound up (after dodging my IV line and threading around the fetal monitor line) on my knees leaning over the back of the raised head of the bed. I still wasn't allowed to push with every contraction - I wasn't fully dilated - but I was closer to my ideal birth position.

While I was on my knees I was alternately pushing and blowing through contractions. Martha wanted me to motorboat with my mouth. If your mouth is relaxed, the rest of your muscles tend to follow that cue. She wanted my cervix to relax so she could push it out of the way. I can't motorboat when I'm not stressed out. I just can't. I wound up just saying, "Bubububububububub..." and making Bryn and Martha giggle. It became a weird mantra for me to focus on instead of pushing. Om never meant anything to me; apparently, Bububub does.

I was Bububub-ing a lot, and not doing much pushing. I was getting pretty ticked off. Then I heard it! A baby crying! The woman next door had stopped screaming and I could hear her baby crying. If I listen to Martha and keep my focus, I'll have a baby too! Baby! There is a baby at the end of all this pain! Focus!

I needed to change position again. I was so focused on the baby, I didn't mind, much. I did have a contraction while rolling and navigating the lines and leads connecting me to the machines. It was just as miserable as I'd imagined.

I wound up on my back, slightly propped up. Not what I'd thought ideal, but everyone seemed to like it better. Martha, not the contractions, nor the cervix, was making me uncomfortable. She was trying to widen my pelvis and was sitting on the bed, with her hand in my foreshortened vagina and smack up against my bent right leg. I fought very hard against my desire to straighten that leg and send her onto the floor. I hated her hand. I was hating her. It was all her fault. It was her fault I had the Pitocin, it was her fault I was on my back, it was her fault I couldn't push, and it was her fault I was so uncomfortable. And then, I was allowed to push!

I don't remember how many times I pushed, but I ignored a lot of directions to push again. Sometimes I could only push once in a contraction, I was just too tired. I remember watching my mom. She was standing at the far side of the room, against the wall, with her hands at the small of her back. That is her pose when she's uncomfortable or unhappy. Something was wrong. I asked her if she was alright. She said she was fine and I had another contraction.

I pushed and pushed and eventually there was a baby on the bed with me. I was not really with it. I saw Bryn smiling and crying and cutting the umbilical cord. I thought we were going to wait for it to stop pulsing. Had it stopped pulsing already? You're restarting the Pitocin to help me deliver the placenta? I didn't speak. I was too foggy. Baby! Where is he? I can hear him! Martha was checking my placenta. It was whole. Here's the baby. Huh?

He was awake and alert, but with no desire to latch and nurse. That's okay, we'd get to that later.

Apparently, the Pitocin had been stopped at 10:30. I'd done the last 5 cm on my own. But the baby's heart rate had been dipping with every contraction at about the same time, that was why a lead had been put on his little head at that time. I was so concerned about the lead in his head that I hadn't noticed that my medicine had been stopped. The lead in his head was what was making everyone so anxious. Well, it was the numbers the lead was providing. His heart rate would dip to nearly 40 during contractions at the end. It would bounce back up, but it was really concerning everyone who could see the monitor. The rate didn't fall so much while I was on my back. Yes, I felt less productive, but it put less stress on the baby. Fair trade off.

Bryn cut the cord while it was still pulsing because the baby had to go to the warming table and be checked by the pediatrician who had swooped in with a pediatrics nurse at the last minute. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He hadn't even time to throw on a white coat. The baby's initial APGAR was a 3. They gave him a little oxygen and his second APGAR was a 9. The pediatrician looked just as happy as Bryn when he handed over my baby boy.

My perfectly healthy, beautiful baby boy.

The Due Date

Woke this morning to a call from the midwife's office asking me to meet her at the birthing center 2.5 hours earlier than my appointment was scheduled for originally.

We were rushing to get out the door when we got a call to meet her at the same time but at her office. We all breathed a sigh of relief and were still 5 minutes late.

I timed my contractions the entire way down there and they were about 7 minutes apart. We sat down to talk and she told me to stop timing them - it was making me crazy. She watched a contraction and we talked about how to breathe through them. By watching me, she knew I wasn't there yet. The system was "tuning up". I'd really like the overture to begin...

