The Best Laid Plans...

...Just don't matter at all when you end up with this:

Welcome LJ, born September 27, 2014 at 1:37 a.m. 7 pounds, 15 ounces. The nurse measured him at 22", but I have to say after putting him in a few outfits I did not agree. I measured him the other day and came up with 20.5, which was confirmed at the doctor's office last Thursday.

I love my sweet, sweet, new little monkey. He has probably spent at least 50% of his life so far asleep on my chest (or Mr. E's), and I wouldn't change a thing. Sprout, who will be 2 on Oct 15, gave LJ a kiss on the head today that was not followed by an act of violence. He's a little, um, NOT NICE to babies smaller than he is. We have to keep a sharp eye on him. But today he was pretty good overall, didn't pay too much attention to LJ and hasn't been throwing extra tantrums, really. He helped Mr. E mow the lawn today and it was just the cutest thing.

I've heard people say they couldn't imagine loving their second child as much as their first, until the second child is born. I feel like I need to be careful to love my first (second) as much as my second (third). I have always loved the baby stage, and I am not as much a fan of the toddler stage, so maybe this has something to do with it? Maybe because my first born was here and gone before I got to experience the love you feel when you stare at your sleeping baby, and yet I still loved him more than anyone else? Do I really love Sprout less now that LJ is here? Of course not. But I can't help thinking how nice it would be to not have to chase after a toddler, or watch him like a hawk around the baby. You know, having your first baby is really hard...until you have your second baby and the hard part is still the first baby.

. . .

OK, so here's what happened. My due date is actually October 11. I thought it would be kind of cool for the babies to share a birthday. Not cool for them, maybe, but for me. But I also kind of felt like this one would be a September baby, and that that would be nice for the kiddos because they would have their own birthday month. Call it mother's intuition. My water broke last Thursday night about 8:00. I stood up from the couch and just felt something funny happening. Mr. E was at the store and I was trying to get Sprout to bed, a little late that night (not sure why). I went to the powder room and thought I just lost the mucus plug. But then I realized that my pants were wet in a little spot too. So at this point I kind of know what is happening, but I wasn't aware that it would KEEP HAPPENING for the next few hours. I knew better than to call the doctor. I just wanted to eat dinner, take a shower and sleep in my own bed, rather than spend the night in the hospital having my vagina unnecessarily probed. I assured family members I would call the doctor in the morning. I obliged and called in the morning, and of course they wanted me to come into the office immediately to "get checked," i.e. unnecessarily probed. I rejected the probe repeatedly until the nurse said that if I was not further dilated, she would let me go home for awhile and check in hours later. So I relented, and no, I was not further dilated, because duh, I did not have ANY contractions, and before I could leave we had to check fluid levels via ultrasound and have a non-stress test. Apparently my fluid level was really low, because the tech was quite serious while doing the scan and then opened the door to tell the nurse that I was at 1.8. I did not--and still do not, really--know what that meant, but to the nurse it meant go immediately to the hospital. If your water has not broken, fluid levels are normal within the wide range of 7-24. I think this is centimeters, so the amount that might be sitting in the bottom of a glass if you could measure that way. What I sort of understand from blogs and such, though it was not fully explained to me, is that under 2cm is not so good for the baby. Oh, yes, and the whole time I lied to the nurses and doctors and such, telling them that my water broke around 10pm, instead of 8. What is two hours, really? I just wanted to make it seem more plausible that I would not have called the doctor the night before.

I agreed that I would get to the hospital "in about an hour," and then I went to work for an hour to tie up loose ends (so glad I did that, actually), and then went home to spend some time with Sprout, pack a bag, have some lunch, and finally head over. It's a five-minute drive to the hospital, so I suppose that was also comforting to me, knowing that I would be there in moments when it was time to go. Still not a single contraction, but I could feel the baby moving quite a bit, which was also reassuring. I should also point out that from the time my water broke I was keenly aware that the baby was still moving well, that the fluid was clear and odorless, and that I was GBS negative. So aside from the low fluid issue, I do not see that I was at risk just because my water broke early. Of course at the hospital they have other ideas, which is why I didn't want to go until I absolutely had to. We arrived at 1:00, about 2 hours later than I promised the nurse. Actually, my plan for initially calling the doctor was going to be to wait until 2:00 that day (Friday), since that would be 18 hours after water breaking with no progress. I guess in the end I simply lost an hour and increased the risk of infection by having one unnecessary probe (the one at the office, which would not have changed anything if we had just checked fluid and had the non-stress test first, which I now know to do should there be a future repeat occurrence). Skip to the end, no one got an infection.

