I am blogging on the bathroom floor while watching my daughter take a bath. Why? Because I'm learning that sometimes (more times than not) my child has a perfectly good reason for acting out.
I had punishment on my mind as I went to pick up my 15 month old from behind the side table after telling her "don't touch!" about a bazillion times. I was seeing red . . . but the red took on a distinct shade of brown as I lifted her and my hand made a "squish" sound into her poop soaked pants. Y U U U U C K!!!! My route towards the time-out spot took a detour to the tub as I looked around in frantic futility for someone else - anyone else - who might deal with this for me. But alas, my husband is at a class for graduate school and my 4 nannies have the night off (what was I thinking?)
My goal was to teach my daughter something, but I learned the lesson instead. Darn you, kid! You're always forcing me to acknowledge how far I fall short of the Mom of The Year award . . . . but then your hugs and kisses make me feel like I've already won it.
Now to dry off this lil' booger and get her in some cozy jammies.
*sigh*
Livin' and learnin' - the life of a mom.
Showing posts with label Famliy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Famliy. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Becoming the Mother I Swore I'd Never Be
Alternate Title: Confessions of an Imperfect Mother . . . Part 1 of many
The TV is honestly an awesome babysitter and at times my savior.
The other day at a restaurant, a waitress had to bring my wandering child to me while I paid the bill. *face palm*
Sometimes, I put her to bed with a bottle. I just do extra brushing on her teeth the next day. Ok, no, I don't.
I let her run wild in our little post office and tear the place apart as I tried to ship 3 packages. I figured it was easier to just pay for what she'd damaged than to spend all my energy frivolously trying to chase her and put things back on shelves. There was a moment when she walked up to me with someone else's keys. I ran out and chased a woman to her car, just to find out that they were not hers. I just endured the judgmental stairs. I don't even care anymore.
When I'm really frustrated at her and trying to get her to mind me, I grit my teeth at her. I hate that.
I always frowned upon other parents when their children yelled "no" at them all the time. I made it a goal to rarely use that word with my child to try and keep her from forming that habit. So, I now have a child that just yells "stop" at me. *sigh* Apparently, I've ruined this kid. I'll try again with the next one.
While at a street fair, we were standing in a driveway listening to some musicians. Exhausted by chasing after my child who had decided to be ornery that day, I was allowing her to pick up snack puffs that she had dropped on the dirty ground and eat them. Concerned onlookers decided to inform me of the appalling thing my child was doing. I told them she was improving her immune system and allowed them to stare at us with sour looks on their faces. Again, I just don't care.
To be continued . . . . .
The TV is honestly an awesome babysitter and at times my savior.
The other day at a restaurant, a waitress had to bring my wandering child to me while I paid the bill. *face palm*
Sometimes, I put her to bed with a bottle. I just do extra brushing on her teeth the next day. Ok, no, I don't.
I let her run wild in our little post office and tear the place apart as I tried to ship 3 packages. I figured it was easier to just pay for what she'd damaged than to spend all my energy frivolously trying to chase her and put things back on shelves. There was a moment when she walked up to me with someone else's keys. I ran out and chased a woman to her car, just to find out that they were not hers. I just endured the judgmental stairs. I don't even care anymore.
When I'm really frustrated at her and trying to get her to mind me, I grit my teeth at her. I hate that.
I always frowned upon other parents when their children yelled "no" at them all the time. I made it a goal to rarely use that word with my child to try and keep her from forming that habit. So, I now have a child that just yells "stop" at me. *sigh* Apparently, I've ruined this kid. I'll try again with the next one.
While at a street fair, we were standing in a driveway listening to some musicians. Exhausted by chasing after my child who had decided to be ornery that day, I was allowing her to pick up snack puffs that she had dropped on the dirty ground and eat them. Concerned onlookers decided to inform me of the appalling thing my child was doing. I told them she was improving her immune system and allowed them to stare at us with sour looks on their faces. Again, I just don't care.
To be continued . . . . .
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Mama Bear (cont.)
Time to continue the story. Yes, it has been a few months. I know you have been sitting in suspense all this time and I am sorry to have caused you so much anxiety. ha
If you haven't read the previous entry (part 1 of this saga), I encourage you to.
In the previous post, I hope I have established my very logical fear of stinging insects. They don't like me. They come after me. I cannot stand still. They do not go away. They sting me. We have a mutual hate for each other.
Some persistent hornets must continue to build a nest right near our front door bc it is a common occurrence for one to find its way into our home when my husband opens the door to leave for work in the morning. As previously mentioned, my normal response to this was to barricade myself in another room until my husband got home from work. Yes. All day. And sometimes several days in a row. These suckers live for DAYS! I would think that they had died by the evening, bc of course by the time that my husband gets home they have stopped flying. But, no, they are just resting for the evening and begin their furious flight anew when I rise in the morning. Ahhh!
I mean, look at these things! They are the size of, like, a golf ball! So scary!
So, to reset the scene: Juniper and I get up in the morning. I set her down on the living room floor to play and I assume my position on the couch. Then I hear it:
Bzzzzzzz *Clink*
Bzzzzzzz *Plonk*
Bzzzzzzz "I'm an angry hornet and I'm just getting angrier every time I run into something!" *Dink*
Being the brave mommy that I am, I scoop up Juniper and run to the back of the room intent on camping out in her room for the rest of the day until her father gets home. Then, my brain kicks in a little. It is 8am. Her father doesn't get home until around 6pm. Am I really going to be able to keep this baby happy in her room for 10 hours? What if she gets hungry? My milk only goes so far. I don't have enough toys in there to keep her entertained. What if I have to go to the bathroom?
I realize I need to get tough and take care of this. Man up. Be a Mama bear protecting her cub. ROAR! I have to destroy this thing.
I begin whispering with Juniper (you know, so the hornet can't hear us), trying to figure out what we are going to do. Juniper whispers babble back. Not helpful - but cute! I'm going to need something with a lot of surface, so there is less room for error. Lord knows, I do not want to miss! I settle on a large dust pan. After about 20 minutes of standing there debating and abating my fear, I begin to move.
I set Juniper down in the kitchen where she can see all the action but is out of harm's way. I stalk carefully towards the hornet. It has been favoring our brick fireplace so at least it is kind of staying in one place. I get closer. I can see it! Closer. Its stupid little wings are quivering. Closer. I am definitely within stinging range now. With a trembling hand I raise the dust pan and . . .
WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! SCREAM! Screech!
These sounds were happening pretty much simultaneously. The "WHACK," of course, is me hitting the hornet. The "Bzzzzzz" is the hornet that WILL NOT DIE!!! The "SCREAM" is me screaming in fear with every hit. And the "Screech" is Juniper screaming in response to my scream. I am sure it was quite a ridiculous scene.
In the end, I emerged the victor! I slew the hornet! The hornet had been slain! I scooped up the carcass with the dustpan and deposited it outside. I raised my fists in triumph. I deserved a trophy, nay, a CAPE, fore I was the super slayer of stinging insects! HA!
I would like to say that the tables have turned with stinging insects and me. I would like to say that I no longer fear them. But, just today, I nervously held my breath as a yellow jacket flew by me and then frantically waved my arms and yelled, "Stay away from my baby! Stay away from my baby!" as it flew near Juniper. I'm a work in progress.
If you haven't read the previous entry (part 1 of this saga), I encourage you to.
In the previous post, I hope I have established my very logical fear of stinging insects. They don't like me. They come after me. I cannot stand still. They do not go away. They sting me. We have a mutual hate for each other.