She did another internal and I'm still at 1 cm, but I'm about 50% effaced. BP was 120/60 just post contraction, so I'm feeling pretty good. My weight went down by 2 pounds from last week. 

This morning, I was queasy and (sorry, TMI) had the poops, so I was really hopeful that today was going to be the day. 

Contractions aren't regular. They aren't hard. They are down the front. I get a few that hurt down into my pelvis, but they are pretty rare. 

I kind of just want to hide in the house, curled up, watching movies, or playing Uno. I cry a lot. Jerry Nelson dying didn't help. I want Alex to have fun and go out. I want Bryn to get on with his day. But if I'm alone all I do is sleep. Or dwell.

Maybe I should get a babysitter for Alex tomorrow and take Bryn out to a movie and/or dinner. 

I'm terrified of missing the first days of classes... I have no contingency plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. The baby was supposed to be "early" or on time - he's a second birth. Bryn has a job interview. Alex has an open house for her new class. Stuff has to happen and ... stressing out is not going to help. But I can't really help it. 

I'll keep you posted.

Anxiety

The diapers arrived this morning. I have 80 small prefolds, a diaper can with liner, 2 brand new Snappis, a tiny bottle of baby powder, a little tin of diaper salve, a new cloth shopping bag, and a thing. It's a little wafer of something in a plastic package. I'm not sure what it is; I should probably email the nice lady from the diaper service about it...

Eighty diapers is a lot of diapers. I had to do some serious rearranging of stuff. But I also now have diapers so I packed the baby's hospital bag.

My hospital bag is already in the car. I'm bringing my own johnny coat. It's been washed so many times that it's super soft, unlike the new ones that hospitals stock. I've also packed my black wrap dress, old but clean panties, the super soft and comfy sleeping/nursing bra that Bryn's mom sent me, toothbrush & toothpaste, Tylenol, comb and hair ties, and the really sweet pj set my mom got me. I probably won't wear all of the set - I'd hate to get it messed up with bodily fluids, but it has a short nursing top and a jacket for keeping me warm.

We have a cosleeper, we just have to set it up. We have a cradle in the living room, we're just waiting on a mattress for it. I found the Amby and washed all the bedding and set it up in the living room. I took it apart again because it takes up a lot of room. Push comes to shove: the cradle can go into storage and the Amby can go where the cradle is now. So we do have a place for the baby to sleep if he comes this afternoon.

We have diapers, clothes, a bed, a sling, I'm making colostrum (I leaked a bit last night)... Why am I so scared?

The midwife and my therapist both say it's because I've done it before. The first time, you don't know what to expect. What does a contraction feel like? How much could it possibly hurt? How long could it possibly go on? Women have been giving birth for millenia, how hard could it be? And that's just labor and delivery stuff. That doesn't even include the baby stuff.

I think I've mentioned that Bryn is looking for work. His contract wasn't renewed, so he's on unemployment. But that didn't kick in until last week because he had to go through an adjudication period before his waiting period. My ex-husband hasn't paid child support since May. The Office of Child Support sent me paperwork about taking him to court. Again. My loan disbursement isn't due for at least another week. This all might have something to do with the anxiety, on top of the stuff I know to expect.

I will not have Pitocin this time, so that should make my contractions more bearable. The lack of pitocin should also make my labor more productive. Since I won't have the pitocin, I won't need the Stadol, which should mean that the baby won't have a slow heart rate. Hopefully, this time there won't be meconium in the waters. Hopefully, this time I won't need an episiotomy. Hopefully, this time the baby will cry and I'll be able to hold him within an hour of birth.

I'm just anxious. I was up for over an hour last night just trying to breathe and stop crying. We all know everything is okay. Bryn tries very hard to soothe me. Alex is excited. Why can't I stop panicking and enjoy this?

What I Did On Summer Vacation

Or: Why I'm glad we're almost done with summer.

So, this summer has, so far, been awful - with a few bright spots.

My wallet got stolen off of my dining room table while I was napping in the bedroom.

Alex got head lice.

I ran over a chipmunk.

