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.

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.

In Homage to My Boo

I have a wonderful little girl. She is bright, funny, silly, thoughtful, helpful, and tends to be pretty. She's in love with pretty dresses and flip-flops. She has a crush on a sweet boy from her first grade class. She loves cute animals and wants a kitten. She knows our limitations and is okay with another fish. If she asks for something and is told, "No," she is okay with it. She appreciates an explanation but is accepting either way. She has never whined when not allowed something. She has never thrown a tantrum in public.

This is not to say that she hasn't whined - it's usually because she has to do something she doesn't want to do, like clean her room or go shopping. She threw a tantrum once when she was wee and I don't remember what it was about, but I stepped over her and continued doing what I was doing. She stopped and asked if she could help.

I have the most wonderful little girl in the world living under my roof and I am privileged to be her mother. I have hardly done her the service she deserves. I do not spend as much time with her as I should. I do not read to her as much as I should. I do not listen to her as much as I should. I should let her help me more. I should trust her more than I do. She still does weird little kid things and I still see her as little, but she is quickly getting big. She starts second grade in two weeks. She's going to be one of the big fish in her little school.

She is going to be the world's best big sister. I love my Boo.

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?

Less than 3 weeks to go...

Saturday, Bryn and Boo and I went swimming in the lake. The belly was just too heavy to stay upright as I left the water. I stayed sitting in the shallows for nearly an hour playing with rocks and shells. When Bryn finally convinced me to get out of the water, the baby had truly settled into my pelvis.

The waddle is pronounced. I sleep in the direct line of a fan because I sweat so much at night. I'm hungry, but I have no place for the food to go. I'm tired all the time.

My mom's best friend called her yesterday to tell my mom to tell me to put 3 or 4 towels in a kitchen garbage bag to keep in the car. When I go into labor, put the bag over the seat and the towels over the bag. "She'll never get the amniotic fluid out of the upholstery. Trust me." Aunt Elaine has three kids. She also recommended a length of twine for the cord since the drive to the hospital is so long.

There is so much to do and I just don't have the energy to do it. I just want to sleep all the time. Things still need to get put into the storage unit. Bryn wants to take things to consignment. There are so many things that just don't have a place in our tiny little place.

We still need a mattress for the cradle in the living room. I need to get rid of my bedside table so that we can put the co-sleeper next to the bed. All the sheets and blankets are clean, I just need to get the beds set up. I need to get enough room in the living room to set up the Amby and make sure it's still in good order.

And the place needs to be vacuumed. And Alex needs to clean her room. And the laundry needs to get done. First, I need to pee and take a nap.

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.

Other Births I've Known...

So I wasn't actually there for most of them, but I've heard some great birth stories in my time. I'll start with the one I'm most familiar with, my own.

Mom had a great pregnancy. She was chopping firewood the week before she went into labor. She contracted poison ivy in the dead of winter making rubbings of gravestones in Pennsylvania just a few months before I was born. She had planned me. She made appointments with Dad to conceive me. Apparently, I was transverse through most of the pregnancy. I was manually manipulated to be head down and about halfway home I'd flip around to where I was comfy again.
When Mom was admitted to Mary Hitchcock, the nurse told her that she'd never deliver me vaginally. 46 hours later, the head of obstetrics and the head of anesthesiology attended my "emergency" c-section. Since my grandmother couldn't get there for her, my mother had a picture of her young mother holding her in a plastic bag under her pillow through the surgery.
The cord was wrapped around my neck 3 times. Even if Mom's pelvis had spread enough, I would have choked myself. I spent about a week in the NICU.
As a nurse, my mom was the focus of attention in the maternity ward. The baby nurses (what she calls newbies) were using her like a guinea pig. The tried every breast pump they could find on her. After a while, Mom asked what they were doing with all the milk they'd pumped. One of the baby nurses told her, very sheepishly, that they were giving it to the preemies. They hadn't told her or the other mothers for fear that someone would object. It was just that they tolerated it so much better and they thrived on it. Mom offered to nurse them, but it was felt that that was a bit too much. Mom didn't object to pumping after that.