Some persistent hornets must continue to build a nest right near our front door bc it is a common occurrence for one to find its way into our home when my husband opens the door to leave for work in the morning. As previously mentioned, my normal response to this was to barricade myself in another room until my husband got home from work. Yes. All day. And sometimes several days in a row. These suckers live for DAYS! I would think that they had died by the evening, bc of course by the time that my husband gets home they have stopped flying. But, no, they are just resting for the evening and begin their furious flight anew when I rise in the morning. Ahhh!
So, to reset the scene: Juniper and I get up in the morning. I set her down on the living room floor to play and I assume my position on the couch. Then I hear it:
Bzzzzzzz *Clink*
Bzzzzzzz *Plonk*
Bzzzzzzz "I'm an angry hornet and I'm just getting angrier every time I run into something!" *Dink*
Being the brave mommy that I am, I scoop up Juniper and run to the back of the room intent on camping out in her room for the rest of the day until her father gets home. Then, my brain kicks in a little. It is 8am. Her father doesn't get home until around 6pm. Am I really going to be able to keep this baby happy in her room for 10 hours? What if she gets hungry? My milk only goes so far. I don't have enough toys in there to keep her entertained. What if I have to go to the bathroom?
I realize I need to get tough and take care of this. Man up. Be a Mama bear protecting her cub. ROAR! I have to destroy this thing.
I begin whispering with Juniper (you know, so the hornet can't hear us), trying to figure out what we are going to do. Juniper whispers babble back. Not helpful - but cute! I'm going to need something with a lot of surface, so there is less room for error. Lord knows, I do not want to miss! I settle on a large dust pan. After about 20 minutes of standing there debating and abating my fear, I begin to move.
I set Juniper down in the kitchen where she can see all the action but is out of harm's way. I stalk carefully towards the hornet. It has been favoring our brick fireplace so at least it is kind of staying in one place. I get closer. I can see it! Closer. Its stupid little wings are quivering. Closer. I am definitely within stinging range now. With a trembling hand I raise the dust pan and . . .
WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! SCREAM! Screech!
These sounds were happening pretty much simultaneously. The "WHACK," of course, is me hitting the hornet. The "Bzzzzzz" is the hornet that WILL NOT DIE!!! The "SCREAM" is me screaming in fear with every hit. And the "Screech" is Juniper screaming in response to my scream. I am sure it was quite a ridiculous scene.
In the end, I emerged the victor! I slew the hornet! The hornet had been slain! I scooped up the carcass with the dustpan and deposited it outside. I raised my fists in triumph. I deserved a trophy, nay, a CAPE, fore I was the super slayer of stinging insects! HA!
I would like to say that the tables have turned with stinging insects and me. I would like to say that I no longer fear them. But, just today, I nervously held my breath as a yellow jacket flew by me and then frantically waved my arms and yelled, "Stay away from my baby! Stay away from my baby!" as it flew near Juniper. I'm a work in progress.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Mamma Bear
This is a huge triumph for me, since in the past if a stinging insect invaded my home and was flying around angrily, I would just barricade myself in another room until my husband came home - yes, I would stay in that room all day. That is how fearful I am of stinging insects.
My first encounter was when I was about 5 (or 8, I can't remember.) Anyway, my family and I were walking through a new neighborhood that had been built near ours, admiring the new houses and checking out the sample homes. As we were leaving we walked through the same rot iron gate we had come in through. The gate had a hole for a handle, but no handle yet. So, we just put our hand through the hole to open it. This was not a problem going in as we all passed through the gate together and went on our way. However, on the way back I ran ahead so I could hold the door open for my family (trying to be sweet has a history of burning me - more stories later.) Lo and behold, within that hole resided a wasp and its nest. As my fingers were disturbing the nest, the wasp flew out to meet me. I screamed. What did my father tell me to do? "Stand still! It won't bother you." Well, that works unless you just stuck a finger directly into their nest. At that point the wasp is already mad and your fate is pretty much sealed. So, I did as my father instructed. I stood still and let that wasp take its time in getting its aim. It made 3 figure 8s in front of my face and then decided to plant its stinger right into the tip of my nose. Yes, the stupid wasp stung the tip of my nose. From that day on I stayed as far away as possible from stinging insects.
Until today. But let me first quickly tell you my second encounter.
I was 2 WEEKS over-due with my little baby. Yes, I was a big waddling ball of miserable. I was walking down a few stairs after a visit to Sub-Way. I was out in the middle of nothing, no walls, no railings. I wasn't holding on to anything so I have no idea how this happened. All I can think is that I swung my arm (and you better believe I was swinging my arms while I was walking. Moving something that big took momentum, man.) I guess I swung my arm in the path of a hornet's flight. Well, EXCUSE ME mister hornet. Heaven forbid that I am walking where you are flying. So, it decided to sting me on the arm. All I heard was a quick buzz and then felt a terrible sting in the crook of my arm.
I was a pitiful sight, let me tell you. Tears started streaming down my face. It wasn't that it really hurt too badly, but my feelings were hurt. I mean, didn't it see how miserable I was? And I didn't do anything to it! I was just walking, well, waddling back to my car after trying to treat my gloomy self to a scrumptious sandwich. I stood there and just said, "Why?"
Two ladies were walking by and, seeing a hugely pregnant lady standing there with a quivering bottom lip and talking to herself, they asked if I was alright. I began blubbering, "I was just walking and this hornet - I guess it was a hornet - came out of nowhere and stung my arm! Why would it do that?!"
They just stared at me bewildered. I realized they didn't have an answer for that, so I asked them, "What should I do? Do I need to go to the hospital? Is it going to hurt my baby?" (Yes, I was pretty hysterical.)
More bewildered stares and then one woman blinked and said, "I guess you should probably put some ice on it. Maybe use your drink. And then call your doctor."
Well, that sounded a lot more sensible to me. I got in my car and held my cold drink to the boo-boo until I got home. I called the doc and she said it was no big deal. Overreact much?
Which brings us to today.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Cleaning Up
I have been trying to get my life in order. Read: less time on the computer and more time Doin' Stuff! Every time I think to sit down and blog, I realize there is a pile of junk that could be gone through or a dusty surface or 2 or 5. I realize there is a pile of laundry, a sink of dishes, a messy closet. I used to ignore these things and just sit at the computer bc dealing with these things did not make me happy and sitting at the computer did. However, the anxiety began to build. Life in clutter was stressing me out. So, I began cleaning. While the process made me miserable, the end result makes me a much happier and clear-minded person. *smile*
My bedroom was the biggest project. It had been neglected for, well, maybe for almost *shudder* a year! It is the room that is just so easy to close the door on whenever guests come buy. Every unsightly thing would be transferred there and the door shut. It was one of those projects that I had started several times, but would always be interrupted and the attempt would leave the room worse than it had previously been.
Finally, I got a day where my husband was not working and he took a day off of studying for his graduate classes and could watch our baby girl. I had almost ALL DAY uninterrupted to clean! And you know what? It didn't even take all day! It feels so good to have a clean, (somewhat) organized room! It still needs a little work, but it is in a very good place, now.
And, no, I am not posting before and after pictures. Are you kidding me? My mother reads this blog!
Oh, and may I just mention that I recently moved ALL of the furniture and rugs in my living room and did a seriously cleaning of the floors - all of this while trying to keep a crawling baby contented. This may be a regular activity for some people - but it isn't for me, and I think I deserve a "way to go!" Why, thank you!
I am supper excited to finally get my photo editing software up and running again. I have had several posts bouncing around in my head the last month, but have not wanted to post them without the accompanying pictures. Hopefully, I will get around to them, soon!
