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.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
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!
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!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Diapers 101
I went to the Cloth Diapers 101 on Saturday. Boy, are diapers complicated! Jessie is really sweet and really knows her diapers.
A few of the things I learned Saturday:
1. I can't do pocket diapers - my hand gets stuck trying to re-tuck them.
2. Pre-folds are probably the way to go until the baby starts crawling.
3. Number 2 means that I'm going to need some more diaper covers.
4. All-in-ones, which I thought I'd never want, are really cute and probably a good idea if I leave the baby with people uncomfortable with cloth diapers.
5. Given that I can't customize cycles on the machines at the laudromat (just rinse, just spin, etc.), I may be better off using a diaper service. Lots of wasted water and energy - and $3.75 for one load of diapers to get washed appropriately seems excessive. It is cheaper than the diaper service, if you don't think about the cost of the detergent and the time that goes into it (3 cycles x 38 minutes = nearly 2 hours of washing).
6. I get $10 off my first order through Jessie if I use the code she gave me at the class. That makes the class free, essentially. Or I could just get a really cute cover for cheap!
7. I can add stuff from Diaper Days to my Amazon Baby! Wishlist.
I really liked the class and Jessie. It was nice getting out and thinking about baby stuff by myself. I love doing the baby thing with Bryn; but I'm not sure I would have played dress-up with the doll quite so long if he'd been there.
A few of the things I learned Saturday:
1. I can't do pocket diapers - my hand gets stuck trying to re-tuck them.
2. Pre-folds are probably the way to go until the baby starts crawling.
3. Number 2 means that I'm going to need some more diaper covers.
4. All-in-ones, which I thought I'd never want, are really cute and probably a good idea if I leave the baby with people uncomfortable with cloth diapers.
5. Given that I can't customize cycles on the machines at the laudromat (just rinse, just spin, etc.), I may be better off using a diaper service. Lots of wasted water and energy - and $3.75 for one load of diapers to get washed appropriately seems excessive. It is cheaper than the diaper service, if you don't think about the cost of the detergent and the time that goes into it (3 cycles x 38 minutes = nearly 2 hours of washing).
6. I get $10 off my first order through Jessie if I use the code she gave me at the class. That makes the class free, essentially. Or I could just get a really cute cover for cheap!
7. I can add stuff from Diaper Days to my Amazon Baby! Wishlist.
I really liked the class and Jessie. It was nice getting out and thinking about baby stuff by myself. I love doing the baby thing with Bryn; but I'm not sure I would have played dress-up with the doll quite so long if he'd been there.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Pregnancy Symptoms
I've been thinking about this for a while and have decided against calling it: So you think you want to be pregnant? Because those of you who want kids will have kids. Pregnancy is only nine months (or ten, depending on how you count). Those of you who have done this may laugh and remember this stuff - or maybe it wasn't your issue so you're just grateful it didn't happen to you.
Yesterday brought up some interesting symptoms that I hadn't thought about since I was round with Alex.
While laying on the gurney during the study I was asked to twist in certain ways so as to better accommodate the testing and to not put the baby (or me) in harm's way. I was on my left side a lot, but frequently they needed my right arm or leg or they needed my head to be straight up and down. That put a lot of strain on the right side of my abdomen. One would think that it would pull the muscles on the left, but those aren't the ones being twisted. Subsequently, my right side has been bothering me since yesterday morning. Last night I tried to roll over. Being pregnant, I have to be semi-awake to do that anyway, but I did it without being awake enough and pulled that muscle all over again. That woke me right up! And of course, now that I'm awake, I have to pee. Sitting up hurt that muscle all over again...
I mentioned that I felt my pelvis separate when I sat up on the gurney. I'm not sure how to describe that to someone who hasn't experienced it. It's like an ache that's burning cold right where the bones come together in the front. It passes. It will happen again with more frequency as I get closer to delivering. I almost find it comforting. It's my body preparing for the delivery. Then again, it hurts like heck and nothing makes it feel better except time.
While I was forced to lie still in the MRI tube I kept tasting banana. It was one bit of uncomfortableness (I'm earning my Master's in English - it's a word now) that I tried to avoid dwelling on. Lying down flat, without a pillow, makes the last thing I ate remarkably close to my mouth. Bryn saw a side-view diagram of a pregnant woman next to a woman who is not pregnant. Yes, my stomach is squashed up into my rib cage and makes my esophagus feel like it's backed up. Blech. Makes eating as much as I want to eat - which would be All the food - really hard.