My mom's best friend had three kids and all I remember about the stories is that they were all gushers. She ruined rugs when her water broke. Not helpful in the birthing story area, but darned amusing.

My grandmother had my mother in Philadelphia, I think. She was in the hospital overnight. She was heavily medicated, but not before learning about baseball. Apparently, Gram was alone in the maternity ward and a young attending physician was tasked with sitting with her. The Phillies were playing and they listened to the game on his little radio and he taught her about baseball. She never became a fan of "good" teams; but she took me to my first professional ball game. We watched a lot of baseball together. If her team made it to the World Series, she would hide in the closet and peek her head out for updates periodically.
I'm not sure why, but she never taught my mother about baseball. She taught me.

Her mother, my great-grandmother had no idea she was having a baby. She was in her forties and had been married since she was a young woman. She assumed she was going through "the change". She was a heavy-set woman and assumed a few things about her diet and her indigestion, but eventually called over her sister. Her sister called over the next door neighbor lady, a midwife. The consensus was that she was in enough pain that they should call the doctor. Apparently, he was in the house less than five minutes before exclaiming, "There are three women in this house and not one of you recognizes a woman in labor!?!"
My grandmother was born that night and she was so small that she fit in her father's overcoat pocket. She was yellow. A young cousin was allowed to name her, and she did, after her French china doll: Beatrice.
Since they had not prepared for her and they didn't expect her to survive, she was put in a well padded drawer on the open oven door to keep her warm and the doctor said he'd be back in the morning to pronounce her.
He walked in the door the next morning and was greeted with a screaming infant. She'd made it (and she never shut-up again. And we wouldn't have wanted it any other way.). He told my great-grandmother that she'd better feed her or she really wouldn't survive.

My best friend and birth coach for Alex had two children before I had Alex. The first, she was in labor for 4 hours - start to finish. The second only took 2. She said something about peeled grapes that I don't think I will ever fully understand. For someone who experienced such short and complication free deliveries, she was an amazing birth coach for me.

Alex's birth was long, protracted, and not something I would like to repeat. It could have been much worse, granted, but it could have been better.
Contractions started on Thursday evening. They were finally about 3 minutes apart by 3pm on Saturday. I went into the hospital and was told that I was fully effaced, but only 2cm dilated. At 6pm, my doctor ordered Pitocin. At midnight, he told a nurse to restart my Pitocin and she told him that she would - right after I got a good night's sleep. I was only at 4cm. He came to see me in the morning while I was having breakfast. He complained that I was still not back on the Pitocin and only at 5cm. The nurse (different one) told him that she would restart it after I'd finished breakfast. Some time in the pain haze that was Sunday, the doctor ruptured my membranes. There was meconium in the fluid. At about noon, I was given Stadol to alleviate the pain of the contractions. By 6pm, I was taken off of both medications. It was just me and my contractions.
I was very happy pushing in a squatting position, but eventually I was manhandled onto my back. A nurse had my left leg and she directed Alex's father to take my right. She told him to pull - he couldn't hurt me. I felt a coldness on my perineum and my baby was born at 9pm. She didn't cry.
I asked the doctor what he was still doing between my legs, which were now in stirrups. He was closing the episiotomy I had expressly asked him not to give me.
I was foggy and hazy for a while, but when she was finally handed to me at 10pm I was in good spirits. I had  delivered Alex naked. When the pediatrician was on his way out I asked him if, since he had seen me naked, could I call him Elliot, he replied that I could, just for that night and left. My little girl was perfect in every way.

I have spoken to a few midwives about Alex's delivery and the consensus seems to be that the episiotomy was probably needed, but someone should have said something to me. The Pitocin probably could have been avoided, and if the Pitocin hadn't been administered there likely wouldn't have been a need for the Stadol. We all agreed that the nurses were wonderful for letting me rest and eat.

I have discussed Alex's birth with my midwife and we are in agreement that we will try for a less medicated birth. We have also agreed that if anything medical needs to happen, I will get talked to before it happens. I'm not just going to be a vessel; I will be part of the delivery team this time. And I will nurse within the first hour. Everything is going to be perfect. I've seen it!