My bedroom was the biggest project. It had been neglected for, well, maybe for almost *shudder* a year! It is the room that is just so easy to close the door on whenever guests come buy. Every unsightly thing would be transferred there and the door shut. It was one of those projects that I had started several times, but would always be interrupted and the attempt would leave the room worse than it had previously been.
Finally, I got a day where my husband was not working and he took a day off of studying for his graduate classes and could watch our baby girl. I had almost ALL DAY uninterrupted to clean! And you know what? It didn't even take all day! It feels so good to have a clean, (somewhat) organized room! It still needs a little work, but it is in a very good place, now.
And, no, I am not posting before and after pictures. Are you kidding me? My mother reads this blog!
Oh, and may I just mention that I recently moved ALL of the furniture and rugs in my living room and did a seriously cleaning of the floors - all of this while trying to keep a crawling baby contented. This may be a regular activity for some people - but it isn't for me, and I think I deserve a "way to go!" Why, thank you!
I am supper excited to finally get my photo editing software up and running again. I have had several posts bouncing around in my head the last month, but have not wanted to post them without the accompanying pictures. Hopefully, I will get around to them, soon!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Human Again
It's the little things that make you feel human again.
If I were to get any 5 of these things in one week I would think I was dreaming.
But I would know I was not dreaming, because that would require an uninterrupted night's sleep.
So, then I would come to the conclusion that I was dead and this is Heaven.
I would look around and think,
"Hmm. Not bad . . .
Ok, where's my new body?"
I have new pictures to post along with an entry I've been working on - but our desktop computer that I keep my pictures on has crashed.
You know when you try to do something on the computer and a little warning sign pops up and says that force-quitting that application could cause damage to your computer? Well, sometimes it actually does. Lesson learned.
Funny that it was actually my husband who did it this time. Ha!
Not funny that we are going to have to pay about $100 just to see if we can salvage any of the videos and pictures of our precious daughter. Also, my husband's grad work is on that computer and several of the projects are due next week. Eeek!
Please send happy thoughts and prayers into our Mac. Does "laying on hands" work on machines?
- An uninterrupted shower
- An uninterrupted meal
- Cooking a meal . . . uninterrupted
- An uninterrupted night's sleep (I don't remember what that is like)
- Cleaning the house
- Doing your hair
- Applying make-up
- Brushed teeth
- Plucked eyebrows
- Wearing a real bra
- Shaved legs
- Reading a chapter in a book
- Driving in the car by yourself
- Watching a chick flick
- An uninterrupted blog entry (arg!)
- Vacuuming the floors
- Cleaning out that pile of junk you've been meaning to get to
- Hanging flowers on the back porch
- Filling bird feeders
- A trip to the grocery store/farmer's market by yourself
If I were to get any 5 of these things in one week I would think I was dreaming.
But I would know I was not dreaming, because that would require an uninterrupted night's sleep.
So, then I would come to the conclusion that I was dead and this is Heaven.
I would look around and think,
"Hmm. Not bad . . .
Ok, where's my new body?"
I have new pictures to post along with an entry I've been working on - but our desktop computer that I keep my pictures on has crashed.
You know when you try to do something on the computer and a little warning sign pops up and says that force-quitting that application could cause damage to your computer? Well, sometimes it actually does. Lesson learned.
Funny that it was actually my husband who did it this time. Ha!
Not funny that we are going to have to pay about $100 just to see if we can salvage any of the videos and pictures of our precious daughter. Also, my husband's grad work is on that computer and several of the projects are due next week. Eeek!
Please send happy thoughts and prayers into our Mac. Does "laying on hands" work on machines?
Friday, February 12, 2010
Dear So and So . . .
Dear Sleeping Baby,
I am conflicted. I am always so relieved that you are sleeping and I have a few moments to myself. But at the same time I miss you and want to give you hugs. I check on you every few minutes because I love you and want to make sure you are safe and I have to fight the urge to pick you up and smother you with kisses.
I love you. Keep breathing.
- Mommy of a Rested Baby
*****
Dear "."Well, hello again. I did not miss you during your 13 month hiatus and I am not happy to see that you have returned - with a vengeance! The headaches, soar tummy, achy muscles, lethargy and need for chocolate that you bring are not welcome. I guess I do appreciate the fact that you are a part of a functioning reproductive system that produced my precious baby. Whatever.
- Crabby Cramper
*****
Dear Girl Scouts,Yes, if propositioned I will buy several boxes of Thin Mints. No, I do not need them nor do I really have the money to waste on those delicious boxes of cellulite that I will no doubt consume on my own. I am in a vulnerable state (see above letter.) Please stay away.
- Weak-Willed Woman
*****
Dear Stretch Marks,You will no longer be labeled as "Stretch Marks." From now on you will be known as "Tiger Stripes." RAWRRR!!!
- A Mommy Re-Purposing Her Skin as Fashionable Body-Art
*****
Dear Winter Weather,
Now, a body's got places to be - things to achieve. I do not mean to sound like a grump. I did so enjoy you during your first visit . . . and some on your second. You were so pretty and such a wonder at our mountain home. I love dawning my winter coats and hand-made scarves and hats. But you are becoming down-right inconvenient and dangerous. You ice our drive-way and the mountain road on which we live. You cancel activities I have been looking forward to and you make the grocery store a mad-house. My heating bills are ridiculous as a Florida girl is not used to these temperatures. And I have a serious case of cabin fever.
You have been pretty, but it is time to go away.
- A Serious Humbug
*****
Dear Husband,
I am so happy that 3 years ago I let you marry me - and you let me marry you back. I knew you would be a great husband and father, but to experience that daily is truly a blessing. You are patient and forgiving, hard-working and devoted, loving and understanding and I LOVE you!
I thought I would be disappointed if our baby began looking more like you than me, but I have to say, you make one beautiful baby! (Let's make more.)
Happy Valentine's Day!!!
- Your Lucky Wife
*****
Dear Readers,
Thank you for taking an interest! Check out Kat's website for more "Dear So and So"s.
- Linzi
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The China Set
I just came across a piece of writing that I had thought lost. I am so glad I found it!!! In college I took a writing course where I discovered, after years of thinking myself a terrible writer because of the discouragement and misunderstanding of previous teachers, I really like the way I write! While taking this class, I wrote a paper on my great-grandmother. It isn't anything special, but it is the first piece of writing of which I have ever been proud. I have decided to copy it down here where, unless the internet explodes, I am not likely to lose it again.
This is dedicated to my Mema and Papa.
This is dedicated to my Mema and Papa.
The China Set
I have a china set that my great-grandmother, GranGran, painted beautiful flowers and roses upon for me. I can't quite remember the year she gave it to me. It seems as if I've always had it. It was stressed to me how fragile and precious the china set is. I have never put it on display. I have never filled the little cups with water and played "tea party" with it. Somehow that would make it seem just like any other china set. It stays in the same tattered and worn, tape-covered, cardboard box in which it came to me. The pieces are still in the same ripped and yellowed tissue paper. It stays in the top of my closet.
I would take it down every few weeks and set up the cups and saucers on my bed. I would then step back and look at it. I would study its beauty and its detail. After a few minutes I would wrap the individual pieces back up in their individual pieces of tissue paper, place them back in their individual spots in the box and put the box back into the top of my closet.
I was never great friends with my GranGran. She was never very kind to me and I disliked going to her house. However, I loved looking at her paintings. They were delicate and meticulous. Each petal, leaf and vine was placed with precision and in soft, subtle colors. It was difficult for me to understand how such lovely things could come fro such a crabby, impatient, old woman.
