I was sad today and it didn't even start out being about Blue. But then I ended up being sad about him and everything too.
If I were taking the standard 10-week maternity leave from work I would have gone back today. And I just do not want to go back to this job. Even if I liked my job, I would not be ready yet. Sleep is still too fragmented and I have to drag myself from bed every morning unless Mr. E lets me sleep in until 9 or 9:30 or even later. I have not been pumping to build up a store of milk. Not that that absolutely needs to be done or that I wouldn't have done that over the past week or two knowing I would be going back to work today. But I really don't like this job. I don't have enough responsibility, I don't have enough interesting work, I don't make enough money. After more than two years you would think at least one of these areas would no longer be deficient. I don't even want to be a lawyer. I'm not sure that I ever did but it sounded like a good option a number of years ago and really it's not all bad. But I can't stop fantasizing about what else I would rather be doing with my life.
And I guess that's how I started being sad about Blue because I was thinking about what I might have done differently with my life if he had been born healthy. There is no question that my life would have been completely different, but it is the imagined permutations of that different life that I find difficult to avoid. The questions about that life appear randomly in my thoughts. Would Chris and I have become the guardians of his friend's little boy? What would have happened if we didn't stay together? When I left him, why did I never hear from her? I guess she was always his friend and not mine, but I had thought she was my friend too. When would I have gone back to work, i.e. gotten a job, after Blue was born? What would his name have been? Would we have hosted Chris' family for Thanksgiving when Blue was just a week or a few weeks old? Would we have moved out of Chris' 800-square-foot condo into a house with a garage and a yard? Would we have lasted that long as a couple? Where would I live now? Had I stayed with him, would I be miserable or would I have had an affair?
It was a beautiful cold day yesterday and I went for a run in the nearby park that stretches along the banks of a small river. I stopped on a bridge and stared at the water, feeling an old familiar unsettled-ness about my life. It wasn't the same urgent purposelessness, if there is such a thing, that I felt in my early 30s once I realized how much I wanted to have a baby. To meet a man with whom to have a baby. I was having a really great time in my life, if I think about it, but I felt an intense lack of purpose and direction. Now that I have a family, it doesn't hurt so bad that I don't have the kind of job or career or work life that I want. But thinking about having to go back to work today made that feeling more acute. That feeling that I want to do something really great but I have no idea what that is and how I will get there. Usually I think it's something creative, or something entrepreneurial, but sometimes I think I would rather do nothing at all. Not that I would do nothing, but that what I did was not so much about a career and making money but about how I touched people's lives or left something better than I found it. I suppose I should admit that sometimes I think that "doing nothing" could also look like moving back to a ski town and working in a restaurant and chasing powder days.
It doesn't surprise me at all that I have a family, a house, a career if I want it, and still I feel like there's something missing. That something missing that I'm talking about, it's not Blue, but anytime I think of something missing I am missing him too.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
All These Anniveraries
Today is Blue's due date. All these anniversaries are adding up. I didn't fell particularly sad today. No, actually, I didn't feel sad today. Like at all. I had some sadness yesterday. I had some sadness last weekend. Come to think of it, November has been more of a sad month than not, just not today. November is sad because of Blue's due date, because there's Thanksgiving and I always remember that three years ago in November there was supposed to be a baby on Thanksgiving but there wasn't. The days get shorter. The days get colder. November is just not the greatest month for a lot of reasons!
But today was OK. Today was a fuzzy morning because LJ fussed from 3-something until 7-something, when he finally fell into a sound sleep...and Sprout woke up. Workmen arrived at our house to start basement demolition and mold remediation--yay? Boo moldy house, but yay to fixing it. Sprout went to school today, and LJ, Mr. E and I went to the barn where I ride my dad's horse. We came home and after feeding LJ I went for a run. It was sunny with some wind and pretty cold, but I love sunny and don't really mind cold so it was good. I thought about how I was not that sad and it was Blue's due date today. I took a long, hot shower and then my aunt came to meet LJ and visit with us and the boys. We went to Starbucks for soy mochas and we chatted and looked at Blue's picture of his name in the sand but I did not mention that today was the day. Sprout was totally friendly and adorable with her even though he has not seen her in months. Mr. E took Sprout to get burritos for supper and on the five-minute drive home I guess Sprout almost fell asleep. He was such a delight at supper, we three ate together while LJ slept and Sprout ate well, didn't make a mess or spit out his milk--one of his favorite things to do--and I thought we were right on track with our planned early bedtime.