Summertime is Here!

Summertime - Billie Holiday from Amos Mulder on Vimeo.


The heatwave has hit the Northeast. Yesterday was in the mid-90's and today was even hotter. I don't think it hit 100, but it was more humid today. We've managed to stay out of the heat for the most part, but it's been tricky.

Yesterday, I had to get the oil changed in my vehicle. My mechanic apologized that he couldn't get us in and out and let me borrow a shop car. A 2002 Audi A6. I was in love. Alex adored it. The A/C was fantastic! Quick and cold. And the car cooled quickly with the sunroof open. After we picked up the Audi we had to take Bryn to his doctor appointment. It was an intake - they had never met before, so it was a nice long appointment and Alex and I got to sit in the A/C and read for over an hour in the dead heat of the afternoon. We had linner (lunch/dinner) at a favorite cafe - including ice cream for dessert. We sat in the cool, dark cafe and finished our desserts because I didn't want Alex getting ice cream on the leather seats. Who am I kidding? I just wanted to eat mine in peace.

It cooled off a bit in the evening and we went down to the garden after the sun went below the trees. We weeded and watered until it got dark enough to not tell the difference between weed and seedling. There was heat lightening leaping from cloud to cloud and I was hopeful for a thunderstorm, but it didn't come. Alex was filthy, as usual, after a few hours in the garden. Her overalls were crunchy.

Bending over isn't comfortable, so I sit when I weed. I weed as much as I can reach and then scoot down a bit. Washing Alex in the tub is also problematic. Yes, I know she's seven. She has real issues with her hair. She comes back from her father's with an itchy head because they let her wash her own hair and she hates rinsing. She can wash herself bodily, but let's face it: It's a lot faster when I do it - when I can reach her. She scoots to the far side of the tub when I go to wash her. I don't think it's deliberate, but I did grab her by the ankle and drag her back to where I could get at her last night. Bending into the tub just drives the baby into my chest and makes it hard to breathe and leaning forward puts strain on my lower back.

She and I went back to the garden this morning to water again before the heat of the day. She managed to get filthy again. And I took her straight to the market. Walking through those doors was heaven. We spent an hour wandering up and down the aisles in the least efficient order. If you think that spending an hour in the supermarket is easy, keep in mind that the market I took her to is a Mac's Market. In Vermont, Mac's is a convenience store. The one in Essex Junction is epic, but it's still pretty small. Yes, there is a butcher and a deli and an organic section, but options are usually between one brand name and ShureFine brand, and the refrigerated aisle is dairy on one side and beer on the other with a bit of soda on the end.

Once we finished off there I took her to the other end of the plaza to the Rite-Aid. Alex had been a sweetie the last time we were there and I denied her a toy she wanted because she had dawdled and waited to bring it to the register until after I had checked out. She just put it back and we got on with our day. Since she was so awesome I decided that she deserved the toy and a couple of water guns to play with in the heat. The fans were all on and pointed at the door going in - it was heaven after the walk down the sidewalk.

Then we went to the bakery in the middle of the plaza. There's a lunch counter at the back! And I picked up a loaf of day old monkey bread for $2. We came home, had a little lunch, and went to the lake.

Maternity bathing suits are terrible. Or at least all the ones I've found are terrible. I finally found one that fit and bought it for the trip I took to Boston in April. The picture above is from a dressing room in March - imagine how it fits now. I never wore it in Boston. My breasts are too big now. They barely fit inside the cups and I'm not sure who decided that bathing suits for big breasted girls need to be halter tops - but they need to stop and be taught a lesson in gravity. Big boobs are heavy boobs and they need to be held up - preferably NOT by my neck. Albatrosses, the both of them. Alex actually giggled and followed the lines in my skin where my bra leaves indentations last night. That was fun. I'm contemplating just getting a bikini. I haven't worn one in over a decade; it might be fun.