Though her spirit was strong, her body was not. She fell often and broke her hips and wrists several times.
One day when I was in fourth grade, she went to the hospital and did not return home. She had congested heart failure and some blood clots in her arm. They had to remove it up to her elbow.
I went to visit her. She looked so weak and frail. She kept moving her arm in conversation as if it was still completely there. I tried really hard to not look at it, but it was difficult not to with her moving it about like that.
Not only had there been a change in her body, but there had been a change in her personality. It was as if with the nasty clot they had also amputated her nasty attitude. She acted happy to see me. She listened to what I had to say rather than acting as if my voice was an annoyance to her. I had fun talking with her! I looked forward to visiting her. She began to take time to tell me stories from her life: Before she painted china she worked at a factory making decorative bows and frills for the display boxes on the walls in the complementary wrapping area of department stores. Her mother was full blooded Native American, but it was never talked about in her father's family. She smoked a pipe all of her life. It was hard to envision that without laughing. I had a new-found love, enjoyment and appreciation for my GranGran and I thought about her often.
One night, we arrived home late from church and there was a message from my grandfather on our answering machine. It was odd to hear his voice; usually my grandmother was the one who called. I was also somewhat startled by the sound of his voice. It was still deep and authoritative, but a little less controlled.
His voice had always been strong as a rock. You could lean on it. Tough as nails, just like his mother. Now it wasn't so sturdy. There was a small crack in the rock.
He said, "Uh, Julie, it's your dad. Give me a call when you get this."
Idiosyncrasies such as 'uh' or 'um' are not characteristic of my grandfather's speech. That was a crack in the rock. His voice was a little softer and slower than usual - almost timid. Another crack in the rock. Cracked rocks can easily shatter. I was unnerved.
My mother sent my little brother and me to bed. As I lie in bed with a book open, I heard the soft murmur of my mother's voice and could tell she was on the phone. I sneaked out of bed and stole down to the end of the hallway so that I could get a good ear of what my mother was saying. I could tell what was said on the other end of the phone when she said, "Oh, dad. I'm so sorry."
When she hung up the phone I stepped out from my hiding place, eyes full of tears and questions. I didn't have to ask. My mother said, "Yes, dear. GranGran died in the hospital today."
Tears began to stream down my face, but my mother's eyes were dry. I could not understand why. She said she had known it was coming. GranGran was old and it was her time.
However, this was my first encounter with death. It was difficult for me to imagine GranGran not being there at Christmas, sitting in her chair with her hands in her lap, not saying a word. It was difficult to imagine never visiting her old-lady-smelling apartment or never receiving another one of her beautiful, hand-painted gifts.
We were unable to attend her funeral. My parents explained that it was too far away, we couldn't miss school and they couldn't miss work. I didn't understand these excuses. Since we couldn't be there, I imagine what it would look like:
GranGran, laid out in her best dress, with her hair and make-up done in a fashion she never would have done herself. Fragile and beautiful, just like her china.
I realize that if I were to write this story now there are several changes I would make, but I love that I have this. It is the first piece of writing with which I really sat and spent a lot of time going through the writing process and researching. It is a beautiful memory!
One day when I was in fourth grade, she went to the hospital and did not return home. She had congested heart failure and some blood clots in her arm. They had to remove it up to her elbow.
I went to visit her. She looked so weak and frail. She kept moving her arm in conversation as if it was still completely there. I tried really hard to not look at it, but it was difficult not to with her moving it about like that.
Not only had there been a change in her body, but there had been a change in her personality. It was as if with the nasty clot they had also amputated her nasty attitude. She acted happy to see me. She listened to what I had to say rather than acting as if my voice was an annoyance to her. I had fun talking with her! I looked forward to visiting her. She began to take time to tell me stories from her life: Before she painted china she worked at a factory making decorative bows and frills for the display boxes on the walls in the complementary wrapping area of department stores. Her mother was full blooded Native American, but it was never talked about in her father's family. She smoked a pipe all of her life. It was hard to envision that without laughing. I had a new-found love, enjoyment and appreciation for my GranGran and I thought about her often.
One night, we arrived home late from church and there was a message from my grandfather on our answering machine. It was odd to hear his voice; usually my grandmother was the one who called. I was also somewhat startled by the sound of his voice. It was still deep and authoritative, but a little less controlled.
His voice had always been strong as a rock. You could lean on it. Tough as nails, just like his mother. Now it wasn't so sturdy. There was a small crack in the rock.
He said, "Uh, Julie, it's your dad. Give me a call when you get this."
Idiosyncrasies such as 'uh' or 'um' are not characteristic of my grandfather's speech. That was a crack in the rock. His voice was a little softer and slower than usual - almost timid. Another crack in the rock. Cracked rocks can easily shatter. I was unnerved.
My mother sent my little brother and me to bed. As I lie in bed with a book open, I heard the soft murmur of my mother's voice and could tell she was on the phone. I sneaked out of bed and stole down to the end of the hallway so that I could get a good ear of what my mother was saying. I could tell what was said on the other end of the phone when she said, "Oh, dad. I'm so sorry."
When she hung up the phone I stepped out from my hiding place, eyes full of tears and questions. I didn't have to ask. My mother said, "Yes, dear. GranGran died in the hospital today."
Tears began to stream down my face, but my mother's eyes were dry. I could not understand why. She said she had known it was coming. GranGran was old and it was her time.
However, this was my first encounter with death. It was difficult for me to imagine GranGran not being there at Christmas, sitting in her chair with her hands in her lap, not saying a word. It was difficult to imagine never visiting her old-lady-smelling apartment or never receiving another one of her beautiful, hand-painted gifts.
We were unable to attend her funeral. My parents explained that it was too far away, we couldn't miss school and they couldn't miss work. I didn't understand these excuses. Since we couldn't be there, I imagine what it would look like:
GranGran, laid out in her best dress, with her hair and make-up done in a fashion she never would have done herself. Fragile and beautiful, just like her china.
I realize that if I were to write this story now there are several changes I would make, but I love that I have this. It is the first piece of writing with which I really sat and spent a lot of time going through the writing process and researching. It is a beautiful memory!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
A Peek into the Present for my Past Self
Prompt: If you could have given yourself a snapshot five years ago of what your life is like now, what would the picture be of and how do you think you would have felt about it?
I would choose this picture:
My next thought would then be, "You mean I can possibly get fatter than I am right now?!"
I would then notice how happy I seem and how beautiful my baby is and know that my future's so bright I gotta wear shades.
Another thought I might have: "Who's my baby's daddy? I need to start being more discretionary about who I date."
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Movie? What Movie? I payed $10 to stand in the hall.
I have been so proud to have a baby that does so well in movies. We have been to 4 where she either sleeps through the whole thing or sits and quietly watches. She cried once during Avatar bc it was so dang loud! I just took her to where she could see my face in the light. That calmed her down and we were able to return to our seat. She even swayed back and forth on my lap when the creatures on the screen were swaying. Then she fell back to sleep.
But, the times they are a-changin' (thanks B Dylan.) Last night we decided to go see the new George Clooney movie that everyone has been saying is so good - Up In The Air. I got Juniper dressed in a cute new outfit - which she promptly spit up all over 3xs. At this point I always have a decision to make: wipe it up and let her smell like puke but look super cute or change her clothes and chance her puking on the second outfit, too. I chose to let her smell like puke - bad mommy, I know. But she was so darn cute!