So where are we? The hospital was expecting me, so I went right to a delivery room and started the admitting process. The anesthesiologist came to go over all the releases in case I opted for the epidural. He asked when I ate last and said "of course you did" when I replied "right before I showed up." This was not my first rodeo, yeah, of course I did because you people are going to starve me for the next 17 hours. Unfortunately I had had three bites of Sprout's leftover hotdog and a handful of grapes. But I packed snacks, and let me tell you, I was sneaking them up until we started the--spoiler alert--induction.

Basically, I asked to go home to wait for labor to start on its own, the doctor was very serious and said I would have to sign a waiver that would read that the baby could die and since that didn't seem like a worthwhile risk, I finally said, let's start the pitocin and have a baby! And at that point I also said to bring on the pain relief. Which by the way, arrived a little late and I was not prepared this time to go through so many painful contractions. We started pit at 7:30, so about 24 hours after water breaking, and LJ was born 6 hours later. The contractions started picking up about 11, and were really hurting at 11:30, and I don't think I got the epidural until midnight or even after? Who knows? I feel like the anesthesiologist was barely out of the room before I was pushing and delivering the baby. Apparently that is what a good epidural is supposed to do. I could feel and move my legs the whole time, I felt enormous pressure and was unable to keep from pushing a little bit with the contractions, but the cervical pain was not there. I still needed a lidocain shot for the stitches, though, so maybe the epidural didn't quite go far enough? Again, whatever, I much preferred being able to feel and push than with Sprout when I could detect the contractions but that was basically it. Also, I thought you weren't supposed to tear the second time around? Same spot.

What else? Ah yes, there was some drama. I guess when it was time to deliver everything went so fast, the doctor was barely scrubbed in and they did not have time to break the bed, i.e. lower the lower half and put up stirrups. So when LJ's head popped out unaccompanied by the rest of his body, they had to quickly break the bed so the doctor could wiggle his shoulders out. I confirmed with the doctor, who I guess was working the entire weekend because she did the rounds on Sunday morning, that he was without oxygen for only about 20 seconds. But in the meantime they were yelling about breaking the bed, and then yelling at me to push, and I think at one point I didn't even push but I thought I was, then quickly got it back together and just pushed even though there wasn't a contraction and there he was. They placed him on my naked chest, blue and silent, but after rubbing him with the blanket and suctioning his nose and mouth he was breathing and crying and back to being perfect in a matter of moments. Also, in the midst of this, Mr. E shouted "I see balls!": his way of saying, "It's a boy!" What a class act. Makes me laugh though.

I think that covers the birth story. I have a whole new appreciation for intervened-upon birth. I mean, was it really that important that I sit around waiting for labor to start on its own? Clearly my body was not doing it right--only 10% or so of women have their water break before contractions, and then the median time to active labor is 16-17 hours after water breaking. I don't feel bad about this. Sometimes things don't go "right," and that is what medical intervention is for. I do not feel weak that my body didn't it "do it right" this time, I do not feel like something failed me, I do not feel like I should have done something differently. I think I personally could have waited longer for labor to start, and maybe could have avoided the epidural, but again, for what? Healthy mom, healthy baby is an outcome that is hard to have second thoughts about.

. . .

There is so much more to write about...the house, leaving the hospital, maternity leave, a 39-week bump picture (haha)...but I've got to save something for future posts. And, while Sprout still naps, get back to this:

P.S. I totally splurged on this lounge chair ($215 on Wayfair). I couldn't imagine nursing outside in warm and dry fall weather without a comfy place to lounge. This is where I spent most of September 28.

#Microblog Mondays: Yes!

I haven't been dedicating much time to blogging lately, for various and sundry reasons. Tonight as I begin a side project, i.e. paid work, I discover this microblog concept. How perfect! My thought today was that it's true that towards the end of pregnancy I have stopped giving a crap about my job. I didn't bill enough hours today, or last week, or last month, and you know what? I don't care! I'm having a baby in four weeks! (Or fewer.)

Three

Somehow three years have gone by since Blue died. He was born August 10, 2011. Two days after he died. No one remembered his birthday this year, and I think I almost forgot, too. Of course that's not really true. But August 8 went by without my really realizing it, and on August 9 I remembered that the next day was Blue's birthday. On August 10 I woke up and immediately started thinking about him, about things that happened that day three years ago, and following, and I cried loud and hard for the first time in a long time. I still miss him so much. I still can't believe how much I can miss someone who was never really here.