Water. I'm not going to talk about the pain my feet are still in from walking across the sand. I'm not going to talk about the grossness of the lake water. I will mention buoyancy. Once I was finally in the water I felt like a new woman. It was heaven. I could walk forever. My hips didn't hurt. My back didn't hurt. My pelvis didn't hurt. I didn't even know that my pelvis had been hurting! It all felt so good. The belly just lifted up in the water and I was nearly weightless. It was decidedly weird when a wake came by and I was only partially submerged. We left over 5 hours ago and I want to go back. 


My feet hurt. My butt hurts. I just ache everywhere. I think I got a sunburn, which doesn't help. Yes, I put on sunblock - but it was old and I probably spent too long in the water. I'll use Alex's from now on. 


Other stuff, other than the heat: I passed my glucose test! I was not as up on my iron as I had been ten days earlier. I think that my iron really fluctuates depending on what I've eaten in the past few days. I tend to get cravings for red meat and spinach on a regular basis, so I haven't taken supplements lately, but I do have them if I have another dizzy spell.

This probably deserves it's own post, but it happened today and it happened in the heatwave, so it's here.
There was a blanket of three Muslim women and their babies in the shade that we walked past on our way back to the car. Their older children were in the water nearby. There are a lot of Muslims in the area: students and refugees alike. I have no idea how they survive all covered up like that. Long sleeves, long skirts or loose slacks, and the head coverings. I wear a sunhat, but that's for shade! Anyway, there were three babies with the women and Alex just squealed! They were adorable babies and I just melted. One woman had hers at her breast, nursing, this tiny little babe. She is a month old. Full head of hair and a concentrated nurser! After we left, Bryn realized he'd been staring. He hoped he hadn't made the mother uncomfortable. The mother was too busy smiling and talking about her baby and asking about mine. We just kept congratulating each other! Alex really wanted to see the baby's face, but she kept a good distance. She did bounce a lot though.

I think there is something very interesting about a culture where the women keep so modest that their arms and legs are covered, even in this heat; but nursing the baby out in the open, with her breast out, no cover on the baby, she was radiant.

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.

Being Mom

Alex was sick this afternoon. I hate that in ways that I cannot fully express. I hate that she doesn't feel well. I hate that she has so much practice at this that she throws up better than I do. I hate that it feels like instinct to be there when she does it. I hate the look on her face when I wipe it off. I hate that she asked for a bowl for next to her bed tonight. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Bryn has told me that my immune system is in hyperdrive because of the pregnancy. I'm not sure I believe him, but as I'm the Momma, I don't have much choice but to run with it. Momma is the comforting one. Papa is pretty good at cleaning up the mess, if there is a mess, but Momma is for cuddles and snuggles and reassurance... as much as I want to hide under the covers.

My discomfort with this tummy thing has me concerned about being a mom again. I'm having all the concerns I had when I was pregnant with Alex, but add in the difficulties that I had with Alex that I never expected.

Alex had jaundice. Alex would not be swaddled. Alex had a terrible latch. She was colicky. I had never heard of rotovirus until she was better. She didn't sleep through the night until she was three. We had to worry about bullies in daycare. There are all kinds of things that I thought I would never have to worry about again and now I'm pregnant. There is a little person doing flip-flops in my abdomen and I have to worry about him all over again.

Bryn says not to worry. This kid is half him and half me. We were calm kids, we were natural nursers and pretty healthy kids. I slept through the night in a matter of weeks. I should be calm and happy to meet the new person, but it's so scary. Starting all over with a new person. I was so excited a couple of weeks ago and now I'm scared. I guess I will come around again, but the guilt just feeds the fear. I think I know what I'm talking to my therapist about tomorrow...

Wow. 15 weeks and 6 days.

So, sorry about the study post. It never happened. I was sick. I had a sore throat and a cough that just made the pregnancy exhaustion that much worse. I tried to eat the food. I tried to swallow their prenatal vitamins. I couldn't do it. I woke up the day before the test and gave up. I had no voice and could not get out of bed. I emailed the nice people from the test and they will contact me to do the third test at about 30 weeks. Unfortunately, the money I was going to get for participating in the study I was going to use to set up an account with the local diaper service. So there goes that...