As I had hoped, she fell asleep in the car on the way to the movie. However, it was so windy and cold outside that, despite my attempts to keep her covered with a blanket, she woke up, pushed back from me and stuck her tongue out to feel the wind - I don't know why she does this. Maybe I should try it. Maybe the wind feels really good on the tongue. Or tastes good. Kinda gross, though, huh?
We had arrived at the movie super early bc Erik was convinced it would be packed. We were the only ones in the theater until about 3 minutes before the movie started. Juniper sat quietly in my lap enjoying the music that was playing. Then the lights went out and I realized that we had wasted her contented time on the 45 minutes of sitting in the theater before the movie.
Junie has become a lot more demanding of my attention of late. She wants to be looked at, talked to, held and sung to much more often then she cared to before. She's also become a better cuddler - but not last night. She started to make grunting fussy noises. I popped a bottle into her mouth but she wasn't having it. I handed her to Erik and told him to take her out.
I sat back in my seat, ate a handful of popcorn, sipped some Sprite and enjoyed the movie - for about 15 minutes (Erik says 30 minutes, but he's wrong.) To the complaint of the two over-sized women on who's toes I stepped on my way out, I decided to go relieve Erik of our fussy baby so he could go in to watch the movie. I found Erik in the hallway holding a baby that was wide awake and loving the attention.
He went into the movie and Juniper promptly spit-up on me. She did this 5 more times. Every time I would try to pop into the back of the theater to get a glimpse of the movie she would spit up and then fuss. I would have to go into the hallway to try and find where on me and her the spit-up was residing. It was clear that her stomach was upset - and this was probably my fault. I had fed her some formula that was past the expiration date. The can says to throw out the formula a month after it has been opened. I think I was pushing two. In my defense, since I rarely use formula I would be throwing away a barely used can if I threw it away after a month and that is a lot of money and I am just sure that they put that expiration on the can so it forces people to buy more formula more frequently than they need to like those razors with the fading blue strips and oil changes . . . I'm a bad person. I really hope no one calls CPS after reading this blog.
My movie experience consisted of pacing, puking, and peeking at portions of the film. (I like alliterations.) Erik apparently didn't get this whole "switching-off" thing. He says that every time I stepped into the movie he would look back at me and makes eyes that were supposed to be asking if I wanted him to switch with me - but how was I supposed to see that?!
There was nowhere to sit in the hallway and my arms and my legs and my patience was getting tired of holding this fussy baby that would not be consoled. It was obvious that she was tired but she was refusing to let me cradle her and try to put her to sleep. I couldn't even be sneaky about it - she knew what I was trying to do and would look me in the eyes and let loose some really mad crying.
I was at my wit's end and was about to walk into the theater with a crying baby and yank out my seemingly neglectful husband so we could go home when all of a sudden her head dropped onto my arm. I looked at her and her eyes were closed. Upon a pulse check I realized that she had fussed herself to sleep. Finally, I would be able to watch the movie. I stepped into the theater and here comes Erik up the isle with all of our stuff to come rescue me and take us all home. LOL. I looked at him and said I could have used him an hour ago. He apologized and he is forgiven.
We sat down and watched the last 20 minutes. As we left the theater, I looked at Erik and said, "So, was it good?"
Highlight of the night: I was standing in the back of the theater when I woman returned from a potty break. She walked up to us and, without asking, reached out to rub Juniper's arm. She stuck her hand right in a big glob of puke! HAHAHAHA! I enjoyed that - and I didn't apologize.
But, the times they are a-changin' (thanks B Dylan.) Last night we decided to go see the new George Clooney movie that everyone has been saying is so good - Up In The Air. I got Juniper dressed in a cute new outfit - which she promptly spit up all over 3xs. At this point I always have a decision to make: wipe it up and let her smell like puke but look super cute or change her clothes and chance her puking on the second outfit, too. I chose to let her smell like puke - bad mommy, I know. But she was so darn cute!
We had arrived at the movie super early bc Erik was convinced it would be packed. We were the only ones in the theater until about 3 minutes before the movie started. Juniper sat quietly in my lap enjoying the music that was playing. Then the lights went out and I realized that we had wasted her contented time on the 45 minutes of sitting in the theater before the movie.
Junie has become a lot more demanding of my attention of late. She wants to be looked at, talked to, held and sung to much more often then she cared to before. She's also become a better cuddler - but not last night. She started to make grunting fussy noises. I popped a bottle into her mouth but she wasn't having it. I handed her to Erik and told him to take her out.
I sat back in my seat, ate a handful of popcorn, sipped some Sprite and enjoyed the movie - for about 15 minutes (Erik says 30 minutes, but he's wrong.) To the complaint of the two over-sized women on who's toes I stepped on my way out, I decided to go relieve Erik of our fussy baby so he could go in to watch the movie. I found Erik in the hallway holding a baby that was wide awake and loving the attention.
He went into the movie and Juniper promptly spit-up on me. She did this 5 more times. Every time I would try to pop into the back of the theater to get a glimpse of the movie she would spit up and then fuss. I would have to go into the hallway to try and find where on me and her the spit-up was residing. It was clear that her stomach was upset - and this was probably my fault. I had fed her some formula that was past the expiration date. The can says to throw out the formula a month after it has been opened. I think I was pushing two. In my defense, since I rarely use formula I would be throwing away a barely used can if I threw it away after a month and that is a lot of money and I am just sure that they put that expiration on the can so it forces people to buy more formula more frequently than they need to like those razors with the fading blue strips and oil changes . . . I'm a bad person. I really hope no one calls CPS after reading this blog.
My movie experience consisted of pacing, puking, and peeking at portions of the film. (I like alliterations.) Erik apparently didn't get this whole "switching-off" thing. He says that every time I stepped into the movie he would look back at me and makes eyes that were supposed to be asking if I wanted him to switch with me - but how was I supposed to see that?!
There was nowhere to sit in the hallway and my arms and my legs and my patience was getting tired of holding this fussy baby that would not be consoled. It was obvious that she was tired but she was refusing to let me cradle her and try to put her to sleep. I couldn't even be sneaky about it - she knew what I was trying to do and would look me in the eyes and let loose some really mad crying.
I was at my wit's end and was about to walk into the theater with a crying baby and yank out my seemingly neglectful husband so we could go home when all of a sudden her head dropped onto my arm. I looked at her and her eyes were closed. Upon a pulse check I realized that she had fussed herself to sleep. Finally, I would be able to watch the movie. I stepped into the theater and here comes Erik up the isle with all of our stuff to come rescue me and take us all home. LOL. I looked at him and said I could have used him an hour ago. He apologized and he is forgiven.
We sat down and watched the last 20 minutes. As we left the theater, I looked at Erik and said, "So, was it good?"
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Our Delivery Experience
With the baby 2 weeks overdue we had an induction scheduled for 8am Tuesday, September 29th, however I was praying that the whole process would begin on its own.
Monday night around 10:45 I got off of the phone with my mom, used the restroom and then went into the baby's room (temporarily an office) to talk to Erik. I opened my mouth to speak to him and started to sit down in the pink rocker when, OOPS! My eyes got big. Was I not finished going to the bathroom? I clamped my legs together and waddled towards the bathroom but as soon as I got through the door I felt warmth running down my leg. I was shocked! I couldn't make it stop! I thought, "Am I really wetting myself right now?!" Then it dawned on me. Could this be my water breaking? Erik thought it was and said we needed to head to the hospital. I called my mom and described it and she said I needed to head to the hospital, too. I wasn't so convinced. So, while Erik tried to contact the doctor via phone, I got on-line and looked up Yahoo Answers on what it is like when your water breaks and what you should do - because apparently I trust complete strangers over my own family.