I was washing dishes today. I'm okay if there aren't too many. I found a pizza box under them today. You still can't get at my toaster oven, but the kid's bath toys are clean. Anyway, my hips and shoulders started hurting. I tend to favor my right leg when I stand and then that hips starts to ache. When I switched legs the right hip actually hurt worse... Between my shoulders and my hips I started complaining out loud and Bryn brought me my industrial strength belly band. It is nearly 4" wide of heavy-duty elastic and has a Velcro closure, then there are supplemental elastics with Velcro to snug it up harder. I like corsets so I actually find this band to be pretty comfortable. It also insists that I stand up straight. Standing up straight, I can't reach the bottom of the sink for the belly. I also forgot to take off the band before sitting down. I thought I was going to die. If I had sat on a stool, instead of in a chair, and taken off the band it would have flown across the room and hurt someone.
Bryn put this amazing balsamic vinegar on our strawberries tonight. Alex ate nearly half the quart by herself. I had a small bowl and needed the whipped cream to cut the vinegar. It's strange what I can no longer tolerate.
Interestingly enough, I can still sit criss-cross applesauce (Indian-style isn't PC) and it doesn't bother my hips or my pubic bone. Getting out of that position, on the other hand, hurts both.
In the supermarket, Bryn talked on the phone with the father of the family we are picnicking with tomorrow. And he stood still to do it. I sat on the edge of the cheese case. I walked in circles around the cheese case. I gave up and went to find paper towels and instant decaf iced tea. My hips, legs and lower back cannot tolerate just standing anymore. Even leaning against the cart wasn't comfortable. I had to be moving. Moving with purpose is less depressing than circling the brie.
My face has broken out into rosacea - thanks Mom. It tends to be latent until a hormone shift. Since it didn't happen with Alex, I figured I was safe. Nope. My face is red, broken out, dry and flaky, and itches. Nothing helps very much. When I put on make-up to try to disguise it (which will only make it worse the next day), the cream or powder will find the edges of the flaky skin that didn't come off scrubbing and make me look even more obvious.
Something else that has become more obvious is my chin. I've had whiskers on my chin for years now. It started when I gained a lot of weight in the late 90's with one or two hairs. I'm now beyond counting them and am contemplating the Father's Day specials on electric shavers... Apparently, this is one of the symptoms of my PCOS. The same PCOS that was supposed to keep me from being fertile. Interestingly, one of the triggers for PCOS is being overweight, but one of the symptoms is difficulty losing weight. There are books about how to lose weight if you have PCOS because it's supposed to be different than other types of fat. It would explain why when my family went on the Atkins Diet everyone else lost weight and I gained 12 pounds...
Fortunately, I have never had the Mask of Pregnancy, my vision hasn't changed substantially, and my feet haven't grown. My nose may have. I haven't had swollen extremities for which I am very grateful - I had a friend whose wedding ring needed to be cut off of her. I don't get so much as cankles. No varicose veins - knock wood. Yes, I get a little backed up. Yes, I burp and fart a lot. My digestion, like that of all pregnant women, has slowed down to ensure as much nutritional absorption as possible. That delay causes gas.