I did his bath--OMG, he totally took a dump in the tub, for the first time ever! WTF?--and stories and turned out his light and he was playing and talking in his room a bit as he often does and it wasn't even 7:30 and I'm thinking this is good. Until about 30 minutes later he banged his head on his door, according to Mr. E, harder than ever before. So Mr. E went upstairs to help him fall asleep and almost 2 hours later he is still there. I need help with this! This is the third night in a row that Mr. E has waited in Sprout's room until he fell asleep. I know this is terrible for us and is not even helping Sprout get more sleep. When he bangs his head it is just awful and we don't know what to do. He does not do it rhymically to fall asleep, he does it against his door when he doesn't want to fall asleep. We had to move him to a toddler bed a few months ago because he kept climbing out of his crib and a week of "silent return" did not train him back into his crib. I do feel like he is too young for a bed and free rein in his room, but we have removed everything but a few books--seriously, it is like a jail cell in there. We have to close his door so he's not out wandering about, which he can't open himself. So he bangs his head to get out. If we go to him because he banged his head very hard, he will bang harder if we try to leave him in his room again before he falls asleep. I guess we will try leaving his door open and closing all the other doors upstairs and hope that he doesn't bang on the other doors. Likely he will close his own door and not be able to get back into his room so we will have to battle it out with him anyway. Until this week he was going to bed well, without banging, most nights. Maybe once per week he would have a hard time. Also until this week we have not lay in his room with him except one night when he was sick and one night when he awoke from a night terror. I do not want to become the parents who dread bedtime--but I already do--because they have to spend hours in the child's room each night. Ugh.
OK, LJ, now crying...more later (like in another two weeks).
But today was OK. Today was a fuzzy morning because LJ fussed from 3-something until 7-something, when he finally fell into a sound sleep...and Sprout woke up. Workmen arrived at our house to start basement demolition and mold remediation--yay? Boo moldy house, but yay to fixing it. Sprout went to school today, and LJ, Mr. E and I went to the barn where I ride my dad's horse. We came home and after feeding LJ I went for a run. It was sunny with some wind and pretty cold, but I love sunny and don't really mind cold so it was good. I thought about how I was not that sad and it was Blue's due date today. I took a long, hot shower and then my aunt came to meet LJ and visit with us and the boys. We went to Starbucks for soy mochas and we chatted and looked at Blue's picture of his name in the sand but I did not mention that today was the day. Sprout was totally friendly and adorable with her even though he has not seen her in months. Mr. E took Sprout to get burritos for supper and on the five-minute drive home I guess Sprout almost fell asleep. He was such a delight at supper, we three ate together while LJ slept and Sprout ate well, didn't make a mess or spit out his milk--one of his favorite things to do--and I thought we were right on track with our planned early bedtime.