Alex got bitten by a spider while camping and her eye swelled up and needed antibiotics.

Mom took her off the antibiotics because she feared that the antibiotics brought on Al's nosebleed, four days into treatment.

Alex has had four more nosebleeds.

Bryn's work contract was not renewed and he has been looking for a new job for over a month now.

His unemployment is being held up because he worked for an educational institution and therefore needs to go through adjudication before he even starts the unpaid week of unemployment.

My ex-husband hasn't paid child support since May.

Bryn was diagnosed with high blood pressure.

His doctor wants him to go on a pretty strict diet and I'm trying to be supportive and eat like him (90% fresh fruits and veggies and protein, 10% carbohydrates). I really love carbohydrates though.

Our insurance doesn't fully cover all the work that need to be done on Bryn's teeth.

I miscalculated how much I need for the diaper service. I'm $100 short.

My first reader for my thesis backed out and no one stepped up to the plate of their own volition. I was rescued - but it was a terrible three weeks until that happened.

We had to go settle Bryn's father's estate - and that didn't go well.

We need to get lifts for the baby's bed so that it's level with our bed.

We need tools we don't have to fix the baby's cradle.

It's rained so much that the vegetables in our garden have swollen before ripening.

My feet have been swelling too.

I need to flip over my pillow every two hours (when I get up to pee) because I've soaked it with sweat.

And now I'm reaching... It's just felt pretty crappy for a few months around here. I guess I just wanted to vent a bit.

We have four weeks to make the place baby ready. I'll read for my thesis. Visit Mom and wash all the baby's clothes. Bryn will bring back a piece of furniture for more storage and some tools to help him with the cradle.

Everything is going to get better.

My therapist would be so proud.

Bumpy Canadian Roads and Other Concerns

We made it to Canada safely.

We were at the airport an hour early for our 45 minute flight to Newark. Bryn and I got to see my brother and his wife for most of our 4 hour layover in New Jersey. That was really nice. The big brother gave me grief about my grey hair, but I smacked him, so it's all good now.

We sat on the tarmac for over half an hour while the ground crew hauled out all the luggage looking for bags from a family of four who were not on our flight anymore. The pregnant lady with the tiny bladder was not amused. Two hours later, we were in Halifax. Two hours later, we were at the house.

Three hours in the air, two hours in the car, four hours in Newark and we shaved nearly seven hours off the usual time to make it up here. Bryn said he'd have rather driven. Aside from getting to see my brother and his wife, I'm inclined to agree. I like the scenery, the navigating, the Tim Horton's. But I do like flying, even after 9/11. I was positively giddy leaving the runway the first time. Bryn kept telling me to calm down, but he smiled when he said it.

We are here to settle Bryn's father's estate. Bob died last August, three weeks after Bryn and I had started trying to conceive, one week into our frantic move to Burlington. Needless to say, this has been a really rough time for Bryn. His father will never meet our son. His father will never see us settled into a real home. He will never have Yankee Thanksgiving with us. Nor will our son get to ride on the tractor with Grumpy Bob (the nickname Bryn's nephew gave him many years ago), or go fishing with him, or just sit in the truck having an ice cream cone. Grumpy Bob will never teach him to drive a nail or change his own oil. Bryn had obviously planned on teaching these things to our son (and Alex), but they were the things his father had taught him, and the values that his father had instilled within him that will never be shared in person. I was very fond of Bob. We had a very comfortable relationship. I am very pissed off that he is dead.

Anyway...

Bryn and I were pretty stressed out come the second day of this trip. Things were missing, feelings were hurt, and I haven't been sleeping well. Bryn's sister decided we needed to go to the beach. As much as I hate my bathing suit, I had to agree with her. Cool water fixes many ills.

There is something wonderfully practical about Nova Scotians. They farm or they fish, historically at least. The shorelines are largely undeveloped and the water is cool enough that very few people go to the beach. We were there two hours and about fifteen minutes before we left a couple of girls showed up with a blanket. That's it. Two hundred yards to the western point and as far as I could see to the east - no one else. Just us.