Bryn and I are officially married! It was an elopement of sorts. Not being married to the man I love and the father of my unborn child had finally gotten to me badly enough that we made it legal.

(Bless Aunty Kay and her lack of technological know-how; neither the date nor the time is correct)

I am, gratefully, feeling better than I had been for the past few weeks and managed to change my name at the DMV, SS Office, the bank, the Dept. of Econ. Svc., and my landlord. It totally tuckered me out and I slept like the dead for 11 hours, got Alex out the door to school, and went back to bed for another 2 hours. I've been a little sleepy all day but I did manage to get out and about. I ordered a pair of prescription sunglasses! Yay! I'm broke, but I'll be able to see in sunshine! I don't remember being so sensitive to sunlight - but it has been a long dreary winter.

I'm still SuperMom. I've managed to get my kid into bed within 1.5 hours of her bedtime all week. I found 3 of her mittens in the Lost & Found at her school. I went to her school play despite how sick I was that week. She got flowers even though she had no speaking part, wore black, and pretty much hung out in the back. They are two weeks old now and are still pretty-ish. I think it's a commentary on how cold her room is more than my green thumb... Why is her room always the coldest room in the apartment and my room the hottest?

Speaking of the kid: no one is moving out of the big apartments on the other side of the town line. That means that the baby will be nearly a year old before we have a bigger place, but Alex can stay in the awesome school in Colchester! I know that the bigger place would be really nice - it has a sunroom and the living room is nearly the size of our whole apartment - but the rent is huge and the schools suck.

Went to the midwife yesterday. Our next appointment is 20 weeks. We will get to see the baby. The muffin will be half way to being baked. SQWEEE!!!

For the last week or so I've felt little flutters in my stomach. It's sort of like a fighting fish with a really big tail swimming around in a little bag. In my stomach. Having felt it before and being sick in bed were definitely conducive to noticing such a gentle movement.

The queasies have mostly gone away. Mostly. My appetite is nothing like what it was. I have lost 15 pounds since my first appointment (pre-pregnancy) at the midwife's - and it's been pretty consistent. I was down 15 pounds at the last appointment too. The midwives want me to give them a three-day food diary for the next appointment. They are not picking on me - everyone gets to do it. I hate it and it makes me self-conscious. I don't eat. I nibble. And sometimes I don't eat for hours. For example: today I had half of a toasted turkey sandwich, a Hershey kiss, most of a pickle spear, half of an oversized oatmeal raisin cookie, two slices of pepperoni and mushroom pizza, and a cheezy bread stick. I may or may not eat again before bed. Keep in mind that I effectively slept until 11. Three days of this? I wish I were hungrier. The sandwich was awesome, but I couldn't finish it. It's in the fridge.

Anyway. It's been a boring and eventful couple of weeks. I can't wait for Bryn and Al to be able to feel the baby!

Stuff

So much is on my mind that I'm just going to have a gobbledy-gook post this evening. Sorry about that.

Went for my prenatal blood test today. We went all the way down to Porter Medical Center to do it so we could see the Birthing Center. It's about an hour drive. Today it was snowing. Fifty minutes was good enough, especially considering I didn't know exactly where I was going. Come August, it will either be easier or harder to make it in an hour, being in the heart of Construction Season and all.

The blood draw was easy. I hate blood draws, so the lab tech letting me babble at her was fantastic. I hope Alex's first real blood draw isn't traumatic; I'm pretty sure she's O neg like me. I'd like her to be able to donate blood without inducing trauma on volunteers.

The tour was cool. The Birthing Center is tiny. We were shown the recovery room that one might be moved to if they are really busy. There are two of those. Then we were shown a birthing suite. If it's not busy that would be the room I'm admitted to, labor and deliver, and recover in and the baby would room-in. There are three of those rooms. The nursery is all glass and the nurse reassured us that the baby would only really be there for a heel prick, or in an emergency, that is where the baby would be stabilized before transport.