My emotions are on a pendulum... I feel for Bryn. I was a pain in the ass this afternoon. I was having some me-time. That means that I was at a class on cloth diapering while I sent Bryn to keep an eye on Alex while she was at the hospital for the Sibling Class. I got out of my class and decided to stop at the bagel place for a sandwich. I was going to go home, put my feet up, and eat my tasty sandwich. But what I did in reality was text Bryn from the sandwich line if he wanted me to pick them up and if they were hungry. Yes, he wanted me to pick them up. No, he wasn't hungry but Alex was. And if I pick them up instead of making them take the bus we could head straight to the supermarket. There went my plans. I also now felt rushed, like I had to beat the bus to them in order to be a good mom/wife. The way the line crept, that wasn't going to happen. But I could refrain from stopping at home and picking up the coupons and shopping bags - that would save time... Bryn and I were texting back and forth and I thought everything was fine. While I was waiting for Alex's bagel, I unwrapped my sandwich in the hopes of having a bite. Pregnant ladies are always hungry - it gets worse if the food is Right There and they can't get at it. I'm juggling the now unwrapped sandwich, the drinks for all three of us, and the newly acquired bagel, while trying to find my car keys when Bryn calls. WTF!?!?! And of course, since he's calling me it has to be an emergency! So I drop everything in the car - including the insides of half my sandwich on the running board so I can find my now ringing phone. Missed call. GAH! I'm now blaming Bryn for trying to starve me. Someone had better be bleeding. Actually, they are at the hospital; it had better be more important than bleeding. Needless to say, it was much less important than bleeding and I was annoyed and frustrated when I got off the phone. My sandwich, like all good sandwiches, deserved to be eaten with full attention, two hands, and easy access to a napkin. I was praying for red lights so I could reassemble it into something I could eat while driving. I was not a happy camper when I got to the hospital.
My sainted Bryn finally got me to explain what was wrong once we got to the supermarket. I clung to him and explained that I suck at taking care of myself and I need him to do it for me. I explained about my plans and how I screwed up and texted him. He hugged me back and kissed me on the top of the head and agreed that I suck at taking care of my own needs first. He promised he would try to help me out in the future, if I talk to him. He can't help if he doesn't know I need helping. A little while later he got a call from the friend and I paced like a petulant child, but that was a different matter all together.
Yesterday brought up some interesting symptoms that I hadn't thought about since I was round with Alex.
While laying on the gurney during the study I was asked to twist in certain ways so as to better accommodate the testing and to not put the baby (or me) in harm's way. I was on my left side a lot, but frequently they needed my right arm or leg or they needed my head to be straight up and down. That put a lot of strain on the right side of my abdomen. One would think that it would pull the muscles on the left, but those aren't the ones being twisted. Subsequently, my right side has been bothering me since yesterday morning. Last night I tried to roll over. Being pregnant, I have to be semi-awake to do that anyway, but I did it without being awake enough and pulled that muscle all over again. That woke me right up! And of course, now that I'm awake, I have to pee. Sitting up hurt that muscle all over again...
I mentioned that I felt my pelvis separate when I sat up on the gurney. I'm not sure how to describe that to someone who hasn't experienced it. It's like an ache that's burning cold right where the bones come together in the front. It passes. It will happen again with more frequency as I get closer to delivering. I almost find it comforting. It's my body preparing for the delivery. Then again, it hurts like heck and nothing makes it feel better except time.
While I was forced to lie still in the MRI tube I kept tasting banana. It was one bit of uncomfortableness (I'm earning my Master's in English - it's a word now) that I tried to avoid dwelling on. Lying down flat, without a pillow, makes the last thing I ate remarkably close to my mouth. Bryn saw a side-view diagram of a pregnant woman next to a woman who is not pregnant. Yes, my stomach is squashed up into my rib cage and makes my esophagus feel like it's backed up. Blech. Makes eating as much as I want to eat - which would be All the food - really hard.
I was washing dishes today. I'm okay if there aren't too many. I found a pizza box under them today. You still can't get at my toaster oven, but the kid's bath toys are clean. Anyway, my hips and shoulders started hurting. I tend to favor my right leg when I stand and then that hips starts to ache. When I switched legs the right hip actually hurt worse... Between my shoulders and my hips I started complaining out loud and Bryn brought me my industrial strength belly band. It is nearly 4" wide of heavy-duty elastic and has a Velcro closure, then there are supplemental elastics with Velcro to snug it up harder. I like corsets so I actually find this band to be pretty comfortable. It also insists that I stand up straight. Standing up straight, I can't reach the bottom of the sink for the belly. I also forgot to take off the band before sitting down. I thought I was going to die. If I had sat on a stool, instead of in a chair, and taken off the band it would have flown across the room and hurt someone.
Bryn put this amazing balsamic vinegar on our strawberries tonight. Alex ate nearly half the quart by herself. I had a small bowl and needed the whipped cream to cut the vinegar. It's strange what I can no longer tolerate.
Interestingly enough, I can still sit criss-cross applesauce (Indian-style isn't PC) and it doesn't bother my hips or my pubic bone. Getting out of that position, on the other hand, hurts both.