I did his bath--OMG, he totally took a dump in the tub, for the first time ever! WTF?--and stories and turned out his light and he was playing and talking in his room a bit as he often does and it wasn't even 7:30 and I'm thinking this is good. Until about 30 minutes later he banged his head on his door, according to Mr. E, harder than ever before. So Mr. E went upstairs to help him fall asleep and almost 2 hours later he is still there. I need help with this! This is the third night in a row that Mr. E has waited in Sprout's room until he fell asleep. I know this is terrible for us and is not even helping Sprout get more sleep. When he bangs his head it is just awful and we don't know what to do. He does not do it rhymically to fall asleep, he does it against his door when he doesn't want to fall asleep. We had to move him to a toddler bed a few months ago because he kept climbing out of his crib and a week of "silent return" did not train him back into his crib. I do feel like he is too young for a bed and free rein in his room, but we have removed everything but a few books--seriously, it is like a jail cell in there. We have to close his door so he's not out wandering about, which he can't open himself. So he bangs his head to get out. If we go to him because he banged his head very hard, he will bang harder if we try to leave him in his room again before he falls asleep. I guess we will try leaving his door open and closing all the other doors upstairs and hope that he doesn't bang on the other doors. Likely he will close his own door and not be able to get back into his room so we will have to battle it out with him anyway. Until this week he was going to bed well, without banging, most nights. Maybe once per week he would have a hard time. Also until this week we have not lay in his room with him except one night when he was sick and one night when he awoke from a night terror. I do not want to become the parents who dread bedtime--but I already do--because they have to spend hours in the child's room each night. Ugh.
OK, LJ, now crying...more later (like in another two weeks).
Thursday, October 16, 2014
October 15
I suppose that Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Day will always be overshadowed by Sprout's birthday. But it's still an extra special day when I will think of my birthday boy and my boy whose birthday never came to be.
I didn't remember to light a candle at 7pm last night. But very shortly after, we lit the candles on Sprout's cake. I have to admit I was not really thinking about his older brother, but was instead worrying about the junk-drawer-esque quality of the background to his blowing-out-the-candles photos. Maybe in my sleep-deprived state I just do not have enough brain capacity to think of more than one thing at once. I am feeling some remorse today. I forgot about Blue yesterday. I forgot about the other babies who were here and then they weren't.
I don't have the energy today to be sad...or remorseful. It seems inappropriate then to segue into lighter topics, but, onto lighter topics:
Sprout is 2! We took him to story time at a local bookstore for a treat. His cousins often go and all three were there yesterday as well. His cousin M, who is a month older, was sitting quietly, paying attention, while Sprout was pulling books off the shelves, pretending to read them, casting them aside, getting up, whining and crying, sitting down, wandering around, etc. etc. There were 2 unrelated children (1 boy, 1 girl) there who were also generally behaving. I was thinking my kid will be slapped with an ADHD diagnosis before pre-K, but the nanny said that yesterday was the first time that M actually paid attention. That was a relief, but I'm also pretty sure that after story time Sprout annoyed the crap out of the dad of the girl, who was reading her a book at a small table in the kids' area while Sprout stacked Frozen-themed notepads and a wind-up toy on the same table. It vaguely occurred to me that the dad found Sprout's behavior "inappropriate," and that I should have told Sprout to find another place to play, that he was too close to their space and was being disruptive, but I really didn't see the value in that. I suppose I should start looking into alternative schools now.
Oh yeah, so thanks to sleep deprivation, this happened while on the way/at the bookstore:
Me: [looking in console of Mr. E's car] Oh good, we have quarters for the parking meter.
[10 minutes later; it starts to rain; all exit car and enter bookstore].
[40 minutes later] Mr. E: Did you put quarters in the meter? Me: No, did you? Mr. E: I thought you were. Me: I totally forgot.
[5 minutes later; exit bookstore to feed meter; find ticket on windshield; do not feed meter; walk to bagel store for snack to keep Sprout awake in the car on the drive home; Mr. E opens mouth to speak] Me: I refuse to be angry about this. Do not talk about it.