Let me describe the beach. We parked just off the "road", which was really two ruts through the rough. Climb a slight rise through the sea grass to a swath of rocks that go all the way that way and all the way the other way, but it's only about thirty yards wide. The rocks are almost all rounded with a few pieces of rectangular sandstone and all between softball and kickball sized. The rocks in Nova Scotia are wonderful. They are completely colorblind. Pure white ones nestled amongst the blue, grey, black and pink ones. Pale blue, slate blue, dark blue; pale pink, rose pink, orange-pink; light grey, dark grey, grey with stark white stripes all there together not caring who they trip. Then there is a coarse sand beach with small rounded pebbles thrown in for good measure and one or two bigger rocks just so you can't put down a blanket without covering one. Then the water line starts. Lots of the little pebbles with the rough sand for about five feet. Then the bigger rocks start again for another five to ten feet. Then sand. Not rough sand, like the beach, but soft silky sand like you want to dig your toes into or make sand castles with - except it's at least three feet underwater.

The water. Bryn, standing chest deep, could see his toes. Me going in as far as my toes made me gasp.  I did brave it though. Walking across the rocks under the water was a little scary. They shifted with the waves and under my weight. Not knowing the beach and how far out the rocks went and how shallow it was further out made traversing them scary and a little dangerous. Gratefully, I am buoyant. I got to my navel and made a very shallow dive. After having been in the warmth of the sun, with it beating on my shoulders, that water was COLD! My fingers hurt. Oddly, my toes were fine.

Swimming in the ocean is so different than swimming in lakes and ponds. Rivers are close, but salt water cleanses the soul in a way that no other water does. Just bobbing and floating along healed a lot of what needed to be healed Tuesday afternoon. Maybe we can stop again Saturday morning.

I was buoyant and happy. Coming out of the water over the rocks was awful. Not only were the rocks shifting, but I was suddenly much heavier. The baby seemed to be riding much lower. I was off balance and scared. I actually plopped down in the water and told Bryn I was staying because I couldn't do it. I couldn't walk across those rocks with all that off balance weight. Bryn came and gave me his arm. I was still unhappy.

We sat on the beach for a bit and then decided we should head back to the house. We all jumped in for one more quick dip. This one was quicker, but it took no time to get submerged. Cold Northern Atlantic waters be damned. We all got soaked and happy.

Getting out was even worse this time. My pelvis started the separation thing the instant my stomach was out of the water. My hips hurt. I wanted to be on my hands and knees and just crawl. I was in a lot of pain. And I still needed to get back across the sand and the rocks and more sand to get to the car. Bryn held my arm and nudged me to walk in the sea grass rather than on the sand where my shifting weight on the shifting sands made my pelvis scream and terrified Bryn that I was going to fall. My mantra, "I'm fine," was repeated for both of our benefits. I tried to say it with conviction. I told Bryn it was a good thing. He started saying, "Peeled grape," with as much conviction as he could muster. We made it back to the car. Getting in hurt, but sitting was good.

We had to go out to dinner. The realtor was showing the house at six, so we decided to go to an Indian restaurant in town that had been getting rave reviews. I was slightly uncomfortable on the trip into town, but the worst part is that the trip takes about half an hour and I stiffen up in less time than that. Bryn has taken to giving me the passenger seat and sitting behind me because he is convinced it's easier for me to get in and out of the front seat. I don't know if he's right or not, but it's nice having him behind me to hold my shoulder.

We parked just beyond the restaurant and Bryn heaved me out of the car. By the time we got to the restaurant I was pretty limbered up. It was closed. No hours were posted. No Closed sign in the window; just dark and locked up tighter than a drum. So we debated going back the way we came to an Italian restaurant or keep going to the restaurant that we had eaten at after the wake last year. We went to the one with a bit of history for us.

The walk went well. Dinner was lovely. Dessert was fantastic. Turns out that it was bought by new people in May and they just reopened a couple of weeks ago. I don't know if it's the pregnancy or what, but I got halfway through my sandwich and decided that I wanted Bryn's mashed potatoes. He switched plates with me. Something about denying the incubator of his only child nothing. I'm glad he liked my sandwich.