Convinced by the internets, I agree to let Erik take me to the hospital. We throw our bags in the car (bags that I have had packed for over a month) and head down the road. About 3 minutes into the drive the doctor calls back and confirms that it sounds like my water broke and they will be expecting us at the hospital.
I'm in a good mood and very excited this labor has started on its own - despite the fact that I still feel no contractions. Erik drops me off at the ER entrance. I waddle in and inform them that my water broke. They call someone and say, "We've got another one." (Popular night?) While I wait for the escort Erik arrives from parking the car. Santa Clause in a Swine Flu mask shows up and tells us to follow him. (Not really Santa Clause - just a big man with a white beard. Come on, people. Keep up!) He takes us upstairs to the Labor and Delivery desk where I see another woman waiting to be taken to a room. She is sitting in a wheel chair and looking miserable. I cheerfully say, "You, too?!" She gives me a pained smile that says "Shut-up." I follow the nurse to my room with not just a waddle but a bounce in my step.
They set to hooking me up to machines to monitor the baby's heartbeat and my contractions as well as hooking me up to an IV of fluids and antibiotics needed for the presence of Strep B. They checked and confirmed that indeed my water had broken. They also discovered the presence of meconium - typical for babies that are 2 weeks overdue, but it means that she needed to get out of the contaminated amniotic fluid within 24 hours to avoid infection. Not only that, but they also discovered that though her head was down, she was facing to the side instead of to the ground. They tried several times throughout the labor to turn her, but she would not be moved! (Stubborn girl.)
The first 7 or so hours at the hospital I spent walking around or chilling in bed and thinking, "This isn't so bad."
I was 7cm and still not contracting on my own so they started me on evil Petocin. At this point I also opted for an epidural. (Gosh, those sting going in!) Unfortunately, the epidural rarely worked. I was experiencing TERRIBLE, ragged, rapid-fire contractions and could do nothing, not even getting out of bed, to handle the pain. They kept sending the anesthesiologist into my room to give me shots and doses of pain meds and still could not manage my pain. At one point Erik was sitting by my bed and holding my hand while I moaned through the contractions, they became so intense and were coming in such rapid succession without relief that I began to sob as I moaned and could not stop. Finally the contractions subsided for a minute and I looked up at Erik. He had tears running down his face and said, "I'm so sorry I did this to you." It was so hard for him to see me in such pain. I chuckled and reassured him that I was okay and, though the pain SUCKED, I knew it would be worth it.
From here on everything is a blur and Erik has had to help me fill in the details.
At this point I have been in labor for 22 hours - mostly w/o any working pain medication though there was an epidural in my back that forced me to stay on my back in bed instead of being able to get up and do various pain management techniques. (Suck.) Erik goes to find the nurses to tell them that we need to get this thing going as it is nearing the 24 hour mark and I am not doing well. (Apparently they were eating dinner.) They come in and have me push twice. I successfully urinate all over the table. I apologize over and over. They just looked at each other annoyed and ask who didn't drain my bladder when it was supposed to be done as they lift me up and change the bed dressings. After the pushing they acknowledge that my baby is rather big and is not turning the way they would have liked her to.
They give me 2 options: either a C-section or vaginal birth aided by forceps. I have educated myself on the pros and cons of both and I know that the doctor that is on call happens to be the hospital's "expert" on forceps births. I decided to take my chances that possibly the forceps birth will be less invasive and have less damage. Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun! (That is menacing foreshadowing music.)
Erik tells me that another 2 hours go buy as they are gathering all the appropriate people and prepping me and the equipment for delivery. The next thing I am conscious of is opening my eyes to remind them to finally get some good medicine into me before the procedure. I was shocked to see about 8 medical personnel in my room. I am told that 2 or 3 of them were from NICU. Since the baby has been swimming in meconium contaminated fluid for so long there is a possibility for infection. Also, unbeknownst to me, they are expecting somewhat of an arduous delivery (which should have been apparent from the presence of so many people in my room, but I was pretty out of it. I had no idea how traumatic it would be.) For this reason the NICU nurses are there to help stabilize the baby after delivery. There was also an anesthesiologist, 2 or 3 nurses and 2 doctors.
The next thing I know it is midnight and we are underway. They have raised my bed to their chest level and are inserting a speculum. Fortunately, they have finally managed my pain so I am feeling the pressure of the activity but not the pain.
They tell me to push and I bare down with all my might. The best way I can describe pushing during delivery is you push as if you're trying to poo. Seriously. I kept imagining taking a dump. This must be right bc they kept telling me I was a great pusher. Anyway, I believe I was passing out between each push. I just remember every now and then waking up and drowsily asking if I should push. I gave a big push and felt the head lodge in my opening. Erik says, "I see hair!" I remember thinking, "This is really happening." Why this only just occurred to me, I don't know.
The next time I come to, I look up and see a doctor's rear-end in my face. She has climbed on top of the table and is straddling me. The baby's shoulder has gotten stuck under my pelvic bone and they need to remove her quickly for the safety of the baby. Erik says this was a terrifying time for him. He sees the horrifying sight of our baby's head and one arm hanging out of me. She is completely blue and is not moving. Then he looks at me and sees that I keep passing out and am totally delirious. My body is being jerked around by the doctor who is on top of me pushing my belly and pulling and twisting the baby. He is standing in the corner traumatized, asking God if he is going to have to choose one of us and agonizing over which one it would be.
With one mighty yank and twist she is out. I hear Erik's shaky voice saying we are going to be alright and that she looks great. I turn to look at him and am not very reassured. His smile is forced, his tear-rimmed eyes look mortified and he is completely pale. I keep saying, "Is she okay? I can't hear her. Why isn't she crying?" They have given her directly to the NICU nurses who are attempting to stabilize her. She does not cry bc they immediately stick a tube down her throat, I am told, to prevent infection from the tainted amniotic fluids. I am told that she is 10lbs 1oz and 22in long. Big girl. I am so impressed that I immediately pass out again.
After a minute I hear her soft cries. She is not a screamer. Her cries have always seemed more like cooes. They place her on my chest and there she is - this thing - this something that I immediately love and find so strange and foreign at the same time. I sense her need. My body longs to warm her's, to nurture her. Her head begins to move, her mouth already opening and closing, searching for food. I help her find it - only we have both miscalculated and I pull her off to find we have completely missed the nipple and she has created a raised hickey beside it. We try again - it is a learning process that even 3 months later is still developing.
Not only am I helping this little one, but she is helping me. She is the best pain medicine. I do not even notice the two doctors at my other end busily working to stitch up my 3rd degree lacerations - vaginal and rectal. Soon they come to take my little girl again. Her APGAR score was initially very low and they must run the test again. Fortunately, this is all done in my delivery room. Unfortunately, as soon as they remove her from my chest I become painfully aware of what is taking place down below. I inform the doctors that I can feel everything they are doing. They tell me that I can't and I am only feeling the pressure of what they are doing. I tell them I know what I am feeling and what I am feeling is needle piercing my skin repeatedly and thread being drawn through me as if I am a leather bookmark craft at boyscout camp. They look at each other and say, "I think she needs some more pain meds." Yuh think?
I am now coherent enough to begin asking Erik questions. "What did we name her?" He said we named her what we had decided upon. We had decided upon it but I was a little disappointed. Did we make a good choice. I don't even know this baby. Maybe the name doesn't fit her. I had these nagging feelings for 2 weeks and even stumbled over saying her name as it did not yet come to my mouth easily. But as she became less foreign to me, so did her name until it became her - definitively. My little Juniper Grace.