[15minutes later; Sprout falls asleep for TWO SECONDS in the car holding onto the bagel; refuses nap]
Eventually Sprout had a late nap so I could bake his birthday cake and feed the baby in peace. I made Monkey Cake because I call Sprout "monkey" a lot and because he loves bananas. This cake is FOR REAL, and I highly recommend making it. It's also pretty easy because it calls for oil instead of butter, so you can mix it by hand, which is great for me with my missing-paddle-attachment stand mixer (that was somehow lost in our old apartment and not actually during the move). When I asked him what kind of cake he wanted--of course he wouldn't really know what he was asking for--he said he wanted "happy" cake. I'd never heard of Happy Cake, but figured the Internet had, so I googled it and found a disgusting recipe calling for boxed yellow cake mix, vanilla pudding mix, Cool Whip, and some other offensive "food" items. (Not to say I don't actually love all of those things.) Sprout loved the cake, and especially the cream cheese icing, so I was glad to have spared everyone from the atrocity that is Happy Cake (OK, it's really not that bad.) If you want to make cream cheese icing, the Internet is abound with recipes with all sorts of varying ratios and amounts of ingredients. Here is my recipe that was quite a hit: 2 8-oz packages plain cream cheese, softened; 2 sticks unsalted butter, softened; approx. 1 tsp vanilla (just free-style it!); powdered sugar to taste and desired texture, but in this case about a pound. The recipe I was working from actually called for about 2 pounds of sugar! This made more than enough to frost a 2-layer 9-inch round cake, so I now have an additional baking responsibility this week. I'm thinking carrot cake with the Asian pears that I do not like for some reason, and the one over-ripe banana that has a really brown spot where Sprout ate the peel (WTF?).
Anyway, around 5:30 we had my brother and his family--the same cousins from story time--one set of friends and their baby, one set of neighbors, and three sets of parents over for pizza and cake. The kids ate each other's pizza, drank from each other's cups, ran around like maniacs, but were generally pleasantly unsupervised. Since I baked the cake too late for adequate cooling time, I quickly frosted it while everyone finished up eating and we put on some star-shaped candles that said happy birthday because though I had been at the store for an hour the night before I did not buy a "2" candle. When it came time to blow out the candles Sprout was very serious, and even cried a little at the end, but I was impressed that he was actually able to blow out his candles without much prompting or instruction. Everyone but my mother in law left by about 7:30, and she helped clean up and give Sprout a bath while I fed LJ again. Since it was his birthday, we let Sprout stay up a little late and watch 10 minutes of Frozen (he has requested to watch it, along with Yo Gabba Gabba, every day, and it's so cute they way he says both titles that I have a hard time saying no). Then Mr. E, my MIL and I opened a bottle of Prosecco and watched Ridiculousness on DVR. Not a bad way to end the day. (Did I forget to DVR the Teen Mom 2 Reunion? Damn it!)
Finally, some photo evidence:
I didn't remember to light a candle at 7pm last night. But very shortly after, we lit the candles on Sprout's cake. I have to admit I was not really thinking about his older brother, but was instead worrying about the junk-drawer-esque quality of the background to his blowing-out-the-candles photos. Maybe in my sleep-deprived state I just do not have enough brain capacity to think of more than one thing at once. I am feeling some remorse today. I forgot about Blue yesterday. I forgot about the other babies who were here and then they weren't.
I don't have the energy today to be sad...or remorseful. It seems inappropriate then to segue into lighter topics, but, onto lighter topics:
Sprout is 2! We took him to story time at a local bookstore for a treat. His cousins often go and all three were there yesterday as well. His cousin M, who is a month older, was sitting quietly, paying attention, while Sprout was pulling books off the shelves, pretending to read them, casting them aside, getting up, whining and crying, sitting down, wandering around, etc. etc. There were 2 unrelated children (1 boy, 1 girl) there who were also generally behaving. I was thinking my kid will be slapped with an ADHD diagnosis before pre-K, but the nanny said that yesterday was the first time that M actually paid attention. That was a relief, but I'm also pretty sure that after story time Sprout annoyed the crap out of the dad of the girl, who was reading her a book at a small table in the kids' area while Sprout stacked Frozen-themed notepads and a wind-up toy on the same table. It vaguely occurred to me that the dad found Sprout's behavior "inappropriate," and that I should have told Sprout to find another place to play, that he was too close to their space and was being disruptive, but I really didn't see the value in that. I suppose I should start looking into alternative schools now.