I was stiff from the restaurant, so everyone went on ahead of us. Bryn, as usual, stayed by my side and walked the extra five feet to the button for the crosswalk. He held my arm when I was wobbly and helped me down into the car.

When we were about five miles from the house (thank you Mother Webb for your roadside signage) I got a sharp constant pain from what I can only assume was my round ligament. It went from my groin, around my hip, and all the way up my left side to my rib cage. It hurt so badly that I couldn't speak. I just gasped and clutched the armrest. My toes were curled the entire ride home. Bryn had his hand on my shoulder, as usual, and I just clung to it. There was nothing else to be done. It ebbed a bit after a few minutes, but the pain remained until after we arrived at the house. I remember saying something about delivering in Middlebury and Bryn conversed with his step-mother and sister about where we will be delivering, where our closest hospital is, etc... It kept the focus off of me, which is all I really cared about.

We got to the house and I was hoisted out by Bryn. I sent him into the house to get my belly-strap and I walked up and down the driveway as well as I was able. It occurred to me that it was the first time in a long time that I hadn't worn a belly-band, or something similar, all day. Bryn was disappointed in me that I had left my brand new belly support at home. It had come in the mail on Friday and I misplaced it almost immediately.

I slept poorly. There are swalls in the upstairs bedroom. I had to get up four times last night and I hit my head on the slanted ceiling/wall at least once. The rise on the stairs is such that I have to crawl up them with my hands on the step ahead of me. I have to go down them sideways. And the railing is so loose that I want to pull it like a tooth. I'm sure it would come. And the bed is tiny and creaky. It's a double that sags a bit in the middle and the frame is not built to support the weight of both my husband and myself. Bryn has offered to put the mattress on the floor, but that would just make it harder to get up out of it.

This morning, just as Monday morning, I got my last two hours sleeping on a loveseat because I couldn't bear the thought of crawling up the stairs, ducking my head, creaking into the overly hot bed, and trying to fall back to sleep again. I just couldn't do it one more time. I was rewarded with screwed up pregnancy dreams. They were very weird. I may post about them later.

Anyway. Canada. I love Canada. I will gladly return when all is said and done. Right now. I really want to go home.

Well, Thursday was lousy...

I have mentioned my midwife and the office and sung their praises to the heavens. I know that everyone in that practice has my best interests at heart. That said, my last appointment was really frustrating.
Bryn and I wanted to get pregnant before I tried to find a job. I've explained this before. We cut it really close to the beginning of my school year with this pregnancy, though. My due date is the Thursday before classes start on Tuesday. This upset my midwife. She wants me to think about deferring for a semester.
I would love to defer for a semester. However, it's not an option. We would lose my loans and we would lose our home. Those things cannot happen. I must remain a "full-time" graduate student in order to keep my money and my home. I also have a thesis I must work on to stay on track. And quite frankly, I want to get the hell out of Burlington and UVM as soon as possible. Martha didn't seem to get it. She just kept pushing for 12 weeks of bonding.
I want that more than anything in the world, but it's not going to happen. I will be wearing the baby to class, nursing in class, reading and writing with the babe in my arms. I know this. I have to do this - it's not an option. Bryn is stressed out enough and didn't need to hear any of this. He confided to wanting to throw pillows at Martha through most of the meeting; she just didn't seem to be hearing what we were telling her. How do you not hear: homeless and penniless with an infant and 7 year old if we take your advice? There was very little compassion for our situation, just insinuation that I was being selfish and unrealistic.
Bryn has been pretty stressed out anyway. Today was his last day of work - his contract was not renewed and he has only received one call back about a job in the last three weeks. His doctor is concerned about his blood pressure. We have to go to Canada on Sunday to settle his father's estate. Arguing with the midwife was not something we needed to add to his To Do list. His BP yesterday was 162/112. Needless to say, I didn't want to add to his aggravation.
When we went to bed last night, I had to spend a little too much time in the bathroom. After four trips to the bathroom, unbearable cramping, and completely voided bowels, I curled up in the recliner for a couple hours of sleep. I got one. Braxton-Hicks contractions suck. From 2am-7am, I was in a lot of pain. I kept denying that they were contractions. They were irregular. They were weirdly timed. They just felt "off". It was easier to tell myself I'd had some bad brisket for lunch.
Bryn felt sorry for me and I just mumbled that I loved him and sent him to work. I crawled back into bed praying that the contractions wouldn't start again. Alex crawled into bed with me at about 10 and watched Sesame Street for an hour before asking for breakfast. So I got 2 hours of sleep.
After talking to the nurse at the midwife's, who told me my iron was low and I need to supplement, she confirmed that I'd been having contractions. Yes, the voiding of the bowels is normal. The nausea that accompanies the contractions is normal. Why don't I remember this?
When Bryn got home from work I told him that they were contractions and he was upset that I had kept that information from him. He appreciated that I let him sleep and that I didn't want to stress him out any more than he already was; but if I was scared and in pain he didn't want me to be alone. All I could think about while I was in pain was that he'd had a dream about me going into labor before the Canada trip and he was all stressed out the next day.
Anyway, Thursday sucked - and I'm including through 7am Friday morning because I hadn't slept yet.
It's over now. And I am grateful.