"Did you cut the umbilical chord?" Erik said the nurse did it as soon as they delivered her. I began to apologize that he didn't get the opportunity but he threw his arms up and said he was happy to let them do it. He was not about to step into the madness that was taking place.
"They need to take her foot prints. Did they take her foot prints?" Apparently they took them while she was with the NICU nurses. That kind of bummed me out. I would have liked to watch that or at least have gotten a picture of it.
The nurses asked me if I needed anything. "A turkey sandwich with cheese, lettuce and mayonnaise, a piece of fruit and ginger-ale." I was starving! I hadn't had anything to eat in over 28 hours, and after all of that physical exertion and all of the fluids and meds being pumped into me I just wanted something in my belly - other than a baby. That was the best turkey sandwich I have ever had.
They move me up to the mother-baby floor where I remain in my private room for the next 3 days. My mother comes later that day and we soon realize that none of the clothes I brought to the hospital are going to fit this 10lb 1oz, 22in long baby I just had. She runs to the store and picks up a couple adorable outfits so that my baby does not go home naked.
The nurse shows me how to tend to my stitches which involves ice packs that you break and shake like glow sticks, tucks pads, steroid foam, mammoth maxi pads, gauzy granny panties (a God-send), squirt bottles and warm baths sans soap. I am on a regular diet of 600mg ibuprofen, percocet (AMEN!) and stool softeners (DO NOT skip those stool softners, ladies. I will probably elaborate in another post.) So, I am feeling pretty good.
We let Erik go home to sleep that first night as he definitely needs some time to re-coop after all he has witnessed. My mother stays on a bench made up as a bed. Erik stays the next 2 nights with me. During this time I am allowed no visitors as they have become very strict about who they let onto the floor due to the concerns over H1N1 (swine flu.) Fortunately, my friend Laura Bennett had begun training at the hospital for a new job that week so she was able to stop by. That was nice. On the 3rd day they ask if I would like to stay longer. My ordeal has made Juniper and I something of celebrities on the floor with many nurses and doctors stopping by to check on us and pat themselves on the back for their accomplishment. They tell me I deserve to stay as long as I want, but I am eager to get my little one home.
Before we can depart, Juniper must take and pass a hearing test. Though I was told that she would not be taken from my room for any reason, they come and wheel her out for the test. She does not like being taken away and therefore cries throughout the test, causing her to fail. The next time they come to take her for the test I ask if Erik can go with her so she can have someone familiar with her. I was told in orientation this was completely acceptable, however the nurse acts very put off and tries to refuse. I insist. Still, Juniper cries and does not pass. I ask, as I had asked from the beginning, that they please give her the test in my room. I know they are capable of doing this and was told it was done often. Apparently the nurse was offended, believing that I am insinuating that she does not know how to do her job. Whatever. It ends up taking several hours to get someone to come to my room to perform the test on Juniper. I nurse her during the test to keep her calm. She passes with flying colors. Geesh.
Now we can go home. An exhausted nurse asks if I need a wheel chair or if I can just walk out. I say that I guess I can walk - I don't want to wait another hour for a wheel chair. Have you ever heard of a new mother leaving the hospital w/o a wheel chair? Especially one with 3rd degree lacerations? I know!
It was an ordeal - but I swear I would do every bit of it 100 times over if I meant I could have my wonderful baby girl. We finally got her home - and now the real adventure begins!
Monday night around 10:45 I got off of the phone with my mom, used the restroom and then went into the baby's room (temporarily an office) to talk to Erik. I opened my mouth to speak to him and started to sit down in the pink rocker when, OOPS! My eyes got big. Was I not finished going to the bathroom? I clamped my legs together and waddled towards the bathroom but as soon as I got through the door I felt warmth running down my leg. I was shocked! I couldn't make it stop! I thought, "Am I really wetting myself right now?!" Then it dawned on me. Could this be my water breaking? Erik thought it was and said we needed to head to the hospital. I called my mom and described it and she said I needed to head to the hospital, too. I wasn't so convinced. So, while Erik tried to contact the doctor via phone, I got on-line and looked up Yahoo Answers on what it is like when your water breaks and what you should do - because apparently I trust complete strangers over my own family.
Convinced by the internets, I agree to let Erik take me to the hospital. We throw our bags in the car (bags that I have had packed for over a month) and head down the road. About 3 minutes into the drive the doctor calls back and confirms that it sounds like my water broke and they will be expecting us at the hospital.
I'm in a good mood and very excited this labor has started on its own - despite the fact that I still feel no contractions. Erik drops me off at the ER entrance. I waddle in and inform them that my water broke. They call someone and say, "We've got another one." (Popular night?) While I wait for the escort Erik arrives from parking the car. Santa Clause in a Swine Flu mask shows up and tells us to follow him. (Not really Santa Clause - just a big man with a white beard. Come on, people. Keep up!) He takes us upstairs to the Labor and Delivery desk where I see another woman waiting to be taken to a room. She is sitting in a wheel chair and looking miserable. I cheerfully say, "You, too?!" She gives me a pained smile that says "Shut-up." I follow the nurse to my room with not just a waddle but a bounce in my step.
They set to hooking me up to machines to monitor the baby's heartbeat and my contractions as well as hooking me up to an IV of fluids and antibiotics needed for the presence of Strep B. They checked and confirmed that indeed my water had broken. They also discovered the presence of meconium - typical for babies that are 2 weeks overdue, but it means that she needed to get out of the contaminated amniotic fluid within 24 hours to avoid infection. Not only that, but they also discovered that though her head was down, she was facing to the side instead of to the ground. They tried several times throughout the labor to turn her, but she would not be moved! (Stubborn girl.)
The first 7 or so hours at the hospital I spent walking around or chilling in bed and thinking, "This isn't so bad."
I was 7cm and still not contracting on my own so they started me on evil Petocin. At this point I also opted for an epidural. (Gosh, those sting going in!) Unfortunately, the epidural rarely worked. I was experiencing TERRIBLE, ragged, rapid-fire contractions and could do nothing, not even getting out of bed, to handle the pain. They kept sending the anesthesiologist into my room to give me shots and doses of pain meds and still could not manage my pain. At one point Erik was sitting by my bed and holding my hand while I moaned through the contractions, they became so intense and were coming in such rapid succession without relief that I began to sob as I moaned and could not stop. Finally the contractions subsided for a minute and I looked up at Erik. He had tears running down his face and said, "I'm so sorry I did this to you." It was so hard for him to see me in such pain. I chuckled and reassured him that I was okay and, though the pain SUCKED, I knew it would be worth it.
From here on everything is a blur and Erik has had to help me fill in the details.
At this point I have been in labor for 22 hours - mostly w/o any working pain medication though there was an epidural in my back that forced me to stay on my back in bed instead of being able to get up and do various pain management techniques. (Suck.) Erik goes to find the nurses to tell them that we need to get this thing going as it is nearing the 24 hour mark and I am not doing well. (Apparently they were eating dinner.) They come in and have me push twice. I successfully urinate all over the table. I apologize over and over. They just looked at each other annoyed and ask who didn't drain my bladder when it was supposed to be done as they lift me up and change the bed dressings. After the pushing they acknowledge that my baby is rather big and is not turning the way they would have liked her to.