And then there's the other three...the third baby inside of me that makes me smile everyday. This baby is so active, more active than Sprout. I see Sprout with his boundless energy now at almost 2 and hope that Three cannot actually be more active at that age! That might put the kibash on having another kid. The third/fourth child that I am already planning, so I am hoping this one is a boy because then I won't have to convince Mr. E to have another. I also think Sprout would like a brother. Then again, I also think it might be wise to just go one at a time here. So a girl would be nice. I love the feeling that either way I do not care, since with Sprout I might have had a hard time with a girl instead of another boy. Although I guess I do care, if I want a boy so that I can have another kid. It would be nice and easy to have two boys born in the same month though. Then we could aim for a spring/summer baby for our girl. Though after three boys, would the odds of a girl still be 50/50? Could we time intercourse? Douche or not douche with household products or whatever?

This pregnancy has been so much less stressful than the last. I am actually enjoying being pregnant, though I have to admit I am not really enjoying being pregnant while parenting a toddler. This shit is exhausting! On top of that, for the past week I have had a cold, with a sore throat and terrible cough. I was waking up at least 5 times per night for a few nights. I am finally on the mend and starting to feel "normal" again--whatever that means at 32 weeks pregnant, with an active toddler, with an underpaying job that I now hate, and with a moldy house that will presumably need a lot of money to fix. Seriously, why do people buy houses? Why did I do this? And why do houses have so many issues when you actually own them, but seemingly none when you only rent them? Once we get the recommended repairs report on the house, we will be talking to a real estate lawyer about the never-any-water-in-the-basement "disclosure" made by the previous homeowners, who were here for 8-9 years. All I know about them is all the ridiculousness we inherited here, and that they moved down the street to the part of the neighborhood with the huge new homes. Today we also received a piece of mail addressed to their "family trust" that was established in 2001. Very. Interesting. So you sell me a mouse-infested, moldy house with probably literally rotting walls, after you cheaped-out some renovations and, for example, called the laminate cabinet doors over the original 1970 cabinets "new maple cabinets," you never cleaned the filthy garage, never refinished floors that had pockmarks and even a decal stuck to them, and never noticed there was water in the basement but somehow it was there the DAY AFTER WE CLOSED...and you have a family fucking trust?

Can you tell I am a LITTLE stressed out about this house situation? And a LOT angry? And feeling somewhat naive, definitely disappointed, that I bought a moldy house. I knew about mold, and I can smell everything. But I never smelled the mold here until we moved in. The house inspector mentioned that the basement crawl space under the house, where there is just a dirt floor with the foundation around it, had high levels of moisture and some evidence of deterioration and "minor" mold. I just thought every basement in Pennsylvania had some "minor" "moisture issues." Basing my opinion on the other houses we were looking at, it was true. But as I was recently told by the construction defect lawyer that I actually do work for (again, what was I thinking here?)--where there is smoke there is fire. So anyway...we are still waiting for the repairs report and I think the waiting is the hardest part because of the uncertainty. I am trying to focus on the fact that we have a beautiful-looking house, with tons of windows, with a great back yard and a fence that actually isn't falling apart, and a great layout, and a two-car attached garage, and four great bedrooms, and lovely wood floors (because I had them refinished) in the entire house except the bathrooms, and a neighborhood with other beautiful houses and big old trees and shade and a park a block away with a playground and basketball and tennis courts and a huge resident red-tailed hawk that I also love. I just wish we had tons of money to fix all the stuff we want to fix, and clean all the stuff we want to clean (without doing it ourselves), and then this wouldn't be so bad after all. Should I open the family trust statement?

The silver lining right now is that in this pregnancy...I just saw the OB on Tuesday and apparently...I did not gain any weight over the past 4 weeks. Which the nurse said is fine and I agree. But ya know, just in case, I just had two Magnum infinity chocolate bars, and I am considering having a third. (Coming full circle with the title of this post--three years, three babies, three ice cream bars.) Yeah, the name of a frickin' ice cream bar is Magnum Infinity. I'll let you decide what you think that name is better suited for.