I live a fifteen minute bus ride from the hospital they would probably transfer the baby (or myself) to, if there were an emergency. Taking public transit from my house is a quicker ride than in a speeding ambulance from Middlebury... I know that birth is normal and natural and has happened all over the world for eons. As a reader and student of the female condition, I have a hard time forgetting that women and infants have died in childbirth, or shortly thereafter, for eons. I was a C-section because my mother's pelvis would not separate. After 46 hours of labor, my delivery was an emergency. I spent a week in the NICU at Mary Hitchcock (a tale worth its own post). Alex was born after my membranes were ruptured for me and the doctor had me on pitocin for a total of 16 hours. I got nine hours off for sleep and one for lunch. I'm a little nervous. I think Bryn is too, but we haven't really articulated our fears to one another. He doesn't like "dwelling" and thinks that bad thoughts can manifest into the things feared. I want to talk about our fears, but I don't want to upset Bryn. He'll just tell me there's nothing to worry about.

I want waffles.

So Dev, I've been reading a bit and I'm not sure I need a doula. At least not this far out. I'll still need to research a bit, but I think I may (oh boy) be fine. I have a fantastic set of midwives - who are beloved of the nursing staff at Porter, by the way. The nurse who gave us the tour asked who we were going with and she just had fantastic things to say about each of the midwives. She loves the midwife we are going with, but she is pregnant so we are going with Martha for our visit next week, which was just fantastic with the nurse, but Anita is really very sweet too, she should know, she used to work in their office. And then there is the fact that my mom's new best friend is a midwife who has offered her more maternal services. Lord knows I'm not letting Mom in for delivery, but her best friend may be welcome. And then there is Bryn. I think the family friend may be what I need. I'll keep researching though.

I think I may be over the worst of the queasy thing. I still have bouts of it, but my main urge is to eat my way through it. What I really want is cantaloupe. Or waffles. I had a mad craving for cheese steak sandwiches two weeks ago. I must have eaten three of them that week. Spinach salads sound good until I go to choose a dressing. I like creamy dressings on my spinach, vinaigrettes don't really cut it, but the smell of the creamy dressings just puts me off. Pretzels were unappealing for a while. That was just weird. Peppermint tea, one sugar, room temperature is the greatest beverage ever. I can even forgo the sugar, just don't make me drink it hot.

I want a Twizzler.

I have a new primary care physician. He's asked me to call him by his first name. I feel old. He's really friendly and super sweet though. He checked me out, told me that the midwives can check my abdomen and breasts, and recommended a new brain care specialist. I was not in the least off-put by his attitude towards my pregnant places - I kind of liked that he was more than happy to defer to the ladies who DO pregnancy. I will see him again in a few months.

The new brain care specialist (I have seen counselors, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, etc... I've seen them all for the same thing - my mental health (that I stole the phrase from a Vogon is irrelevant)) is a neat lady in the same office as the new doctor. She let me babble for the first hour. Maybe at tomorrow's meeting she will speak more. She implied that she would, but time will tell. I was working on weaning off of my anti-depressants while I was trying to get pregnant. The stomach virus finished the job. She and I are going to work on keeping me that way, at least until the baby is weaned. That is my goal. I had a rough time last year. Wish me luck.

I've been a bit of a hormonal mess. Bryn can probably speak to it better than I can so I will leave off with the fact that I was bawling yesterday about dishes. I was threatening to pile them in the driveway and run them over with the car rather than wash them. He couldn't understand me through the blubbering and thought I said "tissue", as that was what I was looking at when I spoke. He really didn't get the driving pantomime in reference to the snotty tissue. It wasn't just the dishes, of course. I was also a mess about not hearing him correctly. He teases me but I haven't been able to hear his smile lately; all I hear are the words, which I then have an over-reaction to. So he teases me about not doing the dishes, I freak out on him, he tell me to calm down, I realize I'm over reacting and completely meltdown. Within said meltdown I bring up all the other things that make me unhappy. I have no passion anymore, I can't hear his smile, I can't stand being touched, I have no idea what I'm going to do with my degree, I have no idea how we are going to pay for the trip to Boston, I have no Work-Study money this semester, crap I haven't finished reading Uncle Tom's Cabin, I sleep too much, there's too much laundry, should we cloth diaper the baby?, if I could afford disposables I can afford the diaper service, right?, AAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!! And then I start driving over tissues. It's a good thing Bryn loves me. Alex worries when I cry. Bryn tells her I'm fine and I try to reassure her as well, but I think it may be a bit scary for her.