They give me 2 options: either a C-section or vaginal birth aided by forceps. I have educated myself on the pros and cons of both and I know that the doctor that is on call happens to be the hospital's "expert" on forceps births. I decided to take my chances that possibly the forceps birth will be less invasive and have less damage. Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun! (That is menacing foreshadowing music.)
Erik tells me that another 2 hours go buy as they are gathering all the appropriate people and prepping me and the equipment for delivery. The next thing I am conscious of is opening my eyes to remind them to finally get some good medicine into me before the procedure. I was shocked to see about 8 medical personnel in my room. I am told that 2 or 3 of them were from NICU. Since the baby has been swimming in meconium contaminated fluid for so long there is a possibility for infection. Also, unbeknownst to me, they are expecting somewhat of an arduous delivery (which should have been apparent from the presence of so many people in my room, but I was pretty out of it. I had no idea how traumatic it would be.) For this reason the NICU nurses are there to help stabilize the baby after delivery. There was also an anesthesiologist, 2 or 3 nurses and 2 doctors.
The next thing I know it is midnight and we are underway. They have raised my bed to their chest level and are inserting a speculum. Fortunately, they have finally managed my pain so I am feeling the pressure of the activity but not the pain.
They tell me to push and I bare down with all my might. The best way I can describe pushing during delivery is you push as if you're trying to poo. Seriously. I kept imagining taking a dump. This must be right bc they kept telling me I was a great pusher. Anyway, I believe I was passing out between each push. I just remember every now and then waking up and drowsily asking if I should push. I gave a big push and felt the head lodge in my opening. Erik says, "I see hair!" I remember thinking, "This is really happening." Why this only just occurred to me, I don't know.
The next time I come to, I look up and see a doctor's rear-end in my face. She has climbed on top of the table and is straddling me. The baby's shoulder has gotten stuck under my pelvic bone and they need to remove her quickly for the safety of the baby. Erik says this was a terrifying time for him. He sees the horrifying sight of our baby's head and one arm hanging out of me. She is completely blue and is not moving. Then he looks at me and sees that I keep passing out and am totally delirious. My body is being jerked around by the doctor who is on top of me pushing my belly and pulling and twisting the baby. He is standing in the corner traumatized, asking God if he is going to have to choose one of us and agonizing over which one it would be.
With one mighty yank and twist she is out. I hear Erik's shaky voice saying we are going to be alright and that she looks great. I turn to look at him and am not very reassured. His smile is forced, his tear-rimmed eyes look mortified and he is completely pale. I keep saying, "Is she okay? I can't hear her. Why isn't she crying?" They have given her directly to the NICU nurses who are attempting to stabilize her. She does not cry bc they immediately stick a tube down her throat, I am told, to prevent infection from the tainted amniotic fluids. I am told that she is 10lbs 1oz and 22in long. Big girl. I am so impressed that I immediately pass out again.
After a minute I hear her soft cries. She is not a screamer. Her cries have always seemed more like cooes. They place her on my chest and there she is - this thing - this something that I immediately love and find so strange and foreign at the same time. I sense her need. My body longs to warm her's, to nurture her. Her head begins to move, her mouth already opening and closing, searching for food. I help her find it - only we have both miscalculated and I pull her off to find we have completely missed the nipple and she has created a raised hickey beside it. We try again - it is a learning process that even 3 months later is still developing.
Not only am I helping this little one, but she is helping me. She is the best pain medicine. I do not even notice the two doctors at my other end busily working to stitch up my 3rd degree lacerations - vaginal and rectal. Soon they come to take my little girl again. Her APGAR score was initially very low and they must run the test again. Fortunately, this is all done in my delivery room. Unfortunately, as soon as they remove her from my chest I become painfully aware of what is taking place down below. I inform the doctors that I can feel everything they are doing. They tell me that I can't and I am only feeling the pressure of what they are doing. I tell them I know what I am feeling and what I am feeling is needle piercing my skin repeatedly and thread being drawn through me as if I am a leather bookmark craft at boyscout camp. They look at each other and say, "I think she needs some more pain meds." Yuh think?
I am now coherent enough to begin asking Erik questions. "What did we name her?" He said we named her what we had decided upon. We had decided upon it but I was a little disappointed. Did we make a good choice. I don't even know this baby. Maybe the name doesn't fit her. I had these nagging feelings for 2 weeks and even stumbled over saying her name as it did not yet come to my mouth easily. But as she became less foreign to me, so did her name until it became her - definitively. My little Juniper Grace.
"Did you cut the umbilical chord?" Erik said the nurse did it as soon as they delivered her. I began to apologize that he didn't get the opportunity but he threw his arms up and said he was happy to let them do it. He was not about to step into the madness that was taking place.
"They need to take her foot prints. Did they take her foot prints?" Apparently they took them while she was with the NICU nurses. That kind of bummed me out. I would have liked to watch that or at least have gotten a picture of it.
The nurses asked me if I needed anything. "A turkey sandwich with cheese, lettuce and mayonnaise, a piece of fruit and ginger-ale." I was starving! I hadn't had anything to eat in over 28 hours, and after all of that physical exertion and all of the fluids and meds being pumped into me I just wanted something in my belly - other than a baby. That was the best turkey sandwich I have ever had.
They move me up to the mother-baby floor where I remain in my private room for the next 3 days. My mother comes later that day and we soon realize that none of the clothes I brought to the hospital are going to fit this 10lb 1oz, 22in long baby I just had. She runs to the store and picks up a couple adorable outfits so that my baby does not go home naked.
The nurse shows me how to tend to my stitches which involves ice packs that you break and shake like glow sticks, tucks pads, steroid foam, mammoth maxi pads, gauzy granny panties (a God-send), squirt bottles and warm baths sans soap. I am on a regular diet of 600mg ibuprofen, percocet (AMEN!) and stool softeners (DO NOT skip those stool softners, ladies. I will probably elaborate in another post.) So, I am feeling pretty good.
We let Erik go home to sleep that first night as he definitely needs some time to re-coop after all he has witnessed. My mother stays on a bench made up as a bed. Erik stays the next 2 nights with me. During this time I am allowed no visitors as they have become very strict about who they let onto the floor due to the concerns over H1N1 (swine flu.) Fortunately, my friend Laura Bennett had begun training at the hospital for a new job that week so she was able to stop by. That was nice. On the 3rd day they ask if I would like to stay longer. My ordeal has made Juniper and I something of celebrities on the floor with many nurses and doctors stopping by to check on us and pat themselves on the back for their accomplishment. They tell me I deserve to stay as long as I want, but I am eager to get my little one home.
Before we can depart, Juniper must take and pass a hearing test. Though I was told that she would not be taken from my room for any reason, they come and wheel her out for the test. She does not like being taken away and therefore cries throughout the test, causing her to fail. The next time they come to take her for the test I ask if Erik can go with her so she can have someone familiar with her. I was told in orientation this was completely acceptable, however the nurse acts very put off and tries to refuse. I insist. Still, Juniper cries and does not pass. I ask, as I had asked from the beginning, that they please give her the test in my room. I know they are capable of doing this and was told it was done often. Apparently the nurse was offended, believing that I am insinuating that she does not know how to do her job. Whatever. It ends up taking several hours to get someone to come to my room to perform the test on Juniper. I nurse her during the test to keep her calm. She passes with flying colors. Geesh.
Now we can go home. An exhausted nurse asks if I need a wheel chair or if I can just walk out. I say that I guess I can walk - I don't want to wait another hour for a wheel chair. Have you ever heard of a new mother leaving the hospital w/o a wheel chair? Especially one with 3rd degree lacerations? I know!
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