The 25-Week Challenge

My due date with Blue was a Saturday, and it is a Saturday again this time. Today is the Wednesday of my 25th week, which means it is the exact day of the pregnancy and same day of the week that I delivered Blue. I am only intellectually aware of this...I'm not especially sad today. I had to drive a bit for work today, which is when I often think and cry on any regular day, but today nothing happened. I even thought that maybe I could forget his birthday, and said the date out loud. August 10th. It is still strange to me, after almost three years now, that I really never know when grief will "visit." This is the word used by others, and seems to be a theme on the blogs this past week, like we are all hitting a grief milestone in our pregnancies at the same time, no matter how different our original stories are. So yeah, I'll be having a perfectly good day and suddenly sob, sob sob. Or days like today come and go without a tear, and I only remind myself that I ought to be quite sad.

I guess I am distracted. The house...It's a mess. And not just because half our stuff is not put away. We have mice. And ants. And I almost positive mold, but have not done anything about that yet. This is why I never wanted to buy a house before I was 37. We have to do some remediation in the finished basement, where we know there is moisture damage to the old paneling in the utility rooms, and I know there is mold because when the AC kicks on the house smells musty on the first floor. Darn pregnancy nose. I hope this is extra-strong, extra mold-like-smell-detecting nose, because I hope it will not always be the case that I can barely breathe in my dining room. The lawn is a jungle of grass and weeds. Mr. E bought a push mower, but hasn't put it together yet. He borrowed the neighbor's gasoline mower last weekend and it took him an hour and a half to mow the lawn. We're not sure how he's going to come up with like eight hours a week to mow the lawn twice right now since the grass is growing like crazy. Also, I think I need to weed the curb line? No one else's curb has weeds. Seriously. We should have thought twice about buying a house in this perfect little neighborhood where only a few of the wives work and people pay others to do the major upkeep tasks. Oh, except the prior homeowners to our place. The guy was a lot less capable than he thought. We had a painter redo the entire interior (I actually love this part--our colors look fantastic), we have a plumber to reinstall the kitchen faucet that is crooked and leaks out the bottom, we need an electrician to fix the shoddy electrical work (should I be worried about the risk of fire?), oh and we also had the plumber install a saw pipe on the water heater because there was no pressure release outlet. If you don't have this your water heater could explode and damage your house in a major way, which is exactly what happened to a co-worker recently. So we paid $125 for a guy to spend 30 seconds attaching a pipe to the place where the pipe goes. But we couldn't quite figure it out ourselves, so oh well. Anyway, there are so many great things about this house and the yard and the neighborhood. Last night Sprout went over the fence to play with the next-door neighbors' visiting grandkids who are 6 and 8. It was really cute. These are the same neighbors who lent us the lawnmower and who brought us homemade chocolate cookies and a book for Sprout the day we moved in. This place is really great, I am just overwhelmed with the magnitude of the problems we have discovered in just the first week of living here.

I need to be more positive generally but I am just so exhausted all the time. I don't know how to be pregnant, work, take care of a 20-month-old, be a wife, eat regular meals, unpack shit in the house, literally clean up shit (mouse turds in my silverware drawer--awesome!) in the house, call the exterminator, call the plumber, call the electrician, call the basement demo/mold guys, PAY FOR ALL OF THIS, and still have a modicum of energy or sanity remaining. Work has been a bit crazy lately, which is a good thing and keeps me more positive there because I don't have time to think about the crappy parts, but it's been more demanding recently and that is just not good timing. Also, Mr. E turns 30 and we can't just do nothing for such an important birthday so we are somehow hosting a BBQ on Saturday with about 20 adults plus kids. Mostly family and a very few, very close friends who are lending us a grill, bringing a dish or drink to share, and will all forgive us if they have nowhere to sit but the ground. I want to bake cake for my husband's special birthday, but he said "don't do that to yourself...don't do that to me." Ouch. I love to bake and I am good at it, but he is right that life is just too crazy right now to add more extraneous activity. And the only thing I can think of is that I only have one kid, and whatever will this be like when there is a second, or what I am hoping for eventually, a third, or even a fourth.

OK, so week 25 has been challenging in many ways. I didn't even take the 25-week-challenge picture until today, which is three days late. Did my belly grow in the past three days? Probably. The photo evidence:

 Oops, wrong side.

 2012 with Sprout:

2011 with Blue:

(This photo really isn't fair, it looks like it was taken from slightly behind me. How could I be 25 weeks pregnant in this picture?)