30 Week Ultrasound

I went in for a second ultrasound today. It wasn't in my plans to have more than one when we became pregnant. Bryn's mom is a speech-language pathologist and according to her research there may be concern that those ultrasound waves could damage developing eardrums and ear bones. I have to repeat myself frequently around Alex... it's either too many ultrasounds (my OB was nuts for them) or she's too busy being her. I'm hoping it's the latter.

We had the first ultrasound and I've shared the pictures here; however, there was concern that I had placenta previa. My placenta was very close to my cervix earlier on and they wanted to make sure that it had moved with my growing uterus.

It did!

I didn't realize how scared I was until Tracy, the tech, told me that my placenta was 2 cm from my cervix and I nearly started crying. Bryn had to be at work, so I had Boo with me. I nearly grabbed her and squeezed her - I refrained (that wand pressing down is decent resistance. I think Tracy works out), but Alex could tell I had been scared. She asked what was wrong and I explained what I had been scared of and Alex just curled up in her chair looking scared. Tracy and I soothed her and explained that we were there to make sure that everything was okay. And we showed her on the screen where the placenta is and where my cervix is and Tracy measured it for her - and we were all relieved.

Bryn was upset he couldn't be there with me, and I told Tracy as much. She got out a different wand and looked for the baby's face. We gave Bryn the 3-D pictures of his son's face. He gushed all over them. He'll scan them and post them to his Facebook wall soon and then I'll steal them and post them to the blog.

Scary day turned into a very good day.

Update:

Long Week After the Long Weekend

The long weekend made this past week a lot longer...
My mom asked if I could help her out this past week. She'd had a rough couple of weeks/months, so I offered to go help her settle back into her old house and begged off of my first week of my internship.
The weather was appalling. I had the ex-husband drop off the kiddo at my mom's house and Bryn drove her home with him after dropping me off on Tuesday.
Mom and I have always been pretty close. We get along well. We have the same taste in most things. We're both cuddlers and love Brit Night on PBS and ice cream. I have lived with her as an adult and we're okay with that. From what I understand, this is rare. I am grateful that we get on together so well.
Bryn and the kid got home safe, if slowly. Torrential downpours, gusting winds, hail, and a tornado were reported that afternoon all over Vermont. The ex's car was getting hit with enough hail that the kid asked if they could just go back. Once she got to my mom's house she insisted that my mother call my cell phone to make sure we were okay. She was scared to get back into the car with Bryn for the next leg of the trip. Poor booger. It's about 4 hours in one direction between my ex-husband's place and my place. My folks would just do the trip in one shot and it was 5 hours. At least my ex and I have agreed to share the trip. At the meeting place she gets to get out and run around.
We sent Bryn and the kid on their way and Mom and I had a pizza while watching The Vicar of Dibly on VHS. Bryn calls it the Dicar of Vibly...
The next day I got a call from the school nurse. Alex went to her because her head was really itchy. Patient Zero had head lice nits. And I am two hours away. Without a car.
Can we please have a round of applause for my husband - Slayer of Nits, Washer of ALL Things, Scrubber of Child, and all around super Papa?
We were broke. Last month was really bad money-wise. Stuff for killing head lice is expensive; let's not discuss the cost of the special little comb. Between the money that had to be shelled out and the amount of labor that had to go into his Wednesday afternoon, he was a little freaked out. Then he actually received the kid off the bus.
No, she didn't have to go straight home immediately. He spent his afternoon researching head lice and how to kill them. Then he went to the natural food store and bought neem oil and tea tree oil to mix with olive oil to treat her head. The little comb - $8. The letter the nurse sent home with Al requested that the empty box from the over the counter chemical stuff be attached and returned with the child upon her return to school. He'd already paid an exorbitant sum on the all natural stuff and "I will not put that chemical crap on my kid!" - he was so frustrated; I could hear the tears in his throat. ("my kid" - have I mentioned how lucky I am to have him, lately?) I called the nurse on his behalf. She was very sweet. Apparently, the form is verbatim from the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) website. It's just a recommendation; follow your conscience - but document it. She completely understood not wanting to cover the kid in chemical pesticides - both of her daughters have had head lice.
Bryn had Al help him clean her room. I'd been on her about it for weeks, but I'm a bad mom and have instilled no fear in her. Between stripping her bed, bagging her soft toys, and vacuuming the two of them were busy enough. Then they actually needed to treat her head.
While she sat with the oil on her head, she read and he replaced the tire on her bicycle. Another expense he was upset about... She had a bicycling field trip the next day (that Bryn was chaperoning), and her front tire wouldn't hold air. The store was out of the basic tires in the right size, so he had to get a self-patching one. Those buggers are expensive.
Thank goodness we had lots of quarters for laundry. Bryn and Alex had a lot of fun on the field trip the next day. It was a rough 24 hours, but they made it.

I had been on the phone with the financial aid office when the nurse called. I received a letter last week saying that I was no longer eligible for financial aid because I had failed a course, which meant that I had not successfully completed 75% of my attempted courses nor maintained a 3.00 GPA. That was news to me. I checked my grades online and had a cumulative GPA of 3.66 and had completed four out of five of my courses.
I had the financial aid office review my account. The girl on the phone may as well have said, "Whoopsie." My financial aid is intact. I just got the confirmation letter in the mail.
However, I had already contacted my advisor because I needed her help in writing up a plan for my future in order to appeal the original decision. I had to reschedule that meeting.
I also had to reschedule my midwife appointment. I was supposed to have my glucose test. Both the meeting with the advisor and the midwife appointment have been moved to this coming Friday. I'm so tired just thinking about Friday.
Speaking of tired - I've been napping. I love naps. I think I need a nap every day. I feel so rested after just a little nap.

So I helped Mom for a few day while Bryn held down the fort at home. Then Mom brought me back and spent a few days with us. Al got to spend the night at the ECHO with her Daisy troop. They sold enough cookies to cover the cost for all the girls. I'm so proud of them. The afternoon after we picked up Al, she had a birthday party to go to - at the local skatepark. She was the only girl there, aside from two older cousins. Al was brave and eventually had a lot of fun. She would do anything for her crush - and that includes spending 75 minutes with 12 boys. Her crush, in return, packed a goody bag specifically for her - she got girly stuff, including lip gloss. *wink-wink-nudge-nudge*?

I'm supposed to write about the baby in this blog, aren't I?
I slept in the memory foam bed at my mom's house. I actually woke up face down one morning. The baby barely moved all day.
Ed arrived on my doorstep with two bags and a bin full of clothes for the new baby. His wife had sorted all the clothes and sent him with nothing but stuff for newborn to six month old boys. I now have 25 newborn sized prefolds and six covers and tons of clothes. I'm not sure we need to buy any baby clothes at all. I'm so grateful I could cry. But I'm also frustrated because I have no idea where to put all this stuff.

My butt hurts. I'm going to stop typing now. This past week was really long. This week is Alex's last week of school. There is so much going on. I'll write about it later.

Let's Over Do It!

I love long weekends when Boo is with her dad. That sentence makes me feel really guilty, but it's honest and a good preface for the rest of this post.