Anyone have a Fudge Round? Twix? 3 Musketeers?

I think I'm doing better. Next week is the midwife appointment where I may actually lie down on a table and get my belly prodded. I may get a sonogram. We may discover the gender (maybe).

I want a boy. I want a boy badly enough that I'm wondering if I'm willing to have three girls in an effort to get a boy. I am the only daughter of an only daughter of an only daughter. Bryn has female cousins and a sister. He's it for the Milks name. A boy would be so cool. My mom thinks it's cool enough that I'm breaking the only child chain, a boy would be gravy. (Please little Zoe, if you read this, don't be offended. We love you.)

Mmmm.... when is cantaloupe in season again?

Yes, we have names picked out. Yes, if it's a girl her name will be Zoe. Alexandra and Zoe. Get it? I'm not divulging the middle name. I was on a forum when I was pregnant with Alex and we went around one day and shared the names we had chosen for our April babies. A woman who delivered on Alex's due date used my boy name, first and middle, for her son. I was so offended. I looked back and she was going to call him Micheal. I suppose it means I have better taste, but it was weird and I felt robbed. Suffice to say, I'm not really worried about anyone stealing the names so much as I want there to be a bit of surprise. On a side note, neither of our mothers like the girl name. We're sticking to our guns though. We think it's perfect.

I think I've blathered enough for one post. I'm off to find some ice cream. Or an apple. Fruit leather?

Chairs

I've been thinking a lot about where I put my butt lately. Bryn will probably say that this has a lot to do with how much I've been on it. I'm tired... But I have been thinking about when I was pregnant with Alex and the chairs that made me happy.

There were three chairs that I spent most of my time in. The big computer chair shouldn't really count. I had no laptop so if I wanted to look up gestational stages and keep up with my web comics I had to sit in the big ugly, uncomfortable computer chair.

Alex's dad had a big ugly, overstuffed, recliner. It was orange. It was lumpy. I sat in it for hours on end watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Gilmore Girls on DVD with a bowl of salsa balanced on my belly hoping the spices would inspire contractions. It may have been an eyesore, but I couldn't see it when I was in it.

The other chair was a big blue swivel rocker. It was insanely comfortable. Rocking felt so good while I was feeling queasy or overstuffed. The arms were the perfect height when Alex was finally in my arms. I nursed her in that chair until she was weaned. Bryn's cat also loved that chair. I frequently sat on him and batted him away from scratching the fabric. The chair got a lot of abuse. We don't have it anymore...

A friend of mine had a rocking chair in her yard sale. Standard wooden rocking chair, nothing extraordinary. She had recieved it as a baby shower present for her first child. Neither of her daughters ever got rocked in it - it just didn't fit their space. She let me have it for $5. It sat in my mother's garage for years. I think it may have disappeared to the Parent-Child Center along with my electric roaster.

We have two chairs now. One is the computer chair. It's okay for working at the computer, but it's not comfortable for just sitting. The other chair is this really pretty recliner we got from Bryn's mom. It's lovely. It's also falling apart. There is constantly foam under the chair; it's just falling out of the seat. I sit on a pillow in the chair and that helps; but I've thought about nursing in it and I'm pretty sure the arms are too high and far apart.

I don't know... I'm being weird. I could curl up on the sofa. I do wish I had a rocking chair though. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I've never thought this much about my butt and where I park it.

Spreading the news

I'm a bit superstitious. Blame it on being raised in rural Vermont. Blame it on years working in the theatre. Whatever the cause, I toss salt over my shoulder, pick up pennies, and avoid the Scottish play to such a degree that I've never actually read it (quite the accomplishment for an English major with a background in theatre). All that said: I wanted to wait three months to tell anyone we were pregnant. That went completely out the window on the drive home from Planned Parenthood.