Let's compare 3/4 and front views, now and with Blue:

Geez, Louise! I am sad again about not being first-time-tiny pregnant lady. Of course I wanted to look pregnant so much sooner with Blue. I am also getting kicked in the ribs already, which was definitely not happening the first time around, so it's true there are things you just can't help. It's also still true that I haven't gotten a wide-ass this pregnancy, like I did with Sprout. I can actually wear the green pants again at this point. I even weigh a few pounds less than I did with Blue. (Mr. E pointed out that difference is probably due to less muscle mass--what a dick!--although looking at the pictures I think I have to agree with him). My point is that I am probably the most pregnant-looking yet most petite this time--the cutest of my pregnant mes at this point. Let's just leave it at that!

Catching Up, Sort Of

Fine, everything is totally fine! We are just closing on our new house, trying to figure out what the heck to do with a new house, then moving into it, my job still sucks and I actually have to work this weekend--hence I am finally blogging about the past six weeks--and, etc., etc.

There are a few things, and by that I mean thoughts, emotions and serious topics, that I would like to adress, but I am actually trying to work right now and need to get back to that and we were at a wedding last night until 1 a.m., which was totally fun but I am really beat except I am up on the computer at 10:34 on a Saturday night and trying to write legal documents and I really needed my Friday afternoon to work on this legal document except we had to go to the wedding and then this morning we were participating in a yard sale and we finally got our crap on a table like two hours after the yard sale started and after our friends dropped off their six-month-old for us to watch for the day and the kids only napped at the same time for 6.35 minutes so I didn't get to work during the day and have to do it now so I didn't get to go to bed at 8:30 like I really wanted to and by now you probably get the idea on why I have not been blogging recently.

So, anyway, let me just say this:

OMG, the camera totally lies, you guys! I did not actually look like this at 20 weeks:

Wait, I am actually sucking in in that one. Here's another one:

The fact that they look almost the same proves my point. I do not look not pregnant. (And yes, I know, hotel bathroom and selfies should not be used in the same sentence. But for the sake of tradition, I didn't want to miss 20 weeks to the day.)

TTYL...maybe after my glucose test...

Not All the Neurosis Is Gone

I'm 16 weeks pregnant. I did a bow pose in yoga this morning. Did I smoosh my baby? (Like, to death?) After the belly sequence the instructor said if anyone (ahem) was pregnant and he didn't know it, she probably didn't want to do bow pose. But I practice yoga frequently and I know the variation for bow pose is camel--which I hate usually--and honestly I just listened to my body and it felt fine and so I did a bow pose for 5 breaths. But now I'm kind of freaking out. I THINK I've felt the baby move since then? I have been feeling little jabs for a little over a week now, typically about once or twice per day. So not regularly. Not reliably enough to say for sure that I felt the baby move and everything is fine. But if I stop and think about it...I know it's fine. I'm barely showing and again, I didn't feel a speck of discomfort while getting into, out of, and while in the pose. I found this on Yoga Journal:
"In the second trimester, when the energy often feels enhanced by the pregnancy and the body, although swollen, is not uncomfortably large yet, stronger backbends may feel expansive and juicy. If you practiced Ustrasana (Camel Pose), low lunges, Setu Bandha Sarvangasana (Bridge Pose), or even Urdhva Dhanurasana (Backbend, Upward Facing Bow Pose) before you became pregnant, they can now be incorporated into a sequence."

I like it--expansive and juicy. Oh wait, that says upward facing bow pose, i.e. wheel. Damn it! Although regular bow pose "can feel invigorating" in the first trimester, which was only 3 weeks ago. I know there are many instructors who recommend no inversions while pregnant or menstruating, and frankly that just doesn't resonate with me at all. Headstands feel awesome when pregnant and can be done safely when they have been part of your practice for a long time. With my first pregnancy I was still lying on my belly and doing belly poses, albeit NOT bow pose, until 24 weeks. So anyway, here I am going on and on and on and f'ing on!

Would I be this neurotic about it if I hadn't lost my first baby? Although not because of yoga/activity/falling off my bike at 18 weeks (true story). I guess it's the thought that I could have done something wrong? But I really think all is well? If I could be sure that would be nice. Should I invite myself to the hospital for a very expensive heart-rate check? I have an appointment on Monday morning thankfully. Sigh...this is exhausting! I'm going to confine myself to bed rest and a feeding tube for the next 24 weeks. Right after I eat the raw milk cheese I bought today.

Sprout Photo Dump

Aaaand, cue the high-pitched screaming part of toddlerdom. My perfect angel baby has gone to the dark side. But you'd never know it based on these pics:

These are now (and probably always will be) unretouched. Sorry about the boogs. Sprout already takes after his dad when it comes to posing for a picture--uhhh, OK, look awkward and creepy...cheese?