I am a night person. I loved working in the theatre. It loved the people and the work, but the hours were fantastic. I will happily stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning. I have to push it to make 5 or 6, so working 3rd shift never worked for me. Getting up before 9 is like torture for me, even if I go to bed at the stupid early time of midnight. Seriously, not a morning person. Being an English major is right up my alley. All the classes are in the afternoon and I can work in peace and quiet after the kid is in bed. It just makes getting her up and out the door a pain in the butt.

For the last two nights I have stayed up late and slept in. It has been glorious. I love being in my comfy bed with the sunlight streaming through the window. It's decadent, I tell you.

Bryn and I finally got our acts in gear at about 3 and went down to the garden and plotted and tilled and sowed. I made little cards for each type of crop and planted the beans and peas. Bryn helped me with the corn. I just couldn't bend over and do it myself. He had to pick me up off the ground when I had been working on the little signs. The baby feels really low and really heavy. It's hard to believe I still have about three months left...

Bryn decided we needed to go when I started getting woozy. I was a little unsteady on my feet, but I blamed the hills and trying not to mess them up. I had a terrible headache and had already drunk all the water we brought with us. I felt very sorry for Bryn; he had sweat dripping off his face and I'd had most of the water. Bryn brought me home, had me sit in the comfy chair, and brought me water while he made supper. I have a wonderful husband.

That reminds me: Every now and again I look at him and say, "We're married!" and he smiles and nods and hopes no one heard me. It is a little weird, but I'm just so happy to have him for my husband. Occasionally, it just wells up inside and I have to tell him how happy I am. But to the casual observer, it's probably pretty weird. Me and my big belly. He and I have been together for seven years and engaged for two. But we've only been married for three months. And I adore him. Seven years into this relationship and I am still blissfully happy most of the time. We have our moments, but they are few and far between (and mostly it's me being overly emotional - I blame the hormones). I can't imagine my life without him.

Speaking of over doing things and being emotional: Last weekend, Bryn went backpacking with his friends. I hated every minute he was gone. I hate being alone with Alex. I second guess everything I do with her. I am the sole caretaker when he isn't here and I get scared that something awful is going to happen. I can handle it on my own, but it's easier when we can talk to each other and lean on each other. Bryn leaves us alone and she gets a tummy ache, every time. The one thing I can't cope with. So of course, I'm up all night worrying about her tummy and hearing things that aren't there. Listening for her running to the bathroom. Listening for her not making it to the bathroom. And all I hear is the upstairs neighbor playing bocce ball in the living room.

So, I drove Bryn and a friend up to the trailhead last weekend and while driving up the mountain road, I hit a chipmunk. I freaked the hell out. I started crying so hard that I had to stop the car - in the middle of the road. Then I realized how stupid my crying was and started laughing hard enough that I still couldn't drive. And I waffled back and forth between crying and laughing until I finally calmed down. I drove about 20 feet and freaked out again, "What if it was a mommy and has babies in a nest?!?!" and had to slam on the brakes again. Eventually, I got them to the trailhead. I was still sobbing and Bryn's friend Ed practically dragged me out of the car and I wound up the center of a group hug. It was terribly embarrassing, but sweet.

Ed is a nice guy. He and his wife have three kids. Until recently, I only knew his wife pregnant or nursing. I told her that my Christmas present to her this year was that I was pregnant so she didn't have to be. She gave me the hugest hug I got over the holidays. All that said, Ed gets the pregnancy hormones better than most of the men I know. Bryn had no idea what to do with me, other than to let the giggle-tears run their course. Ed managed to nip it in the bud so I could get on with my day. Yes, it was embarrassing, but it was over... Until they headed up the trail and I started missing Bryn and started crying all over again.

Last weekend was pretty long. This weekend is long and will be much better. It has been better already. This weekend I slept in twice, ate Peruvian beef heart on a stick, had a Rookie rootbeer float, watched a fire juggler, ate outside twice, and if we include Friday afternoon, I had a milkshake and a strawberry ice cream cone. The garden is about a third of the way done and it's supposed to rain tomorrow so we can stay in and tidy-up. My mom is coming next weekend.