Oh yeah, so thanks to sleep deprivation, this happened while on the way/at the bookstore:
Me: [looking in console of Mr. E's car] Oh good, we have quarters for the parking meter.
[10 minutes later; it starts to rain; all exit car and enter bookstore].
[40 minutes later] Mr. E: Did you put quarters in the meter? Me: No, did you? Mr. E: I thought you were. Me: I totally forgot.
[5 minutes later; exit bookstore to feed meter; find ticket on windshield; do not feed meter; walk to bagel store for snack to keep Sprout awake in the car on the drive home; Mr. E opens mouth to speak] Me: I refuse to be angry about this. Do not talk about it.
[15minutes later; Sprout falls asleep for TWO SECONDS in the car holding onto the bagel; refuses nap]
Eventually Sprout had a late nap so I could bake his birthday cake and feed the baby in peace. I made Monkey Cake because I call Sprout "monkey" a lot and because he loves bananas. This cake is FOR REAL, and I highly recommend making it. It's also pretty easy because it calls for oil instead of butter, so you can mix it by hand, which is great for me with my missing-paddle-attachment stand mixer (that was somehow lost in our old apartment and not actually during the move). When I asked him what kind of cake he wanted--of course he wouldn't really know what he was asking for--he said he wanted "happy" cake. I'd never heard of Happy Cake, but figured the Internet had, so I googled it and found a disgusting recipe calling for boxed yellow cake mix, vanilla pudding mix, Cool Whip, and some other offensive "food" items. (Not to say I don't actually love all of those things.) Sprout loved the cake, and especially the cream cheese icing, so I was glad to have spared everyone from the atrocity that is Happy Cake (OK, it's really not that bad.) If you want to make cream cheese icing, the Internet is abound with recipes with all sorts of varying ratios and amounts of ingredients. Here is my recipe that was quite a hit: 2 8-oz packages plain cream cheese, softened; 2 sticks unsalted butter, softened; approx. 1 tsp vanilla (just free-style it!); powdered sugar to taste and desired texture, but in this case about a pound. The recipe I was working from actually called for about 2 pounds of sugar! This made more than enough to frost a 2-layer 9-inch round cake, so I now have an additional baking responsibility this week. I'm thinking carrot cake with the Asian pears that I do not like for some reason, and the one over-ripe banana that has a really brown spot where Sprout ate the peel (WTF?).
Anyway, around 5:30 we had my brother and his family--the same cousins from story time--one set of friends and their baby, one set of neighbors, and three sets of parents over for pizza and cake. The kids ate each other's pizza, drank from each other's cups, ran around like maniacs, but were generally pleasantly unsupervised. Since I baked the cake too late for adequate cooling time, I quickly frosted it while everyone finished up eating and we put on some star-shaped candles that said happy birthday because though I had been at the store for an hour the night before I did not buy a "2" candle. When it came time to blow out the candles Sprout was very serious, and even cried a little at the end, but I was impressed that he was actually able to blow out his candles without much prompting or instruction. Everyone but my mother in law left by about 7:30, and she helped clean up and give Sprout a bath while I fed LJ again. Since it was his birthday, we let Sprout stay up a little late and watch 10 minutes of Frozen (he has requested to watch it, along with Yo Gabba Gabba, every day, and it's so cute they way he says both titles that I have a hard time saying no). Then Mr. E, my MIL and I opened a bottle of Prosecco and watched Ridiculousness on DVR. Not a bad way to end the day. (Did I forget to DVR the Teen Mom 2 Reunion? Damn it!)
Finally, some photo evidence:
 | |
| See what I mean about the junk? |
 |
| My little GQ is 2! |
 |
| I continue to refuse to cut his hair (even if it casts a shadow on his face, making him appear to be wearing makeup a la a Kiss band member). |
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| A few days prior, with an expression that resembles a smile. |
Sunday, October 5, 2014
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.
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:
Monday, September 15, 2014
#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.)
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
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:
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!
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:
 |
| (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!
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