In the supermarket, Bryn talked on the phone with the father of the family we are picnicking with tomorrow. And he stood still to do it. I sat on the edge of the cheese case. I walked in circles around the cheese case. I gave up and went to find paper towels and instant decaf iced tea. My hips, legs and lower back cannot tolerate just standing anymore. Even leaning against the cart wasn't comfortable. I had to be moving. Moving with purpose is less depressing than circling the brie.
My face has broken out into rosacea - thanks Mom. It tends to be latent until a hormone shift. Since it didn't happen with Alex, I figured I was safe. Nope. My face is red, broken out, dry and flaky, and itches. Nothing helps very much. When I put on make-up to try to disguise it (which will only make it worse the next day), the cream or powder will find the edges of the flaky skin that didn't come off scrubbing and make me look even more obvious.
Something else that has become more obvious is my chin. I've had whiskers on my chin for years now. It started when I gained a lot of weight in the late 90's with one or two hairs. I'm now beyond counting them and am contemplating the Father's Day specials on electric shavers... Apparently, this is one of the symptoms of my PCOS. The same PCOS that was supposed to keep me from being fertile. Interestingly, one of the triggers for PCOS is being overweight, but one of the symptoms is difficulty losing weight. There are books about how to lose weight if you have PCOS because it's supposed to be different than other types of fat. It would explain why when my family went on the Atkins Diet everyone else lost weight and I gained 12 pounds...
Fortunately, I have never had the Mask of Pregnancy, my vision hasn't changed substantially, and my feet haven't grown. My nose may have. I haven't had swollen extremities for which I am very grateful - I had a friend whose wedding ring needed to be cut off of her. I don't get so much as cankles. No varicose veins - knock wood. Yes, I get a little backed up. Yes, I burp and fart a lot. My digestion, like that of all pregnant women, has slowed down to ensure as much nutritional absorption as possible. That delay causes gas.
My emotions are on a pendulum... I feel for Bryn. I was a pain in the ass this afternoon. I was having some me-time. That means that I was at a class on cloth diapering while I sent Bryn to keep an eye on Alex while she was at the hospital for the Sibling Class. I got out of my class and decided to stop at the bagel place for a sandwich. I was going to go home, put my feet up, and eat my tasty sandwich. But what I did in reality was text Bryn from the sandwich line if he wanted me to pick them up and if they were hungry. Yes, he wanted me to pick them up. No, he wasn't hungry but Alex was. And if I pick them up instead of making them take the bus we could head straight to the supermarket. There went my plans. I also now felt rushed, like I had to beat the bus to them in order to be a good mom/wife. The way the line crept, that wasn't going to happen. But I could refrain from stopping at home and picking up the coupons and shopping bags - that would save time... Bryn and I were texting back and forth and I thought everything was fine. While I was waiting for Alex's bagel, I unwrapped my sandwich in the hopes of having a bite. Pregnant ladies are always hungry - it gets worse if the food is Right There and they can't get at it. I'm juggling the now unwrapped sandwich, the drinks for all three of us, and the newly acquired bagel, while trying to find my car keys when Bryn calls. WTF!?!?! And of course, since he's calling me it has to be an emergency! So I drop everything in the car - including the insides of half my sandwich on the running board so I can find my now ringing phone. Missed call. GAH! I'm now blaming Bryn for trying to starve me. Someone had better be bleeding. Actually, they are at the hospital; it had better be more important than bleeding. Needless to say, it was much less important than bleeding and I was annoyed and frustrated when I got off the phone. My sandwich, like all good sandwiches, deserved to be eaten with full attention, two hands, and easy access to a napkin. I was praying for red lights so I could reassemble it into something I could eat while driving. I was not a happy camper when I got to the hospital.
My sainted Bryn finally got me to explain what was wrong once we got to the supermarket. I clung to him and explained that I suck at taking care of myself and I need him to do it for me. I explained about my plans and how I screwed up and texted him. He hugged me back and kissed me on the top of the head and agreed that I suck at taking care of my own needs first. He promised he would try to help me out in the future, if I talk to him. He can't help if he doesn't know I need helping. A little while later he got a call from the friend and I paced like a petulant child, but that was a different matter all together.
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