Annie, Bryn's mom, called while Bryn was in the waiting room awaiting me to be done with the official test. He told her that he was waiting for me in the doctor's office and he'd call her back. Needing to explain why we were both at my doctor's appointment necessitated telling her what we were really up to. She was thrilled, apparently started crying, and swore she wouldn't tell my mother. Since I finally had an explanation for my fatigue and nausea, I was thrilled to have someone to talk to about it other than Bryn.

This was Monday, December 19th. I was not going to see my mother until the 24th. Bryn, Alex, and I were visiting friends on the 22nd, and on the 23rd, we would be visiting my father. Bryn's sister, her husband, and their sons were coming on the 25th. There were lots of people we would get to tell in person, but it would have to wait a few days. I'm not good with surprises. Bryn frequently gets his Christmas presents for his birthday (in November) and his birthday presents ... the day I get them.

We live with Alex, the six year-old. Keeping it from her was nearly impossible. It was also important to me that she be aware that Bryn and I were discussing moving. The move would affect her the most: she would need to change schools. Alex was terribly excited about the pregnancy and completely at ease with the idea of moving and changing schools. I'm a bit torn about this. I wanted her to have a sense of stability at least for the couple of years that I'm a UVM, so the idea of moving upsets me more than it does her, apparently. That and living in Colchester is the elementary school jackpot. Moving 300 yards down the street changes everything for her. Anyway, this is a topic for another post. Needless to say, my pregnancy was the topic of Circle Time on Tuesday morning and Wednesday evening's Daisy meeting. Most of Colchester knew I was pregnant before my parents did.

Bryn told his best friend, Ed, Monday night. He could not wait until he saw Ed on Thursday. At least Ed hadn't told his wife by the time I saw her. Joann and Ed have three kids. In the time I have known them I have not known Joann to not be either pregnant or nursing. I told her that I was pregnant this Christmas so she didn't have to be. The smile and hug were epic!

The next day Bryn and Alex and I set off for my father's house. Dad was so excited about Alex that I was hoping for more excitement for the new baby. I prefaced the announcement by saying that we had news. Dad looked happy and excited and said, "You're getting married?" at the same time Alex said that we were having a baby. Dad's face fell, "Oh". I know my dad is old fashioned and if I explained the money side of our decision he might understand, but I was just kind of hoping he would match his mood to the ones we were projecting and complain about it after we had left. My relationship with my father is not really relevant to this post or this blog, but his general disapproval of my life makes me less inclined to call or visit him which tends to make him less approving of me, so he may not show up in this blog nearly as frequently as my mother. I just wish he had been happier about our news. Kathy, my step-mother, and Aunt Barbara, my father's sister, seemed happy, so there's that.

Christmas Eve. I wanted Mom to be comfy and settled in before I told her. Telling her while she's hauling boxes and we're setting up dinner and stuffing our faces seemed imprudent. Mom brought her dear friend Kathleen with her to celebrate the holiday with us. Kathleen is a nurse midwife. Once we were all settled and fed, I was pooped. I told Mom and she practically squealed with joy! I then collapsed into the comfy chair and Mom and Kathleen doted on me. It was nice to have someone around to take care of me. Don't get me wrong, Bryn takes excellent care of me, but the sympathy given by women who have been there and witness it all the time is much different. They did all the dishes! They brewed tea and gave me sour candies! They sent me to bed!

Christmas Day was sort of anti-climactic. Four extra people were coming, but when Phil asked what was new, and Bryn said we had news, Beky squealed from the bathroom, "I knew it!" and that was pretty much the end of it. Eva, Bryn and Beky's stepmother called, and we told her too. Everyone was very happy. But we were done with the personal, face-to-face news telling.

A few people got texts from me on New Years. Bryn made an announcement on Facebook. I made an announcement on Facebook. Bryn told his boss - she is in charge of determining graduate housing so she was going to find out when we applied for a three-bedroom anyway. And she told everyone else.

Guess that's it. The news is out. So much for waiting three months.